Let me just start off by saying that yesterday was amazing. Had a five-hour French exam in the morning, but afterwards I biked to Åsgårdstrand and back–a total distance of about 12.5 miles. I know, I’m turning Norwegian. I actually like going out and exercising now, holy crap! And that’s not mentioning the fact that we took about four long hikes in the three days that I was at Gol visiting Jessica.

Gol: Truth be told, despite its serenity, I am glad that I live in Horten. I realized that–along with the discovery that I like living next to the water–I am not as adaptable to small towns as I thought I was. But then again, it seems to me that whenever I’m in one situation I’m always fantasizing about another one. But anyway, the visit was very cozy. We walked a lot, ate just as much (including elk meat–elgkjøtt badge: check!), took a trip to the tanning beds as well as Tropicana Badeland. The last two days actually pretty much felt like summer; it’s amazing how influential seasons are. I never noticed that before ’cause we just have the same season in California year-round, give or take a few degrees and rainy days. But really, I felt so good after coming back.

And it was very koselig to spend a weekend with Jessica. She’s the only exchange student that I speak Norwegian to, mainly ’cause it’s easier than communicating in English. We talked a lot about family back home, Italy and cultural identity, i ragazzi della nostra vita, and socializing with AFSers. Layers off the onion.

Today was more or less alright. Had a four-hour Norwegian exam which I think I did pretty well on. One of the the tasks was to write about a fairytale from your homeland, and I started to think of all the American fairytales that I knew. And there weren’t many. The only ones that came to mind were Three Little Pigs–which everyone knows–and The Little Mermaid, which is more or less Disneyfied Danish. And then I started to think about the Chinese ones, the ones I grew up listening to and admiring: about Pángǔ and how he created the world with his death, and how Nǚwā saved it by filling a gap in the sky with stones of seven colors and her body, and about Cháng’é and the rabbit on the moon.

Which brings me to say something I didn’t think I’d be saying: lately, I’ve been really homesick for…China. Odd, isn’t it? The country is almost entirely foreign to me now, but I’ve really been missing it. What do I miss exactly, you might wonder: the communism, the dirtiness, the overpopulation, or the poverty? A year ago today I would’ve responded you with that exact rhetorical question if you had asked me. But I suppose that’s only to be expected from twelve years of good ole’ American influence. I wish I could have told all the people that led me to feel ashamed of my country of birth then what I am about to say now: that perhaps if you focused less on the superficial aspects of China, its statistics, then maybe you would realize the beautiful, wonderful, and rich country that it is. Maybe if you dug a little further than the Made in China labels and the “ching-chong” jests, you would see a glimpse of our world. You may tell us to open our eyes, but I suggest you open yours first.

You know that feeling you get when you think of something special? A person, a moment, or a traditional Thanksgiving meal? It’s inexplicable.
I mean, have you tried Peking Roast Duck? Slices of thin, crispy skin and tender, juicy meat blended with fresh scallions, cucumber, and sweet bean sauce, all wrapped in an opaque layer of steamed pancake. It’s my favorite Chinese dish. But you can’t taste it, can you?
I wish I could find the words in myself to describe China, but I can only offer you fragments of a complete image. It’s more than just Peking Duck, sesame tāngyuár, gūniaor, and xiāpázi. It’s more than just picking out tiny sea snails on a warm summer day with a needle in Dàlián. It’s more than just playing mahjong with Jìumā while eating sugar water popsicles on a hot summer night in Běijīng. It’s more than going to the sauna with Grandpa and getting the full-body scrub treatment. It’s an intangible emotion, and I’m wearing myself out trying to attempt to describe it.

Perhaps what I’m really missing is my childhood. But no, that doesn’t suffice because these memories are recent. I miss the heat of Běijīng and its people: the thickness of their humor, the passion in the way they carry themselves, the éryīn and the vernacular…I even miss their brashness and rudeness. I realize now that they’re not uncultured, because that is the culture.