Chinese Family

Ever since I got back from China, I made the goal to try and learn some more Chinese. I had mastered a few key words and phrases (like telling a taxi driver to take me to an egg instead of an airport), but figured that if I was ever going to get past the level of "sad immigrant," I would have to do something.

So, I enrolled in Chinese for the semester.

I didn't really know what to expect from this class at all. In high school, I had taken  few Spanish classes (Hola, me llamo Ryan. Me gusta gatos y perros y bibliotecas. Te gusta levantar pesas? Bueno.) and those had been rendered useless over the years by my unwillingness to study, so I wondered where this class would leave me. Surely, I was ready to study for a college class. I mean, what else have I been doing for the past four years?

Which brings us to now; halfway into the semester with my vocabulary slowly growing, but constant frustration at my heels. My professor's teaching style is that of, "Here is a powerpoint presentation that I am now going to read to you word for word and I will have you parrot some things back occasionally." It's not my favorite, but I participate.

"How many people do you have in your family?" My professor said. This question, on repeat like a BB gun, constantly smacking us unaware and fumbling around for an answer.

"Uh, five." the blonde guy in the corner said.

"Five. Who are they?" He was relentless, this small, Chinese man. First how many, then who they were, then occupations; what next? their favorite 80's movie?

"Well, my dad is an engineer--"

"Engineer!" He blurted out, which was quickly followed by the Chinese equivalent.

Please spare me from this blitzkrieg.

"You! How many?"

I knew my numbers well enough, but I didn't know all the words for siblings.

"Uh...five..." is what came out.

"Who are they?"

I began in Chinese, "a mother...a father...a younger brother...and older brother..."

A quick mental count in my head told me that I had left out three of my real sisters, added a new brother, and also forgotten a made-up new sibling, but I was past the point of caring.

"OK, now talk to the person next to you."

I turned to the girl next to me (A girl notorious for wearing the exact same outfit to class every day: Grey zip-up hoodie, blue bootcut jeans, and faded, black, slip-on shoes. The shirt underneath the hoodie varied from day to day, but it was lost underneath everything else. I often wondered if she either washed these items frequently, or had a stockpile of the exact same thing she could vary from day to day. I imagine her looking in the mirror and saying, "You know, I'm going to mix it up today and wear Tuesdays pants! Ah! I'm so bad!" and then accidentally wearing Wednesdays pants again.) and she began asking me the same questions.

"How many people do you have in your family?"

"I have four...I mean five! I have five people in my family." I said, stumbling over my own lie.

"Who are they?"

"I have one older brother."

She looked at me for a second, putting together the inconsistencies.

"I thought you said you had two brothers."

"Yeah...and a younger brother. He's 17." I had to give him an age to make her believe he was a real person.

She continued to stare at me, "OK, do you have any pets?"

"How do you say, 'my dog is dead,' in Chinese?"