If you were like the many who thought that I was done, you’re wrong. I need to conclude the gargantuan endeavor that is this blog with one final post. I’ve been back in the United States for about a week and a half now, and I’ve begun packing and preparing for my return to the University of California, San Diego. Workload permitting, I’ll edit over this whole blog so it flows like a novel, consolidating posts where necessary and refitting everything so it works, more than partially so that I can relive the experience that I am so missing, and know that I will continue to be nostalgic of for the foreseeable future.
And if because of the reverse-chronological format of blogs you arrive at this post first, I encourage you to start at the beginning four months back. Though I’m biased, I think it’s worth it.
Des Amis, Des Ennemis
I have this nasty habit of getting sick in some way or another before entering a new environment. So before heading off to Hong Kong, I happened to be going through the usual. It kept me going to the bathroom in short and my head was persistently and consistently hot. Thinking there was the possibility of getting quarantined, I can’t say I filled out the health declaration form truthfully, and I self-medicated to get me through the lines should they take my temperature.
Showing how much I knew, since Hong Kong just gave sick people respiratory masks and advisory literature but nothing more, I entered the cab on the way over marveling at the sheer number of bridges on surface roads that there were and the lights of Central, only to be nearly shocked at the superficial condition of buildings outside of the tourist drag.
I was sick and I get sick in such situations because of my nervousness and I know it. I didn’t know who my roommate would be, how cliquish the locals would be, how accepting my fellow exchange students would be of the contrast between my national origins and my ethnic roots. All I could tell myself was that it would all work out and that whatever happens happens.
And as I’m blessed time and time again, through privilege and circumstance, everything worked out better than I could have ever assumed. Out of my perceived adversity, though profoundly false, I guess I could say that I became a stronger person in my first learning experience of my four-month exploration.
I guess I’m a naturally shy and soft-spoken individual. Though I do enjoy the company of others on a regular basis, I also enjoy my own company alone, reading a book, writing (this blog), and much less often watching television. For some reason I had a hunch that I would be the second case more often than not. That’s not to say that I can’t have fun, because in new situations I turn up social butterfly mode and go with it until I have at least a few good friends.
And more than a few good friends I got. They weren’t exactly the friends I was hoping for, being that I wanted to immerse myself in Hong Kong and its locals, but in some ways making friends with other international students gave me a better world view, especially an Anglophone world view, rather than just a Hong Kong- or Chinese-centered one.
Of my friends, of course some were better than others; for a few we parted ways over personality, never ideology. So I guess I’ll go bad news first.
My luck with roommates varies a lot over time. I know he doesn’t read this blog, so in this conclusion, I have few qualms about describing our dealings, especially keeping him in anonymity (at least from those who don’t know him).
He happened to have come from Illinois, the same state where I can say my parents are from (having been educated there, met there, married there, and lived there for a long time). That’s not to say that he’s like my parents though, because he turned out not to be in so many ways.
In being cordial we were good friends for the first month and a half. Though it sounds corny, this was what I like to call the honeymoon period—that being before people fully get to know each other and personalities fully materialize. Things that were so minor to me during the honeymoon period, such as his perceived need to get a girlfriend right then and there in the first two weeks, and his staying up way late to play video games only to complain of exhaustion and boredom during the day began to really annoy me.
In addition, his preconceptions of me came out one by one, one by one revealing themselves to be more specifically misconceptions. For one, he kept insisting that both my parents are from China, to which I had to remind him that my father’s from Detroit and my mother is originally from Hong Kong and immigrated mid-childhood. It followed that during a discussion about learning languages he believed that I speak Mandarin natively, as taught to me by my parents. I had to remind him that my father is a natural-born American and that my mother is from Hong Kong (where they overwhelmingly speak Cantonese over both Mandarin and English), to which I told him he should be able to speak standard German, since he claimed Austrian roots.
And I’m no saint, but on the other hand many of my hunches about him turned out to be true. For one, he whined a lot about not having enough money, though he blew it like no other, spending plenty on drinking and partying. And when he found out that I don’t get financial aid from the government, he assumed that I’m from a rich family, thereafter pointing to expensive sportscars and telling me to buy them for him. The cherry on top was the rigid attitude that he had to all things world. He described his disdain for Islam Week at HKU and described the locals in terms he should have thought twice about before saying to me and my Asian self. In his intelligence, he managed to tell his mom about me in not-so-excellent terms with me in the room. He assumed since I had my earphones in that I wasn’t listening when in reality he should have saved it for later, when I wasn’t present.
It all culminated towards the end of reading week, when after landing at the airport from our group trip to Beijing, he said that had to get off the plane to go meet his friends, with the implication that we were not his friends as denoted by his overly forward tone.
That friend turned out to be a “girlfriend” located an hour’s ferry away in Macau who he probably met on the Internet. In earlier weeks, he would browse the personals section of Craigslist in his boredom, telling me about them while I was trying to study. I ended up disappearing to the library more often than not to study or at least get away from him and he ended up disconnecting from the group and disappearing to Macau nearly every weekend to go see her. That’s not to say I assumed their relationship was one of convenience, because I know how he described her to some of my other friends.
And on the upswing, throughout the whole semester, his opposition to picking up a few words of Cantonese became quite irksome. Yeah, others were like that too, since it’s plenty evident that it’s not hard to get by in Hong Kong on English alone, but with him, it fit his personality in such a way that could only be described in American English-only campaigns by many of the uneducated too lazy to press number “1” or “2” on their phones when prompted.
This isn’t to say that we weren’t friendly though, being that we had to be as we were roommates and all. We parted ways on the appropriate note. He packed away all the People’s Liberation Army “Commie” hats at Mao Zedong quote books for his friends and had be chuckle at the appropriate time. I told him he gets cheap thrills from that stuff. He said it was for his friends. I modified my statement to say that he and his friends get cheap thrills from that stuff. He also was trying to figure out how to pack away a rolled poster for his right-wing father that featured Obama morphed into Mao. He thought I was laughing with him at the witty piece of art. I was laughing at him since he couldn’t get it into his backs without crushing it, putting about thirty folds in it. And as much as I can disagree or even hate someone, defiling someone’s image simply isn’t constructive and if you have to lead with your emotions than you aren’t going to get anywhere (or haven’t gotten anywhere).
And in another falling out, this friend happens to read my blog instead of updating his own (October, November, and December all went down without a single word). This is the friend who I described as not understanding face (in the universal sense) and social relationships that I used as an example in my Traditional Chinese society class.
All of a few hours after my post went on screen he called me during class. I hung up on him since I was in class, so he texted me describing how sorry he was and how he wanted to start anew. I forgot about it by the end of the day, so he ended up sending me a message on Facebook telling me that I defamed him to the point where I should remove and retract my statements. I told him that he was in the wrong, and since it would be sufficiently difficult to figure out that it was him (though the lack of a name and a face), and because I presented my writing as my opinion and not as undisputable fact that in no way could my statements be construed as libel (which he incorrectly termed slander). In addition, he had no career of which to speak to ruin, no would anyone care about what I say about him. I told him that those people who figure out that I was talking about him already have opinions formed of him, and that my little post wouldn’t shift things one way or the other.
With nothing good to say to him and knowing that he had nothing good to say to me, we avoided each other until the last few days. We were cordial and did not mention the disagreement we had.
Later, I was told that he doesn’t like me. I replied to her that I don’t really care. What happened happened and it had gotten to the point where I practically brushed it off my shoulder.
And for the good news, most of the people that I met were genuine and open-minded. I found myself discussing contemporary issues with them and debating the past (often over coffee). I found good travel buddies after thinking for the first few weeks that I should probably find some tours to take me travelling.
Though it seems that I sold them short in this conclusion, I described much of what we all went through in nearly all of my previous posts, from travels to classes and simple cultural differences.
Seeing all of them go was in itself the end of this Study Abroad chapter in my life, since they were more than there for all of it—they were an integral part of it. I plan to stay in contact of course, and who knows?—maybe we’ll have a Hong Kong reunion in a decade’s time.
Lectures and Tutorials
It may just be because I belong to this system, but I can’t describe fully how much I appreciate the liberal arts education. Something also must be said about learning in the common language rather than the elite language.
But first things first: liberal arts as a type and theory in methods of education has a different meaning to the general public and American university students than in the international higher education community, especially along the Anglophone front. Here, we like to think as liberal arts as primarily and often exclusively referring to those institutions of higher learning termed liberal arts colleges. Names aside, this distinction is made primarily to distinguish them from research universities—the difference having less to do with what is liberal arts and more with how big the student population is, how many students there are per class, and what the professors do during their free time.
Liberal arts colleges aim to boast more intimate student experiences, with students being able to learn better through a more Socratic classroom environment with the format more along the lines of a pseudo-discussion rather than a rote lecture in which only the (doctored) professor talks.
On the other hand there are the research universities, where professors teach large lectures with much of the grading being left to teaching assistants, often graduate students, allowing them to research with the time leftover (though often research comes before teaching). In this sense, students have to work at getting to know their professors, most notably by taking advantage of office hours. Misconceptions about research universities stem from that basis—that because lecture halls regularly encompass three hundred students, they cannot be nearly as effective as liberal arts colleges.
In my opinion, people should choose what works better for them rather than just thinking that liberal arts colleges are just better or worse. I know two things: that both formats work well for me, with me myself preferring the anonymity that a large lecture hall can afford me, and also that out of the fourteen or so classes that I have taken thus far at UCSD, most have had less than seventy students, with my smallest class having around ten. I believe that the value of what you get out of anything is what you put in, meaning that it’s irrelevant which format, whether it be large lectures or small discussions, you choose, insofar as you take full advantage of the resources at hand.
But American public definitions aside, what is really meant by attaining a liberal arts education is not the methods in which you met you ends, but rather what you get out of it. As I understand it, without consulting any literature on the matter, the liberal arts education is one of breadth, notwithstanding continuing depth, meaning that you should come out of college understanding not only your subject, but also other subjects—not necessarily all of them, but of those that you do, at least their basis or even some finer points, or in other words, well-roundedness. The theory behind this is that by getting a good depth of feel for more of what our universe of knowledge is about, you can produce more profound critical thought on your own discipline, seeing material in a more comprehensive manner if you will.
In this sense, American universities and colleges are all based in liberal arts, since all have general education requirements of sorts to gain breadth {as well as to keep accreditation). You can contrast this with vocational schools, which, being more skill-based, teach you what you need to know for your future job with much less emphasis on critical thought.
In other countries, higher education is often somewhere in between liberal arts institutions and vocational schools. In Hong Kong for example, general education is advertised by the university as something for personal enjoyment rather than as a requirement. So in this sense, breadth is more an optional asset rather than a requirement for graduation.
Of course, there are pros and cons. Using the simple comparison between the American education system and that of Hong Kong, graduates from American universities and colleges come out as highly skilled in terms of critical thought, or more pragmatically put—problem solving. Graduates from Hong Kong universities will come out with more specific knowledge on the specific fields that they’ve trained for.
So automatically, one would compare the two and ask which one is better. On top of the fact that I just got back from Hong Kong, I compare the two because of their similar economies. Hong Kong’s is based on the service sector, largely in finance, with much industrial manufacturing having gone to nearby Guangdong Province in Mainland China. That of the United States is going in that direction, with (industrial) jobs going overseas because of cheaper labor in places like China. As such, Americans are finding it more and more necessary to upgrade their educations with children now being expected to go to college or likely end up in a dead-end job.
So which system of higher education is better? Though I’ve tried to fully express my viewpoint in earlier posts and very simply stated my ardent appreciation of the system I happen to be in, I’m not going to delve into that again here, because then I’ll end up going into dollars and cents, and past subsistence (including security), I’ve never felt like happiness or the meaning of life were embedded in numbers of any sort.
The second point of contention that I intend to mention is the language of instruction. Hong Kong, having been a British Crown Colony for the vast majority of its successful history, tends to over-idealize and overestimate its colonial heritage. As such, much emphasis is placed on English-language education, with the appropriate policies being in place and in action in the territory’s major universities, of course including the one that I attended on exchange.
Before coming to Hong Kong, I read in the pamphlet that the school sent me to help me find my way upon arrival that though classes are all in English, the local students speak to each other in Cantonese. I took a double take at the sentence, knowing that there is generally the tendency to prefer speaking in the language with which one is most comfortable in. It was in a sense of what was to come, because the pamphlet was correct as expected.
While I fully believe in language rights, certain things about Hong Kong local students weren’t quite clicking as I was hoping. The pamphlet itself used funny English. It had funny constructions, odd prepositions, and “the” before nearly every noun, whether it needed it or not. I assumed that the way the pamphlet was written simply reflected the variety of English used in Hong Kong. I don’t think this was an unreasonable assumption at all. It is well known that especially since English has such large geographic spread, there are bound to be vast differences in various technical usages of certain words and even different grammatical features. For example, a British English speaker would say, “at weekends,” whereas an American English speaker would say, “on weekends.”
As I would find out, it’s hard to classify Hong Kong English as a true variety of English. This is because the differences in word usage between Hong Kong English and American English were anything but consistent (and hence not predictable and not easy to internalize). When Hong Kong English speakers would say something, it seemed often that any preposition could go in conjunction with any verb, and because of that, it took a great deal of effort during my entire stay there (meaning it didn’t get any easier) to understand what people were saying.
Their lack of English skills was in large created by the fact that they don't speak English with each other, and based on what I have heard and witnessed, that they seem to subconsciously view English as a hindrance to their educations despite its advantage in their futures. The reason I say that is because during a floor meeting at Lee Hysan Hall, the students conducted all their business in Cantonese despite the presence of non-Cantonese speakers. This meant that instead of everyone switching to English (which they are all expected to be able to speak), they had one member translate for those who could not understand. It seems as though if they had more practice, they would either get their prepositions correct or at least consistent.
I say this to mean that everyone should speak English properly, like many Americans would have it be, just that in a school that boasts English as its language of instruction, it might be good as a student to get to speaking well a consistent variety of the language if not an already existing standard.
This isn’t to say that everyone was a bad English speaker, for I’m sure there are. What I mean is that overall, the local student population needed dearly to refine their English-language abilities.
What this meant for my classes was that in my opinion they were largely diluted. Ask me what I learned in class and I’ll tell you I’d rather talk about my travels. Professors had to speak slowly so that students understand. This meant that in the fourteen-week semester (my quarters at UCSD are ten weeks), I feel I learned less than back in California during a significantly shorter term.
La Gran Obra de Arte
I know I’m not the first in using my passport as a something of a symbol of my travels, but I’m going to do it anyways. Doing so is popular because such a representation is apt. After all, that little booklet accompanied me all along the way.
The original sections of that little booklet were completely full by the end. If you recall, by mid-November, it readily became clear that my passport book was filling up with stamps. Since Hong Kong and Mainland China have separate immigration schemes, the fact that I did a lot of frequent traveling to the mainland meant that most of those stamps were red rectangles and ovals. Under advice online from the Department of State, I ventured over to the consulate-general to have more pages added to lessen the likelihood of being turned away when going through immigration. Unfortunately, none of those pages were actually used since no one wanted to be the first to stamp on those pages, being that they are a different color from the rest of the booklet. Instead, they took the liberty of being economical and went backwards the booklet, stamping wherever they could find a corner here and there.
Most know of the pride I take in my passport, and the fact that I will have to get a new one soon means that this one, once invalidated, will likely find its way into a bank vault somewhere (though probably not). I may be one of the few who do this, but I like to exhibit my passport when people ask about my travels. The fact of the matter is half of them are asking to be polite more than out of interest, so handing over my passport to them for the first time gives them something physical to match with the various stories wandering around my brain. I know that I’m not the best storyteller in speech, and I don’t deny that there is always room for improvement in my writing.
Before going to Hong Kong, I had been to China for the first time in my life on a two-week tour of some of the major sights. Prior to that trip, my international travels consisted of one road trip to Canada from Ohio with my aunt and uncle in Dayton. Back then you didn’t need passports to re-enter the United States through that border—just American birth certificates or American naturalization certificates plus identification. Even now with passport control, the United States doesn’t stamp Canadians (I’m pretty sure) and Canada doesn’t stamp Americans (I’m certain).
I went through Canada again at the end of an Alaskan cruise, having been routed through Vancouver. But the bottom line is that I got my passport first for my trip to China. I used it again for going to the Schengen Area when my family and I toured Paris and much of Italy. This means that in the first three years of having my passport, the first two pages were used: one with my Chinese visa and one with immigration stamps.
Applying for my Hong Kong student visa through the university and receiving my new full-page sticker made me pretty happy despite the fact that it was one of the ugliest pieces of paper ever designed. It made me realize both the definite fact that I was going to be going on a long trip and that that trip was happening soon.
And as visas go, I had to get one more to enter Mainland China, for which I applied and received in Hong Kong. The process reaffirmed my nationality in the fact that my visa cost over $1000 HKD when most other people in line paid less than $300 for exactly the same piece of paper.
And on my multiple-entry visa, I got most of my passport stamps. On exchange, I went to Shenzhen, Guangzhou, Beijing, Nanjing, Shanghai, and Guilin, crossing the border between Hong Kong and Mainland China twelve more times. Other trips that I made were to Macau and Taipei. Outside of Greater China though, I only made one trip—to Phuket, Thailand. I genuinely intended to get to Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, Seoul, and Tokyo, had it not been for the increased costs in traveling alone, and I’m confident that had I stayed for the entire year, I would have gone to Vietnam and Cambodia as well.
I guess it’s difficult for me, especially as an American, to say that I'm not well traveled. Because although the farthest trip I made when I was under 10 was from northern Los Angeles to San Diego and my first plane trip happened the summer right before September 11, 2001, it’s hard for me to claim such a statement in the present. The fact of the matter is that not only have I gone to New York state and back through thirty states, but also my passport has become the great work of art that it now is.
With my internalization of the fiction that is nationality, I understand that talking about my passport in such a manner can be construed as a double-edged sword, but because it’s recorded the majority of my travels in such a succinct yet unique way, it serves me more as a momento and a souvenir rather than a document proving my citizenship.
Dollars, Yuan, Baht, and Those Unsung Heroes
In planning this conclusion, I initially intended to list out the costs of my study to Hong Kong. I’ve decided as of now though to stop short of this. I will say that after making my final summations the number is not small, or at least not nearly as small as I would have expected.
I consider my lifestyle comfortable, perhaps upper-middle class, but not lavish or particularly elitist. My travels were much of the expense. Encouraged my mother in words and parental financial assistance, I found myself going somewhere nearly every other weekend. In short, traveling outside of Hong Kong added up to about 40% of my total expenses.
However, my biggest single purchase came in the form of a digital single-lens reflex camera, which, being on sale, I splurged about 9% of my total expenses on. I got a Nikon D90, which sits at the top of the mid-range section, right under professional.
It cost me so much that in a very stable, rational matter I assure you I just about didn’t hand over my debit card to my salesperson. After the fact, I lamented for weeks about how much I paid for it, comparing it to how much money I would have spent on more trips and such, how much it costs to free a modern slave, how many times over I could have paid off my friend’s library late fees.
Since I did study abroad rather than just travel abroad, I should probably mention how much I paid for my education abroad. At just over 30% of my total expenses, tuition was about $4000 USD, paid to the Regents of the University of California. I actually don’t know how much it costs to go to the University of Hong Kong because since the University of California sends as many students to the University of Hong Kong as the University of Hong Kong sends the University of California (under the exchange program), students pay their home institutions. This means that the amount that I paid was about equivalent to how much as semester would have cost at Berkeley or UC Merced.
And herein I start my thanks. At the urging of my father, I applied for a $500 USD-scholarship at UCSD (with multiple recipients). This is one of the very few merit-based scholarships that don’t look at financial need. I happened to get this scholarship (for whom I have no idea who to thank) and it was automatically transferred to my EAP program in a miracle of the bureaucracy that feeds into UCSD Finance office.
For the longest time I had no clue where the $500 came from in my EAP financial accounting. I assumed it was a glitch in the system. When I had to pay a bill to UCSD though for a Programs Abroad Office administrative fee, I saw the two register lines devoted to this scholarship (receipt and subsequent transfer). So to whatever committee or person thereof that I got this scholarship from I owe my first thanks.
My second thanks goes off to the Programs Abroad Office here at UCSD, the staff of which (save one particular advisor for the Global Seminars Program) were all extremely nice and helpful. They, along with the system-wide Education Abroad Program office helped me and all the exchange students sift through all the paperwork involved. Especially regarding immigration-department paperwork for Hong Kong students, these two offices, along with the Center for Student Development and Resources (CEDAR) pushed all my paperwork through the bureaucracy of Hong Kong immigration.
If memory serves me right, I had to submit about ten forms through the offices. The two big forms were the application to the University of Hong Kong after my acceptance to the program which took me the better part of an hour to fill out in English and my student visa application that in all its thirty pages was divided into parts “A” through “K” with every letter in between.
Of course, my greatest thanks go to the financiers of this expedition and my support crew, both of whom happen to be my family. As cliché as it sounds, my family has always been there for me, if not emotionality at least in person, and without them it is clear that at my age, and especially because of my financial viability, that this trip would not have gone as far as it did. Without their assistance and their blessing, I would not have had the ability to jet around East Asia. I also acknowledge that while my parents pay for much of what I do so that they have a controlling interest in what I do, it is always for my own good if not for the good of the family.
And in this sense of family, there is one thing left of my heritage that I think is not only important but also incredibly moral. I vow never in my life to ever just send them off to a nursing home. The fact of the matter is that while I’m told I was an easy infant to take care of, the amount of good that my brother and I brought to their lives in constituting a family is offset by the negatives, such as opportunity cost in careers lost, significantly long periods of sleep deprivation, and financial well being. At one point in my mid-teens, my parents noticed I was drinking expensive lactose-free milk at such an alarming rate that I equated the situation with water being flushed down a toilet. But ultimately from a moral perspective, it would just be wrong to cast off one’s parents in their time of need.
Honestly though, I can’t say that it’s only because of my heritage that I aim to espouse such a principle in my conscience. My parents have always struck the right balance between being imposing and controlling to the point where I’m led in the right direction and laissez-faire to the point were I could find the right direction by myself. Because of that, not only have I never had an intense period of rebellion, whether it be in middle school, high school, or right after leaving the nest, but also my parents are the two people who I’m most open with, whether or not they would like to believe it.
And though friends don’t usually get mentioned in such a context, I feel I owe thanks to my friends both at UCSD and at HKU who gave me first-hand support. From my friends at UCSD, their interest in the normalized craziness of what I was doing have a certain kind of value to this endeavor that, while kind of superficial, made me enjoy the whole thing that much more. And my friends at HKU, who came to the territory as disoriented as me helped pull me through all the changes set in front of us, though many of us came from different backgrounds, different homes per se. I guess it was through diversity that we aided each other in perceived adversity and because of the lot of them that I went from missing California then to missing Hong Kong now.
If you haven’t slipped into beta mode yet, you probably realize that I gave you enough information to figure out how much I spent in acceptable detail. I just didn’t want to throw numbers around for people to preoccupy themselves with.
In the Quest
This blog itself had an interesting role in my experience abroad. Though I had no intentions of telling anyone about my blog because I wanted to have the freedom of conscience in a sense to write whatever I wanted to write on it, word leaked. I could blame Facebook for not allowing me (at least at the time) to promote my blog to friends back home at the exclusion of new friends in Hong Kong—but that would be somewhat irrelevant.
In this age of social media, I knew what I was getting myself into by starting a blog for the whole thing rather than just writing my thoughts down into a physical journal. And therein lies a paradox in my said motivations in writing a blog rather than a traditional journal.
I have said a few times that in all my writing I write for myself. And it’s true. So the paradox that seems to be lies in the fact that I write for myself yet I publish it on the World Wide Web for the whole world to see. Now I wouldn’t be publishing it online for others to read in my own self-interest.
Actually I would. Let me explain. I write for myself in the sense that most directly I write for my own purposes—say so I may be able to read this when I’m old and crumbling. I also write for myself in the sense that ultimate benefit will come to me. This isn’t to say that you lot who have read my blog won’t get anything out of it—just that by you reading it I get some ultimate benefit, often in addition to yourselves.
This works on two levels. I talked about how on a superficial level seeing that other people take interest in what I’m doing gives me satisfaction in the sense that what I’m doing is worth something rather than in the sense that now I can become popular. On the higher level, me publishing what I have to offer (in a sense) puts something out there for everyone, including people to whom I have no connection, to comment on. This means ultimately that as I get older and mature into a career, I will have mileage posts to speak of about my life. From there not only will I able to reflect upon my past, but also what other people have to say about my past. For all my uncertainty in life, this blog is staying on the Internet.
To me, this means that this blog can prove more interactive and in a sense provide advantages over traditional publishing. Taking a step back, I write papers for class ultimately because I need to get a good grade on it to a good grade point average to go to a good graduate school and establish a solid career in which I will hopefully be able to do meaningful work. These papers are unlike a blog though in that there are only a few people who will ever read them.
Because of my inhibitions about my work, I am and have always been hesitant about putting it out in the open for everyone to view. But because of the fact that blogs and the Internet come off in my subconscious as quite anonymous, I have few qualms about putting nearly everything about my experience out there on the web.
And honestly, it’s nice not having any editors past yourself. I’m ultimately going to have to go over this monstrosity of over well one hundred ten thousand words (a mid-size novel) to make it flow. My photos that I have put in separate posts out of convenience could be integrated into my text, ultimately reducing the number of posts (currently one hundred forty-six), which I’ll make look more like chapters, yet increase the number of words in smoothing everything over.
As for the style of my narration, I wrote everything descriptive in the past because everything of substance happened in the past. In terms of flow, I understand this blog to be more formal-sounding than most. I have also been told that I write like I speak, which meant close to nothing to me since I think the best writing is genuine thought, regardless of research. My conventions I wrote in my native dialect without regard to Standard American English (except in orthography). This means that the overwhelming majority of grammatical mistakes you seem to find are actually perfectly fine in my eyes. If you see few and far between in the way of weird words and odd grammatical constructions, it means that you and I have more in common than you may outwardly imagine. Bottom line is that my balance between sheer informality and stringent formality strikes a tone of authenticity in myself from which you can gauge yourselves.
After the Quest
I go to UCSD, but when I was applying to Harvard I wrote for one of my essays something I entitled “The Last Prologue.” Obviously it either wasn’t enough to get me accepted or it was enough to get me rejected, but either way I mean the title as a way to see how I positioned myself in my surroundings.
You could say that immaturely, I felt like my childhood was kind of a prologue to me real life, which would begin when I became an adult. The first time I doubted this conviction came the day I turned 18 and felt nothing different. In my newfound adulthood I was no different than the day before, and at that moment I thought in a different way how there are so many young people who have wisdom beyond their age and so many old people who lack the years that they possess.
I don’t mean maturity in playful banter. In this regard arrogant people would be classified as immature. Ultimately though, if my childhood of eighteen years was my prequel, then my old age lasting a few decades, say from retirement, would be my afterword, my conclusion, and my epilogue beginning with my death. In my reformed mindset, I feel that since to call old age an afterword would be unfair, to call childhood a prologue would be nonsensical.
I now firmly believe that one’s life is the entirety of one’s life. So though there’s no getting rid of your past, for the rest of your life there is always opportunity for maturity.
In the same regard, I will be graduating college within a year and a half. It could even be as soon as fifteen months, each month of which I am confident will fly by whether I want it to or not. Before studying abroad, I’ve gone through my childhood and the various levels of education in the public school system. I’ve worked in a few very small jobs as a tutor and as a translation assistant and I’ve also sat on a large non-profit’s Board of Directors. After studying abroad, I’ve lived and studied outside the country. I’ve felt lost in translation but not as lost as some people. I’ve discovered that I’m a dual national. Most notably yet most simply though, I’ve advanced one term in my university career and became a more mature, open-minded individual in the process.
People like to say that the journey is the destination in that what you learn is in the journey. I would like to modify this to say that the journey is but after. I have learned so much my studying abroad, but I know that as much as I have learned and will have learned by the time I, say, turn 50, there will always be more to learn. Hence, the journey is after, and in that sense, you’re always in a journey, since the day after tomorrow is but tomorrow come today’s tomorrow.
And so in the title I refrain from calling this the last post, because though this is indeed my last post to this blog, in no way is it my last bit of writing. And though it’s usually uttered in a different context, it’s always the case that when one door closes, another one opens, even if it’s not the one you planned for.
So out of college in less than a year and a half, what’s my next door to open?
After the Quest
Showing posts with label Cantonese. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cantonese. Show all posts
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Nanjing: My Mandarin
Knowing how big this world is on foot, not that it’s any smaller by motorized transportation, I’m always worried about getting lost—especially in different countries. To this effect, I always try to learn the language(s) of where I’m going, so that I’m at least able to ask for directions. To this effect, I tried to make sure I knew enough Italian when going though Italy, though hearing my accent they would always switch into English on me. And in Paris, my French, while admittedly rusty, was sufficiently fluent to get us to where we wanted to go.
So in China, I’ve been quite pleased with my Mandarin skills, because I have found that while studying abroad, my travels have improved my Mandarin just as much as my Cantonese despite the fact that in Hong Kong, Cantonese is the primary language of 95% of the population.
So going around in Beijing I recall thinking that I practiced my Mandarin a lot—and I did; however, it was very localized. It was mostly all for haggling, because I knew that there’s what I like to call an “English fee” for foreigners. When it came to the important stuff though, I found that my friend who speaks much more Mandarin with much better aptitude than me did all the talking. And it worked well—we got what we needed, and again it worked in Guilin.
Nanjing was a different case in that I was traveling in a group where I spoke the most Mandarin. I figured that it would be an experience, especially since I kept telling myself and others that I would have really had trouble going around Beijing (and again in Guilin) with my level of Mandarin.
At the train ticket counter in Shenzhen I had to buy one person a ticket to Guilin, and the guy at the ticket counter found my Mandarin so bad that he asked me if I speak English in English instead seeing that I was struggling. I didn’t even try in Cantonese because I know my Cantonese is worse and from previous experience, most of the ticket people don’t operate in Cantonese.
As foreign languages go, my speaking proficiency from highest to lowest goes: Spanish, French, Mandarin, Cantonese, Italian, Japanese, and Latin. On a side note, someone asked me if I conducted a conversation in Cantonese, which I laughed at, sarcastically saying that one semester of Cantonese for Foreign Learners did me so well that I could now speak it better than Mandarin.
Needless to say, my Mandarin is still way better than my Cantonese. And because I have treated Mandarin and Cantonese as such similar languages over the years, I’ve been going through sorting out the finer points of Cantonese that I totally misunderstood before taking classes.
For example, when talking about actions, soeng2 (想) in Cantonese would correspond more to yào (要) in Mandarin whereas jiu5 (要) in Cantonese would correspond to xūyào (需要) in Mandarin, with the sets meaning to want and to need, respectively. Xiǎng (想) in Mandarin means to think.
Back at the train counter in Shenzhen, I was buying the groups tickets this time to got to Shanghai South Station (上海南火车站/上海南火車站), later taking a high-speed train to Nanjing. Unlike the other time, I was able to get through the whole process in Mandarin alone. I also understood enough to grasp that we could only buy train tickets back in Shanghai.
And at Shanghai South Station, buying tickets for my two friends went even faster and even smoother. I managed to get them two hard sleepers for the way back.
The rest of the trip went along the same lines. I managed to be understood and to understand. Since Beijing and since Chinese school when in was in elementary school, I’ve come a long way.
So in China, I’ve been quite pleased with my Mandarin skills, because I have found that while studying abroad, my travels have improved my Mandarin just as much as my Cantonese despite the fact that in Hong Kong, Cantonese is the primary language of 95% of the population.
So going around in Beijing I recall thinking that I practiced my Mandarin a lot—and I did; however, it was very localized. It was mostly all for haggling, because I knew that there’s what I like to call an “English fee” for foreigners. When it came to the important stuff though, I found that my friend who speaks much more Mandarin with much better aptitude than me did all the talking. And it worked well—we got what we needed, and again it worked in Guilin.
Nanjing was a different case in that I was traveling in a group where I spoke the most Mandarin. I figured that it would be an experience, especially since I kept telling myself and others that I would have really had trouble going around Beijing (and again in Guilin) with my level of Mandarin.
At the train ticket counter in Shenzhen I had to buy one person a ticket to Guilin, and the guy at the ticket counter found my Mandarin so bad that he asked me if I speak English in English instead seeing that I was struggling. I didn’t even try in Cantonese because I know my Cantonese is worse and from previous experience, most of the ticket people don’t operate in Cantonese.
As foreign languages go, my speaking proficiency from highest to lowest goes: Spanish, French, Mandarin, Cantonese, Italian, Japanese, and Latin. On a side note, someone asked me if I conducted a conversation in Cantonese, which I laughed at, sarcastically saying that one semester of Cantonese for Foreign Learners did me so well that I could now speak it better than Mandarin.
Needless to say, my Mandarin is still way better than my Cantonese. And because I have treated Mandarin and Cantonese as such similar languages over the years, I’ve been going through sorting out the finer points of Cantonese that I totally misunderstood before taking classes.
For example, when talking about actions, soeng2 (想) in Cantonese would correspond more to yào (要) in Mandarin whereas jiu5 (要) in Cantonese would correspond to xūyào (需要) in Mandarin, with the sets meaning to want and to need, respectively. Xiǎng (想) in Mandarin means to think.
Back at the train counter in Shenzhen, I was buying the groups tickets this time to got to Shanghai South Station (上海南火车站/上海南火車站), later taking a high-speed train to Nanjing. Unlike the other time, I was able to get through the whole process in Mandarin alone. I also understood enough to grasp that we could only buy train tickets back in Shanghai.
And at Shanghai South Station, buying tickets for my two friends went even faster and even smoother. I managed to get them two hard sleepers for the way back.
The rest of the trip went along the same lines. I managed to be understood and to understand. Since Beijing and since Chinese school when in was in elementary school, I’ve come a long way.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Chicken Feet, Shrimp Heads, and an Open Mind
I suppose if you grew up with it, it wouldn’t be so odd. In some ways, I guess I’m a picky eater. Studying abroad though and seeing how other international students deal with these differences allows me to better see how I fall into line. I can now say that I’m more open than others to different foods, though I admit there is some stuff that I would rather not go near.
A few weeks ago, my group of friends and I went to Queen Mary across the street. Yeah, it’s a hospital, but compared to Bayview Restaurant in the basement of Lee Hysan Hall, the canteen of Queen Mary Hospital is absolutely gourmet. Oh, and we get discounts there because Queen Mary also happens to be the teaching hospital of the University of Hong Kong Li Ka Shing Faculty of Medicine (HKU Med School).
I’m a bit partial to the barbecue pork with rice that they have. When I go days without it, I begin missing it, and then when I order it, I realize that I don’t really care for it. I always ask for less rice (in Cantonese, of course), so instead of getting three portions of rice, I get about two (which I still don’t finish). That meal all comes out at like $16-17 HKD, which is like two bucks USD, so it’s well worth it. This meal also comes with a few stalks of Gai Lan (芥蘭/芥兰), which I used to mistaken for Bak Choy (白菜) until I was reminded that the vegetable before us is stalky, whereas Bak Choy grows in the same leafy manner as cabbage.
Now, I don’t eat Gai Lan at home, though I’ve seen it sold at the Chinese supermarkets. When I’m with my family, we tend to more often go along the lines of broccoli, Napa cabbage, and cauliflower. (Mom and Dad, if you guys are reading this I like the first two better than the third.) Here though, Gai Lan’s nickname “Chinese broccoli” becomes apparent as it’s served as the main vegetable to go with any meal that comes with a vegetable.
If you thought my mix-up was bad, my friend from northern Europe couldn’t tell what the vegetable was, so instead of assuming it was a vegetable he had never seen before, he decided that they must cook their vegetables funny here to get it to look that way and taste so different. I took it upon myself to set this logic straight and inform him clearly that this is a different vegetable.
At a different time, last week to be precise, I was having dim sum with my Cantonese classmates. In addition to this being a prime opportunity to practice our Cantonese, we also used it to try new foods. As such, we ordered chicken feet. (Unlike in the old days and at Chinatowns, most dim sum places in Hong Kong have you order food off a menu rather than pointing and choosing off of the 點心車/点心车 dim sum carts). At our table of ten, we ordered to share, splitting the bill evenly in the end.
Well, the food came and I made my stomach happy with the regulars like Haa Gau (蝦餃/虾饺) and Siu Mai (燒賣/烧卖) as well as the crowd-pleasing Cha Siu Bau (叉燒包). We went ahead and tried Taro Dumplings (芋頭角/芋头角) and Taro Cake (芋頭糕/芋头糕) , but when the Chicken Feet (鳳爪/凤爪) came out (literally Phoenix Claws), I couldn’t try it. I would have tried, but my stomach was well full, and trying new food, especially something I wasn’t sure whether or not would sit well, wasn’t a good idea. That was my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
By the others though, I was told that it’s basically just skin and fat, so I didn’t feel I was missing out on much. One of my friends at the table though was a seasoned chicken feet consumer. She could put the whole foot in her mouth and get all the edible parts off without hands, pushing the bones to one side of her mouth and when it was all said and consumed, she would spit out the foot bones onto her plate. It was impressive if not a little off-putting.
The one thing that just completely makes me feel sick is shrimp with heads and shells still on. I can de-shell them without making a fuss, but I dislike doing it while I’m eating.
I was informed though at a meal in Temple Street (廟街/庙街) near Mongkok (旺角) that they don’t de-shell because the shrimp are fresh (in addition to the fact that it’s a lot of work to peel shrimp). They quite literally pull the critters out of the tanks linking their storefronts and put them into boiling liquid. This means that they’re super fresh and that there’s no time to de-shell them.
Most people don’t eat the shell. A friend of mine who’s originally from Taishan, Guangdong, (台山, 廣東/广东) told me that you only eat the shell if it’s deep-fried. That way the shell is crunchy and enjoyable rather than fishy and unbearable. I tried it, and though it wasn’t fishy, it wasn’t exactly my cup of tea either.
At this fresh seafood restaurant, I witnessed something I doubt I’ll ever see again. He and another friend could and would put the entire cooked shrimp in their mouth and de-shell and de-head it within their mouths, spitting out the refuse politely onto their plates. It was starting to say the least, though most impressive. Never will you find me putting a shrimp head into my mouth.
The bottom line is that I don’t try everything, nor am I really expected to. I think that what’s really important is to maintain an open mind about different foods. This means that even if you don’t try it, you at least shouldn’t talk about it subjectively with objective terms. Better yet, don’t show any disgust that you may be harboring.
Balut (毛蛋 in Chinese) is a Southeast Asian delicacy that National Geographic taught me about. Over the years, I have found that many of my friends enjoy this food, and though I’ve never tried it, I maintain my doubts as to whether I’d actually like it personally.
For those who don’t know, Balut is a fertilized, partially developed duck egg. If I remember correctly, they boil the egg right before parts of the body such as the bill harden, yet it’s not like a hardboiled egg either. It’s runny, and it’s eaten fetus, yolk and all.
A friend of mine here whose parents are from Vietnam likes Balut a lot. On one episode of Fear Factor, contestants had to eat some as part of a competition and she said that she should have been there, because she totally would have won that competition.
Another friend raised ethical concerns about eating a fetus, which I thought were not necessarily irrelevant but rather illogical. I think that the only people who can argue against eating Balut are those who eat neither eggs nor meat, in which case they could say that eating such is unethical. The difference to me between eating an animal or a fetus of the same animal deals nothing with ethics. (In that sense, you can’t argue that you don’t eat human babies for that would imply that you’re a cannibal) I’ve seen how factories keep chickens cooped up in their own waste, lacking the space to turn around, and how pigs get their teeth removed from them forcefully and obviously without anesthetic when they are still young.
Though I’m not to keen on eating fetuses, I see little moral dilemma in the issue. Instead, I personally have concerns about whether I would like the texture of the item, seeing as it’s a whole undeveloped animal with extras.
A few weeks ago, my group of friends and I went to Queen Mary across the street. Yeah, it’s a hospital, but compared to Bayview Restaurant in the basement of Lee Hysan Hall, the canteen of Queen Mary Hospital is absolutely gourmet. Oh, and we get discounts there because Queen Mary also happens to be the teaching hospital of the University of Hong Kong Li Ka Shing Faculty of Medicine (HKU Med School).
I’m a bit partial to the barbecue pork with rice that they have. When I go days without it, I begin missing it, and then when I order it, I realize that I don’t really care for it. I always ask for less rice (in Cantonese, of course), so instead of getting three portions of rice, I get about two (which I still don’t finish). That meal all comes out at like $16-17 HKD, which is like two bucks USD, so it’s well worth it. This meal also comes with a few stalks of Gai Lan (芥蘭/芥兰), which I used to mistaken for Bak Choy (白菜) until I was reminded that the vegetable before us is stalky, whereas Bak Choy grows in the same leafy manner as cabbage.
Now, I don’t eat Gai Lan at home, though I’ve seen it sold at the Chinese supermarkets. When I’m with my family, we tend to more often go along the lines of broccoli, Napa cabbage, and cauliflower. (Mom and Dad, if you guys are reading this I like the first two better than the third.) Here though, Gai Lan’s nickname “Chinese broccoli” becomes apparent as it’s served as the main vegetable to go with any meal that comes with a vegetable.
If you thought my mix-up was bad, my friend from northern Europe couldn’t tell what the vegetable was, so instead of assuming it was a vegetable he had never seen before, he decided that they must cook their vegetables funny here to get it to look that way and taste so different. I took it upon myself to set this logic straight and inform him clearly that this is a different vegetable.
At a different time, last week to be precise, I was having dim sum with my Cantonese classmates. In addition to this being a prime opportunity to practice our Cantonese, we also used it to try new foods. As such, we ordered chicken feet. (Unlike in the old days and at Chinatowns, most dim sum places in Hong Kong have you order food off a menu rather than pointing and choosing off of the 點心車/点心车 dim sum carts). At our table of ten, we ordered to share, splitting the bill evenly in the end.
Well, the food came and I made my stomach happy with the regulars like Haa Gau (蝦餃/虾饺) and Siu Mai (燒賣/烧卖) as well as the crowd-pleasing Cha Siu Bau (叉燒包). We went ahead and tried Taro Dumplings (芋頭角/芋头角) and Taro Cake (芋頭糕/芋头糕) , but when the Chicken Feet (鳳爪/凤爪) came out (literally Phoenix Claws), I couldn’t try it. I would have tried, but my stomach was well full, and trying new food, especially something I wasn’t sure whether or not would sit well, wasn’t a good idea. That was my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
By the others though, I was told that it’s basically just skin and fat, so I didn’t feel I was missing out on much. One of my friends at the table though was a seasoned chicken feet consumer. She could put the whole foot in her mouth and get all the edible parts off without hands, pushing the bones to one side of her mouth and when it was all said and consumed, she would spit out the foot bones onto her plate. It was impressive if not a little off-putting.
The one thing that just completely makes me feel sick is shrimp with heads and shells still on. I can de-shell them without making a fuss, but I dislike doing it while I’m eating.
I was informed though at a meal in Temple Street (廟街/庙街) near Mongkok (旺角) that they don’t de-shell because the shrimp are fresh (in addition to the fact that it’s a lot of work to peel shrimp). They quite literally pull the critters out of the tanks linking their storefronts and put them into boiling liquid. This means that they’re super fresh and that there’s no time to de-shell them.
Most people don’t eat the shell. A friend of mine who’s originally from Taishan, Guangdong, (台山, 廣東/广东) told me that you only eat the shell if it’s deep-fried. That way the shell is crunchy and enjoyable rather than fishy and unbearable. I tried it, and though it wasn’t fishy, it wasn’t exactly my cup of tea either.
At this fresh seafood restaurant, I witnessed something I doubt I’ll ever see again. He and another friend could and would put the entire cooked shrimp in their mouth and de-shell and de-head it within their mouths, spitting out the refuse politely onto their plates. It was starting to say the least, though most impressive. Never will you find me putting a shrimp head into my mouth.
The bottom line is that I don’t try everything, nor am I really expected to. I think that what’s really important is to maintain an open mind about different foods. This means that even if you don’t try it, you at least shouldn’t talk about it subjectively with objective terms. Better yet, don’t show any disgust that you may be harboring.
Balut (毛蛋 in Chinese) is a Southeast Asian delicacy that National Geographic taught me about. Over the years, I have found that many of my friends enjoy this food, and though I’ve never tried it, I maintain my doubts as to whether I’d actually like it personally.
For those who don’t know, Balut is a fertilized, partially developed duck egg. If I remember correctly, they boil the egg right before parts of the body such as the bill harden, yet it’s not like a hardboiled egg either. It’s runny, and it’s eaten fetus, yolk and all.
A friend of mine here whose parents are from Vietnam likes Balut a lot. On one episode of Fear Factor, contestants had to eat some as part of a competition and she said that she should have been there, because she totally would have won that competition.
Another friend raised ethical concerns about eating a fetus, which I thought were not necessarily irrelevant but rather illogical. I think that the only people who can argue against eating Balut are those who eat neither eggs nor meat, in which case they could say that eating such is unethical. The difference to me between eating an animal or a fetus of the same animal deals nothing with ethics. (In that sense, you can’t argue that you don’t eat human babies for that would imply that you’re a cannibal) I’ve seen how factories keep chickens cooped up in their own waste, lacking the space to turn around, and how pigs get their teeth removed from them forcefully and obviously without anesthetic when they are still young.
Though I’m not to keen on eating fetuses, I see little moral dilemma in the issue. Instead, I personally have concerns about whether I would like the texture of the item, seeing as it’s a whole undeveloped animal with extras.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Class Roundup: Phonetics
Here I sit in the medical library—three exams down, three to go, and that’s it to the semester. I think I did well enough on my last final, that being for Phonetics, one class which I’m glad to have taken abroad. It’s not so much that it’s bad back home, because it’s not; it’s more because I get to study phonetics in light of other languages here, and the best part is that instruction is still in English.
I’m told that here, HKU imposes a curve. I’m used to curves just being advantageous to the student, because back in UCSD professors have a lot of leeway in letter-grade assignment. Hardly ever would a curve be used if it would systematically lower most everyone’s grades. I had one teacher who only gave out Fs to people with less than 40% in the class (whereas the standard F grade is under 59% or 60%).
So I don’t think I did poorly in the class, but I hope that I did better than average. Even though most of the class was focused on English (and I have English intuition), I found that on the first midterm I missed a lot of points because I wasn’t dealing with Standard American or British English. It worked to the local students’ advantage because they got to memorize standard language rules, whereas I had a hard time memorizing standard language rules since I had intuition to contend with. On the other hand though, the local students were allowed to go by their intuition in the Cantonese segment of the course.
The final examination turned out to be all right. It wasn’t super easy but it was fair. It turned out to be okay mostly because the professor allotted us a lot of choice, all languages considered.
For the last two assignments of two exercises each, we had to transliterate a series of sentences and phrases in and out of Cantonese and Mandarin to the International Phonetic Alphabet. It was difficult for me because even though I have some experience with both languages, many of the words that I know in my head I wouldn’t know how to write down. This is because while there are something aspects of writing characters in Mandarin that lend hints as to their sounds, there is little to no other indication of how to pronounce characters you don’t know (especially considering the tone). Colloquial Written Cantonese, using many of the same characters as Standard Written Chinese (based on Mandarin), is a whole other story, since many older speakers of Cantonese can write things down as they would literally say it. Luckily, I have a friend who helped me pronounce these phrases, and with the fact that we went over them in tutorial before turning them in, there was no problem with the exercises.
What was disconcerting was that the professor said that he’d have some similar problems on the final examination. It was a little worrying, but I was confident that he would try to accommodate the few exchange students because not knowing what characters were going to be presented beforehand practically meant that you had to learn the language to do the test. After the TA/tutor sent an email out asking for a reply for those needing accommodation, I was confident that it would be fine—and it was. The final had six questions translating the orthography of English, Mandarin, and Cantonese into the International Phonetic Alphabet and six from the International Phonetic Alphabet to English, Mandarin, and Cantonese. We only needed to answer two out of each set of six, so I ended up picking the two English ones in each section after having a look and subsequently deciding I had no idea what was written in Cantonese and Mandarin.
In addition to those two sections, there was a vocabulary (definition plus example) section that I think I fared well on. What was different from the midterm examination was the addition of essay questions—two to be exact. They were straightforward enough, and I’m confident I got most all points for both. What was almost to be expected though was that though I had spent plenty of time studying for the examination before the fact, the subject of one of the essay questions was something that I had literally study half an hour before the test, sitting at Starbucks on campus with my venti drip coffee.
Now, I don’t know if everyone studying linguistics (especially phonetics) does this, but I find that when I study, I talk out loud to myself. It’s not complete sentences or anything that makes sense, more examples that I’m told exist and I just want to check.
As an example, I’ve read over to myself “Polish is great.” Written down, give it to a group of people and have them read the sentence. Chances are, there will be two ways of pronouncing “Polish.” One reading means polish as in nail polish. The other refers to the Polish nationality, with the grammar of the sentence suggesting that what’s meant is the Polish language.
In phonetics, though, I find myself doing stuff like realizing that in fast speech, “rider” and “writer” are pronounced pretty much the same by American English speakers. Today though at Starbucks, I was trying to straighten out my Mandarin affricates, because I can pronounce all the differences when I’m presented with Hanyu Pinyin but I need to equate Pinyin to the International Phonetic Alphabet. To this effect, I was sounding out. There are six in total in Mandarin (in comparison to two in English), but I pronounced nine sounds in total to get the system straightforward in my head. In Pinyin, it would be “s, z, c. x, j, q. sh, zh, ch;” in the International Phonetic Alphabet, it would be rendered as [s, ts, tsʰ. ɕ, tɕ, tɕʰ. ʂ, tʂ, tʂʰ]. I got some looks, probably from people thinking I was mental, but whatever.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
I’m told that here, HKU imposes a curve. I’m used to curves just being advantageous to the student, because back in UCSD professors have a lot of leeway in letter-grade assignment. Hardly ever would a curve be used if it would systematically lower most everyone’s grades. I had one teacher who only gave out Fs to people with less than 40% in the class (whereas the standard F grade is under 59% or 60%).
So I don’t think I did poorly in the class, but I hope that I did better than average. Even though most of the class was focused on English (and I have English intuition), I found that on the first midterm I missed a lot of points because I wasn’t dealing with Standard American or British English. It worked to the local students’ advantage because they got to memorize standard language rules, whereas I had a hard time memorizing standard language rules since I had intuition to contend with. On the other hand though, the local students were allowed to go by their intuition in the Cantonese segment of the course.
The final examination turned out to be all right. It wasn’t super easy but it was fair. It turned out to be okay mostly because the professor allotted us a lot of choice, all languages considered.
For the last two assignments of two exercises each, we had to transliterate a series of sentences and phrases in and out of Cantonese and Mandarin to the International Phonetic Alphabet. It was difficult for me because even though I have some experience with both languages, many of the words that I know in my head I wouldn’t know how to write down. This is because while there are something aspects of writing characters in Mandarin that lend hints as to their sounds, there is little to no other indication of how to pronounce characters you don’t know (especially considering the tone). Colloquial Written Cantonese, using many of the same characters as Standard Written Chinese (based on Mandarin), is a whole other story, since many older speakers of Cantonese can write things down as they would literally say it. Luckily, I have a friend who helped me pronounce these phrases, and with the fact that we went over them in tutorial before turning them in, there was no problem with the exercises.
What was disconcerting was that the professor said that he’d have some similar problems on the final examination. It was a little worrying, but I was confident that he would try to accommodate the few exchange students because not knowing what characters were going to be presented beforehand practically meant that you had to learn the language to do the test. After the TA/tutor sent an email out asking for a reply for those needing accommodation, I was confident that it would be fine—and it was. The final had six questions translating the orthography of English, Mandarin, and Cantonese into the International Phonetic Alphabet and six from the International Phonetic Alphabet to English, Mandarin, and Cantonese. We only needed to answer two out of each set of six, so I ended up picking the two English ones in each section after having a look and subsequently deciding I had no idea what was written in Cantonese and Mandarin.
In addition to those two sections, there was a vocabulary (definition plus example) section that I think I fared well on. What was different from the midterm examination was the addition of essay questions—two to be exact. They were straightforward enough, and I’m confident I got most all points for both. What was almost to be expected though was that though I had spent plenty of time studying for the examination before the fact, the subject of one of the essay questions was something that I had literally study half an hour before the test, sitting at Starbucks on campus with my venti drip coffee.
Now, I don’t know if everyone studying linguistics (especially phonetics) does this, but I find that when I study, I talk out loud to myself. It’s not complete sentences or anything that makes sense, more examples that I’m told exist and I just want to check.
As an example, I’ve read over to myself “Polish is great.” Written down, give it to a group of people and have them read the sentence. Chances are, there will be two ways of pronouncing “Polish.” One reading means polish as in nail polish. The other refers to the Polish nationality, with the grammar of the sentence suggesting that what’s meant is the Polish language.
In phonetics, though, I find myself doing stuff like realizing that in fast speech, “rider” and “writer” are pronounced pretty much the same by American English speakers. Today though at Starbucks, I was trying to straighten out my Mandarin affricates, because I can pronounce all the differences when I’m presented with Hanyu Pinyin but I need to equate Pinyin to the International Phonetic Alphabet. To this effect, I was sounding out. There are six in total in Mandarin (in comparison to two in English), but I pronounced nine sounds in total to get the system straightforward in my head. In Pinyin, it would be “s, z, c. x, j, q. sh, zh, ch;” in the International Phonetic Alphabet, it would be rendered as [s, ts, tsʰ. ɕ, tɕ, tɕʰ. ʂ, tʂ, tʂʰ]. I got some looks, probably from people thinking I was mental, but whatever.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
I Can't Hear the Music
It’s been about a month now, but I’ve got this one incident in my head right now that I’d like to write down before it goes away forever. Normally, it wouldn’t be significant at all—you know, music on college campuses. Now this happening didn’t have to do with marketed music at all. It’s just one day, I walked out of the library, and the usually music-fee campus was alive with this impromptu drumming session.
Of course, it wasn’t impromptu in that some club booked the venue (Sun Yat-sen Plaza, like the small quad on campus), but what was happening was quite fun. Sitting around a coordinator were students on seats playing (percussion) instruments. They were all into it, and it was apparent that they were not all one group, because while the sounds coming out didn’t sound bad, they didn’t sound at the concerto standard either, and would have sounded terrible without the coordinator and the baseline of instruments near her.
In addition, there were empty seats (more than a few), and they all had instruments on them. Granted, they weren’t thousand-dollar pieces, but small hand drums and such. It became more apparent that anyone could join in as random people started sitting down.
So we sat down as well and had some fun banging away at our instruments for like ten minutes. It was more for fun than for meritorious art, so the quality of the actual sounds didn’t matter—it was just fun.
That was just one of a handful (like maybe three) times that I’d heard music blaring on campus. That was the first time I witnessed and participated in an impromptu drumming session as well, and it was a nice relief from class, which I went to immediately after.
So where did the music go?
I’ve heard of Cantopop (or any music for that matter) and I was surprised that the first time I heard it blaring was when I went to karaoke in Causeway Bay about a month and a half ago. In comparison, when I went to Rome, the first thing I heard was American pop blasting out of a storefront across the road from Roma Termini (train station). I heard Italian music coming out of the storefront a block and a half later.
I suppose it would be easy to blame it on the perceived lack of culture here. I don’t think this works though in this case, because even though you might not produce it, you can still enjoy it—I’ve heard my floormates listening to music in their rooms. It can’t be a public space thing, because it’s just constant chatter of students practically shouting over each other on campus. And it’s not like it doesn’t exist at all, because I know that there are plenty of concerts going on around here.
So I guess I don’t really know; I just wish there were more music.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Of course, it wasn’t impromptu in that some club booked the venue (Sun Yat-sen Plaza, like the small quad on campus), but what was happening was quite fun. Sitting around a coordinator were students on seats playing (percussion) instruments. They were all into it, and it was apparent that they were not all one group, because while the sounds coming out didn’t sound bad, they didn’t sound at the concerto standard either, and would have sounded terrible without the coordinator and the baseline of instruments near her.
In addition, there were empty seats (more than a few), and they all had instruments on them. Granted, they weren’t thousand-dollar pieces, but small hand drums and such. It became more apparent that anyone could join in as random people started sitting down.
So we sat down as well and had some fun banging away at our instruments for like ten minutes. It was more for fun than for meritorious art, so the quality of the actual sounds didn’t matter—it was just fun.
That was just one of a handful (like maybe three) times that I’d heard music blaring on campus. That was the first time I witnessed and participated in an impromptu drumming session as well, and it was a nice relief from class, which I went to immediately after.
So where did the music go?
I’ve heard of Cantopop (or any music for that matter) and I was surprised that the first time I heard it blaring was when I went to karaoke in Causeway Bay about a month and a half ago. In comparison, when I went to Rome, the first thing I heard was American pop blasting out of a storefront across the road from Roma Termini (train station). I heard Italian music coming out of the storefront a block and a half later.
I suppose it would be easy to blame it on the perceived lack of culture here. I don’t think this works though in this case, because even though you might not produce it, you can still enjoy it—I’ve heard my floormates listening to music in their rooms. It can’t be a public space thing, because it’s just constant chatter of students practically shouting over each other on campus. And it’s not like it doesn’t exist at all, because I know that there are plenty of concerts going on around here.
So I guess I don’t really know; I just wish there were more music.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Class Roundup: Cantonese
Cantonese is my second class to be done with and my only class this term to be half the units (3 instead of 6, to be transferred as 2.5 credits). In a roll of final assignments, the final examination was last Friday and the group presentation happened yesterday. I just got back a few hours ago from the optional dim sum lunch with the class, so I figured that now is as good a time as ever to blog about it, especially since I only need to proofread my last term paper (due Friday).
The final went better than expected. For the midterm I must have spent a few weeks studying for it, going over the vocabulary time and time again, to get 91%. For the final though, I had to allot my time tighter, so I ended up only spending a handful of hours over a day and a half to prepare. And I ended up with the same grade—91%. The one thing I noticed was the sheer number of tones I got right (most all of them).
I personally couldn’t care less about remembering words have what tones. There is just so much variation in the raw number of tones between speakers and locations, so all I aimed for was to be understood. In this aspect, I hoped to learn Cantonese much like a native speaker—trial and error, to just speak and see if I’m understood, to adjust my own sounds when I hear others say it differently. To this effect, I thought it was annoying that we had to remember the tones when we wrote down our Romanized Cantonese in the Jyutping system.
I got my final returned to me the day we had our group presentations in the form of skits. I paired myself with a German classmate, and I think we did pretty well. The week before, we had to submit our scripts for grading and correction, so Monday was when we got to perform our presentation from memory. Of course, the teacher allowed us to use our notes if necessary, because it’s better to be graded down rather than getting a zero mark. But my partner and I were the only group to not rely on our notes at all. Also a plus, our pronunciation was pretty good if I do say so myself, though I stuttered a few times.
Today, we had dim sum (點心) lunch at Star Seafood (明星海鮮餐廳). Though I’ve had my fair share of dim sum at Chinatowns back in the United States, this was only the second time I had gotten dim sum in Hong Kong, not including the one time I got it in Shenzhen.
I didn’t know most of the people at my table, mostly because the lunch was for all the Cantonese classes put together, but that was half the fun. At the end of it all, we took a picture with our Cantonese teacher and paid the bill. Four more classes to go!
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
The final went better than expected. For the midterm I must have spent a few weeks studying for it, going over the vocabulary time and time again, to get 91%. For the final though, I had to allot my time tighter, so I ended up only spending a handful of hours over a day and a half to prepare. And I ended up with the same grade—91%. The one thing I noticed was the sheer number of tones I got right (most all of them).
I personally couldn’t care less about remembering words have what tones. There is just so much variation in the raw number of tones between speakers and locations, so all I aimed for was to be understood. In this aspect, I hoped to learn Cantonese much like a native speaker—trial and error, to just speak and see if I’m understood, to adjust my own sounds when I hear others say it differently. To this effect, I thought it was annoying that we had to remember the tones when we wrote down our Romanized Cantonese in the Jyutping system.
I got my final returned to me the day we had our group presentations in the form of skits. I paired myself with a German classmate, and I think we did pretty well. The week before, we had to submit our scripts for grading and correction, so Monday was when we got to perform our presentation from memory. Of course, the teacher allowed us to use our notes if necessary, because it’s better to be graded down rather than getting a zero mark. But my partner and I were the only group to not rely on our notes at all. Also a plus, our pronunciation was pretty good if I do say so myself, though I stuttered a few times.
Today, we had dim sum (點心) lunch at Star Seafood (明星海鮮餐廳). Though I’ve had my fair share of dim sum at Chinatowns back in the United States, this was only the second time I had gotten dim sum in Hong Kong, not including the one time I got it in Shenzhen.
I didn’t know most of the people at my table, mostly because the lunch was for all the Cantonese classes put together, but that was half the fun. At the end of it all, we took a picture with our Cantonese teacher and paid the bill. Four more classes to go!
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Notes on a Close
Eventually all things come to an end. Eventually I will have to go back to the United States, finish my university degree, find my life, and establish my career. And I know that eventually will start to take place around noon on December 21, when I have to board a plane back to Los Angeles via San Francisco.
It all had to end eventually, I keep telling myself, but somehow it’s just not enough. I didn’t even come here that long ago. I now have just under three weeks left here and I arrived only fifteen weeks ago. Though I keep telling myself that I couldn’t’ve extended for a year, I know that my biggest piece of advice to others will be take the whole year—because now I wholeheartedly believe that it is.
I know that there are people who disagree with me. I’ll wait until they go back to their home countries and see if they still feel the same way, and if they do, so be it. I know I still feel like I’m learning every day, but I know some of the people I talk to remain close-minded and naïve. I guess I wouldn’t be the best to judge naïveté, but the fact that many of them haven’t made the slightest attempt (but a phrase or two) to learn Cantonese is a huge indicator.
I suppose the grass is always greener on the other side, though, as cliché as that is. I have one friend who attends Berkeley in the States but is studying abroad at HKU like me this semester because she felt like I do now. She filed to extend and was accepted, and now that she is staying, she’s not going home for the holidays, and she feels that she misses her family.
So the best thing to do is to reserve judgment I suppose. I’ll wait to get back home, I suppose. I’ll see the wide roads and giant cars (one of which I’ll likely be transported in), I suppose. I’ll see the wastefulness that Americans are so known for possessing and realize that people in Hong Kong aren’t all that different. Maybe by the time I get back, I’ll understand intuitively and subconsciously in addition to consciously that we are all just people, and that everything else really doesn’t matter.
I'm not ready just yet to go back—but then again, who is really ready for anything?
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
It all had to end eventually, I keep telling myself, but somehow it’s just not enough. I didn’t even come here that long ago. I now have just under three weeks left here and I arrived only fifteen weeks ago. Though I keep telling myself that I couldn’t’ve extended for a year, I know that my biggest piece of advice to others will be take the whole year—because now I wholeheartedly believe that it is.
I know that there are people who disagree with me. I’ll wait until they go back to their home countries and see if they still feel the same way, and if they do, so be it. I know I still feel like I’m learning every day, but I know some of the people I talk to remain close-minded and naïve. I guess I wouldn’t be the best to judge naïveté, but the fact that many of them haven’t made the slightest attempt (but a phrase or two) to learn Cantonese is a huge indicator.
I suppose the grass is always greener on the other side, though, as cliché as that is. I have one friend who attends Berkeley in the States but is studying abroad at HKU like me this semester because she felt like I do now. She filed to extend and was accepted, and now that she is staying, she’s not going home for the holidays, and she feels that she misses her family.
So the best thing to do is to reserve judgment I suppose. I’ll wait to get back home, I suppose. I’ll see the wide roads and giant cars (one of which I’ll likely be transported in), I suppose. I’ll see the wastefulness that Americans are so known for possessing and realize that people in Hong Kong aren’t all that different. Maybe by the time I get back, I’ll understand intuitively and subconsciously in addition to consciously that we are all just people, and that everything else really doesn’t matter.
I'm not ready just yet to go back—but then again, who is really ready for anything?
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Escape to Peace and Quiet
Though I’ve been in places and cities with many more people concentrated in areas much smaller, Hong Kong seems dense enough for me to miss the relative lack of people back home—in Thousand Oaks or on campus in La Jolla.
There’s always constant noise just going on. I don’t know if this means that the city is just getting to me or if I just need a break and more time to adjust, honestly. I don’t even live in the center of the city, but out my window, I see all the cargo ships coming in and out, frequently honking their horns at each other.
In the depths of the night, local students yell across the halls to each other in Cantonese about stuff they couldn’t possibility save until the morning—an occurrence whose impact I’ve mitigated through the use of earplugs. They also go talking in class as the professor tries to lecture, which has prompted me to sit closer to the front but to no avail.
I don’t know what it is about here that makes it so loud, but I’m ready to get back to a place where the whisper is valued and everyone was taught indoor voices versus outdoor voices at a critical age.
Though I still very much enjoy living here, the noise and constant commotion has gotten to the point where the rush for food at lunch annoys me. Despite the fact that there are a handful of seats in the canteen at such times, the crowds themselves and the fact that everyone has to talk louder just to be heard over everyone else make me order my food to go.
It’s all very trivial, I know, but it’s been bugging me.
So to escape (partially) from the crowds, which on a small campus are nearly everywhere, I’ve found solace in a couple of places. In front of Main Building there is hardly a soul. Sometimes I’d see a faculty member and more often I would see a janitor keeping up the grounds by sweeping leaves.
The other is the courtyard in front of the Journalism building (I believe it’s officially named May Hall). In the morning there, I’ve seen people practicing taichi, but during lunch hour, there is hardly anyone occupying the many benches and several tables. Instead of the often crowded and more often noisy Global Lounge, I sit out in that courtyard to work and study and write blog posts as my battery permits.
And so I escape in part—escape from noise and commotion; escape from those oppressing crowds as I ready myself for chit-chatty lectures and yelling in the halls.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
There’s always constant noise just going on. I don’t know if this means that the city is just getting to me or if I just need a break and more time to adjust, honestly. I don’t even live in the center of the city, but out my window, I see all the cargo ships coming in and out, frequently honking their horns at each other.
In the depths of the night, local students yell across the halls to each other in Cantonese about stuff they couldn’t possibility save until the morning—an occurrence whose impact I’ve mitigated through the use of earplugs. They also go talking in class as the professor tries to lecture, which has prompted me to sit closer to the front but to no avail.
I don’t know what it is about here that makes it so loud, but I’m ready to get back to a place where the whisper is valued and everyone was taught indoor voices versus outdoor voices at a critical age.
Though I still very much enjoy living here, the noise and constant commotion has gotten to the point where the rush for food at lunch annoys me. Despite the fact that there are a handful of seats in the canteen at such times, the crowds themselves and the fact that everyone has to talk louder just to be heard over everyone else make me order my food to go.
It’s all very trivial, I know, but it’s been bugging me.
So to escape (partially) from the crowds, which on a small campus are nearly everywhere, I’ve found solace in a couple of places. In front of Main Building there is hardly a soul. Sometimes I’d see a faculty member and more often I would see a janitor keeping up the grounds by sweeping leaves.
The other is the courtyard in front of the Journalism building (I believe it’s officially named May Hall). In the morning there, I’ve seen people practicing taichi, but during lunch hour, there is hardly anyone occupying the many benches and several tables. Instead of the often crowded and more often noisy Global Lounge, I sit out in that courtyard to work and study and write blog posts as my battery permits.
And so I escape in part—escape from noise and commotion; escape from those oppressing crowds as I ready myself for chit-chatty lectures and yelling in the halls.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Phonetics
I figure that I’m probably the first student in the UC system to take Phonetics here at the University of Hong Kong. Whereas the other classes I’m taking (with the exception of Humanity in Globalization which is a new class) were all listed on the EAP catalog of classes for HKU, Phonetics wasn’t. The database is a guide and unofficial, because it gathers data based on classes former students have taken, and now, Phonetics is listed with the other HKU classes.
In the class of probably seventy-something (though half that many show up with any regular frequency), I am but a handful of students. The professor, a white American, speaks Cantonese and Mandarin in addition to English, and the tutor/TA at the beginning of the quarter would make all announcements in Cantonese, which I would then have her repeat in Cantonese.
Other than the obvious reasons for taking Phonetics here rather than back home, namely that I’m here and I need to take Phonetics as a required class for my major in Linguistics, I enrolled in this class because whereas back home the class is all about English, probably only American English, this class here focuses on American and British English as well as Cantonese and to a lesser extent Mandarin.
This fact is ultimately why I chose to take this class here and not here, and for the most part I feel like—1. It’s given me some insight into the one language that through my childhood had given me the worst time learning; 2. It’s helping me learn Cantonese more accurately and more efficiently now.
There’s one problem for me though—most of my classmates are native Cantonese speakers. Whereas back home most of my classmates would be native English speakers, with my classmates being mostly native English speakers, and with the class being in English, here, everything’s the opposite except that the class is taught in English as set by school policy. Whereas back home we analyze our English intuition and transcribe the way we ourselves speak, here we’ve analyzed British and American English, lightly touching on Australian and New Zealand English a bit, and then analyze our (or their) Cantonese intuition and learn how to transcribe that.
This has manifested in a couple of ways. First off, when I voiced my opinion about American English intuition, it was replied to by saying that I don’t speak standard American English—which I would admit to, but then again no one truly speaks a standard form of a language. On the other hand, the Cantonese speakers in the class when they voice an opinion on Cantonese intuition, it gets replied to in the way that I felt like I should have been replied to. “Well, that’s how you speak and linguists aren’t here to correct your language, but observe it,” or something along those line.
I guess it’s fair, and I’d never complain to the professor or the tutor about it. I have to learn about Cantonese sound systems without the aid of intuition and they have to learn about English sound systems without the aid of intuition.
What might not be so fair is that I don’t know too many colloquial Cantonese characters. See, he the last homework assignment he gave us two big assignments, neither of which I could do without the help of a native Cantonese speaker from Hong Kong. If I understand correctly, Hong Kong Cantonese writers use a lot of colloquial characters to write down what cannot be directly written down in Mandarin in informal contexts but write in standard Chinese in formal contexts. In addition, some words in Hong Kong Cantonese are so new that there are no characters for that syllable, so they write out the sounds in English letters.
The assignment was in two sections: the first gave Chinese characters (many of which colloquial Cantonese ones), of which you were to transcribe the sounds into the International Phonetic Alphabet (which was designed to be able to use to write down all human languages); the second was to take IPA transcriptions devoid of tone which we had to write the Chinese characters for. I don’t mind asking for help on assignments if people don’t mind helping me—and they don’t so I don’t mind. But, after all my help, I only completed about three quarters of the assignment. Don’t worry, though—he went over all the answers before we had to turn it in.
Later he said that there will be similarly structured questions on the final examination (styled quiz). The professor knows though that I, along with a few other students, can’t easily do that without sufficient aide, and with this being an English-medium class, I’m confident that he’ll do his best to accommodate me.
Now that Monday’s over, I only have two weeks of instruction left. Next week I’ve got two finals ace, for which I’m bringing study materials this weekend to Thailand. Au revoir!
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
In the class of probably seventy-something (though half that many show up with any regular frequency), I am but a handful of students. The professor, a white American, speaks Cantonese and Mandarin in addition to English, and the tutor/TA at the beginning of the quarter would make all announcements in Cantonese, which I would then have her repeat in Cantonese.
Other than the obvious reasons for taking Phonetics here rather than back home, namely that I’m here and I need to take Phonetics as a required class for my major in Linguistics, I enrolled in this class because whereas back home the class is all about English, probably only American English, this class here focuses on American and British English as well as Cantonese and to a lesser extent Mandarin.
This fact is ultimately why I chose to take this class here and not here, and for the most part I feel like—1. It’s given me some insight into the one language that through my childhood had given me the worst time learning; 2. It’s helping me learn Cantonese more accurately and more efficiently now.
There’s one problem for me though—most of my classmates are native Cantonese speakers. Whereas back home most of my classmates would be native English speakers, with my classmates being mostly native English speakers, and with the class being in English, here, everything’s the opposite except that the class is taught in English as set by school policy. Whereas back home we analyze our English intuition and transcribe the way we ourselves speak, here we’ve analyzed British and American English, lightly touching on Australian and New Zealand English a bit, and then analyze our (or their) Cantonese intuition and learn how to transcribe that.
This has manifested in a couple of ways. First off, when I voiced my opinion about American English intuition, it was replied to by saying that I don’t speak standard American English—which I would admit to, but then again no one truly speaks a standard form of a language. On the other hand, the Cantonese speakers in the class when they voice an opinion on Cantonese intuition, it gets replied to in the way that I felt like I should have been replied to. “Well, that’s how you speak and linguists aren’t here to correct your language, but observe it,” or something along those line.
I guess it’s fair, and I’d never complain to the professor or the tutor about it. I have to learn about Cantonese sound systems without the aid of intuition and they have to learn about English sound systems without the aid of intuition.
What might not be so fair is that I don’t know too many colloquial Cantonese characters. See, he the last homework assignment he gave us two big assignments, neither of which I could do without the help of a native Cantonese speaker from Hong Kong. If I understand correctly, Hong Kong Cantonese writers use a lot of colloquial characters to write down what cannot be directly written down in Mandarin in informal contexts but write in standard Chinese in formal contexts. In addition, some words in Hong Kong Cantonese are so new that there are no characters for that syllable, so they write out the sounds in English letters.
The assignment was in two sections: the first gave Chinese characters (many of which colloquial Cantonese ones), of which you were to transcribe the sounds into the International Phonetic Alphabet (which was designed to be able to use to write down all human languages); the second was to take IPA transcriptions devoid of tone which we had to write the Chinese characters for. I don’t mind asking for help on assignments if people don’t mind helping me—and they don’t so I don’t mind. But, after all my help, I only completed about three quarters of the assignment. Don’t worry, though—he went over all the answers before we had to turn it in.
Later he said that there will be similarly structured questions on the final examination (styled quiz). The professor knows though that I, along with a few other students, can’t easily do that without sufficient aide, and with this being an English-medium class, I’m confident that he’ll do his best to accommodate me.
Now that Monday’s over, I only have two weeks of instruction left. Next week I’ve got two finals ace, for which I’m bringing study materials this weekend to Thailand. Au revoir!
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Guilin: Sleeper Trains and Airplanes
My latest journey started in Shenzhen, from where we were to catch the thirteen-hour sleeper train to Guilin. This was a Friday, as my plan was to arrive in Guilin on Saturday morning, spend the night, and then take the sleeper train back to Hong Kong via Shenzhen in time for Monday classes. Looking at Wikitravel, it looked like there was about enough in Guilin and vicinity to last for about two full days, though actually being there, it was obvious that this trip could have easily lasted for at least a week.
Like I said, it all started in Shenzhen, land of the Special Economic Zone. With this being my third time to China, I wasn't particularly thrilled about roaming about, but since the train was to leave at 5:25 p.m. and three of my friends had not yet seen Shenzhen, we decided to make Friday before the train a Shenzhen train trip.
Other factors made it desirable to see Shenzhen that day. I was lucky enough to be granted a multiple-entry Chinese visa (meaning I could enter China as many times as I want during my visa's validity for no more than 30 days per entry). I'm not sure whether it's because I've gotten a Chinese visa once before or they've got a soft spot for me because I'm ethnically Chinese, but many of my friends were only allowed to apply for double-entries. Since Shenzhen is Hong Kong's land gateway to Mainland China, it just made sense to see Shenzhen on the same entry as Guilin since they had limited entries.
That day was odd in a couple ways. First, I had never gone long-distance overnight on a train before in a foreign country. I've been on long-distance trains and I've been to foreign countries and I've been on long-distance trains in foreign countries, but never overnight. This teensy weensy fact that this journey was my first sleeper train ever in any part of the world created this sort of aura in my head.
What also made this journey special (and this first Shenzhen leg odd) was that there are certain unwritten stipulations in my study abroad experience set in place by my sponsors--my parents. I am to learn Cantonese to the extend that I can speak decently with my mother. I am to travel as much as especially to see places that I have not yet been too. I am to travel to Guilin, because it's beautiful and easier to get to from Hong Kong than from California. Besides, many a poet over China's several-thousand-year history has posed Guilin as China's national treasure (though not necessarily in those worlds).
So because of that, the day kind of floated by. To start, I forgot my Shenzhen map in my room so we had to get a new one (which wasn't nearly as good) when we got there. I'd only been to Shenzhen twice before this trip, but my natural sense of direction took over as my friends noticed I wasn't even looking at the signs when I went from one MTR line to another and another, and then through immigration, where I knew where the shortest immigration lines were and where to fill out the health forms to enter China, and to crook my neck to the side so they could take my temperature.
In Shenzhen, I took them to the same place that I had street food the time before. We found some good stuff, and I maintain that while I've had my fair share of complaints about not-so-good food at restaurants, I've never felt poorly about street food--plus it's way cheaper.
But before that, we went to two places. The better one (by far) was Lianhuashan (莲花山) Park, which was an easy walk from the current northern terminus of Shenzhen Metro Line 4. There we took a brief-but-enjoyable hike (which was worsened by the heat) to a lookout point. After breaking many points along the way, it probably took us half-an-hour to hike to the that lookout. It was (very recently) paved as an open space, with the late Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping (鄧小平) in the form of an impressive statue looking out at the same view as the people over Shenzhen.
The park was great, minus the speakers that kept counting in Mandarin. It sounded like commands in square-dancing songs, so we figured it must be to facilitate some sort of similar activity. It was nice to get a proper view over Shenzhen though, because down on the ground, it is not nearly as noticeable how developed Shenzhen is, especially if you live on Hong Kong Island, where grass gives way to a sea of skyscrapers.
But before that, we went to the Chinese Folk Cultural Village (中国民俗文化村), which was meant as a showcase for China's fifty-five minority ethnic groups. While interesting as a concept, the way the park was laid out and the fact that the concept is never fully explained to foreign tourists who know little about China's ethnic groups, combined with the price of entry, we probably could have done without it.
As we finished up with our Shenzhen day trip, we made a run from street food to the train station, arriving just fifteen minutes before departure, physically getting onto the train just five minutes before it left the station. The pictures in later posts don't really show the conditions of the sleeper trains. There was nothing wrong with them, but they are very old style and according to what I've read, the trains being put on China's new high-speed rail network are a lot more modern.
I got the hard-sleeper class, as did all but one of my friends, who got a soft sleeper (for nearly double the price) because he got his ticket later than the rest of us. In the hard-sleeper compartments, there were six beds total, with three stacked above each other on each side, illustriously named top, middle, and bottom (上,中,下) on our tickets. The beds appeared clean and we were given linens to stay warm. Though I didn't see it first-hand, I was told that the soft-sleeper compartments had four beds--two on each side--and were equipped with doors that closed. The floor was not so clean though, and when walking from one train car to another, you could see the grime originating from the bathrooms (with pooper stooper toilets). On the bright side, I didn't get sick off of this trip.
The duration was something I was afraid I wasn't going to deal with well, actually. My flight to Hong Kong from Los Angeles happened also to be thirteen to fourteen hours long, and by the time that plane was about to land, I was more than ready to just get off already. However, this trip was quite bearable. For a few hours, I wrote blog posts on my computer while on my bed. (I only brought my computer because I put myself under the impression that I was going to study in some fashion while in Guilin.)
The hours following, the group socialized in the diner car of the train as we winded down for the coming day. Getting to bed a bit before 11:00 p.m., we were due to wake up before the train was to arrive at Guilin at 6:42 a.m. the next day. So we tucked ourselves in and right as we went to sleep, I saw one of the train attendants with a flashlight crouching in our compartment neatly moving our shoes to one side.
After the constant clunking of the wheels on the tracks (especially since I was in the bottom bunk), we woke up at 6:15 a.m. to find the train going seemingly in the opposite direction. While one of my friends thought that we'd missed our stop and were heading back, I assured them all that trains work by turning around at terminal stations, giving the illusion that you're then going in the wrong direction. (Newbs!)
The train screeched to a halt at around 7:00 a.m. and we, in all our lethargic glory stumbled off the train and into Guangxi Zhang Autonomous Region (province equivalent).
To skip all the meat of the story, I'm going to continue by going back to Hong Kong, leaving you watering at the mouth for my favorite trip so far, Guilin.
Sunday night, I found myself in a different train car than the others because of a possible mistake when we bought our train tickets in Shenzhen. It wasn't a big deal though, as the main objective was just to get back to Hong Kong, hopefully in time for my 2:00 p.m. class (as my 9:30 a.m. class was canceled that week). As expected, the train was just like the last with pretty much the same exact ammenities.
That night, I read for a while before going to sleep, and waking up well before when the train was supposed to arrive at 10:30 a.m. (though it arrived closer to 11:30), I did my Cantonese homework. Starving and knowing I wasn't going to get the opportunity to eat before 5:00 p.m., I heard the train attendant selling Guilin noodles (桂林米粉) passing by. I bought it, and though it wasn't nearly as good as what I actually had twice in Guilin, it was fulfilling. I ate with ease as I convinced myself that it had been boiled at some point, because by the time I'd gotten it, it was a bit hotter than lukewarm.
Needless to say, I got to class on time and in one piece, though I actually got lost trying to find the immigration counters getting back into Hong Kong. I blame the signs.
Not yet have I have I ever been late, much less absent from a lecture or a tutorial here at the University of Hong Kong.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Like I said, it all started in Shenzhen, land of the Special Economic Zone. With this being my third time to China, I wasn't particularly thrilled about roaming about, but since the train was to leave at 5:25 p.m. and three of my friends had not yet seen Shenzhen, we decided to make Friday before the train a Shenzhen train trip.
Other factors made it desirable to see Shenzhen that day. I was lucky enough to be granted a multiple-entry Chinese visa (meaning I could enter China as many times as I want during my visa's validity for no more than 30 days per entry). I'm not sure whether it's because I've gotten a Chinese visa once before or they've got a soft spot for me because I'm ethnically Chinese, but many of my friends were only allowed to apply for double-entries. Since Shenzhen is Hong Kong's land gateway to Mainland China, it just made sense to see Shenzhen on the same entry as Guilin since they had limited entries.
That day was odd in a couple ways. First, I had never gone long-distance overnight on a train before in a foreign country. I've been on long-distance trains and I've been to foreign countries and I've been on long-distance trains in foreign countries, but never overnight. This teensy weensy fact that this journey was my first sleeper train ever in any part of the world created this sort of aura in my head.
What also made this journey special (and this first Shenzhen leg odd) was that there are certain unwritten stipulations in my study abroad experience set in place by my sponsors--my parents. I am to learn Cantonese to the extend that I can speak decently with my mother. I am to travel as much as especially to see places that I have not yet been too. I am to travel to Guilin, because it's beautiful and easier to get to from Hong Kong than from California. Besides, many a poet over China's several-thousand-year history has posed Guilin as China's national treasure (though not necessarily in those worlds).
So because of that, the day kind of floated by. To start, I forgot my Shenzhen map in my room so we had to get a new one (which wasn't nearly as good) when we got there. I'd only been to Shenzhen twice before this trip, but my natural sense of direction took over as my friends noticed I wasn't even looking at the signs when I went from one MTR line to another and another, and then through immigration, where I knew where the shortest immigration lines were and where to fill out the health forms to enter China, and to crook my neck to the side so they could take my temperature.
In Shenzhen, I took them to the same place that I had street food the time before. We found some good stuff, and I maintain that while I've had my fair share of complaints about not-so-good food at restaurants, I've never felt poorly about street food--plus it's way cheaper.
But before that, we went to two places. The better one (by far) was Lianhuashan (莲花山) Park, which was an easy walk from the current northern terminus of Shenzhen Metro Line 4. There we took a brief-but-enjoyable hike (which was worsened by the heat) to a lookout point. After breaking many points along the way, it probably took us half-an-hour to hike to the that lookout. It was (very recently) paved as an open space, with the late Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping (鄧小平) in the form of an impressive statue looking out at the same view as the people over Shenzhen.
The park was great, minus the speakers that kept counting in Mandarin. It sounded like commands in square-dancing songs, so we figured it must be to facilitate some sort of similar activity. It was nice to get a proper view over Shenzhen though, because down on the ground, it is not nearly as noticeable how developed Shenzhen is, especially if you live on Hong Kong Island, where grass gives way to a sea of skyscrapers.
But before that, we went to the Chinese Folk Cultural Village (中国民俗文化村), which was meant as a showcase for China's fifty-five minority ethnic groups. While interesting as a concept, the way the park was laid out and the fact that the concept is never fully explained to foreign tourists who know little about China's ethnic groups, combined with the price of entry, we probably could have done without it.
As we finished up with our Shenzhen day trip, we made a run from street food to the train station, arriving just fifteen minutes before departure, physically getting onto the train just five minutes before it left the station. The pictures in later posts don't really show the conditions of the sleeper trains. There was nothing wrong with them, but they are very old style and according to what I've read, the trains being put on China's new high-speed rail network are a lot more modern.
I got the hard-sleeper class, as did all but one of my friends, who got a soft sleeper (for nearly double the price) because he got his ticket later than the rest of us. In the hard-sleeper compartments, there were six beds total, with three stacked above each other on each side, illustriously named top, middle, and bottom (上,中,下) on our tickets. The beds appeared clean and we were given linens to stay warm. Though I didn't see it first-hand, I was told that the soft-sleeper compartments had four beds--two on each side--and were equipped with doors that closed. The floor was not so clean though, and when walking from one train car to another, you could see the grime originating from the bathrooms (with pooper stooper toilets). On the bright side, I didn't get sick off of this trip.
The duration was something I was afraid I wasn't going to deal with well, actually. My flight to Hong Kong from Los Angeles happened also to be thirteen to fourteen hours long, and by the time that plane was about to land, I was more than ready to just get off already. However, this trip was quite bearable. For a few hours, I wrote blog posts on my computer while on my bed. (I only brought my computer because I put myself under the impression that I was going to study in some fashion while in Guilin.)
The hours following, the group socialized in the diner car of the train as we winded down for the coming day. Getting to bed a bit before 11:00 p.m., we were due to wake up before the train was to arrive at Guilin at 6:42 a.m. the next day. So we tucked ourselves in and right as we went to sleep, I saw one of the train attendants with a flashlight crouching in our compartment neatly moving our shoes to one side.
After the constant clunking of the wheels on the tracks (especially since I was in the bottom bunk), we woke up at 6:15 a.m. to find the train going seemingly in the opposite direction. While one of my friends thought that we'd missed our stop and were heading back, I assured them all that trains work by turning around at terminal stations, giving the illusion that you're then going in the wrong direction. (Newbs!)
The train screeched to a halt at around 7:00 a.m. and we, in all our lethargic glory stumbled off the train and into Guangxi Zhang Autonomous Region (province equivalent).
To skip all the meat of the story, I'm going to continue by going back to Hong Kong, leaving you watering at the mouth for my favorite trip so far, Guilin.
Sunday night, I found myself in a different train car than the others because of a possible mistake when we bought our train tickets in Shenzhen. It wasn't a big deal though, as the main objective was just to get back to Hong Kong, hopefully in time for my 2:00 p.m. class (as my 9:30 a.m. class was canceled that week). As expected, the train was just like the last with pretty much the same exact ammenities.
That night, I read for a while before going to sleep, and waking up well before when the train was supposed to arrive at 10:30 a.m. (though it arrived closer to 11:30), I did my Cantonese homework. Starving and knowing I wasn't going to get the opportunity to eat before 5:00 p.m., I heard the train attendant selling Guilin noodles (桂林米粉) passing by. I bought it, and though it wasn't nearly as good as what I actually had twice in Guilin, it was fulfilling. I ate with ease as I convinced myself that it had been boiled at some point, because by the time I'd gotten it, it was a bit hotter than lukewarm.
Needless to say, I got to class on time and in one piece, though I actually got lost trying to find the immigration counters getting back into Hong Kong. I blame the signs.
Not yet have I have I ever been late, much less absent from a lecture or a tutorial here at the University of Hong Kong.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Hairdye and Contacts
I work with the latter but not the former.
I guess just thinking about how studying abroad is thought to change your perspectives and make you more mature, more open as a person, and more knowledgeable about the world and about different cultures, made me think that it would to well for me to evaluate my own.
A little to late, you say? Better late than never, I'd say.
Socialization is a funny thing, because as most people know, we are all born with a clean slate. We learn before we take our first breath of air. We learn social convention (some better than others). We learn a language or two natively. We develop who we are as individuals. We begin identifying ourselves and conform to that prototype.
I am no different, of course, and as a person, I have been learning throughout my life and will continue to learn until I die, I suppose. Who am I though? I'm not so sure I know this myself, actually. Here I find that in some ways I am so mature in many ways, yet so immature just based in the fact that I have lived on this planet not two decades yet. Growing up, I've learned through experience more than through dictation how to be have; what to say and what not to say; what people expect of me--and as a result, what I expect of out myself.
Whereas I was spoken to for a while in Cantonese when I was young, my parents always spoke English to each other, and my no conscious decision of my own, I picked up the latter but not the former. In a very immature way, it still boggles my mind that people can think efficiently in a language besides English, my language, and it's always been funny to me to hear little kids speak their native foreign languages. Some things will never change.
I know who I am as an individual, and yet I don't. I'm quick to acknowledge my ancestry, but never would I tout it nor say that I identify myself as Chinese before American, Californian, or even Chinese-American. I find it mildly annoying that some people try to identify themselves by their ancestry as if it is more than residual, because for while some it is, for more it is not. I understand that at anything and everything that I do, I will never be the best of the best, though I will not stop trying. I know that no matter how much I learn and no matter how much I experience, I know but a small fraction of the infinite universe of what there is to know.
I identify myself as Christian, because of how humbled I am by the world and because of the comfort of knowing of a higher power and the solace I find in knowing that nothing I do is really for myself. I identify myself as liberal (in the American sense) because I know that not everything in the world can be done by (fictitiously) saving money, nor solved by asserting superiority on the international front nor on the domestic battlefield. Because who are we to judge others and assert our righteousness in faith, lifestyle, or personal choices that ought to remain personal?
I identify myself as a heterosexual man, who wears darker-colored clothing and finds it better to cut hair shorter than leave it grow, who has been brought to the realization of the subconscious lowering of his voice yet still does it, who finds a woman more appealing with a voice higher than lower.
I see and observe the people here and notice that, while they possibly share more genes with me than many of my classmates back home, they are so different. The girls most all dress like guys and the guys most all talk like girls. But that is, of course, my judgment, and who am I to say anything without making sure that the listener knows its but my opinion, and that while I will defend my own, I still respect all well-founded opinions because what's right is as simple as a consensus of the minds.
If everyone's wrong, then everyone's right. If everyone's a winner, then no one is.
While I won't go so far as to say that I've never thought about it, I've never used hairdye, even as the majority of my classmates went bleaching their hair blond in fourth grade. As much as I say I prefer contacts over glasses because contacts maintain better peripheral vision, the reasons number beyond that.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
I guess just thinking about how studying abroad is thought to change your perspectives and make you more mature, more open as a person, and more knowledgeable about the world and about different cultures, made me think that it would to well for me to evaluate my own.
A little to late, you say? Better late than never, I'd say.
Socialization is a funny thing, because as most people know, we are all born with a clean slate. We learn before we take our first breath of air. We learn social convention (some better than others). We learn a language or two natively. We develop who we are as individuals. We begin identifying ourselves and conform to that prototype.
I am no different, of course, and as a person, I have been learning throughout my life and will continue to learn until I die, I suppose. Who am I though? I'm not so sure I know this myself, actually. Here I find that in some ways I am so mature in many ways, yet so immature just based in the fact that I have lived on this planet not two decades yet. Growing up, I've learned through experience more than through dictation how to be have; what to say and what not to say; what people expect of me--and as a result, what I expect of out myself.
Whereas I was spoken to for a while in Cantonese when I was young, my parents always spoke English to each other, and my no conscious decision of my own, I picked up the latter but not the former. In a very immature way, it still boggles my mind that people can think efficiently in a language besides English, my language, and it's always been funny to me to hear little kids speak their native foreign languages. Some things will never change.
I know who I am as an individual, and yet I don't. I'm quick to acknowledge my ancestry, but never would I tout it nor say that I identify myself as Chinese before American, Californian, or even Chinese-American. I find it mildly annoying that some people try to identify themselves by their ancestry as if it is more than residual, because for while some it is, for more it is not. I understand that at anything and everything that I do, I will never be the best of the best, though I will not stop trying. I know that no matter how much I learn and no matter how much I experience, I know but a small fraction of the infinite universe of what there is to know.
I identify myself as Christian, because of how humbled I am by the world and because of the comfort of knowing of a higher power and the solace I find in knowing that nothing I do is really for myself. I identify myself as liberal (in the American sense) because I know that not everything in the world can be done by (fictitiously) saving money, nor solved by asserting superiority on the international front nor on the domestic battlefield. Because who are we to judge others and assert our righteousness in faith, lifestyle, or personal choices that ought to remain personal?
I identify myself as a heterosexual man, who wears darker-colored clothing and finds it better to cut hair shorter than leave it grow, who has been brought to the realization of the subconscious lowering of his voice yet still does it, who finds a woman more appealing with a voice higher than lower.
I see and observe the people here and notice that, while they possibly share more genes with me than many of my classmates back home, they are so different. The girls most all dress like guys and the guys most all talk like girls. But that is, of course, my judgment, and who am I to say anything without making sure that the listener knows its but my opinion, and that while I will defend my own, I still respect all well-founded opinions because what's right is as simple as a consensus of the minds.
If everyone's wrong, then everyone's right. If everyone's a winner, then no one is.
While I won't go so far as to say that I've never thought about it, I've never used hairdye, even as the majority of my classmates went bleaching their hair blond in fourth grade. As much as I say I prefer contacts over glasses because contacts maintain better peripheral vision, the reasons number beyond that.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
The Fame
The last time I traveled to Shenzhen, it was poorly orchestrated and we didn't end up seeing that much. I wanted to go back. So the Monday before last, I hoped on the MTR East Rail Line and did just that. With the tickets costing less than $10 USD each way, I figured it would definitely be worth it to go back and check out the place better since last time we ran out of daylight to fully see the place.
Just as a refresher, Shenzhen is the Special Economic Zone (city) in Mainland China that borders Hong Kong to the north. As I remembered through this trip there, Shenzhen is a very new city, set up to take advantage of Hong Kong's special status. My aunt and uncle recounted to me months ago how it used to be a nice, relatively quiet place until its designation as a SEZ in 1980. At that time the city boomed as the mountains were gutted to reclaim the sea. Today, Shenzhen serves as a reminder to how fast development can occur in China. Though it lacks the same level of recognition of Hong Kong, it has at least one million more residents (officially) than Hong Kong.
Admittedly, this trip to Shenzhen was not entirely about sightseeing. I needed a haircut. My uncle told me that it cost him more to cut his hair at the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology in Clearwater Bay, Kowloon than at the local barber in Fremont, California. From this, and in addition to asking my friends here how much they cut their hair for in Hong Kong, I figured it might be worth it to venture out into Mainland China, hereonout in the post referred to as China.
China is known for being cheaper than Hong Kong, as most people would presume. As I would find out later on, some parts are (way) cheaper than others--but that's for later. Shenzhen is famous for its massages--so I figured why not put the two together and and make an experience out of it. As I would later calculate, the haircut and massage (which were inseparable services) plus the round-trip journey on the MTR cost just a little more than a simple haircut in Hong Kong--so I justified this extra expense (less than $5 USD) in the experience to be beheld, or in my case relaxed. A friend of mine felt the same way, so I didn't go alone.
After a couple hours in Hong Kong (bus and subway), we got up to Shenzhen before 11:00 a.m. and proceeded into China. Border control was standard and expected, though this last passing gave me just four pages left in my passport for visas and entry/exit stamps (out of the original fourteen).
Right on the other side sits Shenzhen's main train station, so to prepare for Guilin the coming weekend, we bought tickets to lessen what had to be done later, as well as to save our seats (or in our case beds) in both directions. A friend of mine asked for them in Mandarin, which I later found out I had a lot of trouble doing, but more on that later.
After that we got food and headed off to get our hair cut. The particular place that we went to had to services available: haircut plus Thai massage, and haircut plus Chinese massage. The Thai-style one was longer in duration and more expensive at ¥50 CNY while the Chinese-style one was ¥40 CNY. Not being a huge fan of massages, viewing them more as painful than relaxing, I went for the Chinese-style one and my friend went for the Thai-style one.
I swear they washed my hair at least three times (because I lost count). When that was said and done they wrapped a towel around my head and proceeded to give me the massage. Parts were painful and others were soothing, though in the end I can't say I felt calmer or anything like that. While my masseuse was massaging my left arm, she received a phone call and ended up distracted, massaging that one arm for like ten minutes. Because of the lack of barbers (or for my elitist friends "hair-stylists"), I was told I was going to have to wait for a while before getting my hair cut, so they recommended I just upgrade to the Thai one, so I did--hey, it's all part of the experience, right?
When it was time, I sat in the chair and watched as my hair fell to the floor. As this was the first time cutting my hair since I left California, there was plenty being removed to go around. For the first time in months I could feel the air hovering around my now naked ears. The thing is though that the barber was cutting my hair kind of funny. I felt like it was becoming a mushroom.
In my primary- and secondary-school days, I would hate having my hair cut, and as a result it would grow out. While most wouldn't really care, because it would just get long, my hair happens to be really quite thick, and as such, it would grow more out than down. No matter what style haircut I would get, it would always become mushroom-shaped.
And now my hair was being cut mushroom-shaped.Though I write as if I was doing all the communication, I wasn't. My friend was helping me communicate all the way through alternation between Mandarin and Cantonese that was making my head turn round as I was being asked where I was from and proceeded by something to the effect of "you're Chinese descent." So in this process, My friend helped me ask the barber to make it smaller, and slowly it became so. When he thought it was done, I was sent back to the bed-sink complex for a rinse-off. He then cut it shorter, which required another rinse-off.
After that, to my surprise, he began spiking my hair. Sometimes I push up the front, but that was the only day that I've ever walked around in public with a head full of spiked hair, but whatever. I experienced first-hand what Shenzhen is famous for.
We finished off that day by doing some more sightseeing (which was highly uneventful) followed by street food (which was highly delicious and incredibly cheap). On the journey back to Hong Kong Island, I looked through my passport and realized just how extensively I've traveled. Before coming, I thought I might not even be allowed to exit the SAR without being able to come back to resume my studies as a student based on the wording of my immigration visa. Now all the entrances and exits (plus my Chinese visa) have filled up my pages, and now I have no choice but to say "yes" when people ask, "Are you well traveled?".
Back to my passport, it was advised that some states don't let you into the country without at least four empty passport pages. So this morning, I went to the United States Consulate-General here in Hong Kong and got additional pages added to my passport. They fit kind of funny, but they get the job done.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Just as a refresher, Shenzhen is the Special Economic Zone (city) in Mainland China that borders Hong Kong to the north. As I remembered through this trip there, Shenzhen is a very new city, set up to take advantage of Hong Kong's special status. My aunt and uncle recounted to me months ago how it used to be a nice, relatively quiet place until its designation as a SEZ in 1980. At that time the city boomed as the mountains were gutted to reclaim the sea. Today, Shenzhen serves as a reminder to how fast development can occur in China. Though it lacks the same level of recognition of Hong Kong, it has at least one million more residents (officially) than Hong Kong.
Admittedly, this trip to Shenzhen was not entirely about sightseeing. I needed a haircut. My uncle told me that it cost him more to cut his hair at the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology in Clearwater Bay, Kowloon than at the local barber in Fremont, California. From this, and in addition to asking my friends here how much they cut their hair for in Hong Kong, I figured it might be worth it to venture out into Mainland China, hereonout in the post referred to as China.
China is known for being cheaper than Hong Kong, as most people would presume. As I would find out later on, some parts are (way) cheaper than others--but that's for later. Shenzhen is famous for its massages--so I figured why not put the two together and and make an experience out of it. As I would later calculate, the haircut and massage (which were inseparable services) plus the round-trip journey on the MTR cost just a little more than a simple haircut in Hong Kong--so I justified this extra expense (less than $5 USD) in the experience to be beheld, or in my case relaxed. A friend of mine felt the same way, so I didn't go alone.
After a couple hours in Hong Kong (bus and subway), we got up to Shenzhen before 11:00 a.m. and proceeded into China. Border control was standard and expected, though this last passing gave me just four pages left in my passport for visas and entry/exit stamps (out of the original fourteen).
Right on the other side sits Shenzhen's main train station, so to prepare for Guilin the coming weekend, we bought tickets to lessen what had to be done later, as well as to save our seats (or in our case beds) in both directions. A friend of mine asked for them in Mandarin, which I later found out I had a lot of trouble doing, but more on that later.
After that we got food and headed off to get our hair cut. The particular place that we went to had to services available: haircut plus Thai massage, and haircut plus Chinese massage. The Thai-style one was longer in duration and more expensive at ¥50 CNY while the Chinese-style one was ¥40 CNY. Not being a huge fan of massages, viewing them more as painful than relaxing, I went for the Chinese-style one and my friend went for the Thai-style one.
I swear they washed my hair at least three times (because I lost count). When that was said and done they wrapped a towel around my head and proceeded to give me the massage. Parts were painful and others were soothing, though in the end I can't say I felt calmer or anything like that. While my masseuse was massaging my left arm, she received a phone call and ended up distracted, massaging that one arm for like ten minutes. Because of the lack of barbers (or for my elitist friends "hair-stylists"), I was told I was going to have to wait for a while before getting my hair cut, so they recommended I just upgrade to the Thai one, so I did--hey, it's all part of the experience, right?
When it was time, I sat in the chair and watched as my hair fell to the floor. As this was the first time cutting my hair since I left California, there was plenty being removed to go around. For the first time in months I could feel the air hovering around my now naked ears. The thing is though that the barber was cutting my hair kind of funny. I felt like it was becoming a mushroom.
In my primary- and secondary-school days, I would hate having my hair cut, and as a result it would grow out. While most wouldn't really care, because it would just get long, my hair happens to be really quite thick, and as such, it would grow more out than down. No matter what style haircut I would get, it would always become mushroom-shaped.
And now my hair was being cut mushroom-shaped.Though I write as if I was doing all the communication, I wasn't. My friend was helping me communicate all the way through alternation between Mandarin and Cantonese that was making my head turn round as I was being asked where I was from and proceeded by something to the effect of "you're Chinese descent." So in this process, My friend helped me ask the barber to make it smaller, and slowly it became so. When he thought it was done, I was sent back to the bed-sink complex for a rinse-off. He then cut it shorter, which required another rinse-off.
After that, to my surprise, he began spiking my hair. Sometimes I push up the front, but that was the only day that I've ever walked around in public with a head full of spiked hair, but whatever. I experienced first-hand what Shenzhen is famous for.
We finished off that day by doing some more sightseeing (which was highly uneventful) followed by street food (which was highly delicious and incredibly cheap). On the journey back to Hong Kong Island, I looked through my passport and realized just how extensively I've traveled. Before coming, I thought I might not even be allowed to exit the SAR without being able to come back to resume my studies as a student based on the wording of my immigration visa. Now all the entrances and exits (plus my Chinese visa) have filled up my pages, and now I have no choice but to say "yes" when people ask, "Are you well traveled?".
Back to my passport, it was advised that some states don't let you into the country without at least four empty passport pages. So this morning, I went to the United States Consulate-General here in Hong Kong and got additional pages added to my passport. They fit kind of funny, but they get the job done.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
我咳香港大學嘅學生。
Right after presenting my self-introduction speech to the class, I jetted of to Taipei. That day was made thoroughly busy with the addition of a term-paper project proposal and a Phonetics midterm examination.
But back to the topic of this post, my Cantonese for Foreign Learners 1 class, I have a few more assessments to deal with. Besides the self-introduction speech, there is a group presentation in which we perform a dialogue on any topic we’d like, as well as two reading assessments in which we record ourselves reading a passage and email it to the professor, and a midterm and a final examination.
Like I said, I think I did relatively well on my self-introduction. I believe I hit almost all the tones and got all of the consonants and vowels close to perfect. Especially in comparison to my classmates (who I believe tried dearly), I have reason to believe that I got something in the range of an A on my presentation.
The midterm, which we took the class before the self-introduction presentations I did better than expected on. Using the Jyutping system of Romanization for Cantonese, we have to write either tone marks or tone numbers alongside each individual syllable. While I am confident that I can say words so that they are understood, by direct knowledge of what tone it is wavers with my mood, I suppose.
I got most of the tones right through direct memorization, but when I couldn’t remember, I’d try to remember how I’ve heard the professor say it in my head, and then try to assign a tone number to it. This worked about half the time. Lucky for me though, the professor only marked off like half or a quarter of a percent for each wrong tone. So since I got the actual sounds right on almost everything, I ended up with 91% correct on the midterm.
The class session before the midterm, the first reading assignment was due. I did it in my room while my roommate was away to Macau. I read it over about four times and then proceeded to ask my Cantonese-speaking friend to critique my pronunciation. I probably would’ve asked my mother to critique it as well had it not been for the inconvenience of time zones.
Handing it back, the teacher printed out the dialogue for each of us, circling parts of individual words that we had trouble with. On my sheet, she only marked two tones that I executed poorly, both of which fourth tone (low falling). I ended up with a letter grade A on that assignment.
Half the assignments are done with half to go. My second Cantonese reading assignment is due in her email inbox next Monday and the group presentation script is due the Monday after that with my final examination taking place the Thursday right after that.
So, off to rehearsing for the second reading assignment!
Oh, and by the way, the title is colloquial written Cantonese for the title of my previous Cantonese class post.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
But back to the topic of this post, my Cantonese for Foreign Learners 1 class, I have a few more assessments to deal with. Besides the self-introduction speech, there is a group presentation in which we perform a dialogue on any topic we’d like, as well as two reading assessments in which we record ourselves reading a passage and email it to the professor, and a midterm and a final examination.
Like I said, I think I did relatively well on my self-introduction. I believe I hit almost all the tones and got all of the consonants and vowels close to perfect. Especially in comparison to my classmates (who I believe tried dearly), I have reason to believe that I got something in the range of an A on my presentation.
The midterm, which we took the class before the self-introduction presentations I did better than expected on. Using the Jyutping system of Romanization for Cantonese, we have to write either tone marks or tone numbers alongside each individual syllable. While I am confident that I can say words so that they are understood, by direct knowledge of what tone it is wavers with my mood, I suppose.
I got most of the tones right through direct memorization, but when I couldn’t remember, I’d try to remember how I’ve heard the professor say it in my head, and then try to assign a tone number to it. This worked about half the time. Lucky for me though, the professor only marked off like half or a quarter of a percent for each wrong tone. So since I got the actual sounds right on almost everything, I ended up with 91% correct on the midterm.
The class session before the midterm, the first reading assignment was due. I did it in my room while my roommate was away to Macau. I read it over about four times and then proceeded to ask my Cantonese-speaking friend to critique my pronunciation. I probably would’ve asked my mother to critique it as well had it not been for the inconvenience of time zones.
Handing it back, the teacher printed out the dialogue for each of us, circling parts of individual words that we had trouble with. On my sheet, she only marked two tones that I executed poorly, both of which fourth tone (low falling). I ended up with a letter grade A on that assignment.
Half the assignments are done with half to go. My second Cantonese reading assignment is due in her email inbox next Monday and the group presentation script is due the Monday after that with my final examination taking place the Thursday right after that.
So, off to rehearsing for the second reading assignment!
Oh, and by the way, the title is colloquial written Cantonese for the title of my previous Cantonese class post.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Ngo5 hai6 Hoeng1 Gong2 Dai6 Hok6 ge3 hok6 saang1
So I started realizing about a month ago that I haven't been writing that much about class. So here I'll start.
First up is Cantonese for Foreign Learners 1. Ideally, I've found that for learning languages, practice every day (or at least five days a week) works wonders for subconciously memorizing vast amounts of vocabulary and complex grammatical patterns. Unfortunately, my Cantonese class meets on Mondays and Thursdays for an hour each time. We cover a lot, but the fact that we don't repeat what we learn in class means that I have to study a lot more outside of class.
It's stuctured as we're given material and accomopanying homework than tested on it twice in the semester. So far we've covered the usual topics: acoomodation, self-introduction, money, time, and greetings. And for what we've learned (combined with what I learn myself) I've fared well. In going out of the country I use Cantonese at immigration (though by Hong Kong law I am entitled to use English if I so choose), I manage to hop of minibuses with ease, and ask for directions frequently when infrequently I get lost.
In addition, we have two presentations to deal with. The latter is a group project which we have not yet started. The former is a memorized self-introduction with a minimum of 100 character-syllabes delievered to the class. This self-introduction happened on Friday, right before I departed for Taipei, and by all regards it went well.
I had my speech memorized to the point where I left the script at my dorm that most would use for last-minute review and preparation. I thought I would miss a fair number of tones, but I knew I had all of the phonetic sounds down. The only thing I was lacking was confidence, because while I have little trouble speaking in front of large groups of people, strange as they may be, I've never done so in a foreign language (except in other foreign language classes), and in such a foreign foreign language.
But it went well. With speech not in hand, I delievered it smoothly and confidently. Part of it (bless them for their effort though in learning Cantonese), many of the other students were so poor. Many focused more on the tones than the sounds of the words. Entire consonants were missing as vowels were made to sound overly contrived and highly awkward.
And here's where I get into the nitty gritty of this class. To start things off, when I was learning bits and pieces of Cantonese (never enough to be fluent) from my mother when I was younger, I had already gone through two non-consecutive years of Chinese (Mandarin) school. I was always told that I sounded better in Mandarin than in Cantonese, and in a way that inhibited me from going too much farther.
But in a way, I have something of a natural ability to kind of pick up languages—and whereas everyone honestly does or did, I never seem to have truly lost mine. When speaking Spanish or French, I can go sentences at a time without people thinking i'm a non-native speaker. One woman in France asked me what district of Paris I was from, need I reiterate.
So now in taking Cantonese class here, hearing a native Cantonese speaker speak twice weekly, I find myself sounding more and more native, less and less stilted every day—which is good albeit expected, since the same thing happened to me when I took that year of Mandarin in my last year of high school.
I don't know how nitty gritty I can get into this here for sake of losing eyes, but I'll go so far as to say that we use the Jyutping system in class. Most of the vowels used don't correspond to English, though the consonants do, so go look it up in a book or online. But for the tones, we use six in the class (though some scholars have counted up to a dozen). Basically the first (1) is high-level, the second (2) is high rising, the third (3) is mid-level, the fourth (4) is mid-low falling, fifth (5) is low falling then rising, and sixth (6) is low-level.
So if you speak Cantonese, the sentence "Ngo5 hai6 Hoeng1 Gong2 Dai6 Hok6 ge3 hok6 saang1" means I am a Hong Kong University student."
More to come.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
First up is Cantonese for Foreign Learners 1. Ideally, I've found that for learning languages, practice every day (or at least five days a week) works wonders for subconciously memorizing vast amounts of vocabulary and complex grammatical patterns. Unfortunately, my Cantonese class meets on Mondays and Thursdays for an hour each time. We cover a lot, but the fact that we don't repeat what we learn in class means that I have to study a lot more outside of class.
It's stuctured as we're given material and accomopanying homework than tested on it twice in the semester. So far we've covered the usual topics: acoomodation, self-introduction, money, time, and greetings. And for what we've learned (combined with what I learn myself) I've fared well. In going out of the country I use Cantonese at immigration (though by Hong Kong law I am entitled to use English if I so choose), I manage to hop of minibuses with ease, and ask for directions frequently when infrequently I get lost.
In addition, we have two presentations to deal with. The latter is a group project which we have not yet started. The former is a memorized self-introduction with a minimum of 100 character-syllabes delievered to the class. This self-introduction happened on Friday, right before I departed for Taipei, and by all regards it went well.
I had my speech memorized to the point where I left the script at my dorm that most would use for last-minute review and preparation. I thought I would miss a fair number of tones, but I knew I had all of the phonetic sounds down. The only thing I was lacking was confidence, because while I have little trouble speaking in front of large groups of people, strange as they may be, I've never done so in a foreign language (except in other foreign language classes), and in such a foreign foreign language.
But it went well. With speech not in hand, I delievered it smoothly and confidently. Part of it (bless them for their effort though in learning Cantonese), many of the other students were so poor. Many focused more on the tones than the sounds of the words. Entire consonants were missing as vowels were made to sound overly contrived and highly awkward.
And here's where I get into the nitty gritty of this class. To start things off, when I was learning bits and pieces of Cantonese (never enough to be fluent) from my mother when I was younger, I had already gone through two non-consecutive years of Chinese (Mandarin) school. I was always told that I sounded better in Mandarin than in Cantonese, and in a way that inhibited me from going too much farther.
But in a way, I have something of a natural ability to kind of pick up languages—and whereas everyone honestly does or did, I never seem to have truly lost mine. When speaking Spanish or French, I can go sentences at a time without people thinking i'm a non-native speaker. One woman in France asked me what district of Paris I was from, need I reiterate.
So now in taking Cantonese class here, hearing a native Cantonese speaker speak twice weekly, I find myself sounding more and more native, less and less stilted every day—which is good albeit expected, since the same thing happened to me when I took that year of Mandarin in my last year of high school.
I don't know how nitty gritty I can get into this here for sake of losing eyes, but I'll go so far as to say that we use the Jyutping system in class. Most of the vowels used don't correspond to English, though the consonants do, so go look it up in a book or online. But for the tones, we use six in the class (though some scholars have counted up to a dozen). Basically the first (1) is high-level, the second (2) is high rising, the third (3) is mid-level, the fourth (4) is mid-low falling, fifth (5) is low falling then rising, and sixth (6) is low-level.
So if you speak Cantonese, the sentence "Ngo5 hai6 Hoeng1 Gong2 Dai6 Hok6 ge3 hok6 saang1" means I am a Hong Kong University student."
More to come.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
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