I'm in a class called Sexual Satisfaction, and we had to write a paper on a topic of our choice. I chose to write about the development of sexual fetishes. Here is it!
Sexual Fetishes As the Result of Childhood Experiences
Sexual fetishes have been observed across history, with records of French psychologist Alfred Binet (1857-1911) describing it in his writing. However, most of these old notes were not based on scientific research, but rather based on the clinical observations of patients by psychologists. Most research of sexual fetishism cited today comes from the 1990’s and later (with a few exceptions.) There were some notable case studies as well as actual studies conducted in the 1960’s that provided a solid base for later research. Today, while there is not a plethora of data regarding the development of sexual fetishes, there is certainly enough to draw some conclusions as to how a person can derive sexual satisfaction from an inanimate object. From the data presented, it is apparent that sexual fetishes are the result of usually positive sexual experiences occurring around puberty, and the new sensation of sexual arousal and pleasure that this fetishized object evokes a desire in the person for more, thereby creating a self-sustaining, vicious cycle.
Before attempting to understand how a fetish is developed, it is important to understand the scientific definition of fetish. A fetish is a form of paraphilia, meaning that it is a sexual desire focused at nonhuman objects. A sexual fetish is defined as “the use of a nonliving object as the exclusive or preferred method of achieving sexual gratification” (Köksal, Domjan, Kurt, Sertel, Örüng, and Bowers, 2003). Another definition offered by a different study is “a form of perversion in which sexual gratification is obtained from other than the genital parts of the body (Lowenstein, 2002).” Although not specifically mentioned, an important aspect of this definition is the difference between a sexual interest in a nonliving object, and a sexual interest in a body part other than the genitals or breasts. This is to say, sexual interests directed towards nonsexual body parts (feet, hands, knees) are not technically defined as a fetish, but rather as partialism (Kafka, 2009). For example, an amputee fetish would technically be considered partialism, not fetishism. Yet, because most people do not realize the difference between partialism and fetishism, for the purposes of this paper, partialism will be considered a type of fetish. However, it is important to understand both that there is a scientific difference, and what that difference is.
When looking at sexual fetishes, researchers have found that it is helpful to first look at fetishistic behavior in animals, because it is easy to control what an animal has been subjected to, and to specifically study how they develop a fetish (Köksal, 2003). In a study done on Japanese quails (Köksal, 2003) researchers sought to replicate and observe the ways in which a fetish is created and how individual differences in quails affected the development of fetishes, and then apply this knowledge to understand fetishes in humans. Results indicated that while many quails developed a sexual fetish, not every quail did, even though they were all subjected to the same methods to develop a fetish. This would suggest that individual differences in quails (and humans) play a part in the development of fetishes, and that given the right circumstances, anyone can develop a fetish at a young age. In addition to this, it was shown that in many cases, quails were more interested in copulating with the cloth rather than copulating with a female quail, indicating that the fetishistic object was of greater interest to the male quail than the female quail was. In managing to successfully recreate and study most aspects of a sexual fetish, this research using quails (but applied to human behavior) showed how a fetishistic behavior can originally manifest itself in humans, and the depth of dependence a fetishistic person can have on an object. Yet this research only begins to explain how people with different experiences develop sexual fetishes.
Fetishes have, historically, been thought to be the result of severe castration complex (Lowenstein, 2002), and it has only been fairly recently that researchers have attempted to understand their nature. Some researchers have argued that individuals with fetishes are “an unusual by-product of a normal adaptive process” and do not suffer from some horrible perversion (Munroe, Gauvain, 2001). It is argued that fetishistic people had the same experience of sexual arousal during childhood/puberty as non-fetishistic people, but while they were becoming aroused, a nonsexual object was present which ultimately became linked with their sexual arousal (Munroe, 2001). This link of an object to sexual arousal creates a dependence in the person to an object, which only gets stronger the longer the fetish exists.
Once these fetishes have begun, they operate on “self-maintenance, leading to a persistent response to an inanimate object (Köksal, 2003). In Köksal (2003), 58% of participants indicated that they had masturbated to fee or shoes at least 3-4 times a week for the past 12 months. This would suggest that for many fetishistic people, masturbation is frequently a method of sexual gratification. This continuous masturbation to a certain object serves to strengthen the mental connection a person makes with their sexual object. Indeed, once a person has this fetish, it is nearly impossible to get rid of (Munroe, 2004). Hence, a fetish once initiated becomes a part of a person’s life, and the dependence on an object for sexual arousal can become so severe as to render a person impotent without it (Lowenstein, 2002).
For many people, their particular sexual fetish has simply become a normal part of their life, and as such, it is hard for them to think of a specific instance or event that led to the fetish, in much the way that non-fetishistic people find it hard to remember the genesis of their normal traits. However, research indicated that the genesis of fetishes could be traced back to either one event or a series of events in a person’s childhood or adolescence (Munroe, 2004). In one study of homosexual men, all of who had foot and shoe fetishes, researchers looked specifically at what event triggered this fetish, who participated, and how old the participant was. 45% of participants indicated that “their fetish interest developed because of pleasurable events in childhood” while 46% said the same of events in adolescence (Weinberg, Williams, and Calhan, 1995). Participants’ answers also indicated that 12 years old was the average age when they first became sexually aroused by feet or shoes. Pleasurable events at these young ages included playing with their fathers’ feet, or tickling or massaging an older adults foot. Almost all participants indicated an event in their childhood that triggered the fetish, which supports the idea that the genesis of a fetish is in a person’s childhood.
In similar lit based study supporting the research, Munroe (2001) found that the sexual learning experience leading to fetishism normally happens around one of two different ages, either at 4 or 5, or at 8 or 9. The article goes on to describe how only one instance of sexual excitement with a nonsexual object is necessary to initiate a sexual fetish in a person. Once sexual arousal to an object has been reinforced via sexual satisfaction, the child may link the object to sexual arousal, and from then on think that the only way of obtaining sexual arousal/satisfaction is with the object. Yet, an important part of the development of a fetish is sexual reinforcement, most commonly in the form of masturbation (Köksal, 2003). Without this sexual reinforcement, the object will remain nonsexual and unlinked to sexual arousal, and the person will not develop a fetish
In one particular case study of, Dr. Walter Everaerd (1983) followed and described the history and current state of a man with an amputee fetish. In this case study, Everaerd listed his patients’ responses to open ended questions, revealing perfectly the genesis of his fetish, and the reasons behind his desire to cut off his own leg. When discussing what caused him to view amputees as an object of sexual arousal, the patient described a time when he was 10 years old, saying “I was jealous of the children who played in the street…even the boy who…had a wooden leg… so called unhappy boy…Never the less I considered him happier than myself…” (Everaerd, 1983). He then went on to say that the peg leg unconsciously became synonymous with happiness, as the peg leg boy was happier than he, a healthy boy, was. This seemingly un-noteworthy event shaped this mans’ sexual drives, and he linked the happiness in the amputee boy first to the boys’ amputated leg, and then the amputated leg to his own sexual satisfaction. It is small, un-noteworthy events like this that researchers argue create a fetish in an otherwise normally developed child.
It is clear from the data available today that sexual fetishes are the result of positive sexual experiences occurring around the age of puberty. Of course, while individual differences could lead people to develop fetishes as a reaction to different events, it is clear that most of the events people experience that lead them to develop fetishes are positive ones. A study of fetishism in animals showed that it is possible for anyone to develop a fetish, while lending proof and support to the scientific definition of fetishes. Studies before and since then have also lent evidence to the conclusion that fetishes are born out of the experiences in a persons’ childhood, and once they have developed, remain a big part of the person’s sex life for the rest of his or her life.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Halloween Tales Part 2
Saturday dawned. My room mate, who is exceedingly loud in the morning, woke me up at 9, and the day started. I met my friend at the Grundle, which is the local name for one of the dining halls, and after a long breakfast, went back to her dorm to watch the last bit of Scooby Doo, and then all of The Nightmare Before Christmas. That movie, for some movie, really got me into the spirit of Halloween. Well, enough so that I felt like going out dancing that night would be the perfect remedy for all my problems.
After one episode of Heroes, I called it quits and went back to my dorm. There the Halloween preparations began. I looked through my wardrobe, literally holding everything up to everything else, racking my brain for a costume. But the creative juices just were not flowing. No matter the match up, there was literally nothing in my wardrobe that could be used for a Halloween. Never did I hate having to fly to college more than at that moment. Stupid airline limitations on how much you can carry with you on a plane. Didn't they ever consider the implications their restrictions might have on a college students Halloween plans? Clearly not.
After an hour of racking my brains, I did the only logical thing to do. I gave up. I stopped desperately asking my suitemates for advice, and I stopped sending frantic texts. I simply grabbed a jacket, slipped my feet into some shoes, and went back over to my friends dorm room to hang out as he washed his clothes. It turned into a three hour event, with one of my other friends, Rebecca, coming down to join us, and Dylan and I ordering bad Chinese food. (Honestly, how hard is it to get good Chinese food in America? Clearly impossible.)
Later that night, Rebecca invited me to a rave that she was going to. I'm not going to lie, I was tempted. I miss dancing, a lot. However, the thought of a rave, as I pondered it, did not really fit my idea of a good dance party. Not to mention, I didn't have a costume (although we all know that that is just an excuse). And remember, I am slightly awkward. The idea of a party, where I would have to interact with a bunch of people my age, slightly freaked me out. I do better in smaller groups. Baby steps Sophie, baby steps.
After watching my friends transform into Hollywood stars (A Clockwork Orange person, Britney Spears), computer game characters (someone from Mario) and various other people and things, I waved goodbye to the group going raving, and went back for a quiet night of relaxation. Instead of getting my rave on, I watched Ghostbusters, a Halloween classic.
Many would say that this was a boring night, that I should be embarrassed. I disagree. This is who I am. I am a homebody. I don't like partying, I don't like drinking. I don't know how to interact with people my age in large groups. Yes, this is a hinderance, but I figure, as I am in college for longer, I will get used to it. For now, I can safely say, I am a homebody, and proud of it.
Happy Halloween.
After one episode of Heroes, I called it quits and went back to my dorm. There the Halloween preparations began. I looked through my wardrobe, literally holding everything up to everything else, racking my brain for a costume. But the creative juices just were not flowing. No matter the match up, there was literally nothing in my wardrobe that could be used for a Halloween. Never did I hate having to fly to college more than at that moment. Stupid airline limitations on how much you can carry with you on a plane. Didn't they ever consider the implications their restrictions might have on a college students Halloween plans? Clearly not.
After an hour of racking my brains, I did the only logical thing to do. I gave up. I stopped desperately asking my suitemates for advice, and I stopped sending frantic texts. I simply grabbed a jacket, slipped my feet into some shoes, and went back over to my friends dorm room to hang out as he washed his clothes. It turned into a three hour event, with one of my other friends, Rebecca, coming down to join us, and Dylan and I ordering bad Chinese food. (Honestly, how hard is it to get good Chinese food in America? Clearly impossible.)
Later that night, Rebecca invited me to a rave that she was going to. I'm not going to lie, I was tempted. I miss dancing, a lot. However, the thought of a rave, as I pondered it, did not really fit my idea of a good dance party. Not to mention, I didn't have a costume (although we all know that that is just an excuse). And remember, I am slightly awkward. The idea of a party, where I would have to interact with a bunch of people my age, slightly freaked me out. I do better in smaller groups. Baby steps Sophie, baby steps.
After watching my friends transform into Hollywood stars (A Clockwork Orange person, Britney Spears), computer game characters (someone from Mario) and various other people and things, I waved goodbye to the group going raving, and went back for a quiet night of relaxation. Instead of getting my rave on, I watched Ghostbusters, a Halloween classic.
Many would say that this was a boring night, that I should be embarrassed. I disagree. This is who I am. I am a homebody. I don't like partying, I don't like drinking. I don't know how to interact with people my age in large groups. Yes, this is a hinderance, but I figure, as I am in college for longer, I will get used to it. For now, I can safely say, I am a homebody, and proud of it.
Happy Halloween.
The Halloween Tales Part 1
Halloween. For most college students, it is the first real excuse to get fucked up with a solid group of friends (if you have been there for a more than a year.) If you are sadly, like me, a freshman, it is still the first real excuse to get fucked up, but instead, you are with friends that you have had for a much shorter amount of time. For many people who are not socially awkward, this isn't a problem, and the massive amount of house parties, raves, and random parties happening across the country, in every city in the US provide ample destinations to party to your hearts content, and rack up an impressive repertoire of drunken stories to wow your friends with the next morning.
However, as most of you know, I am not a normal college student. I have never been drunk, I have never been high. Hell, I have never even smoked, and the last time that I took a shot (1 single shot of JD) my head was spinning for hours. Add on to that my life long loathing of Halloween, you can see how this weekend posed some serious problems for me. Ever since I was young, I have steadfastly boycotted Halloween, turning all the lights off and locking the doors to deter trick or treaters, and finding some large paper to write on Halloween to deter friends. However, I have found that as I get older, this is a harder and harder tradition to enforce. Particularly so now that I am at college.
As you should all know, Halloween was on a Saturday night this year. For us college students, this means two nights of hardcore partying, possibly even three if you don't have class on Friday, or don't care about class on Friday. Friday night, I was supposed to go to a fencing party, hosted at a house that is a 20 minute walk from my dorm room. That night, I had gone downtown with a friend to go to a used bookstore and grocery shopping. When we were downtown, it started pissing down with rain while I, clad in all cotton, watched with despair from the book store. My friend had been texting me all afternoon trying to get me to come to the party, and after hours of me telling her I didn't want to go, I finally got her to stop texting me. I didn't realize until I went grocery shopping, and received a phone call, that the reason she had stopped texting me was because she had called someone else, Marc (one of the coaches on the fencing team) to persuade me to go. Even though I had promised myself I wouldn't go to the party, I agreed to go anyway. Why you might ask? I have no idea.
I don't know why Halloween stresses me out so much. There is no logical reason for it. It is some combination of thinking of a costume, being judged on the costume, and then hanging out with lots of people that I just can't handle. Don't ask me me why. Not to mention, someone only has to mention the word "party" to get me nervous and tense. that would be due to my extreme lack of social experiences with people my age. What do I do with my arms? My legs? How should I dance? Where should I look? What should I drink? What do I do with my drink? What if I am the only one not drinking alcohol? Will they judge me? Of course, these are all silly questions, and when I am in control of my emotions, I know this. However, at the time, I absolutely was not in control of my emotions.
After agreeing to go to the party, I hung up the phone, and immediately freaked out. Why did I agree to go? I HATE HALLOWEEN AND DON'T WANT TO GO TO ANY PARTY! After a 20 minute bitch fest with my friend while walking back up to campus, I calmed down enough to realize that I just needed to tell him that I didn't want to go, and it would be okay. Phew. Crisis averted. I texted Marc, said very politely that I didn't want to go, but have fun. At the time, I was exceedingly happy with my decision. On hindsight, there was no good reason for me not to go and if I had gone, I probably would have had a good time. Ah well. Freshman year is a learning experience. Instead, I went to my friends dorm, and spent the better part of the night watching movies, and just chilling out.
However, as most of you know, I am not a normal college student. I have never been drunk, I have never been high. Hell, I have never even smoked, and the last time that I took a shot (1 single shot of JD) my head was spinning for hours. Add on to that my life long loathing of Halloween, you can see how this weekend posed some serious problems for me. Ever since I was young, I have steadfastly boycotted Halloween, turning all the lights off and locking the doors to deter trick or treaters, and finding some large paper to write on Halloween to deter friends. However, I have found that as I get older, this is a harder and harder tradition to enforce. Particularly so now that I am at college.
As you should all know, Halloween was on a Saturday night this year. For us college students, this means two nights of hardcore partying, possibly even three if you don't have class on Friday, or don't care about class on Friday. Friday night, I was supposed to go to a fencing party, hosted at a house that is a 20 minute walk from my dorm room. That night, I had gone downtown with a friend to go to a used bookstore and grocery shopping. When we were downtown, it started pissing down with rain while I, clad in all cotton, watched with despair from the book store. My friend had been texting me all afternoon trying to get me to come to the party, and after hours of me telling her I didn't want to go, I finally got her to stop texting me. I didn't realize until I went grocery shopping, and received a phone call, that the reason she had stopped texting me was because she had called someone else, Marc (one of the coaches on the fencing team) to persuade me to go. Even though I had promised myself I wouldn't go to the party, I agreed to go anyway. Why you might ask? I have no idea.
I don't know why Halloween stresses me out so much. There is no logical reason for it. It is some combination of thinking of a costume, being judged on the costume, and then hanging out with lots of people that I just can't handle. Don't ask me me why. Not to mention, someone only has to mention the word "party" to get me nervous and tense. that would be due to my extreme lack of social experiences with people my age. What do I do with my arms? My legs? How should I dance? Where should I look? What should I drink? What do I do with my drink? What if I am the only one not drinking alcohol? Will they judge me? Of course, these are all silly questions, and when I am in control of my emotions, I know this. However, at the time, I absolutely was not in control of my emotions.
After agreeing to go to the party, I hung up the phone, and immediately freaked out. Why did I agree to go? I HATE HALLOWEEN AND DON'T WANT TO GO TO ANY PARTY! After a 20 minute bitch fest with my friend while walking back up to campus, I calmed down enough to realize that I just needed to tell him that I didn't want to go, and it would be okay. Phew. Crisis averted. I texted Marc, said very politely that I didn't want to go, but have fun. At the time, I was exceedingly happy with my decision. On hindsight, there was no good reason for me not to go and if I had gone, I probably would have had a good time. Ah well. Freshman year is a learning experience. Instead, I went to my friends dorm, and spent the better part of the night watching movies, and just chilling out.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Update
So it's been a while since I posted anything. I know. But now, I am back in America, unfortunately. My China stories are done, except for maybe coming out in my reminiscing. Now, I am in Vermont, attending the University of Vermont, and trying desperately to adjust to my life here in college. It's crazy. Who knew that college would be like this? I sure didn't. But now, I have decided to start using this blog again. So, stay tuned!
Monday, June 1, 2009
The End of An Era
I'm going to start off this post properly. I'm not a writer. I'm not going to explain myself properly in this post, and I'm probably going to end up sounding like an emo little girl. But it's the only way I can express myself.
I'm back from Beijing, and in Davis. After the most intense 9 months of my life, I'm back. I think that they were the best. They were certainly the most memorable. I have never been more changed in 9 months than I have in Beijing. Both physically, and mentally. I grew up in Beijing, and entered adulthood (mentally if not legally, yet.) I have learned how to live, how to operate on my own. I understand more about the world, and how to take care of yourself in it. I learned about life, about people.
I left my friends and my family back home, back in Beijing. I may never see some people ever again. It's the strangest feeling to know that the people I have spent such a long time with, and connected with, I may never see again. That was my life for 9 months, and now it is over. How does something like that just end, with a click of a mouse, and a plane ride home?
It's surreal, almost. Like an out of body experience. Even if Davis hasn't been home for a couple of years, it is still the place where I have felt the most comfortable. It's been a waiting place for me, and in between, one where I simply have to deal until my next big adventure. It isn't home for me, but it's familiar. I look at all my things, and think, that is my bed, or... those are my books. But it doesn't feel like they are mine. This doesn't feel like my life. Neither my bed nor my books belong in the life I have created for myself over the past 9 months. I feel like I am living in a twin's life or something. But definitely not mine. I feel like I am just on a vacation, and I will be going back to Beijing, and 新街口外大街 in no time. I mean, this can't be my life now, can it?
Now that I am back from Beijing, Davis is still the same, except with one major difference. Now, it almost scares me. The familiarity of it, and normalness of all of it, terrifies me more then the unfamiliarity Beijing ever did. I'm not sure if terror is the right word, as I am not afraid to go out of the house or anything. I just don't know what to do with myself now. Don't know what to expect. I can no longer live the life that I have been used to for 9 months. Beijing felt more like home to me than any place I have ever been in. I don't know what to expect from Davis. I don't feel comfortable here, not anymore. It's more than just feeling out of place. It's more than reverse culture shock. Hell, it's more than just missing Beijing. I just keep asking myself, what am I doing here? Why am I wasting my time here?
I know that this all sounds very emo, and depressed. I'm not emo, and I'm not depressed. I am simply trying to figure out why I feel the way I do, why I can't seem to understand how to live in Davis again. I can't be the only one who feels this way. I love you all. :)
I'm back from Beijing, and in Davis. After the most intense 9 months of my life, I'm back. I think that they were the best. They were certainly the most memorable. I have never been more changed in 9 months than I have in Beijing. Both physically, and mentally. I grew up in Beijing, and entered adulthood (mentally if not legally, yet.) I have learned how to live, how to operate on my own. I understand more about the world, and how to take care of yourself in it. I learned about life, about people.
I left my friends and my family back home, back in Beijing. I may never see some people ever again. It's the strangest feeling to know that the people I have spent such a long time with, and connected with, I may never see again. That was my life for 9 months, and now it is over. How does something like that just end, with a click of a mouse, and a plane ride home?
It's surreal, almost. Like an out of body experience. Even if Davis hasn't been home for a couple of years, it is still the place where I have felt the most comfortable. It's been a waiting place for me, and in between, one where I simply have to deal until my next big adventure. It isn't home for me, but it's familiar. I look at all my things, and think, that is my bed, or... those are my books. But it doesn't feel like they are mine. This doesn't feel like my life. Neither my bed nor my books belong in the life I have created for myself over the past 9 months. I feel like I am living in a twin's life or something. But definitely not mine. I feel like I am just on a vacation, and I will be going back to Beijing, and 新街口外大街 in no time. I mean, this can't be my life now, can it?
Now that I am back from Beijing, Davis is still the same, except with one major difference. Now, it almost scares me. The familiarity of it, and normalness of all of it, terrifies me more then the unfamiliarity Beijing ever did. I'm not sure if terror is the right word, as I am not afraid to go out of the house or anything. I just don't know what to do with myself now. Don't know what to expect. I can no longer live the life that I have been used to for 9 months. Beijing felt more like home to me than any place I have ever been in. I don't know what to expect from Davis. I don't feel comfortable here, not anymore. It's more than just feeling out of place. It's more than reverse culture shock. Hell, it's more than just missing Beijing. I just keep asking myself, what am I doing here? Why am I wasting my time here?
I know that this all sounds very emo, and depressed. I'm not emo, and I'm not depressed. I am simply trying to figure out why I feel the way I do, why I can't seem to understand how to live in Davis again. I can't be the only one who feels this way. I love you all. :)
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Falling In Love With My Work
This is basically a translation of the speech that I had to say, and this is an essay I wrote for English about something we learned on the last trip.
It was hot, a heavy, hot heat that comes more from humidity then from the actual temperature. I could feel it pushing on my lungs, and the sweat already running down my back, even though it had only been 20 minutes since we had stepped out of the house. The sparse shade from trees hanging over the small path we were walking on did little to relieve the sun, and I could feel that the temperature was only going to keep rising. My and Julia’s small host father bounded ahead of us on the path, buckets barely swinging on the end of a bamboo pole balanced across his shoulders, and acting like the heat and the hill was absolutely no trouble at all. At this particular moment, watching our dad lead the way, there were only 3 things that Julia and I knew for certain: 1) it was hot, and we had only one water bottle, 2) we were going to work in the fields with our host dad and 3) we had absolutely no idea where we were going, or what we were going to do.
We were in a Dai village in Guizhou, following our host dad out to do work with him in the fields. The night before this march into the wilderness, Mr. Bissell had made it clear that all the SYA students were to go out with their host families to work, much like the intellectuals did when they were banished to the countryside during the Cultural Revolution. However, when Julia and I had come out of our bedroom in the morning, and asked our family what we were doing for the day, they simply told us to go explore on our own, that we didn’t need to work. That point of view was quickly changed after a brisk conversation between my host dad and Zhang Laoshi.
We arrived at a small hut in the middle of the hills after an hour long walk. Our dad let the cow inside out of the hut and free to roam (cared for by another Chinese man), and picked up the 4 woven baskets we had carried to start loading them up with huge piles of wet, decaying feces and straw. Each one must have easily weighed 20 pounds, and he picked them up like he was carrying loaves of bread. With a smile and a laugh, he handed a pole laden with filled buckets to Julia, who dutifully hoisted them onto her shoulders with a grimace at the weight, while our dad went around the back of the shed to get his burden. With me documenting the whole trip on my camera, the three of us set off across small hills to dump massive amounts of manure into fields for fertilization.
After Julia had finished her ordeal, we went back, filled up the buckets again, and then it was my turn. The bamboo pole seemed to push unrelentlessly into my shoulders, and it was heavy and uncomfortable. I could imagine myself toppling sideways off the small path we had to follow (which was lined by rather unpleasant looking embankments.) I dumped my load of feces in a field, and then walked back to rest at the cow enclosure, as my dad was tired. He lay his scrawny body down on the ground, and almost fell asleep, complaining of being exhausted to death. I don’t know how he kept hauling huge buckets of cow manure up mountains. I could barely do it once.
After a 30 minutes break, we convinced my dad, with great effort, to start again. There was not a lot of spirit in his body or voice as, with a great sigh and complaint, he dragged himself around the corner of the enclosure, and started filling up the buckets again. It was plainly obvious he did not want to be there. Julia took another load, the same way we had both gone the first time (to the same field) and then it was my turn, for the last time. Julia offered to carry it again (maybe she is secretly a physic) but I insisted on doing it myself. I picked up the bamboo pole, and balancing it across both shoulders, felt it sit on the exact same spot as it had last time, putting more pressure onto my already sore shoulder muscles. I could already tell that I should have let Julia take the last load of cow manure.
This time, as we walked to the field, our dad led us a different way, along a path with small paddies on the left, and an irrigation ditch 10 feet blow to the right. As I watched my dad balance his pole on one shoulder elegantly, I thought that must be so much easier and more comfortable, and decided to try to imitate him. I was worried about balance, but it wasn’t a problem, and as it turned out, it is actually easier to balance the buckets on one shoulder then on two. So elated with my success, I turned to tell Julia how much better it was, excited to show off my new-found talents. This turned out to be a very bad idea. As I turned to talk to Julia, I kept walking. As I put one foot down, I seemed to lose track of the ground. Suddenly, it was no longer where my foot was, and I went down. Hard.
Both I and the cow manure fell down the embankment. I wasn’t worried about the cow manure that fell on either side of me, though. I was simply worried about not falling into the water that was at the end of the embankment. Desperately grabbing handfuls of reeds and hanging on for all I was worth, I slowed my fall, and eventually stopped myself, hanging upside down, 5 feet above the water. Julia and my dad, after assuring themselves that I was okay, (it wasn’t hard to convince them, as I was trying to stop laughing) soon joined me in laughter, and we all paused so we could catch our breaths. Then, without much ado, I heaved myself off of the embankment, much like a swimmer pulling themselves out of the pool.
I could feel my face blushing bright red as I brushed off pieces of debris that had attached themselves to my clothes while my host dad and Julia watched, with laughter in their eyes. Immediately, thinking only of my wounded pride, I made both Julia and my dad swear to not tell anyone. My dad, however, thinking he was very clever indeed, agreed to keep the secret, and then used the local dialect to tell every person we passed. So much for family loyalty.
This story, while seemingly well natured, taught me a very good lesson. Moral of the story: always watch where you are going, and always laugh off the embarrassing stuff. Everyone has embarrassing things that happen to them, and the best way to deal with them is to laugh. I have had this experience many times, but for once, I found myself actually wanting to tell the story. I feel like that experience of me falling down the embankment with two buckets of cow manure helped me let go of my pride, and simply enjoy my life.
It was hot, a heavy, hot heat that comes more from humidity then from the actual temperature. I could feel it pushing on my lungs, and the sweat already running down my back, even though it had only been 20 minutes since we had stepped out of the house. The sparse shade from trees hanging over the small path we were walking on did little to relieve the sun, and I could feel that the temperature was only going to keep rising. My and Julia’s small host father bounded ahead of us on the path, buckets barely swinging on the end of a bamboo pole balanced across his shoulders, and acting like the heat and the hill was absolutely no trouble at all. At this particular moment, watching our dad lead the way, there were only 3 things that Julia and I knew for certain: 1) it was hot, and we had only one water bottle, 2) we were going to work in the fields with our host dad and 3) we had absolutely no idea where we were going, or what we were going to do.
We were in a Dai village in Guizhou, following our host dad out to do work with him in the fields. The night before this march into the wilderness, Mr. Bissell had made it clear that all the SYA students were to go out with their host families to work, much like the intellectuals did when they were banished to the countryside during the Cultural Revolution. However, when Julia and I had come out of our bedroom in the morning, and asked our family what we were doing for the day, they simply told us to go explore on our own, that we didn’t need to work. That point of view was quickly changed after a brisk conversation between my host dad and Zhang Laoshi.
We arrived at a small hut in the middle of the hills after an hour long walk. Our dad let the cow inside out of the hut and free to roam (cared for by another Chinese man), and picked up the 4 woven baskets we had carried to start loading them up with huge piles of wet, decaying feces and straw. Each one must have easily weighed 20 pounds, and he picked them up like he was carrying loaves of bread. With a smile and a laugh, he handed a pole laden with filled buckets to Julia, who dutifully hoisted them onto her shoulders with a grimace at the weight, while our dad went around the back of the shed to get his burden. With me documenting the whole trip on my camera, the three of us set off across small hills to dump massive amounts of manure into fields for fertilization.
After Julia had finished her ordeal, we went back, filled up the buckets again, and then it was my turn. The bamboo pole seemed to push unrelentlessly into my shoulders, and it was heavy and uncomfortable. I could imagine myself toppling sideways off the small path we had to follow (which was lined by rather unpleasant looking embankments.) I dumped my load of feces in a field, and then walked back to rest at the cow enclosure, as my dad was tired. He lay his scrawny body down on the ground, and almost fell asleep, complaining of being exhausted to death. I don’t know how he kept hauling huge buckets of cow manure up mountains. I could barely do it once.
After a 30 minutes break, we convinced my dad, with great effort, to start again. There was not a lot of spirit in his body or voice as, with a great sigh and complaint, he dragged himself around the corner of the enclosure, and started filling up the buckets again. It was plainly obvious he did not want to be there. Julia took another load, the same way we had both gone the first time (to the same field) and then it was my turn, for the last time. Julia offered to carry it again (maybe she is secretly a physic) but I insisted on doing it myself. I picked up the bamboo pole, and balancing it across both shoulders, felt it sit on the exact same spot as it had last time, putting more pressure onto my already sore shoulder muscles. I could already tell that I should have let Julia take the last load of cow manure.
This time, as we walked to the field, our dad led us a different way, along a path with small paddies on the left, and an irrigation ditch 10 feet blow to the right. As I watched my dad balance his pole on one shoulder elegantly, I thought that must be so much easier and more comfortable, and decided to try to imitate him. I was worried about balance, but it wasn’t a problem, and as it turned out, it is actually easier to balance the buckets on one shoulder then on two. So elated with my success, I turned to tell Julia how much better it was, excited to show off my new-found talents. This turned out to be a very bad idea. As I turned to talk to Julia, I kept walking. As I put one foot down, I seemed to lose track of the ground. Suddenly, it was no longer where my foot was, and I went down. Hard.
Both I and the cow manure fell down the embankment. I wasn’t worried about the cow manure that fell on either side of me, though. I was simply worried about not falling into the water that was at the end of the embankment. Desperately grabbing handfuls of reeds and hanging on for all I was worth, I slowed my fall, and eventually stopped myself, hanging upside down, 5 feet above the water. Julia and my dad, after assuring themselves that I was okay, (it wasn’t hard to convince them, as I was trying to stop laughing) soon joined me in laughter, and we all paused so we could catch our breaths. Then, without much ado, I heaved myself off of the embankment, much like a swimmer pulling themselves out of the pool.
I could feel my face blushing bright red as I brushed off pieces of debris that had attached themselves to my clothes while my host dad and Julia watched, with laughter in their eyes. Immediately, thinking only of my wounded pride, I made both Julia and my dad swear to not tell anyone. My dad, however, thinking he was very clever indeed, agreed to keep the secret, and then used the local dialect to tell every person we passed. So much for family loyalty.
This story, while seemingly well natured, taught me a very good lesson. Moral of the story: always watch where you are going, and always laugh off the embarrassing stuff. Everyone has embarrassing things that happen to them, and the best way to deal with them is to laugh. I have had this experience many times, but for once, I found myself actually wanting to tell the story. I feel like that experience of me falling down the embankment with two buckets of cow manure helped me let go of my pride, and simply enjoy my life.
Speech Festival Speech
This was my speech for the speech festival, where we had to get up in front of 70 people and say a speech in Chinese, for 3 minutes.
大家好。我叫苏菲，我是丁班的学生。今天，我要告诉你们一个这次旅行的故事。在第一个小村子的时候，毕老师要我们体验一下农民的生活和他们一起做一样的工作。晚上的时候，我和王芸以为我们的爸爸会带我们两个去干活，但是第二天早上我们发现他不打算带我们出去。我们问他的时候，爸爸说“你们不用去干活，可以自己去玩儿。”但是，张老师和他谈过话以后，他很快改变他的主意，决定带我们去干活。
毕老师告诉我和王芸我们要去挑牛粪，我们以为他只是开玩笑。当我和王芸和我们的爸爸挑桶的时候，我们以为去采摘水果或采摘蔬菜。后来我们走了很长时间，差不多45分钟以后，我们到了一个小木棚。我们的爸爸让里面的牛出去。然后他开始把牛粪放到桶里，把那个桶挂在扁担上。王芸先挑竹桶，跟着我们的爸爸到一块田地.在那里，我们把粪倒在地里，然后回小木棚。我的爸爸再把牛粪放在桶里，我再挑一桶到那里。
挑了两次以后，我们的爸爸特别累，所以他说他得休息。半个小时以后，我们说服他继续工作。王芸先挑，然后我们回去。最后轮到我挑。我的爸爸把牛粪放在桶里，然后我们把桶挑到田地里。但是，这次我们走的路跟以前不一样，我们要去别的田地。那些桶特别重，所以我的肩膀很疼，我走路走得不太稳。我重新调整 肩上桶的时候，我转过头想和王芸说话。这是个不太好的想法，因为我一边走路一边说话。身体失去了平衡，我们的右边是一个水塘我从小路上摔了下去。还好我掉下去的时候，手抓住了芦苇虽然我没有掉进水塘，可我还是头下脚上地摔倒在路边。王芸和我的我的爸爸很紧张，他们以为我摔得很严重，但是他们看到我笑的时候，他们也大笑起来，然后一起把我拉回小路。
我很不好意思，所以我告诉我的爸爸和王芸这件事要保密，不能对别人讲。但是我们回小村子的时候，我爸爸用苗语告诉每一个人。虽然我听不懂他们在讲什么，可是看到他们看着我笑时，我就知道在小村子里，你不会有秘密。
这次旅行给我很留下很深的印象。我很喜欢这里朴实的农民，喜欢这个古朴的小村子。我喜欢中国！谢谢大家。
大家好。我叫苏菲，我是丁班的学生。今天，我要告诉你们一个这次旅行的故事。在第一个小村子的时候，毕老师要我们体验一下农民的生活和他们一起做一样的工作。晚上的时候，我和王芸以为我们的爸爸会带我们两个去干活，但是第二天早上我们发现他不打算带我们出去。我们问他的时候，爸爸说“你们不用去干活，可以自己去玩儿。”但是，张老师和他谈过话以后，他很快改变他的主意，决定带我们去干活。
毕老师告诉我和王芸我们要去挑牛粪，我们以为他只是开玩笑。当我和王芸和我们的爸爸挑桶的时候，我们以为去采摘水果或采摘蔬菜。后来我们走了很长时间，差不多45分钟以后，我们到了一个小木棚。我们的爸爸让里面的牛出去。然后他开始把牛粪放到桶里，把那个桶挂在扁担上。王芸先挑竹桶，跟着我们的爸爸到一块田地.在那里，我们把粪倒在地里，然后回小木棚。我的爸爸再把牛粪放在桶里，我再挑一桶到那里。
挑了两次以后，我们的爸爸特别累，所以他说他得休息。半个小时以后，我们说服他继续工作。王芸先挑，然后我们回去。最后轮到我挑。我的爸爸把牛粪放在桶里，然后我们把桶挑到田地里。但是，这次我们走的路跟以前不一样，我们要去别的田地。那些桶特别重，所以我的肩膀很疼，我走路走得不太稳。我重新调整 肩上桶的时候，我转过头想和王芸说话。这是个不太好的想法，因为我一边走路一边说话。身体失去了平衡，我们的右边是一个水塘我从小路上摔了下去。还好我掉下去的时候，手抓住了芦苇虽然我没有掉进水塘，可我还是头下脚上地摔倒在路边。王芸和我的我的爸爸很紧张，他们以为我摔得很严重，但是他们看到我笑的时候，他们也大笑起来，然后一起把我拉回小路。
我很不好意思，所以我告诉我的爸爸和王芸这件事要保密，不能对别人讲。但是我们回小村子的时候，我爸爸用苗语告诉每一个人。虽然我听不懂他们在讲什么，可是看到他们看着我笑时，我就知道在小村子里，你不会有秘密。
这次旅行给我很留下很深的印象。我很喜欢这里朴实的农民，喜欢这个古朴的小村子。我喜欢中国！谢谢大家。
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