Jian Ping's column
Filming Mulberry Child in China (2)
Filming Mulberry Child in China (2)
By Jian Ping
I knew I was home the moment I stepped out of the luggage area at the Changchun Airport—my brother-in-
law Ming Fu and my nephew Xiao Tao opened their welcoming arms to embrace me.
“I had to stop your sisters from coming,” Ming Fu said, smiling. “We have two vehicles, but there won’t be
enough seats if they all come.”
He saw Lisa. “Yie Yie,” he called her by her Chinese name and gave her a big hug. So did Xiao Tao.
Witnessing our association with my family members, Susan decided to postpone dinner and go with Lisa
and me straight home to capture our family greetings on film. I tried to dissuade her—it would be 9:30 P.M.
by the time we got to my mother’s place, and more importantly, everyone was hungry. But Susan wouldn’t
hear any of that. So I called home, informing my mother and my three sisters we’d stop by to say hi first.
To avoid distraction, Susan and her daughter Alex, the two blonds, stayed in the car while Quyen, a
Vietnamese-American born and raised in the U.S., accompanied Lisa and me to my mother’s apartment. An
uproar of cheers erupted with the opening of the door— my mother, my sisters Yan, Ping and Wen, and my
brother-in-law Zhicheng were all waiting for us. When I eventually stood in front of my mother, I was
overwhelmed with emotion. Mother had diabetes and was suffering from dangerously high blood pressure,
200/110 mmHG that day, I was told. But she looked strong and radiant. We gazed at each other, hugged,
and looked at each other again. Despite my effort at control, I couldn’t stop the surging tears when Mother
I knew I was home the moment I stepped out of the luggage area at the Changchun Airport—my brother-in-
law Ming Fu and my nephew Xiao Tao opened their welcoming arms to embrace me.
“I had to stop your sisters from coming,” Ming Fu said, smiling. “We have two vehicles, but there won’t be
enough seats if they all come.”
He saw Lisa. “Yie Yie,” he called her by her Chinese name and gave her a big hug. So did Xiao Tao.
Witnessing our association with my family members, Susan decided to postpone dinner and go with Lisa
and me straight home to capture our family greetings on film. I tried to dissuade her—it would be 9:30 P.M.
by the time we got to my mother’s place, and more importantly, everyone was hungry. But Susan wouldn’t
hear any of that. So I called home, informing my mother and my three sisters we’d stop by to say hi first.
To avoid distraction, Susan and her daughter Alex, the two blonds, stayed in the car while Quyen, a
Vietnamese-American born and raised in the U.S., accompanied Lisa and me to my mother’s apartment. An
uproar of cheers erupted with the opening of the door— my mother, my sisters Yan, Ping and Wen, and my
brother-in-law Zhicheng were all waiting for us. When I eventually stood in front of my mother, I was
overwhelmed with emotion. Mother had diabetes and was suffering from dangerously high blood pressure,
200/110 mmHG that day, I was told. But she looked strong and radiant. We gazed at each other, hugged,
and looked at each other again. Despite my effort at control, I couldn’t stop the surging tears when Mother
| Jian Ping |
A Sweet Moment: my sisters and my mother
pulled me tightly into her arms again.
After an emotional greeting of 20 minutes or so, we rushed to a nearby restaurant
and barely had enough time to put in our order before the kitchen closed for the
day. My nephew and two brothers-in-law waited for us in the front while we had
our dinner. They drove the group to their hotel and took me home—Lisa stayed at
the hotel to be the group’s interpreter.
Over the following two days, Zhicheng and Xiao Tiao made themselves available
to drive us around.
“I like Chinese men,” Susan said. “They bend over to serve their women.”
I smiled. It was a matter of family. Actually, my family members had their concerns
about the content of the film, but despite themselves, they gave me, the youngest
sibling and the crew I brought over their utmost support. I felt very lucky, grateful
and blessed.
We worked feverishly in Changchun and Baicheng, filming all the footage that
Susan intended to have, and more.
We also had many fun and memorable moments.
When we were having lunch the following day at a restaurant half a block from my
mother’s home, Susan and Quyen loved the fresh, nicely presented food.
“This must be the best restaurant in town,” Susan said.
I told her it was a typical neighborhood place. The entrees were reasonably priced
and the wait staff friendly. I ordered many vegetarian dishes for our group:
eggplant with green pepper, my favorite; tofu with bean sprouts and clear
noodles, Quyen’s newly found favorite; rice with stir-fried eggs and deep-fried
sweet potato coated in sugar (拔丝地瓜), two dishes that Alex’s life depended on;
and the long string beans that Lisa loved; and home fries, with additional order of
fried pumpkin that Susan relished; and a large plate of stir-fried spinach with
garlic. My nephew ordered more dishes with meat. When all was said and done,
we found ourselves faced with a large table of entrees in the style of a feast, all at
a total price less than 300 RMB, about $45!
“This is the best meal we’ve had in China,” Susan said, beaming.
Something else, however, also caught Susan’s attention—she loved the wait staff
uniform. The slim-cut, high collar uniform in red and black, with white stripes,
looked very smart on the boys and girls who ran around the dining room serving
customers.
“Do you think I can buy one from them?” she asked me.
I talked with a waiter, who called the manager. I noticed that many of the wait staff
smiled as they looked toward our table. They were also murmuring among
After an emotional greeting of 20 minutes or so, we rushed to a nearby restaurant
and barely had enough time to put in our order before the kitchen closed for the
day. My nephew and two brothers-in-law waited for us in the front while we had
our dinner. They drove the group to their hotel and took me home—Lisa stayed at
the hotel to be the group’s interpreter.
Over the following two days, Zhicheng and Xiao Tiao made themselves available
to drive us around.
“I like Chinese men,” Susan said. “They bend over to serve their women.”
I smiled. It was a matter of family. Actually, my family members had their concerns
about the content of the film, but despite themselves, they gave me, the youngest
sibling and the crew I brought over their utmost support. I felt very lucky, grateful
and blessed.
We worked feverishly in Changchun and Baicheng, filming all the footage that
Susan intended to have, and more.
We also had many fun and memorable moments.
When we were having lunch the following day at a restaurant half a block from my
mother’s home, Susan and Quyen loved the fresh, nicely presented food.
“This must be the best restaurant in town,” Susan said.
I told her it was a typical neighborhood place. The entrees were reasonably priced
and the wait staff friendly. I ordered many vegetarian dishes for our group:
eggplant with green pepper, my favorite; tofu with bean sprouts and clear
noodles, Quyen’s newly found favorite; rice with stir-fried eggs and deep-fried
sweet potato coated in sugar (拔丝地瓜), two dishes that Alex’s life depended on;
and the long string beans that Lisa loved; and home fries, with additional order of
fried pumpkin that Susan relished; and a large plate of stir-fried spinach with
garlic. My nephew ordered more dishes with meat. When all was said and done,
we found ourselves faced with a large table of entrees in the style of a feast, all at
a total price less than 300 RMB, about $45!
“This is the best meal we’ve had in China,” Susan said, beaming.
Something else, however, also caught Susan’s attention—she loved the wait staff
uniform. The slim-cut, high collar uniform in red and black, with white stripes,
looked very smart on the boys and girls who ran around the dining room serving
customers.
“Do you think I can buy one from them?” she asked me.
I talked with a waiter, who called the manager. I noticed that many of the wait staff
smiled as they looked toward our table. They were also murmuring among
Susan (2nd from left) in uniform with Wait Staff
themselves. They must have been amused by this curious foreigner who loved their uniform!
When the waiter I talked with returned 20 minutes later, he handed Susan a brand new uniform in
a clear plastic bag.
“Courtesy of our restaurant,” he said. “We hope to see you again.”
“Xiexie! Xiexie!” Susan’s pronunciation of thank you in Chinese was perfect.
Then, Susan stood up and surprised us all by putting on the uniform and beginning to clear the
plates from the table.
“What else would you like to have?” Susan asked with a big smile.
We all applauded.
The time we spent in Baicheng, the small town where I grew up, was the most difficult.
The week before our arrival, my sister Yan had made a special trip to Baicheng, checking out the
sites we needed to film and selecting a hotel (she visited nearly all the reputable hotels in town)
for us. Minutes after we checked into the hotel, Susan, Quyen and I started coughing. We found
the heavy smell of smoke and chemicals that lingered everywhere in the hotel choking. Susan,
who had asthma, immediately took out her inhaler.
We started working early the next day. The moment we were outdoor, the sand and dust swirled
up by the strong wind whipped at us. Quyen had to replace her contact lens with her regular
glasses. Memories of fighting against the wind as a child flashed back—I used to use a thin scarf
to wrap around my head to prevent sand from getting into my eyes. I looked around and saw a girl
not far from us wearing a silk scarf in the same manner.
“We have two winds here each year,” Yan, who accompanied us to Baicheng, said to Susan.
“Each lasts for six months.”
Susan laughed despite herself.
We filmed late into the night that day, and treated ourselves to a good hot pot dinner, with a
variety of green vegetables, mushroom and two large plates of thinly sliced beef.
In Baicheng, we also filmed peasants plough fields, with a donkey or a horse, as they would
have done thousands of years ago. We filmed a classroom in a village, which was in the same
condition as the one I attended in the 60’s. We filmed the Wan Building where I played and hit my
first ping pong ball in the old Government Compound. We even found a little girl, the
granddaughter of a friend of Yan, to play me as a child. We visited and filmed the homes of
several peasants who were still living in poverty—their mud houses were as shabby as the one
my family lived in during our persecution. The peasants were kind and warm and readily opened
their doors to us. Both Susan and Quyen were touched by the openness and friendliness of the
people we met.
“This trip has changed my view of China,” Susan said. “I was dumb to believe in the biased
opinions about China.”
We worked long hours and checked out of our hotel a day before schedule—we decided to drive
back to Changchun for the night. It was not an easy drive—most of the country road had no lights
and vehicles from the opposite side all had their high beam on. We managed to return to
Changchun late at night.
It was sad to see that with all the changes in China’s metropolitan areas, the hardship of life in
the countryside didn’t change much. The disparity was heart-wrenching.
I stayed with my mother for one more day after the departure of the crew. My mother loved playing
mahjong. So that evening, my sisters and I kept her company at the mahjong table. She was as
quick and sharp as ever before. I made her laugh throughout the evening by making desperate
gestures—I lost nearly all my chips to her.
It was an evening of fun and joy with family that I knew I would relish for a long time.
To prevent Mother from feeling sad about my departure, I promised her that I would visit her
When the waiter I talked with returned 20 minutes later, he handed Susan a brand new uniform in
a clear plastic bag.
“Courtesy of our restaurant,” he said. “We hope to see you again.”
“Xiexie! Xiexie!” Susan’s pronunciation of thank you in Chinese was perfect.
Then, Susan stood up and surprised us all by putting on the uniform and beginning to clear the
plates from the table.
“What else would you like to have?” Susan asked with a big smile.
We all applauded.
The time we spent in Baicheng, the small town where I grew up, was the most difficult.
The week before our arrival, my sister Yan had made a special trip to Baicheng, checking out the
sites we needed to film and selecting a hotel (she visited nearly all the reputable hotels in town)
for us. Minutes after we checked into the hotel, Susan, Quyen and I started coughing. We found
the heavy smell of smoke and chemicals that lingered everywhere in the hotel choking. Susan,
who had asthma, immediately took out her inhaler.
We started working early the next day. The moment we were outdoor, the sand and dust swirled
up by the strong wind whipped at us. Quyen had to replace her contact lens with her regular
glasses. Memories of fighting against the wind as a child flashed back—I used to use a thin scarf
to wrap around my head to prevent sand from getting into my eyes. I looked around and saw a girl
not far from us wearing a silk scarf in the same manner.
“We have two winds here each year,” Yan, who accompanied us to Baicheng, said to Susan.
“Each lasts for six months.”
Susan laughed despite herself.
We filmed late into the night that day, and treated ourselves to a good hot pot dinner, with a
variety of green vegetables, mushroom and two large plates of thinly sliced beef.
In Baicheng, we also filmed peasants plough fields, with a donkey or a horse, as they would
have done thousands of years ago. We filmed a classroom in a village, which was in the same
condition as the one I attended in the 60’s. We filmed the Wan Building where I played and hit my
first ping pong ball in the old Government Compound. We even found a little girl, the
granddaughter of a friend of Yan, to play me as a child. We visited and filmed the homes of
several peasants who were still living in poverty—their mud houses were as shabby as the one
my family lived in during our persecution. The peasants were kind and warm and readily opened
their doors to us. Both Susan and Quyen were touched by the openness and friendliness of the
people we met.
“This trip has changed my view of China,” Susan said. “I was dumb to believe in the biased
opinions about China.”
We worked long hours and checked out of our hotel a day before schedule—we decided to drive
back to Changchun for the night. It was not an easy drive—most of the country road had no lights
and vehicles from the opposite side all had their high beam on. We managed to return to
Changchun late at night.
It was sad to see that with all the changes in China’s metropolitan areas, the hardship of life in
the countryside didn’t change much. The disparity was heart-wrenching.
I stayed with my mother for one more day after the departure of the crew. My mother loved playing
mahjong. So that evening, my sisters and I kept her company at the mahjong table. She was as
quick and sharp as ever before. I made her laugh throughout the evening by making desperate
gestures—I lost nearly all my chips to her.
It was an evening of fun and joy with family that I knew I would relish for a long time.
To prevent Mother from feeling sad about my departure, I promised her that I would visit her
| Mushroom for hotpot |
| Deep fried sweet potato coated in sugar |
| A mud house in a village near Baicheng |
| If you want to make a difference in the lives of our residents, visit our website to view and apply for our current openings. www.oakwoodvillage.net Oakwood Village is a Lutheran church-sponsored, not-for-profit, locally operated organization consisting of two continuing care retirement communities, Oakwood Village East and Oakwood Village West, in Madison, Wisconsin. EOEd organization consisting of two continuing care retirement communities, Oakwood Village East and Oakwood Village West, in Madison, Wisconsin. EOE |
again before the end of the year.
The shooting in China was productive and successful. I can hardly
wait to see the final film—it is scheduled to be released in 2011.
Jian Ping is author of “Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. “ For
more information, visit www.moraquest.com or www.
mulberrychild.com. Jian Ping’s blog, which she keeps with a
couple of other authors, is at www.smearedtype.com.
The shooting in China was productive and successful. I can hardly
wait to see the final film—it is scheduled to be released in 2011.
Jian Ping is author of “Mulberry Child: A Memoir of China. “ For
more information, visit www.moraquest.com or www.
mulberrychild.com. Jian Ping’s blog, which she keeps with a
couple of other authors, is at www.smearedtype.com.