License to Smell, And the Currency of Skin

I've always felt a certain amount of self-satisfaction from keeping a low profile.  I generally like to think that if I don't know who someone is, they definitely don't know me (I do admit, this is a bit of the ostrich approach).  Nonetheless, in some kind of alter-reality world, I think I'd make a great spy.  I'm observant and usually go unnoticed.  

What does this have to do with teaching?  China?  Only this fact: the entire world has been turned inside out.  There is no more incognito.  There is no more anonymity.  I can't be the silent observer.  Before I came, I expected to encounter this.  I don't exactly blend in with the locals, and I don't think dying my hair would really help.  Most of the time, attaining some sort of celebrity status isn't so bad.  People are generally friendly and well-meaning, though the cameras and constant "hello"s do get annoying.

The interesting thing is how differently I am percieved here as opposed to in the U.S.  I walk into nice department stores or restaurants here, and no one questions whether or not I can afford to be in that place.  People are constantly trying to win me over as a customer - vendors hawking food, phone cards, rides on pedicabs - and possibly all at a jacked-up rate.  People marvel at the paleness of my skin.  ("I can't help it, honestly.  Believe me, I've tried," is my usual response.)

And so, this foreigness buys me much more than it should.  On occasion, I walk around town with other teachers all day, then go into a restaurant with my hair curly from sweat, looking quite dishevelled.  In another place across an ocean, my appearance would definitely draw stares and whispers.  I'd feel quite uncomfortable.  Yet here as a foreigner, it's no problem.   Even without the sweatiness, there are many places in the U.S. that I don't feel comfortable walking into.  I grew up in hand-me-downs and shopped primarily at goodwill in high school.  Life has changed since then, but I sometimes still need a pep-talk before walking into a place that could collocate with the words "nice," "pampered," "top tier," "four star," or the like.

When I focus out a bit, all this just reminds me how spoiled I really am.  I look around and see the farmers and the sellers and the middlepeople who work sun-up to sun-down.  They work so hard and have so much less to show for it.  I sometimes get caught up in thinking that my life is hard, that I have to scrounge and be frugal just to get by.  And it's true, my income was very close to my rent more often than not.  It's only here that I can even afford to live alone.  Yet our ideas of "scraping by" are vastly different from the reality of that experience in so much of the world.  

With all these swirling thoughts, I can only hope that I'll be a good foreigner.  That I'll smile and be friendly even when my patience is wearing thin.