The Baozi Girl

Today when I went to get my baozi after class, the red bean ones weren't ready yet. They told me if I hung around for eight minutes or so they'd be ready, and of course I said they were more than worth it, which was greeted with a great amused guffaw from one of the guys behind the counter.

One of the girls there, my favorite one, came out from the little shop to get some fresh air and sat down on the side of one of the bicycle carts. "Have a seat," she offered, scooting over and patting the space next to her.

The first part of my brain, the spoiled American part, the first thing it thought of was the fact that I was wearing white pants and would be sitting on a space that was decidedly not white. But then the second part of my brain, the part that loves China and kind of likes dirt and knows that logically it can always buy another pair of white pants, looked at the girl and her dingy uniform and her sweat-covered face and thought, American brain, I can't believe you're complaining.

So I sat down next to her. She said, "so when do you go home?"

"Saturday, but I'm not really sure I want to yet."

"Why?"

"We don't have baozi there." This should have been a joke. And it was, kind of, but not really. The truth is that baozi is just another one of those little slices of China that I miss terribly when I'm away, and somewhere inside my head these little steamed rolls have become symbolic of everything I have to leave behind.

"What!" She looked at me like I was crazy, like people can't exist in a place where there's no baozi. And maybe she was right. Maybe this is why Americans are a bit cranky at times, they need their red bean. And she asked, as though it was in keeping with the subject, "do you have a lot of friends here?"

"Yeah," I said. "A lot. I'm going to cry when I have to leave."

"Oh," she said soothingly, "don't be sad. Ultimately every place is home, right?"

"Maybe," I said, but I didn't mean it.

She said, "Sometimes we get homesick too. Our family's in Anhui Province, and we only go home once every few months."

"Do you like Shanghai?"

She cocked her head and looked at me. "Yeah," she said, "it's ok. But you know, we don't get much time to go out and have fun. We have to work very hard. Maybe 12 hours a day. And it's so hot in the summertime...it's just really, really difficult."

And I looked at her and I looked at the baozi stand, at the guys behind the counter shuffling huge steaming containers around in a space that has to be over 100 degrees, at the dirt on their uniforms and the sheens of sweat that cover their faces. And I looked at her eyes, so big and kind and pretty and sad. She's my age, maybe a couple of years older. We always say there but for the grace of God go I, right? But what happens when you have to think, there but for the grace of God was I born and raised and stuck in a place I won't ever get out of? It could have been me. If life was fair, maybe it would have. There is nothing that I have that she doesn't deserve at least as much, maybe more. And there she was, so quiet and sweet, and she wasn't complaining at all. She was just simply telling me the way things are.

Sometimes, every once in a while, I wonder why I decided to take the path that I did. The Chinese, the traveling; as much as my choices have baffled other people, they've confused me almost as much. All I knew was that I was following my heart. But then I have experiences like I had today, tiny little episodes that look so ordinary but fill my head with awe at life and my heart with love for other people, and I think maybe I made the right choice after all. I am so lucky, so blessed. And people are just so darn cool. It's amazing to me how people can have such a powerful impact on your life and not even know it. I will never see the baozi girl again. But I know for a fact that I won't ever forget her.

Maybe she was right, maybe every place is ultimately home. Everywhere you go there are people who want to love and be loved in return, which is really the same thing I guess. Is this too philosophical? Next time I'll stick to the funny stories.