Quiet Asians

All my life I have fought against the stereotype of the 'quiet asian'. I get to China to discover that I have been seriously mistaken. Oh yes, Chinese (if I may stereotype here) are quiet (especially if you ask them if they speak English), but that doesn't mean they don't find hundreds of other ways to be heard.....

You won't last two days in China without being asked about what you make of the air pollution. But to me,  there is a bigger, or at least louder, problem that I struggle to deal with:

Noise Pollution.

Now this is a new term (like 'PM2.5', a measure bad air quality) that I hadn't come across in NZ, possibly because I'm uneducated and ignorant, or possibly because we don't have any.

So there is the noise of traffic, which isn't unexpected in any big city. Added to this, though, is the frequent and sustained sound of the horn, which screams 'yes I know its a red light but I'm coming through anyway', and the shrill whistle and shouts of traffic police, indicating they have seen red-light-runners but are powerless to stop them.

The bike is an  indispensable mode of transport here; in NZ I would want one with good gears and mudguards, but here what you really need are a basket and bell. The other day I proudly negotiated a basket and a lock into the price of my 2nd hand bike, but somehow forgot about a bell. I felt terribly naked and vulnerable as I pedaled (OK, on the wrong side of the road, against the flow of bike traffic) home. I don't hesitate to use my bell when necessary, but there are those who don't follow this pattern of thinking. I have seen many an old man riding along with not a car/bike/pedestrian in his way, ringing his bell constantly just... ? for entertainment? to be heard? who knows. Old (and also not-so-old) men also like to walk/bike along with big radio-like music machines attached to their hips, (who needs an iPod?) blasting Chinese opera or pop music to the world. The other day a grandfather pedaled along ringing his bell in time to the music.Well I'm glad for him that he was enjoying is little ride but for the sake of the rest of us and our precious ear drums....

On the surface, Chinese, (despite, (or perhaps because of) the slight disorderliness of traffic) seem to be very concerned with safety. Riding an escalator, its not enough to just plaster signs saying 'hold the handrail' all over the place. There must also be a audio recording playing the same message over and over again, just in case you are blind or illiterate. Boarding the buses (or subway), a lady's voice (seems to be the same lady on every bus) will welcome you aboard, state the bus number, urge you to move towards the back of the bus and, of course, pay attention to safety. Before reaching every stop, she will again be broadcasted: 'We are arriving at bus stop X. Please exit from the rear doors. Be careful when doors are opening and pay attention to safety'. This message is repeated about 4 or so times before actually arriving, such that if you have sat through 10 stops to reach your destination, you have been reminded to pay attention to safety no less than 50 times. The volume is set so high so that its not just bus passengers who get to hear her, but pedestrians, those inside cars and yes, me, as I lie in bed, my 5th floor apartment on the corner of a main intersection.

Groping around for my earplugs one night I foolishly thought 'oh to be living back on campus!'. I quickly retracted that wish, remembering that every morning without fail I would be woken at 6am to the next door sports area chants of 一！二！三！四: students participating in military-style drills; the traditional hymn-style music which old ladies holding something which resembled badminton rackets danced to  (the first Sunday I heard this I thought there was a church service next door....), followed by some group exercise pop music.

As a kid, the sound of the tinny Greensleeves music wafting closer closer could only mean one thing: Mr Whippy was near, and if we were lucky mum would let us buy an ice cream. So who could blame me for thinking the same (well, OK, I'd use my own money) when I heard the same tune here? To my dismay the music was emitted from nothing other than a big truck spraying water onto the road - to settle the dust, I think, or when its been raining, to 'wash' away the water on the flooded streets (!!). This type of truck circulates round and round the city; every time I hear it I hate it even more for corrupting my childhood memories. Why can't it just spray water in silence??! (or sell ice creams out the side window, at least?)


Go to any lively market anywhere in the world and vendors will be calling, crying out what they have to offer. Chinese efficiency, coupled with their love for microphones/loud speakers have improved on this, either by attaching a McDonalds drive through 'can-I-take-your-order-please?' -type microphone and portable speaker to their bodies (leaving their hands free to handle the money/meat etc), or, even better, by pre-recording what they have to say (after all, its only 1 sentence, right?) and blasting it from a standing speaker: 'Watermelon! One kuai yi jin!' 'T-shirts! Buy one get one free!'. Shops have also taken to this method, sometimes employing some poor, poorly paid worker to stand at the door with a mic advertising their promotion, other times just playing the automatic message through a speaker. I once asked a shop assistant if he got annoyed at hearing 'everything in store 9.90RMB!' repeated non stop from morning to night, and he just looked at me as if he hadn't heard me (well, I wouldn't have blamed him....), or didn't know what I was talking about.

One night I was busking with a guitarist and the police/street security made us move locations 3 times - the reason being that we were 'too noisy'. Now, I would gladly move if we were obstructing foot traffic, on private property or blasting inappropriate music (how a violin could ever be inappropriate I don't know). And yes, it was a busy street (we're not going busk in a rice paddy). But its a sad day, friends, when, given the un-tuned orchestra of everything mentioned above, its a couple of street buskers that are labelled as:

Noise Pollution.

Have our ear drums lost their sense of beauty?

Atrocity

I witnessed an atrocity the other day.

Our Hangzhou to Xi'an flight had just touched down (and I mean literally had just touched down) when suddenly a lady appeared in the aisle at the front of the plane, ready to exit. Even the air hostesses - still seated in their seats - were taken by suprise. They asked her to sit back down. When she refused, one had to get up and usher ( = force ) her back to her seat. No sooner had this poor hostess buckled herself back up again, that there was a family of 3 making their way - hand luggage  and all - down the aisle also. The hostess upbuckled herself yet again and, telling someone else to turn off their phone on the way, asked them to return to their seats. They also defied orders. As a final attempt she asked the child to sit on an adjacent passenger's lap as the plane taxied in.

I couldn't believe it. What's wrong with these people? Who do they think they are?! Yes, our flight was one whole hour delayed. But they were locals - they should know (and I didn't for a long time), that domestic flights are more often than not behind schedule. And its not like there haven't been longer delays (hey, cancellations even!) in the history of aviation services.

What I witnessed made me angry. So angry I call it an atrocity. Now, its not like I haven't seen worse evil in the world. But that what I saw wasn't just a couple of impatient people. But horrible selfishness that I have begun to notice in other places also.

Now, don't get me wrong. I like Chinese people. Heck, I am a Chinese. And in a country of 1.4billion people, its unfair to generalise. But, there are certain 'habits' (should we shroud them with the term 'culture'?) that Chinese people partake in, that - in my opinion - are nothing more than displays of selfishness.

Like, why don't people swallow their OWN saliva? Why do they let their children eliminate in (very) public places (sometimes infront of public toilets!)?Whey don't they form a line and let others who got there first, go first?

'Are you in line?' a man behind my Finnish friend and me asked at the train station last week. Of course we are, I replied, and then silently (geez, We're westerners! we're who do you think we are?) Then I realised I should have said 'Of course we're not! Where do you think we are? (The West?!)' And if to prove right my thoughts, he , and everyone else behind) squashed us up against the ticket counter and breathed down our necks.


I did have a thought in China's defence however. Like, I know China is a big country. And staggers under a big population. The two topics of conversation - for foreigners and locals alike - are: the excessive number of people and the (bad) quality of air. And I guess this has something to do witht the formation of this Chinses 'Culture' (promotion and acceptability of selfishness). I mean (ok, save ethics for another day), perhaps its just not possibleto live any less selfishly here. If you actually waited behind the yellow line, your flight would leave before you got to check in. If you didn't push and shove and haul your body onto the bus, you'd never make it to the office (at all, nevermind on-time). If you waited for cars to stop before attempting to cross, you'd collapse with hunger before reaching the supermarket across the road.If they provided toilet paper in all public toilets, there'd be no trees left to emit oxygen.

Now, I'm definitely no saint. But this recent aeroplane atrocity has got me thinking: What little, seemingly innocent and 'acceptable' acts of self interest are really atrocities at heart?





 

A semester in Xi'an

Excerpts from an email home. 25 June 2015.

Well, Ive finished a semester Xi'an. I must say Ive gained a bit of insight into the (at least international student's) education system here.
Its not that great.
Its not that the quality or content is lacking, rather (something closer to my heart..): morals and ethics.

For all of China's restrictions and regulations, the international student's department is incredibly laxed. Cheating is not only rampant and obvious, but, it appears,  perfectly acceptable. Take weekly '听写 (lit:listen-write) tests (think of primary school spelling tests) for example. I think they should be re-named ''写写' because half the class will have their textbooks open and be copying the words. The teacher strolls around the room and turns a blind eye. She strolls because shes not allowed to sit whilst teaching - thats the rules. She's not allowed to sit... but we're allowed to cheat??

One day during '听写  I got so fed up that I took out my camera and started taking pictures. Some classmates gave me amused looks - I smiled and snapped their photo. I snapped people playing on their phones, people wit textbooks open, people sharing answers.

Cheating is one thing, punctuality and class attendance are another. Our class had 20 students.. these last few weeks we would start at 8am with 5-6. On a good day, this number would swell to perhaps 12 or 15 over the next few hours, on a bad day it would remain at 5.

On a positive note, my chinese is improving to the state where I think I am not longer mistaken for retarded, but from Taiwan, Kunming or Hong Kong (?is their chinese so bad in those places, I wonder..?!)


I managed to do a bit of hiking as the days got warmer (and are now too hot!), the most notable being 'Mt Hua Shan' - unlike any mountain you've seen (the crowds are also unlike any you've seen (or want to see)). There was even an ATM at the summit! (only in China!) On the way down I couldnt restrain myself and (jumping the 'no swimming' sign), had a little swim in the river (the cleanest water Id seen so far)... my chinese friend was shocked and said it was the 1st time she'd seen a girl 'bathing' in natural water...

The day of my exam one of our scungy dorm cats cut its leg - deep enough for me to dream about stitching it up. No such luck (opportunity! Exams come first!) - in the end I brought back some supplies, and on the kitchen bench (with girls cooking pancakes in the background!) me and A Yi (dorm mother) cleaned and injected this unappreciative patient, whose howling nearly turned the pancake girls nauseous.

So whilst I'm not sure about the pancakes, both the cat and my exams turned out fine. The cat because (as every vet knows) animals will heal with/without/in spite of treatment, and and exams because they were a bit like glorified homework without the use of a dictionary.  I did, however have trouble reading the exam regulations listed at the top of each paper....I have sat many an exam where l have not understood the exam questions, but never until now been in one where I haven't been able to read the rules!

And as such continues my strange life here...

Ｃｈｅａｔｉｎｇ　ｉｎ　Ｃｈｉｎａ　

A Banana* in China

Disclaimer: My perfectionist self is 100% dissatisfied with the formatting, but my computer literacy skills and time are lacking to make it... perfect....
  
12 May 2015

Learning the language of my blood is something I've
 always wanted to do before I die (preferably

 before I hit 30) and so here I am in China for the year, 
studying Chinese at Shaanxi Normal University, Xi'an. If I were to sum up my experience so far in one word it would be this:  
Humbling. 

Life in China is, as you can imagine, very interesting. Even more interesting for me, given the fact that I am

 a ‘hua yi’ (overseas Chinese) now living China. Sometimes I find it so amusing that I feel I am a fly on the 

wall or a bird overhead, watching my life go by. The best thing by far is that I blend in!!! Think about it -

 not since I was 2 years old being carried around the streets of Kuala Lumpur have I lived in a place where

 I look like everyone else. In far contrast to being the only chinita running around rural Bolivia, here I’m just

 one in a million - and I love it. (Perhaps for the first time in my life) I love that I have a Chinese name - 

 樊维真**   one that people can not only pronounce properly  (better than I pronounce it myself)   but 

also ‘spell’ correctly (also better than I can myself). 

 The flipside, of course, is that everyone treats me like a local. Shopkeepers will speak to me not only in 

Chinese, but often in Shaanxi hua (the local dialect). Depending on my mood and time on hand I will either 

nod/shake my head, mutter something and quickly leave (leaving them wondering if I’m retarded or

 something...) or explain that I ‘ting bu dong’ (don't understand), which invariably leads into an unfolding 

of my whole family history . This rather strange phenomenon (for both parties) has also led to me being 

addressed as (chinese) ‘teacher’ on more than one occasion or ‘translator’ (for my foreign classmates...

 whose chinese is often better than mine and so they end up translating for me). Shame. 

Its also a humble experience being an undergraduate again. The language department has enough mature

 students, but many of my classmates are my juniors by many, many moons. Apparently, even for a Chinese,

 I look really young (must be the clean NZ air I’ve breathed all my life) and so, since I’m new, everyone 

assumes I must be a freshman (sigh, I was a freshman a decade ago...) One teacher (a 23 year old masters

 student) asked if I was 19 yet (cringe...). On finding out my age, she exclaimed ‘oh we should call you ‘jie jie’

 (literally ‘older sister’ - a term of respect). Shame. 

The international student's dormitory on campus is also a humbling honour. There are no single rooms  so I have a (18year-old!) room mate. The (squat) toilets are communal and outside,

 the (also communal) showers have side.partitions but no doors.  The compound gates are locked between 

11pm and 6am (curfew!!!!!) but thankfully.we can (and do!) jump the gate if we’re locked out. We are the only

 dorm on campus with a jumpable gate, and a kitchen. The kitchen is basic and a bit scungy (especially with the  gross, cats that live behind the hot-water machine (admittedly I did clean the wounds of an injured one one on the kitchen bench one evening (a vets got to do what a vets got to do))).

All sounds terrible and restrictive, but compared to Chinese students we live in paradise - they have 4-8 

students per room, no hot water dispenser, the showers are a 5-10 min walk across campus and you  need to pay, doors also locked 11pm-6am (NO breaking in or out....) (at other unis I’ve heard  the  electricity  also cuts out at 11pm!!.), signing  in an out for visitors, a weekly  Sunday evening roll call,  no washing machine  (that’s what hands are for)  and ( I should have known,  but only found out yesterday)  that its compulsory for all Chinese students to stay in campus dorms for the entire duration of their study. 

Class is really fun, but really, sometimes (no, daily) I feel like I’m back at primary school. The roll is called 

every period, we have homework which is marked with  red pen and graded, and have to write ‘essays’ of at

 least 80 characters (!) for example entitled: ‘My best friend.’ The latter I wrote on the overnight train back

 from Beijing (as it was due that morning).....half the carriage took great interest in this (retarded?) Chinese girl 

primary school homework and helped correct my grammar. Like I said, it is fun...but you know, I’m a

 veterinary doctor for heavens sake....and from my fly-on-.the-wall position I often look down and wonder

if this Banana is a little over-ripe... . 

Spot the Banana

Spot the Banana 

 * A colloquial term used amongst Asians living in Western countries: ‘yellow on the outside, white on the inside'’ 

 

**Fán Wéi Zhēn.  In contrast to the rest of my classmates who have chosen

 Chinese names for themselves (much like Chinese immigrants in NZ choosing names such as ‘Cherry’, 

 ‘Rainbow’ (or ‘Esther’)), this name was chosen by my grandfather I never met...  

Beautiful Bricks

Tuesday 13 January, Eluru Children's Home, India

I enjoyed sifting through the broken bricks and the orphanage today. The midday sun had no mercy, it was mundane work and dust clung to sweat. Nevertheless I was happy.

'What a beautiful brick,' I commented, placing it in the sack. One of the girls agreed. Though isn't it strange, I continued.  Arriving three hours earlier at the work site - a pile of rubble that would eventually be a church - we didn't gasp 'oh what beautiful bricks we get to sort!'. We probably didn't think much at all - except for 'When is lunch?'

But after a while at work, something happens. Bricks become beautiful. The subject of excitement. What's changed? The bricks? No. The rubble? No. Nothing but our perception - and that is everything.

Is this not our story of India, I thought. Arriving  3 weeks earlier - we didn't think much of the place. The rubbish, the smells, the primitive conditions - made Boot Camp look like paradise! But now we see things differently. India hasn't changed (India's barely changed from when I was here 9 years ago!) - we have. We begin to see beauty. Beauty in the sunrises; in the smiles; in the simplicity..

..in bricks, even.

I never thought it easy
Always knew it worth it