Yesterday, the nine NSLI-Y students in Beijing and our RD had the rare privilege of entering the US Embassy in Beijing. The US Embassy in Beijing is the second largest US Embassy in the world, second to the US Embassy in Baghdad. The embassy had walls surrounding it on all four sides, and guards stationed at each entrance. To the right of the entrance, a sizable number of Chinese citizens stood taking pictures of the framed American flag from behind a fence. It seems that the US Embassy itself was a tourist attraction.

After having an extra hour to sleep in, we boarded a bus that took us the US Embassy at 8:30 in the morning. When we arrived at the gate, our RD, who we call D, spoke with the Chinese guard and showed the guard his passport copy. The guard took a look at the group of American students behind D and requested to see my passport. It should be noted that of all the NSLI-Y students, I am the only "fully" Han-Chinese descendant of all of them. That isn't to say we don't have an incredibly diverse group. Of the nine students here through NSLI-Y and American Councils, one of them is of Indian descent, another is half Taiwanese and there is also one who is an eighth Native American and a descendant of a Mongolian. The rest look as any Chinese national would expect an American to look, like Caucasians. That being said, I was the only student that looked like a Chinese national, which is why only my passport had to be checked and no one else's. Once we were inside the gate, we went through security in which we had to take out all our electronics, including cameras and USBs, which I never really considered an electronic device. We were then led into the main building of the Embassy. 

The Embassy building was, frankly, refreshingly clean, simple and quiet. The air smelled different inside, compared to outside, and the other students said it was because it was likely filtered. Either way, the Embassy felt like America more than any other place I'd been to in China had, which only makes sense because it was the Embassy.Inside the Embassy, we were led to a room where we met Thomas Hodges, a Public Affairs officer at the US Embassy. We each introduced ourselves and explained what influenced us to apply to NSLI-Y. From there, we were given a security briefing  reminding us not to go to jail or get into trouble. They also explained how to get married in China, although, D reminded us on the way back that we were, in fact, not allowed to get married on this trip.

All in all, the Embassy visit was fun. I wish I had been able to take pictures, but we weren't allowed to bring electronics in. I still find it odd how I look like the majority of the people here, whereas I'm used to looking "different." So far, China has been a most interesting experience and I still have eight more months of it to look forward too. 

On the first Friday we spent in China, Savannah and I went shopping for fruit in Carrefour, the local, China equivalent of Target or Walmart. We also happened to be starving. Thus, when I saw the unattended samples of cantaloupe, I grabbed two pieces and handed one of them to Savannah.

Unfortunately, the middle-aged guy who was suppose to be watching the stand saw me. He approached me while I looked at pears and asked me if I wanted to buy cantaloupe. I told him that no, I didn't want anything. He said something else, in rapid Chinese, that I didn't understand, so I resorted to my usual back up plan.

"I am from America, so my Chinese isn't very good," I told him.

"Zhende?" He exclaimed, seemingly surprised, "Really? But you look like a Chinese person!"

I laughed and nodded, "Zhende. Really." He looked at me doubtfully.

I then proceeded to explain how I could be a Chinese American: by explaining my lineage. "My father is from Malaysia, but his grandfather is from GuangDong province. My mother is from Indonesia, but her grandfather is from Fujian province." I pointed at the very American looking Savannah who was looking at fruit an aisle away from me. "She is my friend. She's also from America."

The guy selling fruit at Carrefour pointed out something that has confused seemingly everyone I meet here, except for the students learning Chinese with us. I look like I'm a native Chinese person... until I start trying to speak my halting Chinese, which then makes it clear, I'm not a Chinese National... but then what am I? Most of the Chinese nationals who meet me are just plain confused as to what to do with me and how to treat me. Savannah and I once spent ten minutes explaining to another employee in Carrefour that I could, in fact, be from America but look like a Chinese. When we left her, she was still staring after us dazed, murmuring, "Zhende? Zhende? Really? Really?"

With every new class and teacher at Beijing High School No. 80, we were expected to introduce ourselves, which included stating our country of origin. When I said I was from America, the teachers would immediately ask, "Are your parents from China?" Since my parents technically, aren't from China, I would proceed to explain my lineage, that my father's ancestor is from GuangDong Province, and my mother's ancestor from FuJian Province. Thankfully, at the end of the day, the teachers don't treat me any different from the other American students.

One of the best Chinese speakers in the NSLI-Y group is an Indian boy named Manish. Once, when we were returning from an outing, Manish went to ask a native Chinese how to get to the bus stop. Somehow, I was standing slightly in front of Manish, so the guy Manish was trying to talk to couldn't see Manish, only me. When Manish first spoke, the guy stared at me wondering, how on earth such a deep man's voice could come out of a girl's mouth. Even when Manish stepped out from behind me, the guy continued to stare at me, assuming that the person speaking fluent Chinese was not the Indian boy nor the Americans standing by him, but the Chinese girl who wasn't moving her mouth at all.

On the other hand, many of my friends find my Chinese appearance useful and amusing, almost as amusing as I find the fact that they are stared at all the time. Yesterday, a few of us went to the Silk Market, a building filled with booths selling fake versions of every expensive foreign product. A word of wisdom: don't go there to buy stuff if you have access to a local market. The vendors are vicious, willing to yell across the building to get a customer to come back.

Our group ended up splitting off and I ended up with another NSLI-Y student named Cameron. Unfortunately, between the two of us, we grew the bad habit of asking the price of things we weren't necessarily interested in buying and sometimes even bargaining with them. This naturally got us into some pretty uncomfortable situations. As we approached the undergarment area, it became apparent the vendors assumed we were dating. We both found this infinitely amusing. As we stopped at one of the shops, Cameron became interested in a pair of "sheep leather" gloves. He bargained them down... And then decided he didn't want them. I had been waiting outside the shop and after he took much too long to come out, I went in. It turns out, he didn't have the heart to just walk away from the lady, who was forcefully urging him to buy them. Knowing they assumed I was his girlfriend, I did what my mom would do to my dad in the same situation. I grabbed his shirt sleeve and dragged a snickering Cameron away from the shop. As we left, the lady yelled to Cameron, "You're letting your girlfriend take you away? You're a weak man!"

When it comes to buying things, the very foreign facial features and hair colors my friends have naturally cause them to be charged more. When Savannah decided she wanted cotton candy at the HuTongs we visited today, the cotton candy lady said one stick cost 10 yuan. Suspicious, I caught the eye of the man about to buy some himself and asked, "Zhende? Zhende shi shi kuai? Really? Is it really 10 yuan?" He grimaced slightly and gave me a guilty look before shaking his head slightly. The cotton candy lady glared at me as we walked away. Savannah then decided that I should probably do all the buying from now on.

I find the fact that I look like a Chinese but am a foreigner extremely amusing. It's difficult at times to explain to people that I can't understand them, but the funny moments and the amusing stories that come out of them are completely worth it. I appreciate the fact that I can easily blend in here. To be completely honest, it's amusing watching people unabashedly and openly stare at my friends. Looking like a Chinese but having a background of an American gives me a unique opportunity to see China from the inside.

Back in Carrefour, I finished looking at the fruits in my aisle and looked up to see the cantaloupe guy talking to Savannah. Seeing slight bewilderment on her face, I hurried over to assist.

"Are you from America?" he asked her. Savannah nodded, and he said, "She-" he pointed at me "-said you were. You LOOK like an American. She doesn't!"

Then, as an afterthought, he added, "Do you want cantaloupes?"

As of today, I have spent a total of eleven full days in a Chinese high school, a place American students whisper horror 
stories about. It is said that in Chinese high schools, everything is extremely structured and organized by the administration.
Before I came to China, I was told that there were mandatory study halls after dinner, and no electronics were allowed in 
class. School supposedly lasted hours longer than school in the US did, and the teachers still used corporal punishment.

Ironically, on the first day, our writing teacher told us, "Right now, you're really happy and excited to be in China. But after 
a week, it will feel like a prison." Since she never told us her name, we've taken to calling her "the Prison Warden." In all 
seriousness, Chinese high schools are very structured and intense. We start classes at 7:30 am, have a one and a half 
hour break at noon to eat lunch before resuming classes and then we end at four or five in the afternoon, depending on the 
day. The native Chinese students are required to study in a specific classroom without internet from around seven until 
9:30 at night. However, because I am one of the international students taking language classes, that time period is simply 
quiet study hours in the dorms for me. In addition, no one is allowed off campus on weekdays, except Friday.

The school is very structured for student life, but the administration of the school is very different from America. Our Resident
 Director and American Councils, the organization implementing our trip and scholarship, didn't know when we'd be starting 
school until two weeks before we left. In China, the government decides when school starts each year and then the schools 
put out a call to the students, telling them when to come back to school to start classes. The first day of school for the 
students was also the first day for the teachers. The teachers spent no time over the summer at school. The teachers 
simply appeared at school on the first day and started teaching. Yet, somehow, despite the chaos, the thirty or so language 
students all took a placement test, were organized into three levels (beginner, intermediate and advanced) and started 
classes that very afternoon. By the next day, we were already doing "tingxie" ‘s the Chinese equivalent of spelling tests. In 
contrast, it took me a month and a half to get the results for my online placement test for Spanish classes, whereas 
Beijing No. 80 had my results hand graded within two hours.

As for the teachers themselves, they are far from vicious. I have never seen them use corporal punishment on a student, 
although it does have to be noted that I am in the international school as an international student, so things are a little 
different. Traditionally, and even today, Chinese teachers expect to be more than just your teacher. They expect to hold 
about as much influence over you as your parents do. They have no problem giving out their cellphone numbers so that the 
students can call them about anything ranging from social issues to class work. In America, there is a certain propriety that 
requires a teacher to remain on a professional level with a student, making it hard to really build a relationship beyond 
school. In China, teachers involve themselves in all parts of a student's life and this is a socially acceptable thing. They 
make sure we eat, and check how we’re doing in classes other than the one they teach. They give life advice and joke 
around with us. They also scold us when we're goofing off a bit too much or don't score very well on a test. A Chinese 
teacher is like a teacher mixed with an older family member, that provides both guidance and learning to a student.

Despite the amazing teachers, school does get a bit stifling, especially when one has just emerged from an endless, lazy 
summer. Being trapped inside the school area, and only being able to study to pass the time is difficult. Because we weren't
allowed to leave campus on weekdays, the moment we were, everyone nearly sprinted back to the dorms to ask the dorm 
mom for a pass to leave campus. That Friday afternoon, we step outside the safety of the school gates for the first time in 
five days, into the smell of exhaust created by the cars speeding down the street in front of the school. Savannah and I 
looked at each other and one of us, I don't remember who, took a deep intake of the polluted air and announced, 
"Only in China does pollution smell like freedom."

Here are a few pictures of classroom life in the Beijing High school No. 80 language classes.