She is She by Fiona Shen by Jing Jing

SHE IS SHE A Collection Of Poems And Illustration By Fiona Shen

To the beautiful souls that captivated me.

PREFACE In the mountains of Guizhou Province, detached from the bustling major cities of China, are a group of girls my age who are striving to do their best despite their challenging circumstances. Their families can barely afford food, not to mention a decent education for their daughters. Even if their families get a chance to send their children to school, this chance is often left for the sons. Education for girls is considered unnecessary there, and girls often have little choice but to stay at home, doing housework and taking care of family members starting from a very young age. This practice of favoring sons over daughters has been reiterated through generations and generations, and sometimes it seems as if these girls’ fates are sealed forever. In this part of Guizhou, getting a job in a restaurant or motel is seen as the highest achievement a girl can reach. However, a school called “Guizhou Forerunner College” can and will possibly change their lives. Guizhou Forerunner College is a charity vocational school, which specifically offers courses for underprivileged middle school girls. With financial aid from the “Spring Bud Project,” these girls can attend school without having to pay any tuition. All the girls I met chose to major in Chinese intangible cultural heritage, specifically handcraft. Through learning, they mastered precious forms of art, such as batik, tiedye, and Miao embroidery. They may be key to revitalizing these endangered forms of art. I was fortunate to be a part of the Guizhou Forerunner College and get to know these girls. We ate, played, studied, and lived together.

Having spent so much time with them, I began to recognize the seemingly insurmountable challenges that they face. Many of them wouldn’t tell their miserable experiences, but plights they overcame had branded on their faces for years. The idea that boys are superior to girls was so deeply rooted in their minds that they barely spoke up for themselves. Yet they had so many valuable stories that should be told. I may not be able to completely change their lives, but what I can do is tell their stories. I jotted down my emotions and thoughts in poetry form, and I decided to dedicate poems to the girls I met in Guizhou. I recorded their voices, depicted their personalities, and tried to bring them a sense of hope, rather than standing by and watching them being overshadowed by their male counterparts without the chance of spreading their wings. In this poetry collection, you will hear about the story of a girl who was tricked into indentured servitude at a restaurant for accidently scratching someone’s car. You will learn about another girl who was a master embroiderer without even knowing it. You will witness, through my stanzas, how a girl was not aware of her grandmother’s illness until it was too late. You will experience their laughter and tears, their bliss and heartache. You may not be able to walk in their shoes, but you will see the roads that they have taken and what may lie ahead.

CONTENTS

DELICATE BLOSSOM

FIRE

GRANDMA

HOW THE EARTH SPINS FROM MY VIEW

IN THE WOODS I LAY

SHALL I FENCE THE CHICKEN WITH GREAT FERVENT

SOME WORDS I WANT TO REMIND YOU OF THE MOST

WHAT I WITNESSED ABOUT EMOTIONS

DELICATE BLOSSOM

It was the first of September, Humid and sultry as late August, Cool and airy as early October, As the sun emerged from the distant mountains, As dewdropps vaporized from the grassy earth, As cocks crowed by the neighbors’ houses, As boys at her age pack for school without rehearse.

It was the first day of school after a long summer, Roads swarming with starving hunters enjoying their time barbecuing and drinking on the county road corners, As she rode across the streets, As her brother craved cough syrup that wouldn’t make his chronic pneumonia any better, As her eyes hunted for the drugstore where the cough syrup was sold cheaper, As her gaze landed on a bunch of children reciting poems and language she could never understand, ever.

It was the first school built in the county, Solemn and silent when the morning mist still tasted sweetly, Amiable and captivating as conversations in class began, As the bell rung for reunion and recess, As children ran back to classrooms from chess, As hissing sounds from pencils rubbed against sheets of paper, As she waited anxiously at the counter for the chemist to deliver.

It was the first rejection from her parents, Quick and determined with no hesitation, Questionings and begging afterward but ending with refusion, As her brother went out with backpacks that day, As he told her he would become a first grader, As if she was omitted from the list of relay, As insomnia and rage accompanied her dismay. It was her first year without school, The same first September with crowded students at 6 AM, Only she wasn’t with the crowd but sitting with needle and wool, As thick wools being threaded through holes on the triangular button, As a stranger appeared in front of her house, As she ran to lock the door as always, As the person outside offered a spot at school made her a rouse. It was the first joyous day in her life, It happened without warning like a pocketknife, A few rounds of inquiry made her qualified for this school, As she told her parents about everything, As their faces turned from neglect to perplex, As they finally realized no tuition was required, As they laughed and cried with joy to their hearts’ desire. It will be the first of September, Humid and sultry as late August, Cool and airy as early October, As the sun emerges from the distant mountains, As dewdropps vaporize from the grassy earth, As cocks crowed by the neighbors’ houses, As a delicate blossom sprouts from piles of foliage.

FIRE As darkness encroaches, Troops with white bandanas start surging thrashing brandishing in the water, Threatening to shatter the house on the isle to pieces. The soldiers have no limbs, Only stout busts pushing them forward To deteriorate the house. Once they land on the isle, Bandanas are off, Whack the hut with their bodies. The house was built Brick by brick, beam by beam, pane by pane, doorknob by doorknob. It once wobbled, corroded. It once lost the roof, a door, a window, Yet it always stood. Inside the hut A fire wiggles on a piece of wax, placed on the center of the table. The flame hears the yelling, bust-steps, swishing sounds when bandanas are taken off all at once. The flame hears the troops coming closer. She, the flame on the wax, neither jumps into the teacup to assimilate with the troops nor burns off her body to show submission. She continues her gesture, Continues but blazes fiercer.

Over time, as the troops splash in the hut, The unshakable house starts wobbling again. With the help from the wind, their cohort, Wooden planks fall and split in half on the ground. Hordes of water and wind rush in from the missing door and windows, Engulfing the space. Soon, the house collapses, under the strain of all the soldiers. Smashed bricks and wood sink into the soaked soil after Penetrating tapestries, leather sofa, and pillows. Duck down from the pillows are mutinous that they escape along with the wind and float on the water, Away,

Away. In ruins, the wax has gone missing, so has the fire. Probably quenched by the troops, or blown out by the wind since the house was destroyed, its last protection. A few seconds later, a fire Much larger, wilder, brighter, more ambitious, more adamant Grows under piles of rags Occupying the relics. From the wooden hunks, To the nearby weeds and nettles, Then devouring few trees behind. The fire knows the troops will come back soon when the night starts munching the sky again. She continues her gesture, Continues but blazes fiercer.

GRANDMA My grandma told me about her illness one time when we were facetiming, That my tears were compelled from my dry eyes after knowing it, That my whole body was thrust into dark clouds with thunder and lightning. But I could do nothing but beg my teachers to take her to the hospital. But I could do nothing as she refused because a trip to such a place was unaffordable. She tried to bite it, Munched it, Crunched it with her teeth. It finally shattered to pieces in her mouth. She tried to swallow. The jagged chunks slid down along her throat. As they slashed at her throat and landed in her stomach, She ignored the immense pain. She was secretly delighted Since she’d filled up her belly with another pack of cheap crackers. Little did she know that they had expired over two years ago. “Three days in a row without a penny spent!” She said to herself with pride.

Grrrrr! Her stomach rumbled as she slept.

Grrrrr! She pressed her stomach and throat and bowels To find the right button To shut it down.

Grrrrr! She stood up for water and the bathroom but was soon Defeated by the pain, Which pushed her back to bed again.

Ringgggg! “Darling, can you come back this afternoon? It’s your day off and I really miss you!”

Grrrrr! Again, “Don’t worry, darling, I’m doing perfectly fine!” She hung up the phone, Went back to bed, With only pain and hunger lying by her side.

HOW THE EARTH SPINS FROM MY VIEW I found my way out of a shabby little diner Followed by a group of pesky flies and the Queasy smell from the trash bins behind the structure. Sweat oozed from every pore on my face and my back under the heat of mid-July. Two fans were hung by nails on the wall; I wasn’t allowed to enjoy them at all. I had to make sure That none of my water dripped on the table when I wiped. So that the Man in charge of the diner would permit me to leave At 11 every night. But I saw that every other waiter Didn’t get punished for not cleaning their sweat off the tables. They sat under the cool breeze of the fans. Most certainly they wouldn’t perspire because of the fact That they wouldn’t be tormented by the scorching heat as me. I let my consciousness sink into an abyss. Because they were all grown men and women, And I was but a 14-year-old girl, a child, Whose knowledge to negotiate was as void as the cash in my pocket. Not until I saw them start packing at 9 every day, Not until I heard I was paid less than all of them, Not until I was told to pay for the electricity bills with my own money Even if I didn’t touch them once. I demanded an answer from the Diner Man, But he refused to speak about my wage. My bucket of tears upset one night And flooded the diner with an ocean of frustration and inferiority, I looked for islands, boats, or floating tree branches To grasp before being drowned by my unskilled mind. I opened my mouth to yell for help but was soon choked on bitter salt water. 11

“This was the first job that I had, For the sake of my mistake. You see, I left a pricy car with a long scratch. I wanted to ask help from my mom and dad, But I was adopted and mom is handicapped. 30 thousand is a fortune to my dad, I have never seen this much my entire life, in fact. Yet I went back to school after seven days and a half, After my teacher told me the car owner set a trap, His insurance company could pay for all of that. He and the Diner Man were all footpads, Well, they taught me a lesson at last: What skills I have determine how much bones I can avoid to crash, Never again will I waver on my future path, And one day I may shine on my own behalf.” 12

IN THE WOODS I LAY

Silently in the bustle of woods I lay, with my eyes of craving fruits. Burdensome packs of walnuts and almonds With racking tasks undone, Toting on the the paper back of a squirrel, Dropping none but effort thorough. As the hoarder mirrored my toil, As I glimpsed the embroidery manul. So Nature signed contracts of plump harvest And prickly drudgery to the earnest, With slight transposition of its order, In making the process harsher. By then I waited breathlessly, Unmoving, whimiscally for the Fortune onslaughting me. The Fortune I craved vaporized in the air, Soon precipitated on my generous face that could bear.

SHALL I FENCE THE CHICKEN WITH GREAT FERVENT Shall I fence the chicken with great fervent, To seduce them with grains or simply laments? They listen none to my commands. Shall I sweep the floor with mighty strength that I lack, The besom trumpets to protest my grip in a wack? I proceed none and wish that I’m handicapped. Shall I wash the faded clothes with blistered hands, Blades on the washboard thrust my bones to expand? I received cares none as my hands became wildland. Shall I nurse my youngers with tender great, They grow in shapes and left me without educate? I complained none, during nights I prayed. Shall I begrudge the fortune and family that they are born with, They stroll through torrents as I build the bridge? I should complain none as I spot the ridge. Shall I pity you for those mountains you overcame, They left you void and made you lame?

Still, You remain yourself with grace.

SOME WORDS I WANT TO REMIND YOU OF THE MOST You said that you are nothing; you make no income for your family; you are not the best in your class; you can’t do sports and you always come last; I, I do not lack, So I couldn’t relate to you. I disagree, Nonetheless.

Visiting Inner Mongolia has always been your dream, To see how the grass dances at the height of an adult’s knees Or to taste how thick and sweet the goat milk is Even to wrestle with local kids that wear colorful garments. Fair enough, I can relate to you perfectly Because I haven’t been to this paradise either. Who ran alongside me for 7 loops at 8 am in the morning, Who said she couldn’t endure distances more than a mile coming, Who told me she felt more confident after the exhausting miles that made her feel as happy as a child.

You embroidered a handkerchief during recess, How the colorful thread wove in and out and grasped my chest. Even if you are not the best in your class, There is plenty of time for you to practice, And doubt yourself less and less. I heard of the burdens that your father must carry, Medicine your mother must take to stay merry, You have siblings that thirst for education, And for this you must become a strong person.

Look up, To see the sun glowing from atop the mountains, Scattering its beams to the ground, to your school, to your person. Your virtues are as bright as these beams, Intangible they maybe but they still gleam.

WHAT I WITNESSED ABOUT EMOTIONS I witnessed laughter. I witnessed tears. I witnessed the joy of receiving gifts, Seeing a child born, And loved ones embracing with bliss. I witnessed how ecstatic they were. I witnessed how they laughed and hugged and kissed each other. I witnessed how they ripped off their masks without a care in the world. I witnessed the tears of someone scraping their knee, Losing a loved one, Saying a last goodbye to their parents with only a sigh. I witnessed how desperate they were. I witnessed how they cried and fainted and drank themselves to a stupor. I witnessed how they pieced debris together and shrugged off the pain with humor.

I witnessed people who failed to match their expression with their emotions. I witnessed how they grinned rather than guffawed. I witnessed how they frowned rather than howled. I witnessed how other people misunderstood them With ridicule and scowls. I witnessed how they were labeled as “freak” or “weird.” I witnessed how they tried to rip off these labels. In front of a mirror, I witnessed them practicing how to laugh and cry Neither a tear nor a smile escape their eyes. I witnessed laughter. I witnessed tears. I witnessed neither of these in my own reflection.

THANKS