so i'm back in america now. study abroad is over. but i guess the coolest part is how God's still showing himself. at the airport in shanghai, i almost lost my textbook. i was so tired and i left it in the luggage cart and walked away, actually sitting down for a good hour before i realized i had left it while lining up to board the plane. i went back and found the cart, with my textbook, which i need for an essay due on sunday, right where i left it. a big part of this trip to china was having my stereotypes and misconceptions about china and chinese people broken. i thought that in china, if you left anything anywhere, it was sure to be stolen. i'm sure that not everyone wants to steal my textbook on china and the world, international relations and economics, but to me, it was God's grace. and now, i get to write an essay. whoopdeedoo. 
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My first reflection on the migrant school neighborhood: A humble alley opened up in shades of gray. The red door and window frames were worn white in areas, while some windows missing glass were filled with brightly colored flower print cloth. Along the edges of the building, algae and a mysterious water lined the road. Thick sticks of bamboo rested freely against a home and a pair of young boys on a bicycle rode past us. We asked for a picture, but they promptly refused us in a high pitched, “No!” Another, in a Los Angeles Lakers jersey and shorts sped by us with another boy on the back of his bike. Sharing appeared to be common for luxuries like a bicycle. One boy even had a scooter. Above us, against a strangely blue sky, clothes waved in the wind like pink, blue polka dotted, black and green striped flags. Open windows seemed to beg the sun into the dark seemingly abandoned rooms. A door was opened, or rather, missing, and we noticed a bed, chair, and pile of clothes. A rice cooker stood alone, a reminder of a human need. Another home opened to a dim kitchen, lit by one exposed light bulb. A hot plate served as a stove and old cupboards waited to be opened. On the streets, women and men, young and old, sat restlessly in the scorching heat. Strangely, the height of the worn buildings, some falling apart, brick by brick, was able to shield some roads from the rays. One woman was quite resourceful, pulling together wood scraps to make a little roofed chair for herself; it was unclear whether she was in charge of a shop or was a migrant worker, merely waiting for the inevitable end of a home. The Chinese students with us helped us converse with some residents; a Shanghainese man explained the plight of the residents: most of the people left are Shanghainese, while most migrant workers have left. Most of the buildings we saw are abandoned because the government has ordered them to be torn down in preparation for the World Exposition in 2010. As such, the migrant workers have been given two options: money or housing. The housing however, is inconveniently in the outskirts of Shanghai. Most opt for the compensation payment, despite its meager value. Furthermore, they have trouble finding housing, so many simply opt to stay, what might be deemed “squatting,” in the United States. The school the migrant students currently attend is segregated from the school for the Shanghainese students. The Shanghainese residents have a better sense of community, but nonetheless, with the loss of much of the community buildings, the migrant students will be integrated with the other Shanghai children’s school. We continued walking and saw that there were no showers or bathrooms. It appeared that washing basins were outside, in the street. Perhaps they take care of hygiene outdoors. Public restrooms and trashcans were a semblance of the city. Exposed pipes and air conditioning units leaked water into the streets; the water was a yellowish green and some of us were hesitant to step near it. Red banners, worn from dirt and rain, hung on the eggshell white walls, while exposed wiring served as a shelf for hanging clothing. Old bikes sped past us with a rhythmic sound and buildings, roofless and doorless, sat filled with rubble. The students attend school without many lights, though they do have fans. A few posters, worn and torn at edges, hung to decorate the walls. Inside the classroom, a proudly drawn Haibao, the mascot for the Shanghai Expo beamed urban pride. The wooden desks sat patiently, with chairs turned over upon them, waiting for a Monday with students and the courtyard outside boasted a basketball hoop for the few young tall enough to dunk it. At a family store, we saw small, colorful plastic action figures, cigarette cartons in a glass counter display, bagged snacks and in the back, a stockpile of liquor. Outside, a man raised pigeons with small plastic rings at their ankles. They obediently did not fly away, despite an open cage they sat upon, enjoying the free, fresh air.
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so last night, my roommate christine and i were headed back from a long day of classes and being out in the city when we walked into our elevator. two "mediterranean" (i can't think of another description) men and a chinese girl walked in. and almost immediately, it was obvious to me that something was amiss. she was dressed pretty normally, around my age, cute and she kept smiling at christine and i, like she wanted to talk. the guys kept talking to each other in a language we didn't understand and when we arrived at the third floor, they all got off together, with large bottles of alcohol in hand. my best guess is that we saw prostitution. but it was weird because while breakfast at tiffany's and pretty woman are my favorite movies... you never expect to see it standing in the elevator with you, smiling at you. we prayed for her and the guys when we got back, for God's guidance and for safety. and then we thought well hm, we could be proactive! we figured out that their hotel room was between 301 and 308, so we called 301 and 302 to no answer. at 303, we hit gold. we only called them twice, enough that we hoped we had interrupted the evening enough to prevent whatever we thought might be happening. the only thing that bothers me with what we did (we talked to our supervisor about it afterwards) is that 1) we don't know for sure that she was doing what we thought they were doing and 2) it isn't really our right to take away or interrupt someone's livelihood; it's not our business if they want to live their lives in this way. so i guess the only thing we're supposed to do in situations like that is to pray.
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It's strange here. I love it here. I love the kids. I love how eager they are to learn. I love how hardworking they are. (They can introduce themselves now!) I love their smiles. I love their laughter. I love that they take care of each other. I love when they cheer. But it's also a struggle. It's a struggle to be loving when I'm tired. It's a struggle when I don't know any Chinese. (And I really mean NONE.) It's a struggle when the weather is hot and I'm a sticky. It's a struggle when I feel like I'm being judged. It's a struggle when I feel like I'm failing. And yet, despite all the struggles, I still love it here. In my book, that's God's grace, a blessing, and his divine sense of humor. 
These are the girls, Julia, Lisa and Helen, playing a version of Rock, Paper, Scissors that involves the piling and slapping of hands. They do things pretty cool on this side of the earth. 
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Today was the first day at the migrant school here in Shanghai. I have the cutest 9 kids in my group 2: Lisa, who’s adorable, Kelly, who’s super shy, Julia, really smart and nice, Helen, very assertive and clever, quick, Nick, who’s adorable chubby, John, who always laughs, Kyle, who can’t say his name quite right yet but is so sweet and tries so hard, Paul, who’s English is really good and kind of leads the group, and Justin, who’s really quiet. To start class, they got their names from us and they tried to teach me how to say their names – really hard for me since I don't speak Mandarin. On a side note, I think my Cantonese has improved. Haha. We had fun playing the games, but it was kind of sad to see the groups compete in a mean way – they definitely are kids. They exclude one another, push others behind them or ahead of themselves to their own advantage and even cuss each other out. But I guess I'm lucky - tutoring for the past year has taught me that kids aren't perfect - they're kids, just like the rest of us and need to be understood and accepted for everything they are, even if that means they're going to curse someone out for misunderstanding a game and causing the teams to all tie. That was probably the safest ending for the game anyways, since one of our goals is to instill confidence in the kids. It was fun playing Big Wind Blows, Concentration (which they totally couldn’t get the coordination to), 1 Yuan, 5 Jiao, and throwing my lipgloss and pen around, in addition to Draw the Nose on the Chalkboard. It was a really fun day and we also got to have lunch with them. It’s strange to think that these kids could be so underprivileged, because despite their living conditions, they’re all so filled with joy. More than anything, this first day taught me to feel fortunate and blessed – I have so much compared to them. It’s a blessing to have the opportunity to work with them. 
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So today after our training, some of my friends and I went shopping near Nanjing Lu, in the hopes of finding some awesome hot deals on mad accessories and clothes. And while we did find some awesome items at great prices, one of the things that made our night incredible was music. For some reason, this entire trip, we've all had this intense urge to sing. It's really weird, because normally, I'm more shy about the singing in public - at church, there were always girls with these voices that just blew you away, so you kind of just want to sing in the back. But here, it's like all your inhibitions are gone, whether that's good or bad, I'm not quite sure yet. But regardless, on the metro, we just all sang together. A lot of praise songs, maybe a Disney or two in there, but mostly just praise songs. And it was amazing.
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I've been in China now for four weeks, but only with the study abroad program for one. I definitely feel fortunate to be able to study at Fudan University, to have such enthusiastic and inspiring professors willing to teach us. However, I also have to admit some feelings of homesickness. However, upon starting our project, More for Migrant Kids, I've had a lot of fun getting to know our fellow team members, students from Fudan and the Cultural Exchange Program. It wasn't what I expected, but it's definitely been an eye opening and wonderful experience. I'm incredibly grateful to the Chao Foundation for giving me this opportunity. In addition, obviously, I just joined Eastvillagers.org. I think that the website is incredibly useful and has a great mission. It's a community that I hope gains a lot more popularity, as that kind of exposure would promote all the great causes that are available for us to learn about and take part in.
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