April 2000

During the years I lived in China, I came to know many distant family members whom I had never met. As my Chinese fluency improved, I came to know and become close friends with some of them. They constantly amazed me with their eternal patience at having to explain the most basic daily customs without a hint of annoyance. Unlike the impatient me, who would become frustrated at not knowing how to ask for, say, a wrench. As my voice escalated an octave higher, they would quietly encourage with a gentle smile, “take your time, now describe it again?”

One such find was my cousin Shirley. Born and raised in Shanghai, Shirley spoke the dialect fluently, a big plus is dealing with the local government officials. When I ran into problems with some local technical regulations concerning foreigners in China, Shirley was my spokesperson in trying to solve the issues. The problems lasted for almost a year, with regularly requests by the authorities to provide one sort of documents or another.

Since most of the meetings were in Shanghainese, Shirley often went alone. As time went on, we both became more experienced in how to handle their questions, which had become quite routine. She began to make on-the-spot decisions as her confidence grew. She updated and consulted with me often and I was glad not to have to be present.

It was at this crucial juncture that Shirley made an important decision on my behalf without consulting me. The decision was not damaging in the long-run and would be easily remedied at the point I became aware of it. But it added to my sense of not being in control of a situation that affected my ability to function in a foreign society.

I was furious.

More than that, it triggered some sense vulnerability, a feeling of not being in control of my environment. It did not help that at the time, I was in another city two hours flight time away. We could only discuss what and how everything had happened over the phone.

I don't remember much of that conversation, but I remember feeling out of control. I kept insisting she give me an answer to a simple question, “why?” Simple on the surface but the emotions the situation trigger had in fact become separated from the events that set it off. It was no longer really about why she didn't consult with me. It was more like why my life was feeling so out of control. For which, Shirley could never answer.

But I had found a scapegoat. I had found the one opening where I could feel self-righteously just in being unreasonable. I asked over and over, “but why didn’t you call?” and would not accept any of her reasons. The questions and my feelings of being out of control rocketed with a life of its own. Nothing she said could deter me from blowing up. I faintly remembered yelling, throwing things and at one point, punched a hole in the wooden kitchen door.

Over cappuccino and a warm brownie, Cessna told me the story of her transformation. It seems things had gone from bad to worst. “I had come to China to see what part of being Chinese I could absorb into me. I wanted to find one character, one belief, one attitude, one anything that I would want to claim as mine. But I couldn't find anything,” she confessed. “that is, not until just recently,” she added.

As the afternoon sun faded into a hazy Shanghai dusk, we ordered another coffee and I listened to one of the most amazing story of selflessness and healing.

“Do you remember my friend Jin Jin?” she asked. I did. I knew that she was a good friend and helped Cessna with all the bureaucratic stuff like getting a ZIM card, finding the cab driver after she left her bag in the taxi, and other simple but extremely difficult things. “Well, she was helping me negotiate for this beautiful apartment, a real find. I asked her to offer one price and she decided that it was too much. She didn't do it and didn't tell me. And I lost it. I was left with a week to find a new place and move,” Cessna began to explain. “I was furious. I didn't understand how she could decide for me, and without consulting me! I felt so frustrated and helpless.”

As Cessna recounted the terrible conversation, I could sympathize with how she felt. I have been there myself, frustrated at my own ability to get the simplest things done and feeling helpless depending on someone who doesn’t do what you ask. “The more I riled against her, the angrier I became. I wanted her to know how important it was to me. I said some mean things to hurt her in the ways I felt she had hurt me.” Cessna looked sad as she continued describing her tale.

“A part of me knew I was being unreasonable,” she admitted, “but I was in such a dark place, I couldn't get out. I lashed out bitterly but what I really wanted was acknowledgement and solace. I couldn’t articulate that, so all I did was to hurl accusations like thunderbolts.” I understand this feeling too: times when simple anger would spiraled into a furry that seem to have a life of it's own, drawing momentum from phantoms that had nothing to do with the issue at hand. I shuddered to think of the scene that must have followed.

Cessna became quiet for a moment, “But something amazing happened. Jin Jin didn't defend herself. She simply sat there and listened. She gave up her need to defend herself, to be heard, to be understood, and to be acknowledged.” Cessna's eyes widened as she continued more rapidly, “Even in that agitated state, I knew that if it were me in her place, I would have ended our friendship right there. I would have said, ‘so I made a mistake, what’s the big deal? Come back when you're human again,’” she laughed.

“But Jin Jin didn't do that. What I felt instead was her deep desire to comfort me, to soothe me – no matter what it took. There was a faint smile as she continued, “There was no one for me to fight against because there wasn't anyone there. In the end, all I could see was . . . me. In the absence of an adversary, I could see clearly that the solution was there and it was I who was blocking it. So I stopped.”

By now it was dark. The staff had lit candles on the tables and its soft light illuminated the small patch of table in front of us. Cessna paused as she remembered that moment, and for an instant I wished I were her. I wished that I were the one who was led to see myself by the selfless effort of a friend. Cessna put her coffee down, “I felt like I had been bleeding from a wound, and Jin Jin sutured it. It was the most healing experience I have ever felt.”

While I don't think it is only the Chinese who can be this self-effacing, and while I don't think being so self-effacing is always a good thing, this culture does encourage downplaying one's own needs for a loved one. I had a grandmother who loved me in the same way. An uneducated peasant from China's heartland, she was the most generous person I have ever encountered. No matter how much I fussed and stomped, she never uttered an angry word. Her death, when I was 21, is one of the tragedies of my life.

To love someone so much that you give up who you are to be in their pain. To allow yourself to be justly or unjustly berated and not take it personally because you know they need to lash out. To watch someone hurt you and allow it to happen because that's what it takes for them to heal. This is what Jin Jin taught Cessna.

“I have found the one part of being Chinese that I want to absorb,” Cessna said softly. I envy her for having experienced such a generosity of spirit. More than that, I envy Jin Jin for her ability to offer it.