Tokyo to Beijing in three hour
Well, the last of my grandparents just died: my dad’s mother, my Grandmother, who I had not seen in several years; whose 90th birthday I missed, and I missed missing. I only start with this because it is on my mind. I emptied a moment’s tears out this morning when I read through the Facebook message from my dad, that she had suffered a stroke and died of heart failure as a result a day or two later. I am saddened, but also quite delighted to remember, that I enjoyed having one of my grandparents survive into my adulthood. This is not the point … my email is taking us to Japan!
Setting: a plane. Circumstance: a flight from Tokyo to Beijing. I am sitting next to a Chinese woman who, although nowhere close to the ripe age of ninety as was my grandmother, is clearly out of my peer group (likely in her fifties). She and I just had a phenomenal moment of difficult, nay nigh impossible interaction, which was both challenging, fun, and worth writing about. In fact it involves writing.
She speaks first, getting ALL of my attention, without ANY of my comprehension. I can not understand a syllable, make sense of the invisible paintings she fingers on the back of the seat in front of her, nor communicate explain this to her. My expressions of misapprehensions are clear. I, for a moment, think how easy it would be to simply ignore her for the rest of relatively short flight. I could take the easy route and not power through to a moment of true communication — no wait, I’m smarter than that. I’ve taught language damnit! I can figure this conversation out — so I move to solve the problem. Problem is: we don’t know what the hell the other is saying, and drawing invisible pictures on a chair (no matter how beautiful they may be) will not get us there. I take charge and present a pad of paper and pen.
I gesture (and people, you must remember this when you meet someone with whom you cannot speak: Body Language is the ONLY common language you have) for her to write her “chair images” again, this time on paper. She does, and as I suspected, she was drawing Asian alphabet characters. I don’t know yet whether it’s Chinese or Japanese, but that won’t matter. I will not know the meaning of these symbols until I start simpler. I take the pen and write “Ryan.” I point to my “self,” the place on your chest that you use when you say to someone, “I’m me” “this is me.” With that Gesture, I point to the page, and I pronounce my name.
This is the only way to start. Say it, write it, point at it, and point at your “self.” She sighs with relief that we have communicated SOMETHING finally. Ahh, how easy it all comes back to me. I should make my life out of this shit! I love it.
Then she remembers that somewhere deep deep down she has some knowledge of the Greco Roman alphabet. She takes the pen and writes “Sun” pointing to her “self.” I say “suhn,” then correct myself and say “sün.” This is her name. Fantastic, that’s two pieces of perfectly communicated information. We’re on a roll.
Next she circles the original word she wrote, and begins writing B-E-I … pauses adds a space then continues with J-I …
I say “Beijing,” she nods and circles the Chinese characters again and says “Peking, Beijing … okay.” How greatly have we started now; to get along so well, so quickly.
Then I circle my name draw an arrow to Bei Ji, then I write Shanghai, and say “Shanghai” with another arrow indicating my travel plans. Basically I’m showing her that (Ryan) à (Bei Ji) à (Shanghai). This continues and she shows me the Chinese symbols for Shanghai and then Tokyo, which she has trouble with. (I determined she was Chinese not Japanese with further simple body language and bad pronunciation). I took and attached a photo of the paper when we were done.
I’m not sure why this reminded me of my grandmother, and of the news of her death. Maybe because in a way, she and I also would have had to communicate in a simplified common language in order to understand one another. You see, she was from a different world, and I’m an alien to someone of her generation. At 25, when I had still not found a career, she told me it was time. Four years later I’m still not convinced it’s yet time. She married at 15, (but she never would have admitted that). I’m nearly twice that age, and am not there yet. Communication with her, as with my Chinese companion, was as in two different languages, even though we both spoke English, with Texas accents. She was from a different world.
We’re flying directly over South Korea now. And my jet lag is calling me to sleep.
Best,
Ryan
