what's in a name?

Traditionally, if your name is on a piece of mail, you will get it. But I’m getting ahead of myself, perhaps I should explain one of the processes of life over here: the mail system.

We are able to receive mail here, which is a wonderful system as physically holding pieces of parchment filled with encouraging words of loved ones [and boxes of familiar sugary sweets] do something good for the soul. We do not have mailboxes; everything is shipped through the “mail room”. Usually, Dan, our leader is notified as to when a package has arrived with one of our names on it. Sometimes they’ll tell us that Michael has a package, but when he goes to pick it up, it will be for Tiffany. Sometimes they’ll tell Laura that she has a package, but she’ll return with packages for Wes and Dan. “Perusing the mailroom” has been a weekly chore that one of us volunteers to do each week. We quickly found out that just because one of us receives a package, doesn’t mean that they will notify us when it arrives. We’ve found packages from September a few weeks ago just chillin’ in a corner of the mailroom.

Some of us have also been so lucky as to receive a special slip. This special slip notifies us that a package has arrived for us. However, in order to get these packages, we must take a visit to the post office on the other side of the city (an hour and a half bus ride, people). Two days ago, I was honored with such a slip. Along with it came the urgent message of “If you don’t pick it up by tomorrow, it will be shipped back to America”. We call that a critical time crunch. That’s never a good message to get.

Why these packages can’t be shipped to our actual school, we don’t really know. What makes these packages different from the other packages that actually do make it to our school, we don't really know.

Thankfully, Tiffany was willing to come along on the adventure with me. We arrived at the post office {which, by the way, is so much calmer than a US post office at Christmastime}. We were the only two people in there except for the employees…and an old man. I was able to walk right up to the counter and present my slip. I handed over my passport and other Chinese documents. The woman disappeared and quickly returned with not one but two boxes!! They compared my documents to the boxes and… it all went downhill from there.

In case you don’t have a passport {or haven’t renewed yours in a long time} it is optional to have your middle name on your documentation. As I made this decision two years ago I distinctly remember the arguments I had with myself over whether or not to include my middle name on my passport. The winning argument was this: “Having my middle name will only further clarify who I am. It can’t hurt anything.”

They were spelling my name over and over, aloud.

K-A-Y-L-A-M-A-R-I-E-M-I-N-I. Looking back and forth.

“Oh no,” I said to Tiffany. “I bet you they’re comparing my name to the name on the box. I bet you anything that the boxes do not have my middle name on them.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Tiffany said.

One of the ladies took my passport and disappeared to an office in the back. The other stood, looking at us. The old man came over to see what all the commotion was about. “Wo shi Kayla Marie Mini.” I gestured. “Wo shi Kayla Mini”. I did the same gesture. Kayla Marie Mini and Kayla Mini, are in fact, the same person. We, being American, do not pay as much attention to the middle names. They are only used to make it evidently clear to a child that they are in trouble. Major cultural difference.

The woman returned from the back and picked up the phone. I continued repeating myself, hoping and praying that it would make some type of difference. The old man started speaking to us. For the record, they all ask the same thing. We told him we were English teachers from America. He continued asking questions. Some, we didn’t know the answers to, some we didn’t understand. Then…we didn’t understand anything. “bu dong, bu dong.” He kept trying. It didn’t help.

The woman handed me the phone. Who in the world would I possibly talk to on the phone in the post office in China? “Hello?” I asked, hesitantly.

“Kayla, this is Vincent. The woman says that you are having a problem.”

VINCENT! I had never been happier to hear his voice [if you don’t know who Vincent is, we went to his house not to long ago…you can read about it here]. He asked me a few questions and then tried talking to the lady again for a very long time. She then handed the phone back to me. “Kayla, the woman says that she cannot give you the packages because the documents do not match. I will have to write you a certificate of approval that proves you are the same person, but you will have to come back to the school to get it.”

Let's play a game. It's called "…do you know what it feels like..."

- to live in a foreign country?

- to live in a foreign country around the holidays?

- to literally have a counter (all of two feet) separating you and two boxes of goodness and familiarity from home?

I can’t lie, it was a very discouraging visit to the post office. What did we learn? That China takes our loose term of “what’s in a name?” rather seriously. Maybe from now on my middle name should be included on all pieces of mail.