A friend bought our daughter 蚯蚓的日记, the Chinese translation of Diary of a Worm, as a Christmas gift. It’s actually pretty funny – I think it won some awards or something – and so as a language exercise I’ve back-translated it into English (without ever seeing the original English text).

You can read along!
After all that work, and because it’s a great book, I put my English, the 汉字 and the pīnyīn together into a PDF cheatsheet and uploaded shots of each page into a photo gallery so other language students can test their reading comprehension. On the gallery page you can click through the pages and if you get stuck, either reference the PDF cheatsheet or glance at the captions under each photo, which also contain all the text for that page in English, 汉字，and pīnyīn (the captions are ugly; go with the PDF!).

Of course, if you like it you should buy it. Checking out author Doreen Cronin’s homepage might be nice, too.

John at Sinosplice has a helpful post about a common tone errors among foreign students of Chinese, and also draws attention to recasting, an event that often signals when you’ve said something wrong, even though you were understood.

09-12-18, 7am — Hypothesis confirmed: a direct correlation exists between the amount of coffee in my system and the amount of Chinese I’m able to speak before 9am.

One of my friends in particular loves to practice his Chinglish on me. I in turn refuse to reply in English, opting instead to inflict him with my own Chinglish. For example, he just sent me this text:

Great! man I will going to the shan xi road on this Sunday. I’ll waiting for you at entrance. Time is 10:20am. Don’t be late,man! By the way! Don’t forget one thing. I needs give your lilian add hers cloths. Winter already was coming! I’m a superman. I can’t feel cold. Haha! How interesting! I said. All right then! Good night! Man Wish your baby has a sweet dream! See you soon!

I have no doubt that my Chinese sounds like this sometimes often. It always helps to keep a little perspective!

(P.S. – Friends don’t let friends use Grand Theft Auto to study English.)

Related Posts:

• Meet Liú Wěi – Coming of Age in a Changing China

Aside from personal motivations, character, attitude, and general posture toward China and Chinese people, this is the one decision that enhanced our China experience more than any other single thing we did during our first two years in China: we moved out of the foreigner ghetto and into the most average-looking Chinese neighbourhood we could find.

(If what follows starts to sound culturally patronizing, just hold on… I saved that part for the end.)

Welcome to China! the Foreign Bubble

When we first arrived in China with next-to-no Mandarin or knowledge of our city, the organization that helped arrange our visas and school placement also arranged our apartment: we had a prearranged flat in a complex occupied entirely by foreigners where the manager had good English (back in the day this was the only place foreigners were allowed to live in Tianjin). It was super convenient, especially for China newbies who are usually high-maintenance. From the standpoint of an organization facilitating foreigners’ language school placement it was ideal. But for foreigners interested in China and Chinese, it sucked.

Ditching the Laowai Ghetto: hunting apartments armed with Chinglish

We’d come to China to study language and culture, and we’d decided before we even arrived that we’d be moving out of “洋人街” ASAP. It was inconvenient for language practice, and besides, going to a foreign country and living unnecessarily isolated from your new city’s regular people seemed really lame. So after about two months of classes we took a vocabulary list of apartment words, a map, and went and squinted at the scrawled 汉字 on the papers tacked to boards outside the little first-floor rental agencies tucked away in the surrounding neighbourhoods.

We knew what we wanted: an average neighbourhood (“average” as defined by locals, not foreigners) with a lot of outdoor community life and an apartment we could tolerate and that our neighbours, teachers, and local friends wouldn’t feel strange in. Surely, we thought, that isn’t too much to ask. Foreigners from one of the international schools told us we wouldn’t find “anything” (read: “livable”) for twice the price of what we eventually paid (also twice the price of what they said was the average Tianjin salary). We went with what our teachers told us instead, quickly realizing that foreigners can spend years in China and still know next-to-nothing about it.

Of course it was awkward pointing at a circle on a map and mispronouncing vocab words to rental agents who had maybe never talked face-to-face with a foreigner in their lives, but we managed to have three apartments shown to us. I wanted the first one, but the landlord balked when he discovered we were foreigners (that’s when we learned what “他有事” really means). The third location was perfect — better than we’d hoped. We incurred some 关系 debt because we had to ask a local friend (the boyfriend of a fellow foreigner) for a big favour to come with us to the contract negotiation and signing. It went smoothly, so we borrowed an electric 三轮车 and moved in.

The Benefits: people, people, people

Rather than bring local Tianjiners into our cultural space, we wanted to meet them in their own world where they were more comfortable. The single biggest benefit that living in this kind of neighbourhood gave us was exponentially increasing our daily opportunities for interaction with average, mainstream locals more on their turf than ours. We couldn’t come or go without speaking to someone, and usually more than one. The old boys club that hung out on the bike repair corner regularly included me in their Chinese chess, outdoor meals, and teasing. Families would invite us into their homes on the various big holidays. The only person we met in that neighbourhood in two years who had any amount of English — besides one charming but mentally handicapped man who would yell “I love you!” at us — was a university student three floors down who became a language exchange partner. It was a laid back but crowded, active community where language practice opportunities with everyone from laid-off factory workers to university professors were immediately available in excess of what we could handle. Those neighbours taught us more about China and made China more interesting, alive, and lovable to us than any books or classes ever could. Even on the worst days, we never regretted our decision to live there.

A few months after moving in our teachers, in their more candid moments, would sometimes confess that they felt extra awkward and distanced when visiting their foreign friends’ apartments for two big reasons. First, the furniture, decor, food, and even the way they were received as guests all felt foreign. Second, although the foreigners were taking a step down in living standards, to the Chinese their apartments just screamed wealth and economic privilege. In addition to the unavoidable language and cultural barriers, these foreigners, through their lifestyle choices, were emphasizing another gulf of distance between themselves and local Chinese: economic disparity.

The Downside: our economic elitism

The economic privilege in which most of us were raised (speaking globally here) gets us in two big ways. The first is largely practical, physical, external. The second is intensely personal.

Physical Annoyances & Inconveniences
My mother would be appalled if she saw that apartment. The whitewash was peeling and rubbed off on your clothes. The kitchen was the size of a closet. The toilet was in the shower and the exposed plumbing both precarious and temperamental. The sewer gas that came up the drains in the evenings smelled so bad it woke us up at night until we devised an overly complicated water-bottle-in-a-plastic-bag-hung-from-a-nail method for mostly-sealing the bathroom drain (plumbers don’t do U-bends in Tianjin). The windows let all the coal dust in and the layout of the place didn’t make sense to us. The electricity often shorted out and we had long extension cords running everywhere. There was only enough hot water in the winter for fast showers. I wore a toque to bed the week before they turned on the heat. In the words of younger versions of my little sisters: it was totally ghetto. But we would choose to live there again, no question. It was totally worth it. That apartment was slightly better or slightly worse than those of our neighbours, depending on the neighbours, and close enough to what they knew that our Chinese friends and neighbours felt much less awkward when they visited than they might have otherwise. I mention these things to give fair warning: if you aim to move into an average Chinese neighbourhood chances are you’ll be getting an average Chinese apartment. Count the cost, because not all foreigners are willing to pay it. Also, the neighbourhood and apartment described here, while unremarkable for that district of Tianjin, is still probably well above average for most places in China.

Uncomfortable Personal Discoveries
(Warning: confession/soap box/rant/sermon ahead.)
Whether it’s right or not, what’s a huge step down in living standards for the average foreigner is normal for the average Mainlander. If that embarrassing, awkward and unfair economic truth makes you feel uncomfortable and maybe even vaguely guilty, I promise I know how you feel, but I don’t apologize for bringing it up. That’s what we get for being the economically elite six percent of an otherwise much-less-privileged world. Keeping the hoi polloi at a distance so that we’re less poignantly reminded of this stark economic reality and our consciences are less likely to be called out does not make it any less real — but living in an average urban Chinese neighbourhood makes it harder to avoid.

If you’re a thinking, reflective person at all then living significantly below the comforts you’re accustomed to brings special challenges. Basically, you begin to discover how much of a pampered, manicured, whiny, elitist snob you are who has tragically confused unwarranted privileges with basic entitlements. When you get genuinely frustrated and upset about how sub-standard everything is, then you can enjoy the guilt that comes with realizing that you can’t handle what’s more than good enough for most of the world; for thinking that living more like the majority of the world is such a big sacrifice for which you should get some sort of multiculturalism medal. And when you’re in a good mood and those physical inconveniences aren’t annoying you as much as they would the average foreigner, then you can hate yourself for actually feeling proud of the fact that you deigned to lower your living standard closer to that of the global average, for thinking you’re better than all those other foreigners, and — last but certainly not least — for being so patronizing to the local Chinese.

The silver lining, I guess, is that living this way also creates ample opportunity to contemplate lifestyles that respectfully transcend economic divisions while still being honest about who we are and acting morally with our affluence given the economic disparity in the world… Anyway, that’s a big tangent I maybe should have saved for another post, but it’s part of our experience, so I’m leaving it in.

Gearing up for Location #2

That old apartment with its neighbourhood comes to mind today because right at the moment friends in Tianjin are securing an apartment for us for when we arrive in a couple weeks (we had to let the old one go when we left for Canada). When friends are doing us this huge favour we obviously don’t want to be picky, and with the baby we won’t be as mobile or tolerant/flexible as we were before. I’m also only on a year-long contract, so I don’t know how likely we’ll be to move after we arrive. The photos they sent make this second apartment look several notches above the first. I guess we’ll see…

Fun Chinese Apartment & Neighbourhood-related Posts:

• Becoming morning people
• Negotiating rent in Chinglish – Round One
• Lost the kitten, found the ninja
• Almost Famous
• Some rather dry illiteracy fun
• Our current home by the numbers
• Hunting Tianjin apartments, armed with Chinglish

Related “Living in China” posts:

• China-friendly New Year’s Resolutions for Laowais
• Living in China Q&A with a California Intercultural Studies class

睡在我上铺的兄弟 / shuì zài wǒ shàng pù de xiōngdì / Brother Who Sleeps in the Top Bunk

A nostalgic song by 老狼 (“old wolf”) about growing apart after college.

(If, in an enlightened paroxysm of hegemonic benevolence, They are still blocking YouTube, you should be able to see the video here (youku) or here (tudou), or just listen to the mp3 below.)

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

The university years are like a window of relative freedom for the Mainlanders who get there. Before university millions sacrifice their childhoods in preparation for the national college entrance exam. After university they have to build a career that can eventually support their parents, grandparents, and child’s education. But in college all they have to do is go to class and do homework (work-study is much less common), so it’s a time to relax and have fun. This song is abut how the pressures of post-college life can strain even the closest relationships from the college days.

Lyrics & Guitar Chords

Download: ShuiZaiWoShangPuDeXiongDi.pdf (lyrics & guitar chords with pinyin/English cheatsheet).

歌词 / gēcí / Lyrics

[Verse 1:]

睡在我上铺的兄弟 / shuì zài wǒ shàng pù de xiōngdì
Brother who sleeps in my top bunk

无声无息的你 / wúshēng wú xī de nǐ
You’re silent and uncommunicative

你曾经问我的那些问题 / nǐ céngjīng wèn wǒde nàxiē wèntí
Those questions you used to ask me

如今再没人问起 / rújīn zài méirén wèn qǐ
Now no one asks

分给我烟抽的兄弟 / fēn gěi wǒ yān chōu de xiōngdì
Brother who shared my cigarettes

分给我快乐的往昔 / fēn gěi wǒ kuàilè de wǎngxī
In the past sharing my happiness

你总是猜不对我手里的硬币 / nǐ zǒngshì cāi búduì wǒ shǒu lǐ de yìngbì
You always guessed wrong the coin in my hand

摇摇头说这太神秘 / yáoyáotóu shuō zhè tài shénmì
Shaking your head saying this is too mysterious

[Chorus:]

你来的信写的越来越客气 / nǐ lái de xìn xiě de yuèláiyuè kèqì
Your letters that come are written more and more politely

关于爱情你只字不提 / guānyú àiqíng nǐ zhǐ zì bù tí
You don’t write about love

你说你现在有很多的朋友 / nǐ shuō nǐ xiànzài yǒu hěnduō de péngyou
You say you have a lot of friends now

却再也不为那些事忧愁 / què zàiyěbù wèi nàxiē shì yōuchóu
but you don’t bother about those matters anymore

[Verse 2:]

睡在我上铺的兄弟 / shuì zài wǒ shàng pù de xiōngdì
Brother who sleeps in my top bunk

睡在我寂寞的回忆 / shuì zài wǒ jìmò de huíyì
Sleeping in my lonely memories

那日子里你总说起的女孩 / nà rìzi lǐ nǐ zǒng shuō qǐ de nǚhái
In those days the girl you always talked about

是否送了你她的发带 / shìfǒu sòng le nǐ tāde fàdài
Whether or not she gave you her hairband

你说你每当回头看夕阳 红 / nǐ shuō nǐ měidāng huí tóu kàn xīyáng hóng
You said whenever you turn to look at the red sunset

每当你又听到晚钟 / měidāng nǐ yòu tīng dào wǎn zhōng
Whenever you hear the evening temple bell

从前的点点滴滴会涌起 / cóngqián de diǎn diǎn dī dī huì yǒng qǐ
Every detail from before will well up…

在你来不及难过的心里 / zài nǐ láibùjí nánguò de xīnli
…in your not-enough-time-to-feel-sad heart

[instrumental break]
[Chorus:]

你来的信写的越来越客气 / nǐ lái de xìn xiě de yuèláiyuè kèqì
Your letters that come are written more and more politely

关于爱情你只字不提 / guānyú àiqíng nǐ zhǐ zì bù tí
You don’t write about love

你说你现在有很多的朋友 / nǐ shuō nǐ xiànzài yǒu hěnduō de péngyou
You say you have a lot of friends now

却再也不为那些事忧愁 / què zàiyěbù wèi nàxiē shì yōuchóu
and don’t bother about those matters anymore

你问我几时能一起回去 / nǐ wèn wǒ jǐshí néng yīqǐ huíqu
You ask me when can we go back together

看看我们的宿舍我们的过去 / kànkàn wǒmende sùshè wǒmende guòqu
To have a look at our dorm and our past

你刻在墙上的字依然清析 / nǐ kè zài qiáng shàng de zì yīrán qīng xī
The words you carved on the wall are still distinct

从那时侯起就没有人能擦去 / cóng nàshí hóu qǐ jiù méiyǒu rén néng cā qù
From that time on no one’s been able to erase it

[End:]

睡在我上铺的兄弟 / shuì zài wǒ shàng pù de xiōngdì
Brother who sleeps in my top bunk

睡在我寂寞的回忆 / shuì zài wǒ jìmò de huíyì
Sleeping in my lonely memories

你曾经问我的那些问题 / nǐ céngjīng wèn wǒde nàxiē wèntí
Those questions you used to ask me

如今再没人问起 / rújīn zài méirén wèn qǐ
Now no one asks

分给我烟抽的兄弟 / fēn gěi wǒ yān chōu de xiōngdì
Brother who shared my cigarettes

分给我快乐的往昔 / fēn gěi wǒ kuàilè de wǎngxī
In the past sharing my happiness

你曾经问我的那些问题 / nǐ céngjīng wèn wǒde nàxiē wèntí
Those questions you used to ask me

如今再没人问起 / rújīn zài méirén wèn qǐ
Now no one asks

如今再没人问起 / rújīn zài méirén wèn qǐ
Now no one asks

如今再没人问起 / rújīn zài méirén wèn qǐ
Now no one asks

I haven’t picked the next song yet. Any requests?

More for your karaoke repertoire:

• Nothing to My Name / 一无所有
• Even in Death I’ll Love / 死了都要爱
• Liang Shanbo & Juliet / 梁山伯与茱丽叶
• Mouse Loves Rice / 老鼠爱大米

I always try to imagine parallels and differences between Chinese immigrants raising their kids in North America and us raising a family China. Our first child is due in the middle of Julywas born seven weeks early, and if all goes well we’ll move back to China in September (our families would never have forgiven us if we’d had our child on another continent!), so when I spend time with Chinese friends on this side of the Pacific it often makes me imagine what it will be like for our daughter (and her future siblings) in China. Even though Chinese immigrants and 老外 expats both live in a country and culture not their own, I wonder if their experiences are more different than they are similar.

For example, I recently stayed three nights with a Chinese family in Baton Rouge, Louisiana for the second time. The parents came to the U.S. as adults when their now teenage son was two. They have two other especially cute kids: a six-year-old son and a four-year-old daughter.

Within the local Chinese circles that this family runs in, the general level of English is better than most other Chinese I know — actually, some of them have better English than a lot of Americans (especially in Louisiana)! However their strengths are reading and writing (lots of advanced degree holders from LSU), and when talking they’re still more comfortable in Chinese, which was great for me.

Although all three of their kids understand Chinese, the youngest two will only respond in English. I don’t know if they can’t or just won’t speak Chinese. When the four-year-old speaks, you can hear a southern U.S. drawl in her vowels, especially when she’s disappointed: “Aw may-an!”

It’s such a common situation for Chinese immigrant families. It seemed the parents of the Chinese kids at the local Saturday Mandarin school in south Baton Rouge were all struggling to not let their kids lose their family’s language.

This probably won’t be our problem in China. While Chinese immigrant families to North America often struggle unsuccessfully to raise kids who retain their family’s culture and language of origin, North American 外国人 in China (few if any truly immigrate to China) have the opposite problem: getting so thoroughly sucked into the foreigner subculture in their jobs and social lives that they abdicate the opportunity to pick up serious levels of Chinese. Their kids grow up in the international school system or home school, if they even stay in China long enough to grow up. I’ve only heard of a North American kid losing their English once, and that was in a book where the kid’s parents had moved to China in the 50’s to join the Revolution.

In Tianjin there were tons of foreigner kids (most?) who couldn’t speak Chinese; they spend their whole China experience inside the foreign bubble. Chinese immigrant kids, by contrast, typically go through the American school system. The only foreign kids I met in Tianjin that could speak Chinese (and they spoke fantastic Chinese) were the exceptions; their parents had gone out of their way to put them through Chinese kindergartens and some primary school, rather than start them in international schools or home schooling like most foreigner families.

Still, it’s a scary thing to imagine — your kids not being fluent in your own language, not being able to communicate smoothly with you or your parents or your siblings or your nephew and nieces! That must be just a brutal experience for immigrant families in Vancouver and the grandparents who can’t talk with with their grandkids.

So what if she is minus-four weeks old?

A couple of the nurses in the NICU are Chinese, so we left this little note for them on Lilia’s board (请您跟我讲中文). We can’t be there 24 hours a day, so many of her diaper changings and feedings are done by the nurses. Every once in a while she’s bound to get one of the Chinese ones!

In this hospital, Lilia is a minority as the daughter of native English speakers, and she’s hearing more Punjabi than Chinese on a daily basis (both her immediate neighbours belong to Indo-Canadian families). Still, she yanked out her own feeding tube last night and the doctor decided to leave it out, so she’s one step closer to the door!

Related Posts:

• Lilia Eden

“Nothing to My Name” has been called the biggest hit song in Mainland Chinese history. If you’re only gonna learn one Chinese karaoke tune, this is the song. And if you’re looking for a poignant time to learn it, this is the month.

一无所有 / yīwúsuǒyǒu / Nothing to My Name

If you’re in Great Firewalled Youtube-blocking Mainland China you can see the video here (thanks, Ryan!). Listen to the mp3 here:

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

一无所有 channeled the disillusionment, anxieties, hopes, frustrations, complaints, and rebellion of urban Mainlanders coming of age during the ideological thaw of 80’s China. They adopted it as their generation’s anthem. Even many 90’s kids (in their mid to late 20s now) still connect strongly to this song.

Cuī Jiàn (崔健) is often called “the father of Chinese rock.” He first performed “Nothing to My Name” on a TV talent show in 1985 and then at a major concert in 1986. China’s urban young people ate it up. This month marks the 20th anniversary of a third significant performance, but I’ll let you follow the links at the end of this post to discover the more dramatic and sensitive details about the significance of Cuī Jiàn and “Nothing to My Name.”

Lyrics & Guitar Chords
From the beginning people interpreted the ambiguous lyrics in different ways (politics, sex, love & economics). But it was no secret that the lyrics were intended to contain both national and critical meanings. Cuī Jiàn’s concerts, in which he’d perform with a red blindfold over his eyes and play other songs with more pointed lyrics, left little doubt as to the targets of the critique. Those ‘targets’ responded by banning Cuī Jiàn from playing any large, significant performances for over 15 years.

The vagueness of the lyrics leaves this song open to a wide variety of English renderings. The English translation below is based on the translation found at cuijian.com (see other English renderings here and here). The title literally could mean “having nothing” or “not having anything.”

The guitar chords in the download aren’t perfect, but close. If you catch any mistakes on that or the translation, let me know! Download: YiWuSuoYou.pdf

You can play the video or mp3 above and follow along here:

我曾经问个不休 / wǒ céngjīng wèn gè bùxiū
I’ve asked (you) endlessly

你何时跟我走 / nǐ hé shí gēn wǒ zǒu
When will you go with me?

可你却总是笑我 / kě nǐ què zǒngshì xiào wǒ
But you always just laugh at me

一无所有 / yīwúsuǒyǒu
(with) nothing to my name

我要给你我的追求 / wǒ yào gěi nǐ wǒde zhuīqiú
I want to give you my dreams

还有我的自由 / háiyǒu wǒde zìyóu
(and I) also have my freedom (to give you)

可你却总是笑我 / kě nǐ què zǒngshì xiào wǒ
But you always just laugh at me

一无所有 / yīwúsuǒyǒu
(with) nothing to my name

噢 你何时跟我走 / ō nǐ hé shí gēn wǒ zǒu
Oh! When will you go with me?

噢 你何时跟我走 / ō nǐ hé shí gēn wǒ zǒu
Oh! When will you go with me?

脚下这地在走 / jiǎo xià zhè dì zài zǒu
The ground beneath my feet is moving

身边那水在流 / shēnbiān nà shuǐ zài liú
The water beside me is flowing

可你却总是笑我 / kě nǐ què zǒngshì xiào wǒ
But you always just laugh at me

一无所有 / yīwúsuǒyǒu
(with) nothing to my name

为何你总是笑个没够 / wèihé nǐ zǒngshì xiào gè méi gòu
Why is your laughter never enough?

为何我总要追求 / wèihé wǒ zǒng yào zhuīqiú
Why will I always search?

难道在你面前我永远 / nándào zài nǐ miànqián wǒ yǒngyuǎn
Could it be that before you I’ll forever…

是一无所有 / shì yīwúsuǒyǒu
…have nothing to my name?

噢 你何时跟我走 / ō nǐ hé shí gēn wǒ zǒu
Oh! When will you go with me?

噢 你何时跟我走 / ō nǐ hé shí gēn wǒ zǒu
Oh! When will you go with me?

[instrumental break]

脚下这地在走 / jiǎo xià zhè dì zài zǒu
The ground under my feet is moving

身边那水在流 / shēnbiān nà shuǐ zài liú
The water beside me is flowing

脚下这地在走 / jiǎo xià zhè dì zài zǒu
The ground under my feet is moving

身边那水在流 / shēnbiān nà shuǐ zài liú
The water beside me is flowing

告诉你我等了很久 / gàosu nǐ wǒ děng le hěn jiǔ
(I’m) telling you I’ve waited a long time

告诉你我最后的要求 / gàosu nǐ wǒ zuìhòu de yāoqiú
(So I’m) telling you my final request

我要抓起你的双手 / wǒ yào zhuā qǐ nǐde shuāngshǒu
I want to grab you by the hands

你这就跟我走 / nǐ zhè jiù gēn wǒ zǒu
And then you’ll go with me

这时你的手在颤抖 / zhè shí nǐde shǒu zài chàndǒu
This time your hands are trembling

这时你的泪在流 / zhè shí nǐde lèi zài liú
This time your tears are flowing

莫非你是正在告诉我 / mòfēi nǐ shì zhèngzài gàosu wǒ
Can it be that you are telling me

你爱我一无所有 / nǐ ài wǒ yīwúsuǒyǒu
You love me with nothing to my name?

噢 你这就跟我走 / ō nǐ zhè jiù gēn wǒ zǒu
Oh! Now you’ll go with me

噢 你这就跟我走 / ō nǐ zhè jiù gēn wǒ zǒu
Oh! Now you’ll go with me

[guitaaarrrr soooloooo!!!]

脚下这地在走 / jiǎo xià zhè dì zài zǒu
The ground under my feet is moving

身边那水在流 / shēnbiān nà shuǐ zài liú
The water beside me is flowing

脚下这地在走 / jiǎo xià zhè dì zài zǒu
The ground under my feet is moving

身边那水在流 / shēnbiān nà shuǐ zài liú
The water beside me is flowing

噢 你这就跟我走 / ō nǐ zhè jiù gēn wǒ zǒu
Oh! Now you’ll go with me

When a Chinese friend in Tianjin downloaded a bunch of songs for me to learn, he made a point to highlight this one. Our Chinese textbooks have a whole lesson devoted to it, and when our teachers taught it they said it represents their generation. But I have a couple teenage Mainlanders in my ESL classes here in Vancouver, and none of them have even heard of this song or Cuī Jiàn. Of course, that’s not the only significant 20-year-old piece of Chinese history that they didn’t know about, so I assigned them some homework involving Google. Still waiting to see how they respond.

More about Cui Jian and Nothing to My Name:

• Power of the Powerless
• Cui Jian: the Man Who Rocks China
• Dennis Rea on Cui Jian
• Beijing’s Bruce Has The Blues
• The Spirit Lives In Rock ‘n’ Roll (by Cui Jian).
• Wikipedia: Cui Jian & Nothing to My Name
• Destructing Cui Jian
• Bootleg recording of Cui Jian’s performance at you-know-where in you-know-when (background info here and here).
• 一无所有 performed on ‘China’s American Idol’ (here or here or here).

More songs for your KTV repertoire! (with lyrics and guitar chords):

• Liang Shanbo & Juliet – 梁山伯与茱丽叶
• Even in Death I’ll Love – 死了都要爱
• Mouse Loves Rice – 老鼠爱大米

Chinesepod just released their first episode of “The Menu Thief” — a funny language-learning episode well worth the four minutes.

Many a Chinese language student has pillaged local restaurants for language learning material. I did it myself during my first year and translated a menu from a local “dog meat specialty house,” which you can download. It was an eye-opened, to say the least.