I remember when I find out my friend had died, but not much else that I could articulate. It took a while. I wanted what I had to say to make sense, to make sense to me, to you, to him, and to all who have struggled in China trying to make sense of life and themselves. It is my hope that this is it.
I met Phil through my angst driven—funny at times (I think)—blog of “The Laowai Monologues.” He was always supportive of even my worst times, and yes, they were embarrassing as raw and as visceral as they could be, postings.
Such allegiance, support, and loyalty from someone I had never ever met meant volumes to me, an American trying to make sense of Chinese culture in a remote city. He was someone who not only made supportive comments, but kept in close touch with emails. For you see, where I was in China, wasn’t particularly attractive to most foreign teachers. However, Phil stood by me through thick and thin. I’ve never had such a relationship with someone like that before. It meant a lot during the daily barrage of “Hellos” and stares, and other things that can exceed understanding in a western mindset. I had faults, I made screw ups, I had regrets, but Phil, no matter, what stood by me.
I’m not going into any of the specifics that happened during my trials, tribulations, and joys of teaching where I was in China. You can read that in the school’s review.
I can tell you this man had a heart and certainly was articulate enough to endear him to many of us working in China.
Phil had his faults; hell, that goes with the program of teaching in China I think. If you’re teaching in China, it can be a struggle and on the worst China days, your shortcomings and faults can seep out. It happens, so please save the holier than thou we are global representative’s schlock.
Phil stepped up to the plate and went to bat for me in more than one time of particularly stupidly dangerous episodes I found myself in.
Regardless, I loved him, I love him now, and will love him forever.
I didn’t actually meet Phil until during a Spring Festival holiday when he allowed me to stay in his apartment, and I met some of you at that time there. I had a blast.
He was big, big hearted as hell, and a lot of fun just to bullshit with. My last six months I spent in Suzhou, and I saw Phil occasionally. We shared our books, we discussed literature, music, and just life in China. We met in restaurants, and drank.
One time we were drinking some Chinese brandy, and we looking out the window of his bedroom overlooking the street. It was dusk. It was the last time I saw him. I can remember the conversation was about the difference between westerners and Chinese, and what was good and bad about it.
When he returned to the states I still kept it touch with him through emails. I know he wasn’t in the best health, but damn, he was a good guy with faults like all of us; the difference I think is that it was his heart that was exceedingly blessed and sanctified….like sacred relics.
If the afterlife is defined by people who help those in the worst circumstances, I feel, I sense, and I know that Phil Stephens is living large in paradise, and prayers are hitting God like Psalms that would make David look like a rank amateur hack writer.
I miss him so much.
Thanks for reading this.