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There is not a day in my Canadian life that does not pass in which I do not think of my China memories and dreams: my experiences, my friends, and my hopes to return to pursue a better understanding of the language and cultural diversity to become a true 'Zhongguo tong'. Especially in the evening, when it is time to eat 'wan fan', when I use my 'dian fan guo', andattempt to 'shao cai', my memories are most clear and endearing. It is when I pull out my worn wooden 'kuai zi' and sit down to 'chi fan', where the tastes and smells I recreate allow me to transcend time and space to 'land'in a busy market place in China full of my favorite people selling my favorite fruits and vegetables. It is at my dinner table, and it happens every time I make 'Zhongguo cai', where my 'wanfan' serves to tap my imagination and take me back to the days when I lived in a small run-down apartment in a back alley of Nanjing. Although the taste isn't exactly the same, it is close. As I eat, I have visions of my walks exploring the many 'xiangzi' in pursuit of epicurean adventure... I can almost hear the sounds of the daily traffic, the clicking of the knitting needles, and the laughter of the small children. I can almost smell the array of scents of the four seasons... Flashes of the vending ladies with their spreads of fresh greens and bright colors of fruit appear in my mind. They are gesticulating madly and beckoning me forward, "xiaojie, ni shi yi shi ba". In the alleys of my mind, I realize it was through these adventures and wandering in search of good things to eat that I came to learn the 'real' culture and the 'real' language that my textbooks never mentioned. It was through my market trips that I met people, and through the people that I came to love Chinese food... As I taste my 'ma la do fu', its spice reawakens my memory and conversations enter my mind: of culinary secrets and family recipes, of the names of the many and varied Chinese vegetables piled high in colorful mounds. I even remember my attempts to 'tao jia huan jia', how much my first head of cabbage cost, and how my teacher laughed when I told her what I paid!

As my mind wanders I am back in my Chinese classroom where I can see the Chinese saying, 'Min yi shi wei tian' on one of the pages of my textbook. The difference is that I now understand its real meaning, its implications, and its relevance to my life. I see how through embracing what was 'theirs', that that saying unlocked the greatest secret and world of Chinese culture, and how it now keeps me connected to that world. Ultimately, it was through this saying that over time I was no longer "xiaojie", nor "laowai" to those vending ladies, but instead I was "Anna", and their calls changed to "ni lai ba" as I traded my loyalty so that no longer was a head of lettuce excessively expensive but the price for a "lao pengyou". As I finish my last few grains of rice, my mind clears and I realize where I am. My reality has changed. I live alone in a small apartment in a city one tenth the population of Nanjing, where the sounds of buzzing activity of the neighboring Lao Daye and Lao Daniang have been replaced with silence interrupted by the occasional chirping of song birds. Ironically it is in this silence and solitude when I am free to dream over my plate of hot Chinese food that my memories are most vivid... It is during this time I realize how my fantasy and delight of adventure and exploration, the rhythms of my 'China days', still exists. I wash my plates while thinking of the ways in which my life has changed since China... Just thinking of how my memories stir each time I pull out my recipe box and attempt some 'zhenzheng de Zhongguo cai' makes me smile at a secret that few understand.