Journey to an End

This morning I am posting quickly from Tenzin Mullin's apartment in Kangding. He just left for his first class of the new term; I begin on Monday. For the previous two weeks I have visited a number of students on the rolling Kham plateau, bringing in the Lunar New Year in high style with the families of my favorite student nomads. A good story is there to tell, though I have a semester's worth of planning to do before I can relax and describe those ersatz adventures in the clumsy and jejune prose so characteristic of this blog.

Last night, we ate homemade Cantonese and Sichuanese sausage and roast chicken, and drank wine and Chinese sherry to celebrate the resignation of our close friend, John from Michigan. He had finally told his boss that he would not renew his contract as the Education Director of Kham Aid. As I know well, quitting one's job is certainly an occasion for alcohol and the eating of meat. We were joined by Maowei, Tenzin's new bride from Emei Shan. Although Tenzin is a decade my senior, I consider him my brother due to his playful recklessness.

Tenzin and Maowei decided to get married a week before they left New Zealand on his annual vacation to visit his family. It was her first time outside of China, and other than missing Sichuanese spice (which I find to be a bit ordinary--no jalapeno, tabasco, or cayenne to be found anywhere) she rather enjoyed herself. I sat through five albums of photos.

John returned to the office to sleep, as he has to work this morning. The remaining three of us decided to walk home through the crisp Kangding evening. Spring is approaching; the moon will be full in a day or two, signifying the end of New Year celebrations. Tenzin affectionately chided her for her caution on crossing the road (rather unusual for a native Chinese woman), and she got on the subject of her father who was killed in a motorcycle accident some twenty years ago.

She said that she and her mother were no longer sad about the incident. The choose to remember him for his humor and benevolence. Though English is her second language, I felt she still described him in the words of a seven year-old. She remembered the way other children and adults talked about her as if she was so unfortunate growing up, being without a father, though she always felt his presence any time something good happened to her.

She wondered why people must always gossip about others. Tenzin, after recounting his childish obliviousness to his parent's divorce, remarked that people just need something to talk about. In truth, when people talk about others, they are really only talking about themselves.

I immediately thought of this blog.

[RIP,T.R.]