There is an Arabic-English public school in New York that is coming under attack. Being one for promoting cultural understanding and acceptance, I am disheartened to see the inevitable and disgraceful, what's generally expected of sensitive, proud Americans.

I am particularly frustrated by the woman who says, "Children go to school to learn to be American." Whatever that means...you know, considering America is a homogenous island of blond hair white face people who only speak English and eat tater tots and hot dogs for lunch.

What good is it to learn to "be American" when America is a melting pot of other cultures, that in order to truly understand what it is to be American and to appreciate these freedoms, we MUST learn about the other cultures that make up our country. Perhaps I'm a little oversensitive myself but it sure feels a little like "being American" in this sense means avoiding learning about the heritage and culture of others.

American culture is a composite of other cultures. Preserving and protecting and teaching what is truly American is about teaching and learning and respecting and welcoming other cultures and religions, customs and languages. It's about encouraging understanding of other cultures and protecting the freedom and the right to be both American and something else. I feel like it's the immigrants, the soldiers and the people who have lived abroad who understand what it truly means to be American.

But just think about it: how many conflicts, misunderstandings, wars, revolutions could be prevented for want of mutual understanding?

Yes, please do preserve the real American culture. Without it, "American" becomes a synonym for prejudiced, ignorant imperialist.

Or perhaps I've just been walking too long in the other man's shoes.

Last night I found myself surrounded by a mob of credo wailing, high-stepping, fist-waving, fight melody chorusing members of the Red Army.

Ok, so in fact they weren't really Red Army, just waiters and waitresses dressed to look and act the part and the mob wasn't a real mob, but rather 40 and 50-somethings gathered for a "blast from the glory days of the China Republic and Mao Zedong." Even so, I had to keep reminding myself that this is in fact 2008 and outside of this little restaurant designed to keep alive the spirit of the good old Communist days is a country developing away this period of history.

The majority of the patrons were about the same age as my parents. Workers and party members who came of age in the 1970's, who for most, if not all of their development years, lived and breathed the People's spirited march melodies, the playskits villifying the ugly Japanese and the slimey traitors who helped them, the choruses warning of the filthy Imperialist devils and of course, the many many chants and cries dedicated to The Great Chairman. I was mezmorized.

And oh did they sing. What was nostalgia for them was for me a glimpse into a world that few outside of China have any real conception of, a world that is impossible to relate to for anyone who's never experienced that sort of centrally regimented society. The girls, looking so innocent with their mandatory pigtail braids, the boys, so young in their shapeless green fatigues. Each little comrade singing with as much gusto and spirit as they can muster, swinging their arms and marching and saluting with perfectly timed precision and focus. My friend who accompanied me said that this was the type of entertainment that was broadcast every night, the same songs that greeted children at birth, sung on command at all hours of the day and used as a means of fostering and tying people together by their love of country and the Communist party.

I grew up under the influence of American media which has, for the sake of simplicity, labeled all things Red, Marxist or Maoist as (in the words of Elmer Fudd) "ve-wy ve-wy bad" and the Cultural Revolution as one of the worst periods of tyranny and oppression in human history. Imagine my cultural dilemma, thus when I arrive in China to find very sane and practical people who possess an ardent love for Chairman Mao and who remember that "terrible" period with genuine fondness and nostalgia, as being a time when yes, people were poor and we had to work very hard, but things were simple, people were stronger and life was complete. (More about this another time.)

Cultural relativism aside, I found the experience at this restaurant to be an unintentional cross-section of old and new China. Essentially you have young people, around my age, singing and marching and reenacting the past for the old timers who for whatever reason either miss or want to re-experience the good old days. You also have the mid-lifers who have some memories of the experience and their under 10 kids who have absolutely no historical experience, but hey who doesn't like energetic singing and a spirited band complete with drums, trumpet, flute and lahu (two stringed traditional upright Chinese violin: this woman was the most fantastic erhu player I've ever seen. She stood up and did a rocking solo riff. Idol. Seriously.)

The songs being as patriotic as they were and the revelers being as swept up in the "hooray for being Chinese" sentiment, I was a little anxious about showing too much of my blond head. Yes certainly people looked at me with maybe a little more curiosity than normal but for the most part, people were just as friendly and welcoming as they always are. Occasionally the men would salute me and one of the actresses even came up to shake MY hand as she was going around the room letting people shake hers. But I guess it's one of why wouldn't people be friendly? They're the same people I see everyday on the street and it's not like any of this is real anyway, at least not anymore.

I looked over at one point and noticed a waiter standing in the alcove near my table who was air-drumming in time with the drummer on stage. He was maybe a year or two younger than me and he had that look I've seen so many times before on people my age with a dream for something bigger. I watched him for a few moments until the door next to him opened and another waitress came out. He abruptly stopped drumming and I smiled to myself for the opportunity to steal a glimpse of his private moment when he thought no one was watching.

At the end of the day, for better or worse, the patrons leave the sweet respite of their memories and go back to their modern lives. The staff exchange their uniforms for Levis and Nikes and return to the present, with all the same hopes and dreams, frustrations and struggles.

Amy, a friend of a friend was recently diagnosed with advanced stage breast cancer. There is a 4cm tumor in her right breast. She will need a mastectomy.

She's 28.

Some developments in my relationship with the ants...

To Little Ant, life seems so relatively aimless and purposeless. To herself, she says, look at me, I'm just crawling around, I'm not really going anywhere, I'm just stretching my legs and occasionally picking up a crumb or two. But I am happy, I have food enough to eat and I know I'm not the only one. Thus, life is life.

To me, observing Little Ant, I too initially think how pointless and purposeless her little life is. I mean look, she's just crawling around, not really going anywhere, just stretching her legs and occasionally picking up a crumb or two. But she's content, she has food enough to eat and look, she's not the only one.

And then it hits me. Maybe her purpose is to remind people like me that I'm not the only one, that everyone is searching in their own way and that even though she'll never know it, she's affected me and perhaps others like me. It's immeasureable but so is the effect that we constantly have on others.

The value that I keep wanting to create is not something that I can necessarily measure nor even realize. No one is ever really alone or above affecting others. If anyone is like me (which I'm confident you all are) you find yourself sometimes affected by the most insignificant things. The couple walking along the sidewalk and the girl's innocent smile as she gently puts her hand in the crook of her boyriend's arm. The man carrying a pomeranian who stops to nuzzle the dog while he waits for his friend. The little ants on the ground...

We are all ants in our own way, inadvertantly and genuinely affecting the world in indefinite and immeasureable ways.

I noticed the ants on the ground for the first time in a long, long time today.

I was in the little park just north of the consulates sitting on a bench talking to my best friend Lauren on the other side of the world about my search for direction and purpose when I noticed a tiny little black ant scurrying around by my foot.

My first thought: "wow, a Chinese ant. I wonder if it understands Chinese." (Don't ask me why but I find myself thinking this when I encounter most small creatures here. Perhaps it has something to do with the myna bird and cockatiel at work...they'll croon nihao and "happy birthday" and "great fortune to you" in chinese all day long but when I say hello, they clam up, cock their heads to one side and just look at me strange. Silly birds.)

Back to ant: I watched him patter around for awhile, running in the grooves between the tiles on the ground, coming across debris, fumbling around to assess path of least resistence and then on his way again. I'll give him credit, he never stopped moving but he was completely erratic and if I didn't know better, he seemed a little lost.

Not far away, (what I presumed to be) a buddy of my little ant friend was waltzing to the same tune. As I looked closer, I noticed every few tiles or so was another ant, lost and bugging around blindly, moving like crazy trying to do whatever it is ants do all day without, it seemed, the slightest bit of direction or progress.

I feel a little like this ant sometimes and I think there are a lot more people here who must feel like this ant regularly as well. No direct purpose, just moving about like crazy, taking the path of least resistance and making it look like we're doing whatever it is we're supposed to be doing.

I haven't written in a while and part of that's because I'm searching for direction and purpose in my own life and have been reticent to share it with the world. However these last few months my personal journal entries have been all starting to sound the same focusing on the major day to day events and occurences and I'm frankly getting bored with myself. I miss the honesty of writing to a blog audience and when I only focus on the big, the little details get lost and along with them, the most enjoyable parts of life.

It's time to reopen the blog. Perhaps purpose and direction will strike in the midst of doing something I enjoy.

Directionless little ant, you've inspired me.