Category — Site Authors

The summer going into junior year of high school, I took up my first job so I could make that cash money flow. Except, the job wasn’t as glamorous as I had imagined. I somehow got a job as a “councelor” at an all-Asian Educational Camp. Or rather, Chinese summer school, starring the one and only non-Asian counselor, ME. I did not speak the language(s), I did not look like anyone they had ever seen before, and I was chosen to govern over a sea of 30-odd six-year-old kids took kindly to me.

Weaving and dodging through my classes, teaching English (and Spanish, that was interesting), Math and Science, I picked up on quite a few cultural differences. I forgot completely about this summer until reading The Bitter Sea, which instantly threw me back in the first paragraph.

Also, it helped me better understand where my students had been coming from, and their home life. I never really understood the strong ties between the family members, and how incredibly different the priorities are in Asian culture than in western.

Despite choppy narrative which may be excused by the author’s foreign nature, the book had a lot to teach me. It was difficult to get through, but I am very glad that I did.

It was well past my bedtime when Pablo, a Peruvian friend and Maria, a Mexican friend, showed up at my door. My room is known as the “work room” which really means it’s the room people come when it’s 2:00 AM and they aren’t close to finishing (or beginning) their homework. I had nearly completed my assignments for the next day but let them in anyway, well aware it meant putting a few hours hiatus on sleep. Pablo was visibly distressed over his personal crisis of the day while Maria was wired on over-exhaustion and glucose.

The combination was a recipe for procrastination, and one hour later zero papers had been written and the two had engaged in a vivid discussion about Anthony “Romeo” Santos, a Dominican heartthrob. They were blasting “Los Infieles” and yelling out their favorite songs over deafening Spanish lyrics.

“Yo,” Pablo yelled out, “did you see the clips from that concert where Romeo asked for gorditas to come on stage so he could kiss one?”

“What?!” Maria cried out, “he can’t do that! He has a girlfriend!”

“It’s all for publicity, don’t worry, look see he got a much bigger fan base from this.” Pablo turned his laptop to Maria and she watched transfixed as her Latin dreamboat made out with a heavy-set Hispanic girl in front of tens of thousands of people.

“Why would he do that?” she whined, “It’s so unfair!” Pablo laughed, and so did I, mostly because I had no idea who Anthony Santos was or why he was making out with gorditas to sell records instead of running a regular ad campaign. I learned that if there’s one thing Hispanic people from any country can bond over it’s the music of “Romeo” Santos.

On Thursday evening, the streets of Flushing were rampaged by a storm, the likes of which most Queens residents had not seen before. As I returned to Queens from school, I felt as though as I had just stepped into a war-torn battlefield. Light poles and trees were knocked down, and cars and houses were damaged all over. Normally I would take the bus back home, but due to the immense traffic, caused by the blocked streets, I was forced to walk. What would have been a grueling 40-minute trudge became a walk to remember. The damage of the storm had brought all of Main Street out onto the streets, as everyone was contributing to the clean up effort. As I approached Jewel Avenue (a predominantly Jewish community) I saw how the Jewish community in that area was extremely prepared and organized for these situations. They had what appeared to be their own little community patrol force, and their private ambulances hard at work making sure everyone was okay. As I walked further down Main Street, snapping photographs left and right, I approached my neighborhood (a predominantly Asian neighborhood). Our clean up effort was also well under way as neighborhood residents were outside clearing streets and sidewalks of all the fallen trees. I decided to stop and help my Chinese neighbors, as a fallen tree blocked their driveway. They thanked me with a nice, warm cup of tea. The storm had united all of the communities in Queens, as we all strived to overcome the devastation, and return to our normal daily routines.

Although this is not something I am exactly eager to admit, I am extremely closed-minded when it comes to the literature I choose to read. The only books I will read willingly, with a few strange exceptions, are always about Asian culture. So I was thrilled when, for the first time ever, a book assigned to me was one I would pick up off the shelf myself.

I began reading The Bitter Sea with high expectations. I was eager to read about Charles N. Li’s coming of age and the experiences he had in China’s most tumultuous time period. I was ready for excitement, shocks, and drama. What I ended up reading was none of that, yet in a way it was one of the most touching novels I have read in a long time.

During the initial discussion of The Bitter Sea, many criticized the novel for having a detached, unemotional narration throughout. Although I agree that there was a lack of excitement in the novel that many American memoirs have, I felt that there was an incredible amount of emotion in the story. From Charles desperately, and almost subconsciously, looking for a place to belong in the slums of Nanjing, to his first real confrontation with his father and the consequences it has on their relationship, I could feel his struggle throughout. I have found that in many Asian cultures, emotions are typically suppressed for the sake of the family or community. Therefore, the subtle rebellions and emotional confessions by Charles have even more significance.

The Bitter Sea does not provide a great life lesson or spiritual awakening. It does, however, cause the reader to think about their family, their role in society, and the way anyone can, if they try hard enough, accomplish their dreams. And that, to me, is far more important than excitement and drama.

Charles Li’s, The Bitter Sea, talks about Li’s growth in China with himself, his father, and his horizons. He grew up through the Communist takeover in China near World War II and his childhood was a tough time for him. Until he was 5, he pretty much was restrained and confined within the walls of his father’s mansion in Nanjing. He was prevented from seeing the outside world for a majority of his childhood and Li even goes to say how hating this confinement was his first childhood memory. It was a struggle living there for him because him and his father were never on the same page and much of his life circled around pleasing his father.

I think this confinement for Li is a major contributor to why that happiest time of his life was spent while living in the slums. When first forced into the slums, Li’s mother tells him and his siblings how their father constructed a sheltered world for all of them. She pretty much tells them that they were spoiled living in the mansion and now they’re getting a taste of how life really is. They’ll “have to learn to cope with squalor, poverty, and hunger.” But unlike his siblings, Li felt free for once in his life. He found happiness in the slums and that is something I truly admire about Charles Li. He made the best out of what he had. He admired the world around him and that’s all he wanted as a kid. He wanted to know what was beyond the tall brick walls of his mansion in Nanjing. I actually believe that his confinement early in life molded him into what he became later on in life. I think it made him appreciate the little things in life more and not worry about what people think of him. He always strived for his father’s approval and acceptance but I think after living in the slums and experiencing happiness, he slowly learned to accept himself and not worry about what other people thought of him.

I admire Charles Li’s outlook on the world and how he built his own life single handedly. He had a pretty miserable childhood and he worked to make a life for himself in America, eventually settling differences with his father in the end. When he steps foot on the plane to head to America, I think he reflects on the life he’s lived and the life he’s moving on to. With everything he’s gone through with his father, Communist takeover, and just his life in general, emotions set in and I think that is sort of a “bitter” feeling. Although he’s happy that he’s expanding his horizons and taking a step forward in life, I think he also feels a bit of an undying connection with China that he’s not completely ready to let go of and that he’ll miss.

The Bitter Sea by Charles N. Li is a captivating memoir that tells the story of his growing up in a China during the Communist takeover. Firstly, I would like to mention that the title confused me at first – I could not see a connection to the story itself. There was no bitter sea mentioned at all throughout the entire memoir and I did not have a clue as to what it meant until after I finished reading it. Charles N. Li did an excellent job in selecting the title because it gives the reader room to hypothesize and think about what is really meant. Every reader could have his own interpretation of what the title means to him or her. To me, the bitter sea is the sea of bitter tears that have been cried during the period in China that Li describes in his memoir.

Most of Li’s story is very dismal and, oftentimes, I questioned whether or not I wanted to flip the page and keep reading. The little bits of humor that he threw in here and there make the reader question whether or not Li is exaggerating the stories he tells. It is hard to imagine a person who is honestly able to talk about getting frostbite and endless diseases (that could make the strongest of humans suffer horrible pains and death) and later in his memoir look back at those times and claim they were the best ones of his life. Part of reading a memoir includes having only one view of what went on, and I understand that, but most authors admit that their memory could be fooling them or that some parts are exaggerated on purpose. Li does not do so, telling the reader that he, in fact, recollects all the events in their entirety and tells nothing but the whole truth.

What would touch any reader’s heart, however, is Li’s detailed relationship with his father. He takes us down the road of their relationship and we feel every bump and ridge, every high and low, that Li felt. Having a first-hand account of what the relationship meant to Charles and how he felt gave the reader his own sense of connection with the family. When he embraces his father for the first time, we the readers feel genuinely happy for him. When we discover that Li’s father betrayed him by sending him into a communist camp only to “test the waters,” we feel just as devastated and shocked as he was. He truly does an excellent job at taking us on this roller coaster ride that he calls his life, as though we were sitting right there in the front row with him.

Much like a roller coaster, we are kept in suspense of how the story will end until the big drop. In Li’s memoir, he keeps the action rising higher and higher until the last few pages of the memoir where everything gets resolved. One would anticipate an abrupt ending, but Li ended his epic story within a couple of pages and left the reader satisfied (and partially relieved) of how things concluded. Overall – it was a mighty fantastic read that left the reader with a great sense of fulfillment and a deeper insight into the history of China.

Li wrote a powerful memoir and I was able to connect to him in many ways. Certain aspects of his life are common through out the Chinese community. His traditional father is something that I shared in common with him. His father did not value a close bond with his son and at his best his father would be nonchalant and at his worse he would put down Li. Li’s response was admirable and he did not allows his father’s critique and brutality get to him. Li persevered by entering his own world and attempted to obtain his father’s love at almost any means possible. His attempt seemed to be successful when him and his father connected at a political level, which all shattered once again. His relationship with his father is a rollercoaster of a ride with many ups and down, but it finally would end with an up.

Much of my life mimicked Li’s life. I as well desperately tried to obtain the approval of not just one parent but both my mother and father. It would seem that no matter how well I performed it just was not enough. They wanted more from me and pushed me to my limits. It was not until my later years that they gradually started to accept me for what I was. They let go of some of their tradition and embraced a more familial tie with me. It was this idea that the parents should not communicate with their children because parents function at another strata from their children. However, my parents soon let this go when I embraced them about their philosophy.

The Bitter Sea is an enticing read for those who can connect to Li. Much of his life and ordeals can be applied to anyone who has or is going through a struggle. Reading about his pain and jubilance brings hope to the hearts of many people such as myself. Although there may be many more themes to this novel, the message I got from Li was to be strong and endure no matter how much “bitterness” may exist in your life. In the end the bitterness we experience make the small things much more enjoyable.

Charles N. Li wrote a powerful memoir displaying the difficulties he experienced from childhood to adulthood, from his family’s extreme downgrade from a wealthy family to an impoverished family living in the slums of Nanjing, to being denied of entering college due to his father’s status in China. Li demonstrated his emotional struggles throughout his book, from his separation from his nanny, his attempt to become closer to his distant mother, to his constant strive for acceptance by his father.

Li’s memoir seemed incomplete at various points in the book; in many instances, Li jumped from one event to another without any subtle transition. His division of the book into five parts helped aid the reader in terms of figuring out Li’s whereabouts, but other than that, the reader was left struggling to figure out what other events happened between every division of the book.

However, I still thoroughly enjoyed reading Li’s memoir since his detailing for what was mentioned was well-written; I enjoyed reading about the adventures he had with his friends in Nanjing, the extermination of the Four Pests in his reform school, as well as his reunion with his father at the end of the book. Although English was not his first language, Li managed to pull off successfully an intriguing memoir of his journey of how he became who he is today.

One of the first things I noticed when I moved into my Lower East Side dorm was the graffiti openly displayed on walls, buildings, roofs, etc. From my window, one piece in particular stands out to me. JIM JOE written in plain black print. ‘Does this even qualify as graffiti?’ I thought to myself. A sense of curiosity grew in me every time I saw his paint had touched another location. Sometimes its just his name, sometimes a message attached. His sometimes inspirational but most of the time disturbing writings have left an indelible mark on New York City. I had to google….

What am I doin – JIM JOE

I need some help – JIM JOE

Don’t fall in love don’t smoke weed – JIM JOE

Did you even realize? -JIM JOE

This is kind of a nice table – JIM JOE

Justin Beiber and JIM JOE

JIM JOE has his own website, blog, and twitter which is updated from his iPhone. Could the guy I pegged as an absolute lunatic actually be a fully functioning human? Reading about him has not only left my questions unanswered but has sparked even more questions and heightened my interest in JIM JOE. Who the hell is this guy and what is he telling us? Its all around me in simple writing but I just don’t know.

Standing in the 53rd street train station after spending a day with my friends, I heard a peculiar sound. Normally when you’re in a train station, all you hear are the high-pitched screeching of the train tracks when a train is moving through the station or the loud chatter of fellow transit riders ready to go home after a long day at work. However, this sound was different; it was the plucking of strings that made this almost ominous sound. I followed the sound to see where it was coming from and saw a Chinese man sitting down to the right of the turnstiles, with a large instrument propped on a table in front of him. He wore these picks on his fingers, and every time his finger met a string, it made a plucking sound that echoed throughout the train station.

Born in the United States, I’ve never seen Chinese instruments except for the booming drums that are used during Chinese New Year when there are lion dances and dragon dances in Chinatown. This was something new to me, since I am used to the more-known instruments such as the piano, trumpet, flute, and guitar. This Chinese instrument I later looked up, was called the gǔzhēng, translated as “ancient plucked zither;” it has 6 to 21 strings, which in musical terms can be tuned to give up to four complete octaves. Seeing this instrument in a New York City train station made me feel as if there is culture everywhere, and that music is not limited to only one location of the world.

http://www.listenforlife.org/oneworldwalk/10musicfest_files/guzheng.jpeg