Articles Written by Our International Teachers

It Isn't Just a Bicycle

by Austin Go Leung
Joined since: 2005 - present

Origin: Texas, U.S.A

Growing up in the States I had many questions about who I was. I am American, yet deep down inside I never felt I was truly accepted by the people around me as an American. I was naturally viewed as being Chinese then American, where I always viewed others as just being American, regardless of ethnicity. Ironically, I didn't know nearly enough of my own cultural background to latch on to either so I was left in a position of being in between, not truly one or the other.

With this in mind I headed towards China , having only been there once at a young age and having under appreciated the experience as many in their youth do. It was as if I was going to China for the first time. And now being ten years older and modestly ten years wiser, and I was determined to make up for past mistakes and thrust myself into the culture that I was supposedly from.

As I sat in the plane crossing over the Pacific, I pondered about how I could go about learning about my fellow Chinese and our culture. The most obvious answers were through the language, interacting with the locals, ea t ting the food, seeing national landmarks, learning the customs and celebrating the holidays. But to me that sounded like advice giving out of a travel guidebook, and anyone and everyone could do that. Happily being different I wanted another outlet, less obvious and at a simpler and purer state, but that epiphany had yet to materialize.

After arriving in Yangzhou and a couple of weeks under my belt, one couldn't help but notice the abundance of bicycles coming from every direction, going in various speed at every hour of the day. Back home, people joke about how China has a lot of bicycles but no one's joking now. And that's when I had my moment of enlightenment, what better way to understand my people than to ride a bicycle around every little alley and back road of Yangzhou , away from the eyes of other foreigners. To do what millions of my people do everyday of their lifetime. This would be my own experience, my time with the motherland. So that week I bought my bicycle and headed out to shed light on the many things that escaped me in my youth. As I weaved like a piece of thread through the schools of bicyclist, this is what I saw:

Men and women standing by their pushcarts, shuffling roasted golden brown chestnuts in woks, while filling the air with its fragrant aroma. Ladies pouring creamy batter on sizzling hot plates, shouting to would be customs as they pass by. Men in suits rushing hastily through the crowds to their business meeting with cigarette and mobile in hand. The old man squatting patiently on his stool, waiting to sell his dragonfly and frog shaped figurines made of green entwined bamboo strips. Petty cabs lined up in front of stores, while their drivers converse with each other, chuckling about some strange stories or customers. Students walking together hand in hand with ice cream in their other hands and the famous red scarves around their neck as they sing in unison to the latest new pop song by Jay Zhou. The sound of honking whizzing by as red taxis pass other green taxis, passing other red taxis, and so on. The ringing of bicycle bells one after the other like wind chimes as bicyclists imitate taxi drivers. The peaceful sleeping waters of the old canal awoken by the tugboat's massive presence as the willow leaves wave to the ship's workers. The blaring music of the KTVs, urging people to come in and sing along with them. Mothers carrying chubby babies bundled in layers of multi-colored shirts and jackets, rocking their children to sleep. Hordes of people listening to their MP3 players, waiting for the next # 4 bus to gather up the crowd. Women clothed in their beautiful white gowns in wedding shops, preparing their hair for their special day. Old women sweeping the dust off their front door steps, creating a small puffy cloud of debris before it is carried away in the wind. Young couples arm in arm meandering through the busy streets, laughing because they know they are young and free. Old men flying kites up in the clear sky, thinking about back when they were the young boys. Little scruffy dogs sniffing around as they look for their next adventure. An assortment of fruitful colors reflecting off the sun at the local fruit stand. The foul stench of manure in a field of lush green vegetable neatly lined up, waiting for the next harvest. The orange and purple haze sky as the sun bids farewell to the East and welcomes the West.

This, I will carry back home with me. This, no $29.99 travel book can tell me. This is the China I love. This is the China that I belong to.