I don't know if it was random so much, but...
So I got home from school yesterday, and was putting some stuff away in our kitchen. One of the other girls, from China, was in there making something.
Now, for a bit of background, my flatmates are mostly great. When I see/interact with them, that is. It's like a bunch of dorm rooms in Schaffer (sorry, Nicky, can't figure out how to do the umlaut on blogger), whose doors close automatically, with no common lounge area... so really we just share a kitchen. They all seem really nice, but with the exception of 1 other woman (out of 6 of us!), no-one is from an English-speaking country. Well, maybe the Ugandan, but if she's speaking English on the phone, it's with such a heavy accent I can't understand it. As such, they do what all foreign students EVERYWHERE tend to do - hang out with "their own kind". Which is great. Nice to have someone that understands your language and culture, right? But I sometimes feel like my kitchen has been invaded by the Chinese embassy, as my Chinese flatmates tend to cook for ALL their friends at least once a week - I gather they sort of go on rotation.
But back to the story. I'm putting stuff away. I'm coughing. I'm asthmatic - it's what we do, especially after we've just booted it back across campus in the attempt to minimize time away from the phone (I was praying Toshiba would call... still no word from them though - but my phone did ring the other morning - but when I got to it to pick it up, it stopped. Bugger). But Jacquie (Jing is her real name) looks up at me with an expression of concern and asks if I would like to try some pear soup (which turns out to be really sweet - lots of icing sugar in it). This comes out of nowhere, and I must have looked completely flabbergasted, because she goes on to explain, in her cute broken English, that pear soup is a sort of Chinese home remedy for coughs and colds, and it just happens to be what she's making at the moment. Now, the sharing of the soup isn't what touched me. Sharing food is one thing, but she went on with her explanation. Her parents, she said, used to make pear soup whenever anyone was feeling sick. It's a childhood memory for her. I felt extremely privileged to be let into such a private moment, and to share in that particular memory - especially coming from someone from (forgive me for creating/perpetuating stereotypes) that part of the world: they don't tend to be the most emotionally open people I've encountered.
But now I'm off to - get this - the York Colleges Guild of bell ringers. They have a handbell group, and since I used to dabble in ringing when I was in high school (I play a mean four-in-hand!), I figured I'd give it another shot. And it'll get me out at least one night a week... although having to walk into that pre-formed group all by my lonesome scares the hell out of me. And, should I feel the strange desire to do so, I can wander into a centuries-old church on Thursdays and ring the giant bells in the spire there. Cool!
Gotta run!
So I got home from school yesterday, and was putting some stuff away in our kitchen. One of the other girls, from China, was in there making something.
Now, for a bit of background, my flatmates are mostly great. When I see/interact with them, that is. It's like a bunch of dorm rooms in Schaffer (sorry, Nicky, can't figure out how to do the umlaut on blogger), whose doors close automatically, with no common lounge area... so really we just share a kitchen. They all seem really nice, but with the exception of 1 other woman (out of 6 of us!), no-one is from an English-speaking country. Well, maybe the Ugandan, but if she's speaking English on the phone, it's with such a heavy accent I can't understand it. As such, they do what all foreign students EVERYWHERE tend to do - hang out with "their own kind". Which is great. Nice to have someone that understands your language and culture, right? But I sometimes feel like my kitchen has been invaded by the Chinese embassy, as my Chinese flatmates tend to cook for ALL their friends at least once a week - I gather they sort of go on rotation.
But back to the story. I'm putting stuff away. I'm coughing. I'm asthmatic - it's what we do, especially after we've just booted it back across campus in the attempt to minimize time away from the phone (I was praying Toshiba would call... still no word from them though - but my phone did ring the other morning - but when I got to it to pick it up, it stopped. Bugger). But Jacquie (Jing is her real name) looks up at me with an expression of concern and asks if I would like to try some pear soup (which turns out to be really sweet - lots of icing sugar in it). This comes out of nowhere, and I must have looked completely flabbergasted, because she goes on to explain, in her cute broken English, that pear soup is a sort of Chinese home remedy for coughs and colds, and it just happens to be what she's making at the moment. Now, the sharing of the soup isn't what touched me. Sharing food is one thing, but she went on with her explanation. Her parents, she said, used to make pear soup whenever anyone was feeling sick. It's a childhood memory for her. I felt extremely privileged to be let into such a private moment, and to share in that particular memory - especially coming from someone from (forgive me for creating/perpetuating stereotypes) that part of the world: they don't tend to be the most emotionally open people I've encountered.
But now I'm off to - get this - the York Colleges Guild of bell ringers. They have a handbell group, and since I used to dabble in ringing when I was in high school (I play a mean four-in-hand!), I figured I'd give it another shot. And it'll get me out at least one night a week... although having to walk into that pre-formed group all by my lonesome scares the hell out of me. And, should I feel the strange desire to do so, I can wander into a centuries-old church on Thursdays and ring the giant bells in the spire there. Cool!
Gotta run!
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