I have a standing date with Confucius every Monday at noon at the gate of South China Normal University.

He's not the original Confucius - not even one of the 2 million officially registered descendants. Instead, he's a literature graduate with a name whose characters I couldn't recognize and a passion for discussing Confucius.

So I decided to dub him "Kongzi" (Confucius).

Strangely, I discovered one day that his name reveals more about me.

True to his nickname, Confucius is now a teacher whose degree in Chinese classics has endowed him with a grasp of past and present China deeper than anyone I've met.

So I meet Confucius every Monday to help him practice his English pronunciation and hear more of his insights into Chinese society.

At today's meeting, it was obvious that Confucius had come prepared. He launched into an almost fiery speech about foreigners' obsession with Chinese history.

Much like I would imagine of the real Confucius, my Confucius' English was not up to par with his Chinese, so I've translated his ideas as follows:

"When I meet foreigners traveling in China, all they ever want to talk to me about is ancient Chinese culture - the Forbidden City, studying kungfu, the old queue hairstyle.

"Most Chinese people are very proud of our ancient culture, but we feel like foreigners are looking down on modern Chinese society because they're ignoring all of our progress. This old stuff is not China anymore."

Suddenly, the name I had come up with was fitting ironically into his complaints.

I thought about the name as I looked around at the students loitering nearby the 7-11, wearing Nike shoes and talking on their cell phones. I had always thought that talking about ancient Chinese culture was a positive thing, but Confucius saw this as implying that China was a backward country stuck in the past.

Confucius continued: "No foreigner ever wants to talk about the progress of modern society, the economic and social progress. They act like China hasn't made any progress in the last century, but we have!"

His words had the speed and emotional tone of true conviction. I had never heard a Chinese friend speak so openly, so critically about foreigners. I was thrilled to hear a Chinese friend open such a candid window into his thinking.

And here we had stumbled onto the paradox of our differences.

I had come to China because I was thirsty for a deep history and culture I couldn't find in my two-car garage and suburban neighborhood.

I didn't know it at the time, but I came for the click-click-click of electric mahjong machines pouring out of alley-side homes; for the old buildings built over the sidewalk that shield walkers from the southern sun and the monsoon rains; for the blind old man who shuffles by on the street every evening yelling "eeevening paaaper!" so loud I can hear it from my home.

But these details are as boring to Confucius's friends as a manicured front yard is to me.

So Confucius's Chinese friends are running the opposite way, drawn to the continent of economic progress and two-floors-and-a-basement houses that I was running from.

As our conversation wound to a close and Confucius walked me back to the gate of my school, I forgot to mention an English expression for this very situation: "The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence."

When I see him next Monday at noon, I'll remember to tell him.