So, I yelled at a white guy today.
I was on the metro, playing on my DS, and at Nanjing West Road station, on comes this white dude and his Asian coworker. They talk mostly in English but with snippets of Chinese, and from what I can tell the dude is either American, Canadian, or possibly Dutch.
Anyway. Jingan Temple, my station, comes up. I step forward to the door as the train slows down and the station appears beyond the train window. I very softly murmur "excuse me" to the white guy, who was standing just in front and to the side of me.
No response.
I say it again, slightly louder, still with polite tones.
No response.
I say it a third time and he responds, but not with a reaction I'd become accustomed to in all the other parts of the world I've visited or lived in. He moves out of the way and snaps, "We're not even there yet" in Chinese. ("我们还没到。")
So I frown and without turning to look at him, I say very casually but clearly, "Well, we're close, and where I come from that means you move toward the door so that you don't hold up traffic when it comes time to exit."
No response.
"I thought I was very polite. No need for the attitude," I add, with the unmistakable aggressive tone that I often use when crossed.
The doors swish open and I step out, hearing his Asian coworker (who sounded like he was from Hong Kong from his accent) laugh as I do so.
What I was tempted to say was, "If I were a white chick, you'd have gotten out of the way the first time I asked instead of thinking you've better manners than me just because I'm Chinese. You are the kind of foreigner that gives all the rest of them (us?) a bad name."
But I didn't. I had better things to do than deal with stupid little boys.
Now I don't go around looking for reasons to be mad (when I'm sober). But I don't think any of you can deny that if I were in fact a white chick, he wouldn't have had the nerve to snap back at me for just politely saying "excuse me" while getting ready to get off the fucking train.
Where *I* come from, when someone says "excuse me" to you, you apologize and get out of the fucking way.
This sort of silliness really does come from both sides. Sigh.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Shanghai Shorts: Horns a'Honking
I flipped off a taxi driver this morning.
Knowing me, you're likely thinking to yourself, "what else is new?"
I don't actually run around flipping off random strangers, you know. Today, I had a particularly good reason.
I woke up a little late for work so I had to cab it instead of taking the metro. My office is inside a hotel compound and its main entrance opens to this single-lane, one-way little paved bit of street.
So the cab pulls up to the main entrance and before he even comes to a full stop, I hear that noise that all of us in China have since grown accustomed to hearing whether it's necessary for it to be produced or not: the honking of a horn.
Once, twice, three times more as I get my cash out of my wallet to pay my cabbie. I am getting annoyed. It's not like I'm being slow like some of the other people we also see in this city, taking hours on hours to get out of a cab (and even then you are generally courteous and wait on them if necessary, you don't want them to leave shit behind just because you're an impatient little cocksucker, there is usually no reason to rush someone getting out of a cab no matter how long they take).
I whirl around in my seat and glare at the driver through two sheets of glass. The honking stops.
I thank my taxi driver, step out of the cab, and walk round to the back of it to stand right in front of the honking taxi behind us. I stand right in front of his cab so that he can't go even as my own cab takes off. I lean forward, and, with a nasty look on my face, up goes my middle finger.
And off I go into my office, making it to my seat with minutes to spare.
Why this city feels it's necessary to honk at EVERY SINGLE THING in the goddamn street, I'll never know. I recently heard a story about a bus driver honking at a bike rider who'd fallen off his bike after a collision with another cyclist and couldn't get back up, and because the dude on the ground was "in the way," the bus driver then, very annoyed, steered his bus around the obviously injured man.
What the fuck, Shanghai.
Knowing me, you're likely thinking to yourself, "what else is new?"
I don't actually run around flipping off random strangers, you know. Today, I had a particularly good reason.
I woke up a little late for work so I had to cab it instead of taking the metro. My office is inside a hotel compound and its main entrance opens to this single-lane, one-way little paved bit of street.
So the cab pulls up to the main entrance and before he even comes to a full stop, I hear that noise that all of us in China have since grown accustomed to hearing whether it's necessary for it to be produced or not: the honking of a horn.
Once, twice, three times more as I get my cash out of my wallet to pay my cabbie. I am getting annoyed. It's not like I'm being slow like some of the other people we also see in this city, taking hours on hours to get out of a cab (and even then you are generally courteous and wait on them if necessary, you don't want them to leave shit behind just because you're an impatient little cocksucker, there is usually no reason to rush someone getting out of a cab no matter how long they take).
I whirl around in my seat and glare at the driver through two sheets of glass. The honking stops.
I thank my taxi driver, step out of the cab, and walk round to the back of it to stand right in front of the honking taxi behind us. I stand right in front of his cab so that he can't go even as my own cab takes off. I lean forward, and, with a nasty look on my face, up goes my middle finger.
And off I go into my office, making it to my seat with minutes to spare.
Why this city feels it's necessary to honk at EVERY SINGLE THING in the goddamn street, I'll never know. I recently heard a story about a bus driver honking at a bike rider who'd fallen off his bike after a collision with another cyclist and couldn't get back up, and because the dude on the ground was "in the way," the bus driver then, very annoyed, steered his bus around the obviously injured man.
What the fuck, Shanghai.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Shanghai Shorts: Racial Silliness
Recently I've been getting a lot of calls at my current workplace. All of them call, speaking in English, looking for the owner, a foreigner with a very Western-sounding name. He's not in the habit of taking calls from people he doesn't know so I do what I can to deter them. (I am, for the record, not his secretary; my phone number just happens to be his old contact one.)
Sometimes they'll catch on and realize that okay maybe this dude isn't the way to go, maybe I can give them the name of our company's CEO instead?
So I'll prod and pry and see how likely it is that it is a sales call and sometimes I'll go, okay they seem legit, I'll give them my boss's name.
My boss, like me, is also a foreigner, but he's Chinese by race and his name reveals as much.
The second the person on the other end hears the name, their reaction changes. They ask "Oh is he Chinese?" Expressions of shock abound!
So I'll ask them, in a very sharp tone, "Is there a problem?"
They'll stammer and mutter and you KNOW there is a problem just based on a violent shift in their attitude, but they'll eventually realize they gave themselves away and then recollect themselves and say "No, there's no problem, I would just like to know if he's Chinese."
Then I get playful. "What difference does it make?"
"No difference, ma'am, we would just like to know."
I decide to test my theory. "He's a foreign-born Chinese."
"Ahhhhh, foreign-born Chinese. Okay okay. Yeah it's just... *lots of hesitant stammering* no problem, no problem."
"Would there have been a problem if he wasn't a foreign-born Chinese? I would imagine if you're sending business documents that they should go to the right person in the right position."
"No ma'am, no difference. I'll send the documents within the hour. Thanks for your help, goodbye!"
This is just the tamer of the phone calls. Once I got a call from a Chinese speaking woman asking if any foreigners worked at our office. I said yes, there were two, me and my boss. She asked for our names because she wanted to send us a free expat-only magazine. I gave her our names. She said, "Hang on, are these people Chinese?"
I snapped and said, in English, "You asked if we were foreigners, and I answered you honestly. Neither of us hold Chinese passports. We are expats working in Shanghai. Is there a problem? Are you calling me a liar?"
She stammered, clearly not fully understanding what I was saying nor how to react, and told me, now in English, to "hold on" as she'd talk to her manager. She returns some minutes later saying, "I apologize, there's been a misunderstanding. Sorry, I didn't mean to waste your time." And she hangs up.
Don't get me started on a rant about how Chinese people are treated like second-class citizens on their own goddamn turf BY OTHER CHINESE PEOPLE. I thought this shit was over and done with last century, guys.
I know that expats are a target group for specific marketing campaigns and initiatives. That's fine. That's narrowing a target demographic, everyone does it. But racial profiling WITHIN the group of expats, just because we're not white or not visibly distinct from Chinese people? We took the fucking time to learn to speak multiple languages fluently, to understand multiple cultures, and this is the thanks we get?
Shanghai may like to call itself "modern" and "progressive" and "multicultural" but man the shit some of these people pull is pretty fucking archaic, if you ask me.
Sometimes they'll catch on and realize that okay maybe this dude isn't the way to go, maybe I can give them the name of our company's CEO instead?
So I'll prod and pry and see how likely it is that it is a sales call and sometimes I'll go, okay they seem legit, I'll give them my boss's name.
My boss, like me, is also a foreigner, but he's Chinese by race and his name reveals as much.
The second the person on the other end hears the name, their reaction changes. They ask "Oh is he Chinese?" Expressions of shock abound!
So I'll ask them, in a very sharp tone, "Is there a problem?"
They'll stammer and mutter and you KNOW there is a problem just based on a violent shift in their attitude, but they'll eventually realize they gave themselves away and then recollect themselves and say "No, there's no problem, I would just like to know if he's Chinese."
Then I get playful. "What difference does it make?"
"No difference, ma'am, we would just like to know."
I decide to test my theory. "He's a foreign-born Chinese."
"Ahhhhh, foreign-born Chinese. Okay okay. Yeah it's just... *lots of hesitant stammering* no problem, no problem."
"Would there have been a problem if he wasn't a foreign-born Chinese? I would imagine if you're sending business documents that they should go to the right person in the right position."
This is just the tamer of the phone calls. Once I got a call from a Chinese speaking woman asking if any foreigners worked at our office. I said yes, there were two, me and my boss. She asked for our names because she wanted to send us a free expat-only magazine. I gave her our names. She said, "Hang on, are these people Chinese?"
I snapped and said, in English, "You asked if we were foreigners, and I answered you honestly. Neither of us hold Chinese passports. We are expats working in Shanghai. Is there a problem? Are you calling me a liar?"
She stammered, clearly not fully understanding what I was saying nor how to react, and told me, now in English, to "hold on" as she'd talk to her manager. She returns some minutes later saying, "I apologize, there's been a misunderstanding. Sorry, I didn't mean to waste your time." And she hangs up.
Don't get me started on a rant about how Chinese people are treated like second-class citizens on their own goddamn turf BY OTHER CHINESE PEOPLE. I thought this shit was over and done with last century, guys.
I know that expats are a target group for specific marketing campaigns and initiatives. That's fine. That's narrowing a target demographic, everyone does it. But racial profiling WITHIN the group of expats, just because we're not white or not visibly distinct from Chinese people? We took the fucking time to learn to speak multiple languages fluently, to understand multiple cultures, and this is the thanks we get?
Shanghai may like to call itself "modern" and "progressive" and "multicultural" but man the shit some of these people pull is pretty fucking archaic, if you ask me.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Shanghai Shorts: Squat Pots and Sexy Legs
Anyone who has ever visited Shanghai (or, frankly, any city in China or Southeast Asia) has likely come across what we as English-speakers have affectionately termed "squat pots." These are toilets which are essentially a porcelain-lined hole in the ground, over which you squat and do your business.
Westerners often call them archaic, obsolete, outdated, dirty, and, well, let's face it, a bit physically taxing. Squat pots are generally uncomfortable as you don't get to rest your body down on anything solid, and instead must remain in a squatting position for however long it takes for you to do what you gotta do. On top of that, you're probably worried about the Splatter Effect.
The Chinese, on the other hand, refer to them as clean and efficient. The reason? Well, it does make sense: your butt doesn't actually come into contact with what other people's butts have touched.
The truth is that while Westerners would argue that a proper toilet seat and bowl are "advanced" versions of toilets and generally preferable to squat pots (I myself wander through various Chinese public bathrooms until I find a toilet with a seat), many Chinese argue the opposite.
It is not rare for a Chinese woman to approach a "Western" toilet and stand up on the toilet seat and do what? Squat like they would over a squat pot.
While most modern facilities and buildings do provide the seated toilets rather than the squat pots (because quite frankly the increased Splatter Effect of a squat pot does give also increase a bathroom's the Odor Factor), this doesn't quite change how the toilets are used once the doors are closed.
It's a changing, evolving habit, to be sure. I'm not saying ALL Shanghainese women stand up onto a toilet seat to pee, but a good portion of them do it enough that, well, it makes a good story.
Plus I guess if you have to remain in a squatting position for however long it takes to pinch out a good ol' Numero Dos, you probably come away from the experience with fantastically fit thighs.
Westerners often call them archaic, obsolete, outdated, dirty, and, well, let's face it, a bit physically taxing. Squat pots are generally uncomfortable as you don't get to rest your body down on anything solid, and instead must remain in a squatting position for however long it takes for you to do what you gotta do. On top of that, you're probably worried about the Splatter Effect.
The Chinese, on the other hand, refer to them as clean and efficient. The reason? Well, it does make sense: your butt doesn't actually come into contact with what other people's butts have touched.
The truth is that while Westerners would argue that a proper toilet seat and bowl are "advanced" versions of toilets and generally preferable to squat pots (I myself wander through various Chinese public bathrooms until I find a toilet with a seat), many Chinese argue the opposite.
It is not rare for a Chinese woman to approach a "Western" toilet and stand up on the toilet seat and do what? Squat like they would over a squat pot.
While most modern facilities and buildings do provide the seated toilets rather than the squat pots (because quite frankly the increased Splatter Effect of a squat pot does give also increase a bathroom's the Odor Factor), this doesn't quite change how the toilets are used once the doors are closed.
It's a changing, evolving habit, to be sure. I'm not saying ALL Shanghainese women stand up onto a toilet seat to pee, but a good portion of them do it enough that, well, it makes a good story.
Plus I guess if you have to remain in a squatting position for however long it takes to pinch out a good ol' Numero Dos, you probably come away from the experience with fantastically fit thighs.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Why I'm Awesome (Part 25 of 7,412): NAÏVETÉ
This post is brought to you by an unnerving lack of jetlag.
Some recent events have brought to light something that I've known for a long time but never openly owned up to: I am an unbelievably naïve person. More often than not, I find myself trusting others with little to no question, always giving the benefit of the doubt. This is, in fact, part of the reason why I am a very open person, as I generally assume people are not out to get me. Naturally, this can sometimes get me into trouble.
I can get screwed over. I can be lied to. I can be deceived. I can be misled. I can be made to look like an absolute fool. I can be ridiculed. If I wanted to be melodramatic, it could also one day put me in a dangerous position. There’s a lot of bad things that could potentially maybe sort of one day possibly happen. I know it. Some nasty things have happened as a result of it. But I also know that this is true of basically any other kind of personality trait one can possess, and it comes down with how I as an individual choose to handle it.
I don’t have a problem admitting that I am very naïve, that I am too trusting. More to the point, I don’t have an issue with staying that way. But why, if I am well aware of the risks involved, or if I’ve already gone through the downsides thus associated?
My answer is simple: I know that if proverbial shit should hit the equally fictitious fan, I can take care of myself. It's easy to give the benefit of the doubt until the person actually gives you a real reason not to trust them. It's better than taking the chance that I may insult, hurt, or vilify someone else's intentions just because I was being paranoid.
Sure, there may be tears or shouts or pouts or even punches thrown for a little bit if things come up tails when I called heads, but I am a strong enough person that I know that once tensions have cooled, I’ll be fine. I bounce back quickly, efficiently, and with as little impact on those around me as possible. It’s in fact why it’s so important for me to have someone around who knows to let me vent and not try to stop me in the middle of a tirade of emotional release. I need someone who knows that once it’s out of my system, the next step is for me to recover on my own and get over it and move on. I am lucky, then, to have so many of those people in my life.
I often find myself feeling sorry for those who are always suspicious of others or are always afraid to trust and thereby potentially get hurt. I know it sounds elitist of me, but that is truly how I feel and usually I respond to such personalities by being someone they know they can trust.
The fact of the matter is that you’re going to get hurt. It’s part of life. It will happen regardless of what kinds of measures you take to prevent it, if any at all. It can be intentional. It may be unintentional. Sure you can have your guard up, as past experiences should always be learned from, but at the same time, you can’t always assume people are out to get you, either, otherwise you just end up inadvertently hurting those who meant no harm. What you can do is let those shitty experiences make you a stronger and better person.
Is your definition of strength being self-reliant and not needing anyone else, and that’s how you justify your mistrust? If yes, then we shall agree to disagree. Strength, to me, is to know how the people around you are able to support and help you while you yourself find your own way to solve the problem or resolve the conflict and learn from what happened so that it doesn’t happen again. It’s a mix of self-sufficiency and humility (i.e., knowing that there are some things you just don’t have to do alone, nor should you).
So for every nasty thing that happens to be as a result of my naïveté, I at least know how to read the signs a little better than before. That said, I know I may still be naïve and fall into easy traps, but I’m all right with that. I don’t learn from my mistakes as easily or as efficiently as I probably should, but I deal with it by knowing that no matter what, I’ll be just fine and I will likely come out of it a stronger person.
Some recent events have brought to light something that I've known for a long time but never openly owned up to: I am an unbelievably naïve person. More often than not, I find myself trusting others with little to no question, always giving the benefit of the doubt. This is, in fact, part of the reason why I am a very open person, as I generally assume people are not out to get me. Naturally, this can sometimes get me into trouble.
I can get screwed over. I can be lied to. I can be deceived. I can be misled. I can be made to look like an absolute fool. I can be ridiculed. If I wanted to be melodramatic, it could also one day put me in a dangerous position. There’s a lot of bad things that could potentially maybe sort of one day possibly happen. I know it. Some nasty things have happened as a result of it. But I also know that this is true of basically any other kind of personality trait one can possess, and it comes down with how I as an individual choose to handle it.
I don’t have a problem admitting that I am very naïve, that I am too trusting. More to the point, I don’t have an issue with staying that way. But why, if I am well aware of the risks involved, or if I’ve already gone through the downsides thus associated?
My answer is simple: I know that if proverbial shit should hit the equally fictitious fan, I can take care of myself. It's easy to give the benefit of the doubt until the person actually gives you a real reason not to trust them. It's better than taking the chance that I may insult, hurt, or vilify someone else's intentions just because I was being paranoid.
Sure, there may be tears or shouts or pouts or even punches thrown for a little bit if things come up tails when I called heads, but I am a strong enough person that I know that once tensions have cooled, I’ll be fine. I bounce back quickly, efficiently, and with as little impact on those around me as possible. It’s in fact why it’s so important for me to have someone around who knows to let me vent and not try to stop me in the middle of a tirade of emotional release. I need someone who knows that once it’s out of my system, the next step is for me to recover on my own and get over it and move on. I am lucky, then, to have so many of those people in my life.
I often find myself feeling sorry for those who are always suspicious of others or are always afraid to trust and thereby potentially get hurt. I know it sounds elitist of me, but that is truly how I feel and usually I respond to such personalities by being someone they know they can trust.
The fact of the matter is that you’re going to get hurt. It’s part of life. It will happen regardless of what kinds of measures you take to prevent it, if any at all. It can be intentional. It may be unintentional. Sure you can have your guard up, as past experiences should always be learned from, but at the same time, you can’t always assume people are out to get you, either, otherwise you just end up inadvertently hurting those who meant no harm. What you can do is let those shitty experiences make you a stronger and better person.
Is your definition of strength being self-reliant and not needing anyone else, and that’s how you justify your mistrust? If yes, then we shall agree to disagree. Strength, to me, is to know how the people around you are able to support and help you while you yourself find your own way to solve the problem or resolve the conflict and learn from what happened so that it doesn’t happen again. It’s a mix of self-sufficiency and humility (i.e., knowing that there are some things you just don’t have to do alone, nor should you).
So for every nasty thing that happens to be as a result of my naïveté, I at least know how to read the signs a little better than before. That said, I know I may still be naïve and fall into easy traps, but I’m all right with that. I don’t learn from my mistakes as easily or as efficiently as I probably should, but I deal with it by knowing that no matter what, I’ll be just fine and I will likely come out of it a stronger person.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Why I'm Awesome (Part 24 of 7,412): SEVEN
Oh man I hope you guys are ready for a cuteness overload.
This post is brought to you by the little girl who lives on the 24th floor in my building.
Well, okay, how adorable this actually ends up depends on how well you know me and my capacity for being adorable, your ability to imagine me saying certain parts of this post in that 4-year-old Cantonese girl’s voice, and if you have ever seen a picture of me when I was 4 or 5 years old.
When it comes to things that I deem my "favorites," it is perfectly normal for me (i.e., an insane person) to load that favorite thing with all kinds of personal meaning and history. I'm not necessarily unique in this respect, but when I saw my favorite color is that particular shade of blue-green you see right in between the shallow coastal waters and the deep blue sea as you fly over a particularly clean patch of ocean, that color is my favorite color for a multitude of reasons well beyond "I like it."
For instance, that color is my favorite not just because it looks good on me and not just because "I like it," but because it is exactly the shade of blue-green that you can only see in the situation I just described above. I saw this once while flying overhead in Hawaii and I have never seen yet another perfect duplicate of its color. It is barely describable, and no it is not that cheesy bright turquoise you see near the coast. Anyway, my love of all things the ocean is well-documented, so this should really require much more explanation.
Another example is, well, go back to the post where I tell you why I like backs. Oh god. One moment please while I let some images flash through my brain.
Aaaaaaaand back to your regularly scheduled programming.
Perhaps the most in-depth "favorite thing" that I have in my laundry list of "favorite things" is the number 7. Seven, sept, qi, pito, siete. Funnily enough (and contrary to what might have been mentioned way back when I explained the number 7,412), the fact that it is regarded as a "lucky number" by Westerners doesn't particularly matter to me.
First and most obvious is that it is the month in which I was born. July. Best month. Next.
Second is that if you rotate the number, it becomes the letter V. Also obvious. And I swear I came up with that idea long before I ever saw the movie Se7en.
Third, and closely related to that, are the seven deadly sins. It's not so much the fact that they are sins so much as I view them to be seven things that need to be balanced. I've always thought everything in moderation is a healthy thing, and this is no different for the 7DS. A little wrath is nice to release those pent-up emotions. A little sloth is nice to relax and slow yourself down. A little gluttony is nice because goddammit eating is one the best things about being alive. Too much of any and that's how they become "sins." I use the 7DS to often remind myself that there is no absolute right or wrong, that everything is relative, and that it ultimately comes down to what you are able to deem the best balance that suits you.
There are other reasons, too, but the one I wanted to share with you today is one that I don't think I've ever mentioned aloud or on paper to anyone other than myself.
Back when we lived in Hong Kong for the second time (i.e., from the ages of 4 to 7 for me), my family and I lived in this apartment building on Kotewall Road. Number 9, I think it was. Anyway, we lived in apartment 7B.
Now, I cannot for the life of me remember how tall I was back when I was 4 or 5, but I sure as hell remember being TINY and constantly wishing I was taller. I was so short that I, in all my pig-tailed glory, could not reach the 7 button in the building's elevator.
I would stand right by the elevator's button panel and gaze longingly at the 7 button, declaring in my mind that TODAY WOULD BE THE DAY I OWN YOU. Then I would reach up and barely make it to the 3 button. I would bounce up and down and make little whiny noises until my nanny or my daddy or my mommy would either hit the button to shut me up or, were they in better moods, pick me up and then I would press it.
Every time I failed to reach that button, I vowed with all my non-English-speaking mind that I would eventually get tall enough to press that stupid button without any help. I would even jump up and try to slam at the button but I'd never quite reach it or hit it hard enough for it to light up.
Of course, there were days where I just didn't care about that button because my face was buried in a zhi bao dan gao (or tsee bao dan gou in Cantonese I guess), which, back then, was a sponge cake with a chocolate topping that was wrapped in paper and was as big as my head. My nanny got me one every other day right before I got on the bus back from school because I was the best little kid EVER until of course I got home and my parents yelled at me for spoiling my dinner. (Plus I recently went back to that cake shop and got one and man it's about as big as my hand now. What the hell.) The cake served as such a magnificent distraction from all my shortcomings as a midget, however, I didn't particularly care.
Slight tangent aside, I remember the glorious day in question. I was 7 years old and, as my parents had noticed, in the middle of a growth spurt (that would eventually leave me at 5'8" at the age of 14). I stepped into the elevator, face covered in the crumbs of what was once a sponge cake, and looked menacingly at the button panel.
Then, like it was nothing at all, I reached up, hit the number 7 button, and it lit. My nanny gave me a pat on the head and said I was getting tall.
Me, well, in my head I had reached some divine level of strength and power, like I was unstoppable. No longer would people tower over me and press buttons I couldn't reach! No longer would I rely on the strength of others to reach the number 7!
Of course, little did I know (or care) that 7 was not the highest number in the elevator. But that day, I was GOD.
Last night as I returned home from my haircut, the adorablest little anklebiter and her mother (I presume) stepped into the elevator with me and pretty much did exactly what I described, only her sights were set significantly higher: the 24th floor. Eventually I smiled at her and helped her use my ridiculously huge umbrella (courtesy of Michelle and Parkway Health) to press the button. Her mother was highly amused. The little girl gave me the hugest grin and for one of the few times in my life, I didn't feel like loading a little spoiled Chinese kid into a cannon and blasting him/her out to sea.
Being that it made me super happy, that 7 is my birth month and that 24 is my birthday, I took it as inspiration to write this post.
GOOD LUCK TO YOU, ANKLEBITER OF THE 24TH FLOOR. Jia you!
This post is brought to you by the little girl who lives on the 24th floor in my building.
Well, okay, how adorable this actually ends up depends on how well you know me and my capacity for being adorable, your ability to imagine me saying certain parts of this post in that 4-year-old Cantonese girl’s voice, and if you have ever seen a picture of me when I was 4 or 5 years old.
When it comes to things that I deem my "favorites," it is perfectly normal for me (i.e., an insane person) to load that favorite thing with all kinds of personal meaning and history. I'm not necessarily unique in this respect, but when I saw my favorite color is that particular shade of blue-green you see right in between the shallow coastal waters and the deep blue sea as you fly over a particularly clean patch of ocean, that color is my favorite color for a multitude of reasons well beyond "I like it."
For instance, that color is my favorite not just because it looks good on me and not just because "I like it," but because it is exactly the shade of blue-green that you can only see in the situation I just described above. I saw this once while flying overhead in Hawaii and I have never seen yet another perfect duplicate of its color. It is barely describable, and no it is not that cheesy bright turquoise you see near the coast. Anyway, my love of all things the ocean is well-documented, so this should really require much more explanation.
Another example is, well, go back to the post where I tell you why I like backs. Oh god. One moment please while I let some images flash through my brain.
Aaaaaaaand back to your regularly scheduled programming.
Perhaps the most in-depth "favorite thing" that I have in my laundry list of "favorite things" is the number 7. Seven, sept, qi, pito, siete. Funnily enough (and contrary to what might have been mentioned way back when I explained the number 7,412), the fact that it is regarded as a "lucky number" by Westerners doesn't particularly matter to me.
First and most obvious is that it is the month in which I was born. July. Best month. Next.
Second is that if you rotate the number, it becomes the letter V. Also obvious. And I swear I came up with that idea long before I ever saw the movie Se7en.
Third, and closely related to that, are the seven deadly sins. It's not so much the fact that they are sins so much as I view them to be seven things that need to be balanced. I've always thought everything in moderation is a healthy thing, and this is no different for the 7DS. A little wrath is nice to release those pent-up emotions. A little sloth is nice to relax and slow yourself down. A little gluttony is nice because goddammit eating is one the best things about being alive. Too much of any and that's how they become "sins." I use the 7DS to often remind myself that there is no absolute right or wrong, that everything is relative, and that it ultimately comes down to what you are able to deem the best balance that suits you.
There are other reasons, too, but the one I wanted to share with you today is one that I don't think I've ever mentioned aloud or on paper to anyone other than myself.
Back when we lived in Hong Kong for the second time (i.e., from the ages of 4 to 7 for me), my family and I lived in this apartment building on Kotewall Road. Number 9, I think it was. Anyway, we lived in apartment 7B.
Now, I cannot for the life of me remember how tall I was back when I was 4 or 5, but I sure as hell remember being TINY and constantly wishing I was taller. I was so short that I, in all my pig-tailed glory, could not reach the 7 button in the building's elevator.
I would stand right by the elevator's button panel and gaze longingly at the 7 button, declaring in my mind that TODAY WOULD BE THE DAY I OWN YOU. Then I would reach up and barely make it to the 3 button. I would bounce up and down and make little whiny noises until my nanny or my daddy or my mommy would either hit the button to shut me up or, were they in better moods, pick me up and then I would press it.
Every time I failed to reach that button, I vowed with all my non-English-speaking mind that I would eventually get tall enough to press that stupid button without any help. I would even jump up and try to slam at the button but I'd never quite reach it or hit it hard enough for it to light up.
Of course, there were days where I just didn't care about that button because my face was buried in a zhi bao dan gao (or tsee bao dan gou in Cantonese I guess), which, back then, was a sponge cake with a chocolate topping that was wrapped in paper and was as big as my head. My nanny got me one every other day right before I got on the bus back from school because I was the best little kid EVER until of course I got home and my parents yelled at me for spoiling my dinner. (Plus I recently went back to that cake shop and got one and man it's about as big as my hand now. What the hell.) The cake served as such a magnificent distraction from all my shortcomings as a midget, however, I didn't particularly care.
Slight tangent aside, I remember the glorious day in question. I was 7 years old and, as my parents had noticed, in the middle of a growth spurt (that would eventually leave me at 5'8" at the age of 14). I stepped into the elevator, face covered in the crumbs of what was once a sponge cake, and looked menacingly at the button panel.
Then, like it was nothing at all, I reached up, hit the number 7 button, and it lit. My nanny gave me a pat on the head and said I was getting tall.
Me, well, in my head I had reached some divine level of strength and power, like I was unstoppable. No longer would people tower over me and press buttons I couldn't reach! No longer would I rely on the strength of others to reach the number 7!
Of course, little did I know (or care) that 7 was not the highest number in the elevator. But that day, I was GOD.
Last night as I returned home from my haircut, the adorablest little anklebiter and her mother (I presume) stepped into the elevator with me and pretty much did exactly what I described, only her sights were set significantly higher: the 24th floor. Eventually I smiled at her and helped her use my ridiculously huge umbrella (courtesy of Michelle and Parkway Health) to press the button. Her mother was highly amused. The little girl gave me the hugest grin and for one of the few times in my life, I didn't feel like loading a little spoiled Chinese kid into a cannon and blasting him/her out to sea.
Being that it made me super happy, that 7 is my birth month and that 24 is my birthday, I took it as inspiration to write this post.
GOOD LUCK TO YOU, ANKLEBITER OF THE 24TH FLOOR. Jia you!
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Why I'm Awesome (Part 23 of 7,412): ANIMALS
This post brought to you by Shorty who inadvertently led to me asking this question to a bunch of queers on SE++.
Originally, this was going to a satirical compilation of questions that I would actually think about asking, as Shorty puts it, "potential mates." Realizing that advertising these questions would in advertently kill my game ("OH NO VIV ASKED ME IF I LIKED PICKLED EGGS SHE IS WANTING ME OH NO"), I instead focused on one particular question that I did end up asking a bunch of queers on SE++ and am genuinely curious about.
Simply put, I took a joke and overthought it to the point of irrelevancy, as only we with those two X chromosomes can do.
List your five favorite animals (be as specific as you like).
The provision in parentheses is of course to make allowances for those who are almost obsessive in their attention-to-detail, but I suppose what I should have added was “and explain why.”
Let us explore my own answer to this telling question and what that might imply about my personality, based nothing on my own inflated sense of self-importance and dire need to inform certain individuals what my preferences in the animal kingdom happen to be.
5) Blue shark. I remember when the family and I were at El Nido resort in Palawan, Philippines, and suddenly everyone by beach suddenly freaked out and ran out of the water. (The resort, for references sake, has a small little private cove of a beach formed by a breakwater.) My sister and I go to look and there, gliding around in the shallow waters of the little beach, a small blue shark had made its way past the breakwater and into the cove. I was mesmerized, mostly by the shape of its tale and the way it glided through the water with seamless grace. It was too small to be terrifying (being that blue sharks are a kind of groundshark and therefore supposed to be huge, I was baffled, but upon asking the guys at the resort they confirmed that I was right in guessing that it was a blue shark), but to be fair I have always loved sharks, this is just the one I prefer above them all, simply for the shape of its tail. Tiger sharks are perhaps my second-favorite kind of shark.
4) Siberian white tiger. Of the five, this is the one animal I find the most beautiful. I cannot explain it, I have just loved the way they look. I spent half an hour staring at one the first time I saw one alive.
3) Gray wolf. I love wolves. Every Jack London book I have ever read has made me love them. Their pack mentality, their resilience in the wilderness, and their innate sense of teamwork have always been appealing to me. Plus they are pretty-looking. I honestly sometimes wish I could own one as a pet, one with two different colored eyes (a motif that appears in many places in my writing project, by the way).
2) Black panther. More specifically, the black Melanistic jaguar. It’s a deadly predator that moves with the grace of a cat and all the sinister visual connotations of a shadow. It’s graceful and beautiful and honestly I would give anything to be able to pet one, even if it might snap my hand off.
1) Dusky dolphin. Really, any kind of dolphin will do it for me. This should be of little surprise to anyone who has actually been to my apartment (either in the States or in Shanghai), what with the old dolphin shower curtain and the dolphin statuettes and Lilienne’s drawing of a girl and a dolphin hanging on the wall. My favorite thing about our trip to Hawaii all those years ago was that I got to swim with and pet the dolphins. It was beyond amazing and, even better, later on during the same vacation, while we were fishing with our grandfather on this super-nice boat (called the “Marlin Magic,” I recall), we happen to sail right by some dolphins! Wistful reminiscence aside, however, my love of dolphins stems purely from the fact that I love the ocean, plain and simple. They are cute and soft and warm-blooded and they are also vicious when provoked by the right kind of predator. Much love.
So, really, except for the dolphins, I just noticed that my favorite animals are all, well, predators. Angry ones. Though technically the wolves can be considered scavengers as well. It also appears to be the reason I like them. Deadly yet gorgeous animals, some capable (or even preferring) to hunt alone while others move in skulks and packs to take down a target together.
I wouldn’t call myself an animal lover, but more of a deeply respectful admirer. Man I could only hope to be so beautifully badass. I COULD ONLY HOPE. But nooooooo I only get so far in presentation but when push comes to shove I am the softest kind of softy. Sigh.
Got any favorites you’d like to share? I will admit that this is something I am always curious to know about pretty much everyone I meet.
PS. I just realized that this is the second "list a bunch of things" post I have made in a row. I promise next time I will post something more interesting.
Originally, this was going to a satirical compilation of questions that I would actually think about asking, as Shorty puts it, "potential mates." Realizing that advertising these questions would in advertently kill my game ("OH NO VIV ASKED ME IF I LIKED PICKLED EGGS SHE IS WANTING ME OH NO"), I instead focused on one particular question that I did end up asking a bunch of queers on SE++ and am genuinely curious about.
Simply put, I took a joke and overthought it to the point of irrelevancy, as only we with those two X chromosomes can do.
List your five favorite animals (be as specific as you like).
The provision in parentheses is of course to make allowances for those who are almost obsessive in their attention-to-detail, but I suppose what I should have added was “and explain why.”
Let us explore my own answer to this telling question and what that might imply about my personality, based nothing on my own inflated sense of self-importance and dire need to inform certain individuals what my preferences in the animal kingdom happen to be.
5) Blue shark. I remember when the family and I were at El Nido resort in Palawan, Philippines, and suddenly everyone by beach suddenly freaked out and ran out of the water. (The resort, for references sake, has a small little private cove of a beach formed by a breakwater.) My sister and I go to look and there, gliding around in the shallow waters of the little beach, a small blue shark had made its way past the breakwater and into the cove. I was mesmerized, mostly by the shape of its tale and the way it glided through the water with seamless grace. It was too small to be terrifying (being that blue sharks are a kind of groundshark and therefore supposed to be huge, I was baffled, but upon asking the guys at the resort they confirmed that I was right in guessing that it was a blue shark), but to be fair I have always loved sharks, this is just the one I prefer above them all, simply for the shape of its tail. Tiger sharks are perhaps my second-favorite kind of shark.
4) Siberian white tiger. Of the five, this is the one animal I find the most beautiful. I cannot explain it, I have just loved the way they look. I spent half an hour staring at one the first time I saw one alive.
3) Gray wolf. I love wolves. Every Jack London book I have ever read has made me love them. Their pack mentality, their resilience in the wilderness, and their innate sense of teamwork have always been appealing to me. Plus they are pretty-looking. I honestly sometimes wish I could own one as a pet, one with two different colored eyes (a motif that appears in many places in my writing project, by the way).
2) Black panther. More specifically, the black Melanistic jaguar. It’s a deadly predator that moves with the grace of a cat and all the sinister visual connotations of a shadow. It’s graceful and beautiful and honestly I would give anything to be able to pet one, even if it might snap my hand off.
1) Dusky dolphin. Really, any kind of dolphin will do it for me. This should be of little surprise to anyone who has actually been to my apartment (either in the States or in Shanghai), what with the old dolphin shower curtain and the dolphin statuettes and Lilienne’s drawing of a girl and a dolphin hanging on the wall. My favorite thing about our trip to Hawaii all those years ago was that I got to swim with and pet the dolphins. It was beyond amazing and, even better, later on during the same vacation, while we were fishing with our grandfather on this super-nice boat (called the “Marlin Magic,” I recall), we happen to sail right by some dolphins! Wistful reminiscence aside, however, my love of dolphins stems purely from the fact that I love the ocean, plain and simple. They are cute and soft and warm-blooded and they are also vicious when provoked by the right kind of predator. Much love.
So, really, except for the dolphins, I just noticed that my favorite animals are all, well, predators. Angry ones. Though technically the wolves can be considered scavengers as well. It also appears to be the reason I like them. Deadly yet gorgeous animals, some capable (or even preferring) to hunt alone while others move in skulks and packs to take down a target together.
I wouldn’t call myself an animal lover, but more of a deeply respectful admirer. Man I could only hope to be so beautifully badass. I COULD ONLY HOPE. But nooooooo I only get so far in presentation but when push comes to shove I am the softest kind of softy. Sigh.
Got any favorites you’d like to share? I will admit that this is something I am always curious to know about pretty much everyone I meet.
PS. I just realized that this is the second "list a bunch of things" post I have made in a row. I promise next time I will post something more interesting.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Why I'm Awesome (Part 22 of 7,412): SUPERPOWERS
This post is brought to you by a comic book overdose.
Everyone, comic book/graphic novel fan or not, has pretty much been asked what kind of superpower they'd want if they could have any one they can possibly imagine.
After having read a ton of graphic novels/comic books over the last couple of weeks (from the very excellent, non-superpower-related-unless-you-count-a-penis Y, The Last Man to Ultimate Fantastic Four to Runaways to Cable & Deadpool), catching up on existing series, seeing the Iron Man movie, and mounting excitement over the upcoming The Dark Knight and Watchmen movies, I naturally find myself idly pondering this question every time I get up from my seat and go get a glass of water.
Being that I am poor and cannot afford much to else to drink and since water neutralizes hunger pangs, this actually takes place pretty often.
I fondly recall that, in such discussions in the past, my sister would almost always choose the powers of Lifeguard (c/o Marvel), who can borrow/assimilate the powers of pretty much anyone else. THIS IS CHEATING, DAMMIT.
Before I go into ultra-geek mode, however, let me just add that anyone who thinks graphic novels/comic books are for "kids" or are for "nerds/geeks/dorks" or are "immature forms of literature" or really anything along those lines should really pick up Y, The Last Man or the Watchmen. Either one of these will change your mind in an instant and they currently rank among my top two favorite stories in the medium. (SE++, feel free to add your recommendations, as I know you will.)
Okay. Justification over with, I think I should also mention that I like powers that are simple but have a wide range of practical and creative applications. None of that reality-shifting nonsense.
Without further ado, I present to you now my top nine favorite superpowers. (Why not ten? Because "10" has two digits and throws off the alignment of the list and man that kicks my OCD-like insanity into overdrive.)
9) X-ray vision, a la Superman (Justice League). Though not technically X-rays, but more like being able to see through layers of solid objects. Like clothes. I constantly fantastize about being able to see through someone and see them punch in their PIN at the ATM.
8) Durability, a la Luke Cage (Avengers). Not really invulnerability, but I can take a ton of hits before going down. I've always thought this was badass, though I'd be hard-pressed to explain why.
7) Healing Factor, a la Wolverine (X-Men) or Deadpool (Marvel). Finally, my fear of fire defeated if I know I could just heal back from it. Plus, staying young forever? Yes, please, absolutely. It'd take care of this stupid skin nonsense of mind, too.
6) Teleportation, a la Nightcrawler (X-Men) or Blink (Exiles). This way I can cross the damn street without standing around waiting for a car to slow down or a light to change. Yes I am constantly in a hurry. No I do not like waiting. Yes I would love to be able to teleport across oceans.
5) Underwater breathing, a la Namor (Marvel) or Aquaman (Justice League). My love of the ocean should leave this as no surprise.
4) Forcefields, a la Invisible Woman (Fantastic Four) or Violet (The Incredibles movie). Not invisibility so much, but definitely the forcefields. At least the spherical ones that can slice through anything if you toss them into a solid object. That be bitchin'.
3) Animal morphing, a la Beast Boy (Teen Titans) or technically Wolfsbane (X-Men). People who are familiar with the UNIFIED game we were prepping for on SE++ will know what I'm talking about, as I created a character who could transform into any animal (with the limitation of only one species per genus). If you want to see what kind of uncanny supernerdery I'm talking about here, check this out. And no, smartasses, furriness has nothing to do with this.
2) Intangibility, a la Shadowcat (X-Men). I dream constantly of walking into Shanghai traffic with this superpower. That, and sweeping an arm into an ATM and yanking out a stack of the red stuff. Ooh, ooh, or walking off the subway without having to shove people out of the way. Imagine what that would do for my anger problems!
1) Photographic reflexes, a la Monica Dawson (Heroes TV show). Aka muscle memory, where you just look at someone do something and you know how to do it, too, though not including superpowers. Stuff like playing a piano, busting out a wrestling move, craaaaaaazy Guitar Hero skills, firing a gun, piloting a helicopter, etc. All awesome. Basically went straight to my number one spot after I saw it on Heroes, haha. Bumped shadow manipulation (a la this character I also did for UNIFIED) right off the Top 9 list.
A lot of my thinking is done at an ATM, honestly.
So sure, while it may seem childish to fantasize about being super-human or whatever, I think it's sometimes therapeutic. And you can't tell me you never wondered about this stuff, either.
Everyone, comic book/graphic novel fan or not, has pretty much been asked what kind of superpower they'd want if they could have any one they can possibly imagine.
After having read a ton of graphic novels/comic books over the last couple of weeks (from the very excellent, non-superpower-related-unless-you-count-a-penis Y, The Last Man to Ultimate Fantastic Four to Runaways to Cable & Deadpool), catching up on existing series, seeing the Iron Man movie, and mounting excitement over the upcoming The Dark Knight and Watchmen movies, I naturally find myself idly pondering this question every time I get up from my seat and go get a glass of water.
Being that I am poor and cannot afford much to else to drink and since water neutralizes hunger pangs, this actually takes place pretty often.
I fondly recall that, in such discussions in the past, my sister would almost always choose the powers of Lifeguard (c/o Marvel), who can borrow/assimilate the powers of pretty much anyone else. THIS IS CHEATING, DAMMIT.
Before I go into ultra-geek mode, however, let me just add that anyone who thinks graphic novels/comic books are for "kids" or are for "nerds/geeks/dorks" or are "immature forms of literature" or really anything along those lines should really pick up Y, The Last Man or the Watchmen. Either one of these will change your mind in an instant and they currently rank among my top two favorite stories in the medium. (SE++, feel free to add your recommendations, as I know you will.)
Okay. Justification over with, I think I should also mention that I like powers that are simple but have a wide range of practical and creative applications. None of that reality-shifting nonsense.
Without further ado, I present to you now my top nine favorite superpowers. (Why not ten? Because "10" has two digits and throws off the alignment of the list and man that kicks my OCD-like insanity into overdrive.)
9) X-ray vision, a la Superman (Justice League). Though not technically X-rays, but more like being able to see through layers of solid objects. Like clothes. I constantly fantastize about being able to see through someone and see them punch in their PIN at the ATM.
8) Durability, a la Luke Cage (Avengers). Not really invulnerability, but I can take a ton of hits before going down. I've always thought this was badass, though I'd be hard-pressed to explain why.
7) Healing Factor, a la Wolverine (X-Men) or Deadpool (Marvel). Finally, my fear of fire defeated if I know I could just heal back from it. Plus, staying young forever? Yes, please, absolutely. It'd take care of this stupid skin nonsense of mind, too.
6) Teleportation, a la Nightcrawler (X-Men) or Blink (Exiles). This way I can cross the damn street without standing around waiting for a car to slow down or a light to change. Yes I am constantly in a hurry. No I do not like waiting. Yes I would love to be able to teleport across oceans.
5) Underwater breathing, a la Namor (Marvel) or Aquaman (Justice League). My love of the ocean should leave this as no surprise.
4) Forcefields, a la Invisible Woman (Fantastic Four) or Violet (The Incredibles movie). Not invisibility so much, but definitely the forcefields. At least the spherical ones that can slice through anything if you toss them into a solid object. That be bitchin'.
3) Animal morphing, a la Beast Boy (Teen Titans) or technically Wolfsbane (X-Men). People who are familiar with the UNIFIED game we were prepping for on SE++ will know what I'm talking about, as I created a character who could transform into any animal (with the limitation of only one species per genus). If you want to see what kind of uncanny supernerdery I'm talking about here, check this out. And no, smartasses, furriness has nothing to do with this.
2) Intangibility, a la Shadowcat (X-Men). I dream constantly of walking into Shanghai traffic with this superpower. That, and sweeping an arm into an ATM and yanking out a stack of the red stuff. Ooh, ooh, or walking off the subway without having to shove people out of the way. Imagine what that would do for my anger problems!
1) Photographic reflexes, a la Monica Dawson (Heroes TV show). Aka muscle memory, where you just look at someone do something and you know how to do it, too, though not including superpowers. Stuff like playing a piano, busting out a wrestling move, craaaaaaazy Guitar Hero skills, firing a gun, piloting a helicopter, etc. All awesome. Basically went straight to my number one spot after I saw it on Heroes, haha. Bumped shadow manipulation (a la this character I also did for UNIFIED) right off the Top 9 list.
A lot of my thinking is done at an ATM, honestly.
So sure, while it may seem childish to fantasize about being super-human or whatever, I think it's sometimes therapeutic. And you can't tell me you never wondered about this stuff, either.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Why I'm Awesome (Part 21 of 7,412): SHANGHAI
I have been here since November 2005 and I have to say, in that time, there is one thing I have come to appreciate about Shanghai that is far more precious to me than its vast selection of food.
[ This post is brought to you by my posse and fellow volleyballers. ]
Putting aside things like low-cost housecleaners (we call them "ayis" or "ayi" in singular), cheap food (street food oh my GOD), incredible nightlife, mass amounts of bicycles, stupendously unpredictable weather, fake EVERYTHING, polluted air, horrendous traffic, ridiculous phone manners, and, of course, the insanity that permeates the entire population, perhaps the one thing I like about Shanghai is also present in other such cities.
I am talking about how easy it is to make friends and build a social circle from scratch in this city and others wherein foreign diasporas are prevalent. Most common in developing cities, these are situations where expatriates and other foreign residents flock together and form their own communities within a host city.
What this means is that in cities like this, it's simply easier to get yourself settled in socially. You show up, go to any number of "expat" activities, and you are almost always welcome to hang out with them as friends. It is easy to meet people who speak your language and build lasting friendships based on the fact that you are all going through the same sorts of headaches that come with living in a foreign host city.
I compare this to, say, a city which is relatively well-established, where the host city's language is prevalent enough that all foreigners are able to speak it, and where expatriates are much more easily camouflaged into the local flock.
Going into such a city knowing few or no people beforehand becomes a daunting social task. Friendships have long since been established, and groups of friends tend to be settled in their ways so breaking into an existing circle is difficult. Often, if a friend or relative brings you into their circle, you are classified as "so-and-so's friend/sister/brother" rather than as their own friend.
I'm not saying this is a bad thing. Having done the expat thing my whole life, I (and I'm sure Romain will back me up here) would kill to have stable groups of friends who don't leave after a few years or get kicked out of the country because of stupid visa rules.
I am simply making an observation. My first year in Shanghai was incredibly antisocial for a wealth of reasons, but a lack of social contact was not one of them. I simply didn't ever go out. But once I accepted a few invitations to go hang out, I found myself with a group of friends that are now some my very closest.
Were I to move back to a more stable city, where international schools do not exist, I would have a hard time adjusting not to the fact that people do not spit at my feet or smoke in elevators, but to the fact that starting over and making new friends is a tedious role regardless of how socially adept you are.
It's not impossible, it's just harder. I know some of you will disagree with me, but I'm also willing to bet that you have likely never lived in a city like Shanghai. When you see how easy it is to get settled in a city wherein you don't speak the local language, it really does blow your mind.
This, more than anything, is one of the reasons that I think I will always be at home in a city like Shanghai. I grew up in these cities, where we are thrown into an expat bubble, where expats are always willing to help one another out, even if they have never met before or know each other names, because we can all sympathize with being away from home, with the culture gap, or even just the language barrier. It's not an easy thing, it is always a comfort to know that the people sharing your boat are at least willing to help you out.
You could, in a way, compare it to college, where there is something fundamentally similar about everyone there that makes it easier to make new friends when you first get there. You're all freshmen, you're probably all living away from home for the first time, and it's the little things that come with those two facts that make it easy to build a foundation for a friendship or at least a social connection.
I probably have this sort of lifestyle to thank for the fact that I do not believe anyone should ever walk alone. I've said it before I know and I'm probably not all that unique in thinking this, but I guess that's why I love it when I am basically doing my Dr. Phviv thing for five hours out of an otherwise uneventful day.
Quite frankly, I am staying in Shanghai because of the friends I have made here. Prior to this city, I always had my family as a home base to return to when friends came and went or when we moved on to a new place. Here, this is the first time I have had to build a social network relying solely on my family's own business contacts, and I have to say that all you guys made it so easy for me to come to love this city.
This does include the volleyballers, by the way. I only see you guys twice a week now but SO MUCH LOVE to you guys.
That first year? Hated the city. Hated it. Now I don't want to leave.
[ This post is brought to you by my posse and fellow volleyballers. ]
Putting aside things like low-cost housecleaners (we call them "ayis" or "ayi" in singular), cheap food (street food oh my GOD), incredible nightlife, mass amounts of bicycles, stupendously unpredictable weather, fake EVERYTHING, polluted air, horrendous traffic, ridiculous phone manners, and, of course, the insanity that permeates the entire population, perhaps the one thing I like about Shanghai is also present in other such cities.
I am talking about how easy it is to make friends and build a social circle from scratch in this city and others wherein foreign diasporas are prevalent. Most common in developing cities, these are situations where expatriates and other foreign residents flock together and form their own communities within a host city.
What this means is that in cities like this, it's simply easier to get yourself settled in socially. You show up, go to any number of "expat" activities, and you are almost always welcome to hang out with them as friends. It is easy to meet people who speak your language and build lasting friendships based on the fact that you are all going through the same sorts of headaches that come with living in a foreign host city.
I compare this to, say, a city which is relatively well-established, where the host city's language is prevalent enough that all foreigners are able to speak it, and where expatriates are much more easily camouflaged into the local flock.
Going into such a city knowing few or no people beforehand becomes a daunting social task. Friendships have long since been established, and groups of friends tend to be settled in their ways so breaking into an existing circle is difficult. Often, if a friend or relative brings you into their circle, you are classified as "so-and-so's friend/sister/brother" rather than as their own friend.
I'm not saying this is a bad thing. Having done the expat thing my whole life, I (and I'm sure Romain will back me up here) would kill to have stable groups of friends who don't leave after a few years or get kicked out of the country because of stupid visa rules.
I am simply making an observation. My first year in Shanghai was incredibly antisocial for a wealth of reasons, but a lack of social contact was not one of them. I simply didn't ever go out. But once I accepted a few invitations to go hang out, I found myself with a group of friends that are now some my very closest.
Were I to move back to a more stable city, where international schools do not exist, I would have a hard time adjusting not to the fact that people do not spit at my feet or smoke in elevators, but to the fact that starting over and making new friends is a tedious role regardless of how socially adept you are.
It's not impossible, it's just harder. I know some of you will disagree with me, but I'm also willing to bet that you have likely never lived in a city like Shanghai. When you see how easy it is to get settled in a city wherein you don't speak the local language, it really does blow your mind.
This, more than anything, is one of the reasons that I think I will always be at home in a city like Shanghai. I grew up in these cities, where we are thrown into an expat bubble, where expats are always willing to help one another out, even if they have never met before or know each other names, because we can all sympathize with being away from home, with the culture gap, or even just the language barrier. It's not an easy thing, it is always a comfort to know that the people sharing your boat are at least willing to help you out.
You could, in a way, compare it to college, where there is something fundamentally similar about everyone there that makes it easier to make new friends when you first get there. You're all freshmen, you're probably all living away from home for the first time, and it's the little things that come with those two facts that make it easy to build a foundation for a friendship or at least a social connection.
I probably have this sort of lifestyle to thank for the fact that I do not believe anyone should ever walk alone. I've said it before I know and I'm probably not all that unique in thinking this, but I guess that's why I love it when I am basically doing my Dr. Phviv thing for five hours out of an otherwise uneventful day.
Quite frankly, I am staying in Shanghai because of the friends I have made here. Prior to this city, I always had my family as a home base to return to when friends came and went or when we moved on to a new place. Here, this is the first time I have had to build a social network relying solely on my family's own business contacts, and I have to say that all you guys made it so easy for me to come to love this city.
This does include the volleyballers, by the way. I only see you guys twice a week now but SO MUCH LOVE to you guys.
That first year? Hated the city. Hated it. Now I don't want to leave.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Why I'm Awesome (Part 20 of 7,412): GIRLIFICATION
So absorbed I have been in my story as well as a HOST of games (such as GTA4, a renewed addiction to Guitar Hero AND Viva Pinata, and various others on the DS Lite) that I've neglected to write about, you know, ME!
Fear not. If there is one thing I am good at, it's talking about that topic in particular.
[ This post is brought to you by Michelle, Jaya, and the pearl market lady. ]
Just over a month ago, right around the point at which I wound up in this abundance of free time that resulted from an untimely departure from my old company, I decided that much shopping was needed to alleviate the stress.
Yes, spending money when I am no longer making it. IT'S CALLED SAVINGS.
I am not and have never really been an avid shopper, certainly not when I am in Asia. And before you deplore me for what I'm about say next, SENIORS NAVIN AND KINDER, I will have you know that I am speaking purely from fact and not some deep-seated level of self-deprecation. It sucks to shop in Asia when you just aren't built like an Asian.
I really don't have to go into detail here, but basically, I am of a noticeably different shape from my dwarven, elvish countrymen. It really is the same story whether it's Hong Kong, Singapore, Shanghai, etc. It is simply frustrating to walk into a store, try something on, only to get depressed because the XXXXXXXXXXXL size doesn't fit.
On top of this, I am also, well, tomboyish. I was never "into" the more effeminate pursuits of make-up selection or constant haircare (my hair is flawless on its own without my trying, believe me). I never get my nails done, either. I did not own much jewelry, nor do I wear any beyond a pair of earrings and a watch. These just weren't things that I was interested in.
Then along comes my darling Michelle. Michelle, as many of you know, is one of my favorites and, loathe though she may be to admit it, a SHANGHAI STAPLE. She is now located in Washington, DC, which, some of you may be savvy enough to note, IS NOWHERE NEAR SHANGHAI. Disappointing as this fact may be, rest assured, Michelle, that you are missed, I love you bunches, I hope you are enjoying yourself.
(Which honestly, can't be very much because I am not there.)
BUT TO THE POINT. In Michelle's final weeks in Shanghai, we journeyed to the Hongqiao Pearl Market, a typical Chinese market were fake purses and genuine pearls abound. You really have to see it to believe. She introduces me to her trusty pearl lady, who sells jewelry of all sorts, not just pearls, and, in the span of four or five heartbeats, VIVIENNE BECOMES A GIRL.
Almost like my body just up and went "oh hey that there is a vagina, huh."
I went nuts. I bought so much stuff (for very cheap, I will have you know) and effectively increased my accessory selection eightfold.
I also bought three pairs of sunglasses.
Mere days later, to H&M, where I picked up more necklaces and bangles and bracelets.
Michelle departs. Depression sets in. What do I do?
I go to the fabric market to get a suit made. In getting those suits made, I bring my friend Kelly along, and what do we find while wandering around there? A silk tailor who makes clothes from some really gorgeous silk. And what do I get made? MY FIRST DRESS PURCHASE IN OVER FOUR YEARS.
Truth! The last dress I bought was in my junior year of college! (This also reminds me that in exactly one week from today, I would have been graduated for three years. Wow.)
Moving on. Two more silken creations follow.
In between these trips to the fabric market? Salon hair washes! Head massages! Manicures!
Then, on April 27, 2008, the unthinkable happened. I put aside my razor for the last time and walked into a little beauty shop and got my very, very first waxing session.
Yeah um if giving birth is more painful than THAT, then no thanks. Adoption ok.
I also got my eyebrows shaped. Not as painful, but man she was plucking hairs out that I couldn't even see with my naked eye.
I walk out there honestly feeling incredibly good. Tingly, but good. It is an odd sensation.
The second driver for all this is, of course, my dear Princess Jaya. It is no surprise to those of us who know here that she is, in our little group of hoodies and jeans, the slinky black halter dress. Always chic, she is.
And I felt I could learn a thing or two about dressing myself up from her. I even pester her for make-up tips! "What's that you're putting on your face? What's that stuff? And that stuff? What colors would look good on me? How much eyeliner should I wear? What kind of mascara do you use? Do you have a brand you'd recommend?"
To be fair, I still do not often wear make-up. That stuff costs. But I guess now when I do use it, I feel like I know what I'm doing. It's odd. I need more practice. I think I've used more make-up remover to get rid of smudges or mistakes than I have actually used in make-up itself.
All in all, it feels good. And I would imagine it is pretty odd when I walk into a barbecue wearing a silk top and jeans and stuff and geek the fuck out when I see that they are playing Rock Band RIGHT THERE IN THE LIVING ROOM AND OH MY GOD CAN I PLAY CAN I PLAY CAN I PLAAAAAAAY and of course whip everyone's ASSES at it.
Shit I ain't gonna lie. I love that feeling. I also love the fact that I haven't had to shave my legs in TWO WEEKS.
Fear not. If there is one thing I am good at, it's talking about that topic in particular.
[ This post is brought to you by Michelle, Jaya, and the pearl market lady. ]
Just over a month ago, right around the point at which I wound up in this abundance of free time that resulted from an untimely departure from my old company, I decided that much shopping was needed to alleviate the stress.
Yes, spending money when I am no longer making it. IT'S CALLED SAVINGS.
I am not and have never really been an avid shopper, certainly not when I am in Asia. And before you deplore me for what I'm about say next, SENIORS NAVIN AND KINDER, I will have you know that I am speaking purely from fact and not some deep-seated level of self-deprecation. It sucks to shop in Asia when you just aren't built like an Asian.
I really don't have to go into detail here, but basically, I am of a noticeably different shape from my dwarven, elvish countrymen. It really is the same story whether it's Hong Kong, Singapore, Shanghai, etc. It is simply frustrating to walk into a store, try something on, only to get depressed because the XXXXXXXXXXXL size doesn't fit.
On top of this, I am also, well, tomboyish. I was never "into" the more effeminate pursuits of make-up selection or constant haircare (my hair is flawless on its own without my trying, believe me). I never get my nails done, either. I did not own much jewelry, nor do I wear any beyond a pair of earrings and a watch. These just weren't things that I was interested in.
Then along comes my darling Michelle. Michelle, as many of you know, is one of my favorites and, loathe though she may be to admit it, a SHANGHAI STAPLE. She is now located in Washington, DC, which, some of you may be savvy enough to note, IS NOWHERE NEAR SHANGHAI. Disappointing as this fact may be, rest assured, Michelle, that you are missed, I love you bunches, I hope you are enjoying yourself.
(Which honestly, can't be very much because I am not there.)
BUT TO THE POINT. In Michelle's final weeks in Shanghai, we journeyed to the Hongqiao Pearl Market, a typical Chinese market were fake purses and genuine pearls abound. You really have to see it to believe. She introduces me to her trusty pearl lady, who sells jewelry of all sorts, not just pearls, and, in the span of four or five heartbeats, VIVIENNE BECOMES A GIRL.
Almost like my body just up and went "oh hey that there is a vagina, huh."
I went nuts. I bought so much stuff (for very cheap, I will have you know) and effectively increased my accessory selection eightfold.
I also bought three pairs of sunglasses.
Mere days later, to H&M, where I picked up more necklaces and bangles and bracelets.
Michelle departs. Depression sets in. What do I do?
I go to the fabric market to get a suit made. In getting those suits made, I bring my friend Kelly along, and what do we find while wandering around there? A silk tailor who makes clothes from some really gorgeous silk. And what do I get made? MY FIRST DRESS PURCHASE IN OVER FOUR YEARS.
Truth! The last dress I bought was in my junior year of college! (This also reminds me that in exactly one week from today, I would have been graduated for three years. Wow.)
Moving on. Two more silken creations follow.
In between these trips to the fabric market? Salon hair washes! Head massages! Manicures!
Then, on April 27, 2008, the unthinkable happened. I put aside my razor for the last time and walked into a little beauty shop and got my very, very first waxing session.
Yeah um if giving birth is more painful than THAT, then no thanks. Adoption ok.
I also got my eyebrows shaped. Not as painful, but man she was plucking hairs out that I couldn't even see with my naked eye.
I walk out there honestly feeling incredibly good. Tingly, but good. It is an odd sensation.
The second driver for all this is, of course, my dear Princess Jaya. It is no surprise to those of us who know here that she is, in our little group of hoodies and jeans, the slinky black halter dress. Always chic, she is.
And I felt I could learn a thing or two about dressing myself up from her. I even pester her for make-up tips! "What's that you're putting on your face? What's that stuff? And that stuff? What colors would look good on me? How much eyeliner should I wear? What kind of mascara do you use? Do you have a brand you'd recommend?"
To be fair, I still do not often wear make-up. That stuff costs. But I guess now when I do use it, I feel like I know what I'm doing. It's odd. I need more practice. I think I've used more make-up remover to get rid of smudges or mistakes than I have actually used in make-up itself.
All in all, it feels good. And I would imagine it is pretty odd when I walk into a barbecue wearing a silk top and jeans and stuff and geek the fuck out when I see that they are playing Rock Band RIGHT THERE IN THE LIVING ROOM AND OH MY GOD CAN I PLAY CAN I PLAY CAN I PLAAAAAAAY and of course whip everyone's ASSES at it.
Shit I ain't gonna lie. I love that feeling. I also love the fact that I haven't had to shave my legs in TWO WEEKS.
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