TUESDAY 1:25 PM

The tiny classroom is packed with students when I enter it around 1:25, 15 minutes before the bell rings. As I go about setting up for class, a few students who have looked up from their books and their naps stare quizzically and smilingly at the one of the six white-skinned teachers teaching at this university of over 20,000. I smile back, say hello, and tell them in Chinglish that’s they still have time to stay and study if they’d like.

These students in front of me have class back to back all day, and sometimes into the night. On weekends they go to private training schools to study for their graduate entrance exams. And instead of going to their dorms to nap after lunch like most their classmates, they’ve chosen to find an empty classroom to cram in some extra studying.

Inevitably, as soon as I say "you can stay, really!" one of them starts to pack up, and they all are gone within a minute. Maybe they think I'm being indirect, but I really wouldn't mind if they staying there studying until just before the bell. Maybe next Tuesday they'll stay longer.

At 1:37, my students arrive. My students are teachers. They are the student counselors, lecturers, and researchers. They have families, parents to take care of, children ages 1, 3, 16, 23. They will be absent on account of having to give their thesis defense, or because they have to go to apply for a visa to travel to the USA. They're busy. I don't expect them to come early, like most college students in China ... I just hope that they'll come!

At 1:45, it looks like we'll have a turnout of 10 for today. Half the roster, that's pretty good! I greet each one by name and begin class. In this advanced level class, I'm letting them dictate much of the discussion. Today's topic - what's the greatest risk you've ever taken? ... and somehow we also get back around to talking about nuclear radiation and why everyone in China was rushing to buy salt a week or so ago.