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I’ve just been reading the musings of imminent fatherhood over at imagethief. The blog’s owner, Will, is an exceptionally gifted and humourous writer. In his post he reflects on the issue of how our perception of time changes with age, arguing that 40 weeks of gestation is insufficient for a decent preparation:

The funny thing is that thirty-nine weeks ago it seemed like plenty. Nine months of pregnancy felt like a school-year did back when I was in second grade: about ten minutes longer than eternity. But one of the curious but well-known side effects of getting older is that time compresses. When I was ten the idea of deferring anything for a year was essentially like postponing it forever, or longer. A year hence was simply too remote and exotic a concept to contemplate…

When you’re forty, and you’re planning investments with a twenty year time horizon and buying insurance products calibrated in decades, a year is a rounding error…

Great stuff. Read the rest here.

It’s very true. New Year seems like yesterday to me, and the beginning of the first semester the week before that. But here we are about to enter the third month of 2008. If it wasn’t a leap year we’d already be there. Frightening!

Even more alarming is the prospect of this perception accelerating with each passing year. I’m reminded of the character Roy Batty’s words to his creator in Blade Runner:

I want more life, fucker.

It’s possible that half of my lifespan is still ahead of me, which seems like a fair deal. That the second half of our lives is perceived as a temporal fraction of the first half is just a cruel joke. And what happens when we try to fill those days with productive output? You’ve got it – they go even faster!  I’m definitely with Roy Batty on this one.

…. my flight from London touched down in Beijing. It was my third trip to China, but the first two were strictly travel and exploration. This time I was here to stay.

I was totally unfazed by the thought of living and working in a completely different environment - just excited at the prospect. And I was right; China has always felt like home to me.

Looking back on those three years now, or more specifically at their beginning, I realise that I didn’t come here with a real game plan or any particular personal or professional goals. I see that as a costly mistake. With a clearer agenda and more foresight at the outset, some pitfalls could have been avoided and many positive gains in my personal development could have been made.

At the forefront of this self-criticism is my lack of effort in acquiring at least a conversational level of Chinese. Three years! What the hell was I thinking?

This diagram gives an indication of how many years of study it should take to achieve a given level of proficiency:

There are foreign teachers here at Jimei with less time in China than me whose Mandarin blows me away. I should be trading tones and tongue twisters with them. This is a serious regret, and one that I single out because there are no excuses to accompany it. It is particularly shameful in light of some of the advice I give to my students. 

I must do better; I will do better! 

Many people swear by the excellent http://chinesepod.com/ for their Mandarin lessons, although I get along better with http://www.melnyks.com/ .

So, my new three-year game plan is taking shape. Step one: fall asleep every night to the sound of a podcast in my ear (my other ear will be resting comfortably on the pillow). If I look like falling off the wagon, please remind me that my Chinese sucks.

Today marked the beginning of the new semester. It was a morning filled with two classes comprising a very manageable total of 46 students, all of whom were typically warm and receptive to humour; I can see we’re going to get along just fine.

The new foreign language building houses multi-media classrooms with moveable desks/chairs, not to mention offices and photocopying facilities for teachers on the fourth floor. It’s also aesthetically pleasing, having a traditional courtyard design. I’ll post a picture at some point. 

Unaccustomed as I have become to waking up at 6:30 in the morning (due to late nights during the holiday), I felt the unusual need to take a nap in the early afternoon. This left me feeling groggy with a headache; I really need to master the art of taking a power-nap.

My solution to grogginess was to shoot a few hoops on the basketball courts. The Chinese are passionate about their basketball and the courts are normally a hive of activity during daylight hours. However, a bit of rain on campus in China has much the same effect as cleaning products on the roaches in my kitchen, leaving a surface free of all life forms. 

Consequently, I was able to enjoy an uninterrupted hour of NBA fantasy followed by 30 minutes on the Astroturf soccer pitch, after which I was thoroughly soaked and I still had a headache. There will be no afternoon nap tomorrow; that’s a promise!

The article that accompanies the above picture suggests that being a cat in China has been a tough job for a long time.    

When I worked in Luoyang there was a novelty factor about a cat sighting – a bit like spotting a snow leopard in the wild. That novelty didn’t extend to the instances in the backstreets where felines could be seen squirming for release from their bondage outside establishments that didn’t resemble pet shops: a case of today’s stray cat being tomorrow’s gourmet lunch.

Here in Fujian, at least around the campus at Jimei, felines seem to be held in slightly higher regard. The campus residents are a lot friendlier towards cats than I have witnessed elsewhere in China, and have been known to feed them rather than feed on them. It is common to see small groups of cats sunning themselves in the open while the kittens nip playfully at the grown up’s ears.  

I’ve come to the conclusion that their numbers must have something to do with the prodigious rat population.  This preponderance of rodents, together with the locals’ tolerance, makes Jimei something of a feline heaven in China. Or is it?

The rats here are big and bold – just ask my colleague down the corridor who awoke a few weeks ago to the sensation of something large, brown, and alive crawling around at the foot of his bed. In deference to any rat lovers who may be reading, I’ll refrain from describing the furry intruder’s last moments. 

Anything less than a fully fledged adult cat that attempts to take on one of these mega-vermin is likely to suffer a nasty shock. Rats here seem to have outgrown the gene that instinctively tells them to run and hide at the first sight of feline features. These creatures laugh in the face of whiskers. The old rules of cat ‘n mouse are a thing of the past. Perhaps the rats know it’s their year.

Edited to bring readers this latest news on the fate of Beijing’s Olympic felines.