How I Manifested a Trip to China

On a corroded SIM card in an Android buried 7 years ago, there are erratic notes about the sights and scents of China. There are also grainy pictures of half-eaten matcha ice cream bars, the wide, clean streets of Beijing at night, and a cat perched atop a table in a noodle house—also, a lazy Susan made of glass. All evidence of the time I manifested a last-minute trip to Beijing and Shanghai.

I don’t believe in fate, but I know the stars aligned to make that opportunity possible. Of course, the opportunity had always been there, but I wasn’t aware of it.

It was the lining up of easter eggs that led me there—a flyer posted in the English department’s office broadcasting calligraphy and cooking classes for a steal. These were weekly events hosted by the Chinese student teachers at the Confucius Institute, a division in the foreign language department that had been there for years without my knowledge.

I’d been nuts about anything Chinese-related since I’d read Joy Luck Club at 17 and watched the movie when I found a VHS at a garage sale months later. I jumped at the opportunity to take the cooking class and decided to take the calligraphy class, too, for character.

It was in the calligraphy class that another easter egg appeared as I dipped my brush into the black ink—a conversation about the upcoming trip to China shared amongst the student teachers. I was intrigued and felt a gentle nudge to ask, “Is it too late to go?”

I was surprised to hear that it wasn’t. They were still accepting applications and money for the trip.

How? It was early April, and the trip would begin on May 23rd. Wasn’t that too close?

Butterflies fluttered in my belly, and my inner voice screamed: this is it, this is it, go for it.

It was a sign! This trip had to happen. It was going to change my life, but I couldn’t be afraid. I had to take the risk and, for once in my life, do something I wanted to do without the opinion of anyone else. It was easy for me to say this in my head, but would it be harder when it actually came time to put my money on the table?

So, there was a slight hesitancy, but this was due to money.

I was in grad school, finishing my MA degree in English and wrapping up my thesis as I worked part-time in the front office. Money was tight, and I was living on loan money—my work-study covered two classes and a monthly $200 stipend. I also didn’t have financial help besides my granny allowing me to stay at her house as I finished school—even then, there was an expectation for me to get a ‘real job’ and pay rent. This was hard to do because I was still in school, and I couldn’t ask my dad to help because he was jealous and didn’t want me to have fun on his dime. If my mom had been alive, she might have helped, but if she had been alive, I wouldn’t have lived at my granny’s house.

So, technically, the money I had in my bank account—loan money—was somewhat tied up in my granny and the expectations she had for me to help with bills at the house.

If I went on this trip, it would be seen as a selfish act, because it would cost me half of what was left in my bank account.

The trip was a reasonable $2,000 for a 12-day study abroad experience to Beijing and Shanghai. We would stay at not-so-great dorms on Beijing Jiatong University campus and spend two days in a luxe hotel in Shanghai.

The price for this trip was nothing to me, because I knew the experience would last a lifetime and influence other areas of my life, but I was still afraid. I wanted to tell my granny the moment I decided I wanted to go, but a wise voice within told me to zip it and hold tight. I had some things to get in order before I told her. I knew she would try to dissuade me, and it would be easier for me to change my mind while I lacked a few vital items: a passport and a new ID. I’d never had a passport, because I’d never left the country. What would I go through to get the passport?

The process was maddening. I couldn’t just get a passport, I had to go to a building on Louisiana street, and oh, my mama’s name was spelled wrong on my birth certificate and that would cause an issue, and, oh, gosh, the passport pictures I’d taken at Walgreens were terrible, and oh, that’s ok, because they’re the wrong pictures anyway—go to shop down the street from the building on Louisiana street to take proper passport pictures.

Then, someone snuck into the front office as I left my bag unattended to use the restroom, and they stole my wallet. Now, I had to cancel my debit card, because they’d used the card at the gas station on Scottcrest Drive to take out fifty dollars.

Whew.

I kept asking myself Do I have time?

It seemed like the closer I got to the trip, the more obstacles popped up to keep me home.

My anxiety was high, and I had to calm down to realize everything would be fine. I’d still be able to go. I would get a new ID. I would cancel my old card. I would get a new card. My passport would come in time. Whatever picture I took for my passport would be fine, even if I thought it was the ugliest picture I’d ever taken in my life. Everything would be fine.

And I dealt with all this anxiety alone, because I had to keep it together a little bit longer.

I was right about it all working out for me. I had all my documents in order, and I’d made the payment. I was going, and nothing was going to stop me. Was I afraid of my granny throwing me out? I was. What if I came back home and my things were neatly packed into boxes? Side note: She’d throw me out later; well, my uncle would throw me out, and she would acquiesce, but that wouldn’t happen for another nine months.

I decided to wait until the last minute to tell her, and the last minute for me happened to be two weeks before the trip. It seemed like reasonable notice to me, and my inner voice was urging me to tell her at that point.

By then, I had paid for the trip, and I was steadfast in my decision. Also, I needed someone to drop me off at the airport—how cheeky.

She didn’t react the way I expected her to. Perhaps she was holding her cool until I made it back, but she didn’t say anything then. She just accepted it, because, well…she had to. What was she going to do? The money was gone.

Two weeks later, I was dropped off at Bush Intercontinental Airport by an older cousin. It was a long drive, and I was antsy on my way there. And the nerves didn’t go away when I got there for two reasons: I didn’t have a connection with any of the students I was taking this trip with, and I had never been on a plane.

I was terrified and socially awkward.

A 14-hour flight for my first time on an airplane? What was I thinking?

I was nuts—had to be.

Who would I talk to?

What did I know beyond “Ni hao?”

Was I really doing this?

I looked around at the people I would be on this trip with, and I gave myself permission to be my awkward loner self. I wasn’t going to China to bond with any of them, I was going to give myself the opportunity to do something I’d always dreamed of doing...travel.

With my mind settled, I took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold onto Air China.

I would be ok.