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.
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
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 30, 2009
Phuket: Expats and Australians
The second day we had to wake up way early. We had scheduled a boat tour stopping at three places the day before. I’m still not completely sure where we ended up going, but it was definitely worth the money and the devotion of one full day.
At something like 7:40 a.m. we pushed ourselves out of the hotel’s front door. There, after a five-minute wait, came a minibus to pick us up and transport us to the boat dock on the other side of the island. Along the way, the bus gradually filled up to the brim with passengers from other hotels as well.
We got to the dock to find crowds of people there. It kind of reminded me of my hometown—it was 80% white, which, while not necessarily a bad thing, was definitely unexpected.
Snooping around and listening to the noise, it became clear that a great deal of them were Australian. There were some French and English people, but the Australians were so prevalent that one of my friends who is Australian herself told me that their stereotypical accent was annoying. I have often had the same sentiment as of late, I’ve noticed. Copious amounts of the word “like,” in conjunction with rising intonation at the end of every sentence—“They talk in questions!”—has really begun to irk me.
The boat that we loaded onto had three decks—the lowest and cheapest, the middle V.I.P. section, and the upper deck not reserved. As expected, the crowds flocked up to the upper deck, for the views, for the air, for whatever. We claimed the cheap seats that we were meant to claim, which was fine, because there was plenty of open space on the middle deck for fresh air and water viewing—or so I thought.
We arrived at the first stop about half an hour after disembarking. With white-sand beaches, there were plenty of lawn chairs (that turned out to cost money, so we moved), and colorful fish to go around. To get off the boat, we had to get onto smaller (motorized) boats to get to shore.
One of my friends bought bread for the fish (that they were selling onboard), and she shared it with us. Like little kids, we threw the bread into the water and watched the fish converge. I started with small niblets that were consumed quickly, but I ended up submerging the rest of my piece in the water, allowing the fish to take hits at it while I still held the other side.
My friends proceeded to have drinks out of pineapples while I consumed a can of Coke. They then posed with the tops on their heads like hats. The weather wasn’t overly sunny. In fact, it was more overcast in nature, and it seemed like it was going to rain.
I know that I have trouble with weather. I complain in rain, I know, and whine when the temperature is less than 60 degrees. The thing is that I have trouble predicting weather as well. The first time it rained while I was in Hong Kong, I stepped out of the front door of the hall with a short-sleeved shirt, short pants, and flip-flops. That day, I slipped twice, and bought an umbrella. The next day I slipped again and waterlogged my right foot in a wet shoe. At least the second day I had a sweater. In planning for Taipei, I figured that since the temperature said 29 degrees Celsius, I wouldn’t have to worry about rain. Wow, was I wrong. The first two days it poured like I’d not seen in a long time. There, I bought another umbrella (this time plaid). I guess in California, it has to be under a certain temperature to start raining, and if it’s about to rain, the temperature will first drop.
And it started to rain when we were back on the big boat, going from the first destination to the second. (The first I can’t remember the name; the second Maya Bay). All the people lounged on the upmost deck started coming down, and I had the pleasure of informing them that the seats around me were taken. When it stopped raining between the second destination and the third (Maya Bay and Phi Phi Island), they selfishly went right back up to their undeserved seats.
Also, sitting down on the boat took longer than necessary, specifically and definitely because people filing on wanted to get their hands on the buffet onboard before sitting down. They just couldn’t sit down and allow everyone else to sit down so that the boat could start going before they crowded the buffet trays. Oh well.
Maya Bay was amazing. With sheer cliffs surrounding the bay, except for one private beach area, the water was deep. The tour came with snorkeling equipment, so we went snorkeling around the bay, diving and encountering fish. The water was cold (though not as bad as my parents’ pool) and the fish remained systematically unfriendly, but the experience was amazing. I had snorkeled before, the latest that I can remember being in La Jolla Cove (near UCSD).
I also learned about some sea critters that I had no knowledge of. In the water, it felt like I was getting pinched all over, but not by fingers. My Australian friend enlightened me to the fact that those were sea lice, and that she has them back home. Apparently, I could feel only around a quarter of the bites plaguing me.
Between the second and third destinations, there was about an hour of travel time. Getting seasick inside, we headed out to the deck. The spacious room seemingly apparent earlier in the trip seemed to disappear under the crowds—and by crowds, there couldn’t’ve been more than fifteen people on the bow of the vessel. The three-to-four person benches were being occupied by but a few (large and) inconsiderate people. To onlookers, they gave haughty looks, like they deserved those seats. And maybe they did deserve those seats, because the four of us got a deal on that daytrip. The price advertised for the day was ฿2200 THB per person ($66 USD), but when the four of us asked for a discount (because the travel agents give them out left and right), they quoted for the four of us just ฿3600 total, or ฿900 per person ($27 USD). In short, anyone who didn’t ask for a discount got gypped. We resorted to standing along the edge of the boat with plenty of fresh air but not seats.
The last stop on that trip was a town on Phi Phi Island. It was most definitely a tourist town, but walking through it, hawkers weren’t nearly as aggressive back on Phuket Island. They only started if you walked into their shop, having of course shown interest.
Wondering what I bought in Thailand, then? Well I bought a few postcards to send back home, but also I got a few novelty-type t-shirts. One said Red Bull (as in the energy drink brand) in Thai along with the iconic logo. Originally, Red Bull is from Thailand and its English name is a direct translation from the Thai name กระทิงแดง, and not the other way around. The other was a Coca-Cola t-shirt in Thai. My friend going to India said that if she found an iconic logo in a foreign language on a t-shirt, she would post me one.
The town was more peaceful and quiet than Patong Beach, and when we went exploring, we ended up on a different beachfront and had to retrace our steps to get back to the proper beach (and eventually the boat). Along the way were multiple companies offering diving and scuba certification. If I had free time and unrestricted money, I would do that.
The journey back to the dock on Phuket Island was an hour and forty-five minutes. This was followed by a cramped minibus ride back to Patong Beach, with me keeping my knees firmly touching so that I was not nudging the guy on my left and so that I didn’t hit the gearshift on the right. (The driver sat on my right, as the country drives on the left for the most part).
That was a tiring day and a tiring night. We went through many more markets and I found myself buying like 24 fl. oz. of Thai tea from the neighborhood 7-Eleven. Going through the markets was much more fun than going through markets in Hong Kong and Mainland China because the semblance of those places (such as Stanley Market on the south side of Hong Kong Island) to Chinatowns back home (I’ve been to those of Los Angeles—Chinatown and Monterey Park, San Francisco, and Chicago), is quite high. However, in Thailand, the merchandise and the approach to salesmanship were so different.
That night, I did little studying. The next day, we flew back to Hong Kong. After the same minibus ride, we arrived at the small airport to find lines flying like rat-tails out of the entrances. After waiting and entering the building, we realized that it was because they do security checks upon entrance into the building, rather than after check-in, as I’ve seen in all other airports.
I ended up studying less than imagined on the plane because I was super tired. Though the test went alright, I wondered a mere day earlier what was with the plane that I was on. The airplane (an Airbus I believe) was billowing steam from the joints between the overhead compartments and the walls and ceiling. It became more disconcerting as it became so noticeable that people began taking pictures of it as it obscured the ceiling. Eventually it subsided and I was never so glad to land as I was during that flight.
It’s a shame that I didn’t get to travel more outside of Greater China, this trip has made me realize. No matter how much Taiwan tries to act independent and no matter how much Hong Kongers look down at Mainland Chinese habits, the fact of the matter is that the places are so much more similar to each other than to other east Asian countries, and for that I feel I’m missing out.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
At something like 7:40 a.m. we pushed ourselves out of the hotel’s front door. There, after a five-minute wait, came a minibus to pick us up and transport us to the boat dock on the other side of the island. Along the way, the bus gradually filled up to the brim with passengers from other hotels as well.
We got to the dock to find crowds of people there. It kind of reminded me of my hometown—it was 80% white, which, while not necessarily a bad thing, was definitely unexpected.
Snooping around and listening to the noise, it became clear that a great deal of them were Australian. There were some French and English people, but the Australians were so prevalent that one of my friends who is Australian herself told me that their stereotypical accent was annoying. I have often had the same sentiment as of late, I’ve noticed. Copious amounts of the word “like,” in conjunction with rising intonation at the end of every sentence—“They talk in questions!”—has really begun to irk me.
The boat that we loaded onto had three decks—the lowest and cheapest, the middle V.I.P. section, and the upper deck not reserved. As expected, the crowds flocked up to the upper deck, for the views, for the air, for whatever. We claimed the cheap seats that we were meant to claim, which was fine, because there was plenty of open space on the middle deck for fresh air and water viewing—or so I thought.
We arrived at the first stop about half an hour after disembarking. With white-sand beaches, there were plenty of lawn chairs (that turned out to cost money, so we moved), and colorful fish to go around. To get off the boat, we had to get onto smaller (motorized) boats to get to shore.
One of my friends bought bread for the fish (that they were selling onboard), and she shared it with us. Like little kids, we threw the bread into the water and watched the fish converge. I started with small niblets that were consumed quickly, but I ended up submerging the rest of my piece in the water, allowing the fish to take hits at it while I still held the other side.
My friends proceeded to have drinks out of pineapples while I consumed a can of Coke. They then posed with the tops on their heads like hats. The weather wasn’t overly sunny. In fact, it was more overcast in nature, and it seemed like it was going to rain.
I know that I have trouble with weather. I complain in rain, I know, and whine when the temperature is less than 60 degrees. The thing is that I have trouble predicting weather as well. The first time it rained while I was in Hong Kong, I stepped out of the front door of the hall with a short-sleeved shirt, short pants, and flip-flops. That day, I slipped twice, and bought an umbrella. The next day I slipped again and waterlogged my right foot in a wet shoe. At least the second day I had a sweater. In planning for Taipei, I figured that since the temperature said 29 degrees Celsius, I wouldn’t have to worry about rain. Wow, was I wrong. The first two days it poured like I’d not seen in a long time. There, I bought another umbrella (this time plaid). I guess in California, it has to be under a certain temperature to start raining, and if it’s about to rain, the temperature will first drop.
And it started to rain when we were back on the big boat, going from the first destination to the second. (The first I can’t remember the name; the second Maya Bay). All the people lounged on the upmost deck started coming down, and I had the pleasure of informing them that the seats around me were taken. When it stopped raining between the second destination and the third (Maya Bay and Phi Phi Island), they selfishly went right back up to their undeserved seats.
Also, sitting down on the boat took longer than necessary, specifically and definitely because people filing on wanted to get their hands on the buffet onboard before sitting down. They just couldn’t sit down and allow everyone else to sit down so that the boat could start going before they crowded the buffet trays. Oh well.
Maya Bay was amazing. With sheer cliffs surrounding the bay, except for one private beach area, the water was deep. The tour came with snorkeling equipment, so we went snorkeling around the bay, diving and encountering fish. The water was cold (though not as bad as my parents’ pool) and the fish remained systematically unfriendly, but the experience was amazing. I had snorkeled before, the latest that I can remember being in La Jolla Cove (near UCSD).
I also learned about some sea critters that I had no knowledge of. In the water, it felt like I was getting pinched all over, but not by fingers. My Australian friend enlightened me to the fact that those were sea lice, and that she has them back home. Apparently, I could feel only around a quarter of the bites plaguing me.
Between the second and third destinations, there was about an hour of travel time. Getting seasick inside, we headed out to the deck. The spacious room seemingly apparent earlier in the trip seemed to disappear under the crowds—and by crowds, there couldn’t’ve been more than fifteen people on the bow of the vessel. The three-to-four person benches were being occupied by but a few (large and) inconsiderate people. To onlookers, they gave haughty looks, like they deserved those seats. And maybe they did deserve those seats, because the four of us got a deal on that daytrip. The price advertised for the day was ฿2200 THB per person ($66 USD), but when the four of us asked for a discount (because the travel agents give them out left and right), they quoted for the four of us just ฿3600 total, or ฿900 per person ($27 USD). In short, anyone who didn’t ask for a discount got gypped. We resorted to standing along the edge of the boat with plenty of fresh air but not seats.
The last stop on that trip was a town on Phi Phi Island. It was most definitely a tourist town, but walking through it, hawkers weren’t nearly as aggressive back on Phuket Island. They only started if you walked into their shop, having of course shown interest.
Wondering what I bought in Thailand, then? Well I bought a few postcards to send back home, but also I got a few novelty-type t-shirts. One said Red Bull (as in the energy drink brand) in Thai along with the iconic logo. Originally, Red Bull is from Thailand and its English name is a direct translation from the Thai name กระทิงแดง, and not the other way around. The other was a Coca-Cola t-shirt in Thai. My friend going to India said that if she found an iconic logo in a foreign language on a t-shirt, she would post me one.
The town was more peaceful and quiet than Patong Beach, and when we went exploring, we ended up on a different beachfront and had to retrace our steps to get back to the proper beach (and eventually the boat). Along the way were multiple companies offering diving and scuba certification. If I had free time and unrestricted money, I would do that.
The journey back to the dock on Phuket Island was an hour and forty-five minutes. This was followed by a cramped minibus ride back to Patong Beach, with me keeping my knees firmly touching so that I was not nudging the guy on my left and so that I didn’t hit the gearshift on the right. (The driver sat on my right, as the country drives on the left for the most part).
That was a tiring day and a tiring night. We went through many more markets and I found myself buying like 24 fl. oz. of Thai tea from the neighborhood 7-Eleven. Going through the markets was much more fun than going through markets in Hong Kong and Mainland China because the semblance of those places (such as Stanley Market on the south side of Hong Kong Island) to Chinatowns back home (I’ve been to those of Los Angeles—Chinatown and Monterey Park, San Francisco, and Chicago), is quite high. However, in Thailand, the merchandise and the approach to salesmanship were so different.
That night, I did little studying. The next day, we flew back to Hong Kong. After the same minibus ride, we arrived at the small airport to find lines flying like rat-tails out of the entrances. After waiting and entering the building, we realized that it was because they do security checks upon entrance into the building, rather than after check-in, as I’ve seen in all other airports.
I ended up studying less than imagined on the plane because I was super tired. Though the test went alright, I wondered a mere day earlier what was with the plane that I was on. The airplane (an Airbus I believe) was billowing steam from the joints between the overhead compartments and the walls and ceiling. It became more disconcerting as it became so noticeable that people began taking pictures of it as it obscured the ceiling. Eventually it subsided and I was never so glad to land as I was during that flight.
It’s a shame that I didn’t get to travel more outside of Greater China, this trip has made me realize. No matter how much Taiwan tries to act independent and no matter how much Hong Kongers look down at Mainland Chinese habits, the fact of the matter is that the places are so much more similar to each other than to other east Asian countries, and for that I feel I’m missing out.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Phuket: Pad Thai and Elephants
As of late, I’ve had to focus my time and effort into my studies, so my blogging has unfortunately not been as frequent as I like. As a result, I’ve begun to fall behind again.
Now two weekends ago, we managed to make our way over to Phuket, Thailand (ภูเก็ต). The name isn’t pronounced as crudely as it looks. As I was enlightened, the “h” in Phuket (as well as in “Thai”) denotes aspiration, think puff of air, rather than an “f” (or “th”) sound in conjunction with the “p” (or “t”). As such the “Ph” at the beginning as “p” like at the beginning of the word “pin.” Glad we got that one straightened out.
Secondly, Phuket is an island, according to my research. Telling my friends though was an uphill battle, as I had to contend with faulty logic in convincing them—example of which include: “I don’t think it’s an island because I don’t think it’s an island;” “But there’s buses going to Phuket”—ever heard of bridges?; and my favorite, “It doesn’t look like it on the flight map”—well I’m sorry, but small islands aren’t worth drawing as separate from the mainland when covered by a dot and lines—does Singapore look like an island on the flight map? As I would later find out, that friend didn’t know Singapore’s land mass consists of one main island and a number of smaller ones. And Australia is smaller than China, but only by about two million square kilometers. Cool.
Well we landed after four hours of flying from Hong Kong (I remember five hours from Los Angeles to Washington, D.C.), and went through immigration. Like in Taiwan, the officers stapled our departure cards to our passports, but we went through without a hitch.
On the other side, I pointed out the stand of tourist maps saying “Welcome to Phuket Island” in English and when we went up to the taxi counter to get transportation to our hotel about an hour away at Patong Beach (หาดป่าตอง), there was a map clear as day showing the island formation. Without rubbing it too much into their faces, I gave them haughty looks for fun as they looked away in shame, realizing that their (faulty) logic had been to no avail.
We ended up in a minibus (smaller than Hong Kong minibuses) to Patong Beach and our lodging, the Patong Swiss Hotel. The whole ride was in the dark, but from what I could see (mostly buildings), it became obvious that we weren’t in China anymore. The funny thing was that this was the first time on the whole trip that we (myself included) had been outside Greater China. As I’ve just recently figured out, this was to be my last trip outside Greater China before going back to California.
The thing is, though, that despite the fact that we were in a foreign foreign country, there was more English on signs and in general than Thai (which by the way is quite aesthetically pleasing). Our minibus stopped midway at a storefront to collect our tickets, and after politely refusing their tours and excursions, I got back onto the bus.
Arriving at the Patong Swiss Hotel, I was exhausted. By this time, it was about 1:00 a.m. Hong Kong Time and about midnight local time. Ready to lie down, we checked in to find that they had given us just two beds for our five-person reservation. One person got sick though before the trip, so we arrived as four. So the first night we ended up sharing beds, though the next morning we were given two bigger rooms (and me my own bed). Like in Guilin, the showers were without curtains, which only meant to me that the cleaners would have more work (though I tried hard not to get water everywhere).
That first night, I studied for my Fine Arts final, which was to take place the day after we got back to Hong Kong. The rest of them went out exploring Patong Beach nightlife.
The first morning, I woke up in a rut. It was quite hot and humid (though admittedly not as bad as my first weeks in Hong Kong), and we had just come from sub-75 degree temperatures back in the SAR.
After getting ready, we went out the front door, and much to my amazement, the beach lay right across the (two-lane) street from the hotel. I hadn’t noticed it at all the night before! I guess I forgot that my friend booked us a beachfront hotel.
We walked a couple blocks along that street. What was expected were the large volumes of shops selling merchandise, particularly knock-off brands. What wasn’t expected was the large number of expats there—and I say expats rather than tourists because most men were hand in hand with Thai women (though I remain open to the interpretation that many of them could just be escort). It was odd to see such a large expat population, but on the other hand it wasn’t unreasonable since they, along with the large numbers of European and Australian tourists present, were the reason for all the English signage.
Walking by, the hawkers try to grab your attention—and they do it much better than in Mainland China and definitely better than in Hong Kong, where they don’t even attempt. There, they understood the value of the relationship in business. Rather than pulling you in by listing off their merchandise, they’d start by “Hello, where are you from?” or “My you’re handsome,” or something to that effect. I personally got a lot of “你好s.” One of my American friends who speaks Cantonese answered back: “I speak Cantonese” in English, to which I laughed.
We got breakfast at one of the many done-up venues. I got some authentic Pad Thai, which was delicious, and some (real?) Thai Tea, which tasted more like cold milk than anything else.
This is the only trip that I took this term that I didn’t really take to get any historical culture out of—no sightseeing, more fun I suppose (though I enjoy sightseeing).
So that day we actually got to ride (Asian) elephants. It cost ฿500 Thai Baht for a half hour (฿33 Baht = $1 USD), so that was like $15 USD. The experience wasn’t really like I’d imagined. I’ve ridden on horseback on multiple occasions (and my fair share of carnival ponies when I was under three feet tall), but never an elephant.
There was a platform to mount them that was a good ten feet in the air. Getting on was intimidating, as you were to step onto the elephant’s back to get into the seat secured on the elephant. The guide sat right behind its head, on its neck with his feet touching the elephant’s ears. To move left, the guide would shake the elephant’s left ear with his left foot, and to move right, the guide would shake the elephant’s right year with his right foot.
The whole thing made us feel oddly sad for the elephants, and remembering back the horses, I remember having similar sentiments, only to cast them off by saying that we aren’t the first to do this.
We were taking all over a muddy trail. The barefooted guide dismounted the elephant halfway and took pictures of us, this led the elephant back to the base with voice commands. At one point, the elephant began to make a wrong turn, and the guide hit its right leg hard with a sickle-looking rod, making a vicious sound and making us wonder what was going on.
I guess we couldn’t help but to feel sorry for the elephants. I guess you could hope that at least they are well taken care of and fed properly. As we dismounted the elephants, one put its trunk up on the platform. My friends petted it, thanking him (or her) for his (or her) service. I guess I was too busy taking photos, because as I reached my hand out after putting my camera away, it retracted its trunk and went on its way.
The rest of the day we went around the shops and played a modified (and more intense) form of Jenga at a bar. At night, we got Mexican food. Right after, I went back to the hotel to keep studying for my Asian Art History class.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Now two weekends ago, we managed to make our way over to Phuket, Thailand (ภูเก็ต). The name isn’t pronounced as crudely as it looks. As I was enlightened, the “h” in Phuket (as well as in “Thai”) denotes aspiration, think puff of air, rather than an “f” (or “th”) sound in conjunction with the “p” (or “t”). As such the “Ph” at the beginning as “p” like at the beginning of the word “pin.” Glad we got that one straightened out.
Secondly, Phuket is an island, according to my research. Telling my friends though was an uphill battle, as I had to contend with faulty logic in convincing them—example of which include: “I don’t think it’s an island because I don’t think it’s an island;” “But there’s buses going to Phuket”—ever heard of bridges?; and my favorite, “It doesn’t look like it on the flight map”—well I’m sorry, but small islands aren’t worth drawing as separate from the mainland when covered by a dot and lines—does Singapore look like an island on the flight map? As I would later find out, that friend didn’t know Singapore’s land mass consists of one main island and a number of smaller ones. And Australia is smaller than China, but only by about two million square kilometers. Cool.
Well we landed after four hours of flying from Hong Kong (I remember five hours from Los Angeles to Washington, D.C.), and went through immigration. Like in Taiwan, the officers stapled our departure cards to our passports, but we went through without a hitch.
On the other side, I pointed out the stand of tourist maps saying “Welcome to Phuket Island” in English and when we went up to the taxi counter to get transportation to our hotel about an hour away at Patong Beach (หาดป่าตอง), there was a map clear as day showing the island formation. Without rubbing it too much into their faces, I gave them haughty looks for fun as they looked away in shame, realizing that their (faulty) logic had been to no avail.
We ended up in a minibus (smaller than Hong Kong minibuses) to Patong Beach and our lodging, the Patong Swiss Hotel. The whole ride was in the dark, but from what I could see (mostly buildings), it became obvious that we weren’t in China anymore. The funny thing was that this was the first time on the whole trip that we (myself included) had been outside Greater China. As I’ve just recently figured out, this was to be my last trip outside Greater China before going back to California.
The thing is, though, that despite the fact that we were in a foreign foreign country, there was more English on signs and in general than Thai (which by the way is quite aesthetically pleasing). Our minibus stopped midway at a storefront to collect our tickets, and after politely refusing their tours and excursions, I got back onto the bus.
Arriving at the Patong Swiss Hotel, I was exhausted. By this time, it was about 1:00 a.m. Hong Kong Time and about midnight local time. Ready to lie down, we checked in to find that they had given us just two beds for our five-person reservation. One person got sick though before the trip, so we arrived as four. So the first night we ended up sharing beds, though the next morning we were given two bigger rooms (and me my own bed). Like in Guilin, the showers were without curtains, which only meant to me that the cleaners would have more work (though I tried hard not to get water everywhere).
That first night, I studied for my Fine Arts final, which was to take place the day after we got back to Hong Kong. The rest of them went out exploring Patong Beach nightlife.
The first morning, I woke up in a rut. It was quite hot and humid (though admittedly not as bad as my first weeks in Hong Kong), and we had just come from sub-75 degree temperatures back in the SAR.
After getting ready, we went out the front door, and much to my amazement, the beach lay right across the (two-lane) street from the hotel. I hadn’t noticed it at all the night before! I guess I forgot that my friend booked us a beachfront hotel.
We walked a couple blocks along that street. What was expected were the large volumes of shops selling merchandise, particularly knock-off brands. What wasn’t expected was the large number of expats there—and I say expats rather than tourists because most men were hand in hand with Thai women (though I remain open to the interpretation that many of them could just be escort). It was odd to see such a large expat population, but on the other hand it wasn’t unreasonable since they, along with the large numbers of European and Australian tourists present, were the reason for all the English signage.
Walking by, the hawkers try to grab your attention—and they do it much better than in Mainland China and definitely better than in Hong Kong, where they don’t even attempt. There, they understood the value of the relationship in business. Rather than pulling you in by listing off their merchandise, they’d start by “Hello, where are you from?” or “My you’re handsome,” or something to that effect. I personally got a lot of “你好s.” One of my American friends who speaks Cantonese answered back: “I speak Cantonese” in English, to which I laughed.
We got breakfast at one of the many done-up venues. I got some authentic Pad Thai, which was delicious, and some (real?) Thai Tea, which tasted more like cold milk than anything else.
This is the only trip that I took this term that I didn’t really take to get any historical culture out of—no sightseeing, more fun I suppose (though I enjoy sightseeing).
So that day we actually got to ride (Asian) elephants. It cost ฿500 Thai Baht for a half hour (฿33 Baht = $1 USD), so that was like $15 USD. The experience wasn’t really like I’d imagined. I’ve ridden on horseback on multiple occasions (and my fair share of carnival ponies when I was under three feet tall), but never an elephant.
There was a platform to mount them that was a good ten feet in the air. Getting on was intimidating, as you were to step onto the elephant’s back to get into the seat secured on the elephant. The guide sat right behind its head, on its neck with his feet touching the elephant’s ears. To move left, the guide would shake the elephant’s left ear with his left foot, and to move right, the guide would shake the elephant’s right year with his right foot.
The whole thing made us feel oddly sad for the elephants, and remembering back the horses, I remember having similar sentiments, only to cast them off by saying that we aren’t the first to do this.
We were taking all over a muddy trail. The barefooted guide dismounted the elephant halfway and took pictures of us, this led the elephant back to the base with voice commands. At one point, the elephant began to make a wrong turn, and the guide hit its right leg hard with a sickle-looking rod, making a vicious sound and making us wonder what was going on.
I guess we couldn’t help but to feel sorry for the elephants. I guess you could hope that at least they are well taken care of and fed properly. As we dismounted the elephants, one put its trunk up on the platform. My friends petted it, thanking him (or her) for his (or her) service. I guess I was too busy taking photos, because as I reached my hand out after putting my camera away, it retracted its trunk and went on its way.
The rest of the day we went around the shops and played a modified (and more intense) form of Jenga at a bar. At night, we got Mexican food. Right after, I went back to the hotel to keep studying for my Asian Art History class.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Guilin: Everything but Seven Star
The second day started off really early. Our group was now half what it was yesterday (six versus three), but only two of us managed to get up when we decided. We had a Li River cruise to get to with a shuttle bus picking us up at 8:10 a.m., so in order to get out onto the street and get breakfast before then, we decided to be out the door by 6:30, meaning we had to be awake by 6:00.
It was cold in the morning with the air as fresh as ever. We walked a few blocks down the main street and turned into that sidestreet where we went before to get Guilin noodles once more--and once again, they were quite good. By the time we finished, it was still early, with about an hour and a half to go before needing to get back to the hotel.
I guess Guilin Riverside Hotel is pretty centrally located in the city. One of the main symbols of the city, Elephant Trunk Hill (象鼻山) was just a few main streets to the east, so we headed out there. used in many a Chinese movie, this rock formation is unique in that its face has a large hole in it, so that one side looks like an elephant and the other side looks like its trunk.
My friend couldn't see it, but in my opinon, it's like observing constellations--just take it as it is and know that it's not bad to have just a bit of imagination. If you recall, water levels are low at the moment in Guilin, so Elephant Trunk Hill wasn't quite like the pictures. And in a ploy to make more money, viewing spots along the city streets have been blocked by copious amounts of foliage, so the entrance fee of ¥30 CNY per person to the viewing areas within the park becomes imperative.
This entrance fee is by land I guess, because as we were walking to the gate, we got offered by one of the many, many people looking for money a boat ride to see Elephant Trunk Hill from the river. And at ¥30 for the two of us, so ¥15 each, it was a good deal.
The boat that we were taken on had a flat bamboo bottom and was powered by a loud motor. Set up for passengers were simple chairs on the deck. He dropped us off and waited for us on an island in the middle of the river as we took pictures--and that's all we could do without entering the park--take pictures.
Heading back to the hotel, we saw our friend who had just woken up. He was heading over to the Guilin noodles place for breakfast as well and looked like he was going to make it well in time for the shuttle bus to the Li River Cruise.
On the shuttle bus, we met a couple from San Francisco. They were in the process of travelling all around the central and east Asia. Already they had gone to Azerbaijan and some other places that I can't remember. They came in through China along the historic Silk Road and explored several communities around Urumqi in Xianjiang. Already they had been exploring China for a month or two and had a month or two left until arriving in India where they had family.
We happened to book the English tour, which meant that the hour-long bus ride to where the boat was docked, somewhere down the river, was narrated by an English-speaking tour guide. Ours was named Eda in English, though everyone called her Shopping, since her Chinese name was something like Sha-ping in Pinyin.
She gave us some history behind Guilin and explained to us some of the ethnic minorities. One of which, for an extra price, we were going to see.
Our boat sat around one hundred people, with the upper deck for viewing and VIPs with a third level opened mid-way through the cruise for additional viewing. The seats were organized linearly on either side of rectangular tables on either side of the boat. There were eight seats per table.
The boat ride lasted about four hours as we went from near Guilin to Yangshuo, a tourist town. The water leve was noticeably low, for as a majority of the journey the bed of the river was visible from above. In addition, the river was crowded with boats full of tourists much like ours, and for the majority of the cruise we were riding the tail of the boat in front of us.
Though the weather was sunny, it seemed that there was a haze in the air that distorted the iconic mountains. Looking back through my photos, it's prettier now that when I was actually there. Along the cruise, we saw various named sights such as Nine Horses and Five Finger Hill, as well as the scene on the ¥20 CNY bill whose name I can't remember.
Just like on land, people (on boats) were trying to sell us stuff. The would dock alongside the moving larger boats and advertise their goods. People could open their windows on the main deck to buy stuff. People like me on the upper deck could reach down to grab some goods. I bought a fruit from a guy on a small bamboo boat. It cost me ¥5 and when I bought it he took out his big cleaver and cut off much of the thick skin surrounding what I was to discover was a highly seedy, albeit ripe and sweet, citrus fruit.
Check out the pictures of the Li River cruise for more on that. Most of the pictures speak for themselves.Oh and there were lots of animals to be seen from the boat.
Arriving in Yangshuo, we were bombarded with hawkers. For the next part of the tour, we were to meet half an hour later on the other side of the town at the Kentucky Fried Chicken. Sha-ping had to make sure we met in front of the correct one, because half a block further was a look-alike KFC. During that half-hour, we strolled around the town. It was noticeably done up and had a variety of ATMs as well as a McDonald's with a private pond. I ended up buying a piece of rice put into a vial and decorated into jewelry. What was so special about this grain of rice was that the guy was able to write my whole name on it.
As the second part of the tour came around, I realized how glad I was to have stayed for the extra day. The first stop was a rural village way outside the city. They had just about finished harvesting their rice and as such their rice patties had grounded stubs of what remained in the fields instead of flooded terraces.
We were shown onto a historic bridge that was built by a scholar in memory of someone in a story I can't quite remember. From there we could see Lion's Head Mountain, which from the right angle took very little imagination to see. Also on the bridge, we were away from boat traffic, meaning the water was calm enough to get the reflections of the mountains in the water.
Heading back to the bus, the tour guide Sha-ping bought us tangarines that were quite sweet. While I was eating mine, I found myself having to get out of the way as a farmer with two bulls came through. My two friends didn't feel anything special about it they say, because one's been in Iranian villages and one's been in many a Taishan village. I, however, saw something in it than they did because it was just so different and so much more charming than anything I'd ever been to, seen, or done.
Continuing on, we went to see one of the ethnic minorities. It was obviously there for the tourists, as many members of these ethnic minorities live urban lives. Many are not discernable from Han members of society. I can't find the official name for these people, but Sha-ping kept referring to them as the Drum people.
This leg of the trip entailed a bamboo boat ride (four for our group to be exact). They had the same single layer of bamboo keeping us afloat, and with the river being so shallow, the people maneuvering the boats weren't so much rowing as pushing the boat with a long piece of bamboo making contact with the riverbed. After asking, we were allowed to try our hand at it, and, as expected, it required a lot of upper body strength to propel and a lot of practice to steer accurately.
As part of the entertainment, a woman from the Drum people sang serenading songs on the boats. According to Sha-ping, they have a courtship tradition in which young men and young women sing to each other, at which point the young woman gives the young man this ball-shaped ornament (for lack of a more precise word) to be worn around the neck. Our entertainer had five to give away as souvenirs, and to get one, one of my friends serenaded her with the old Iranian national anthem, which was anything but romantic.
Down on the other side of the lake, we alighted. Farmers had their water oxen out for us to intereact with. (I heard some people on the Li River cruise call them 水牛.) After a little walk to get there (and some pictures of the scenery), we were given bits of lettuce to feed them. After making sure than no cow was going to charge me (the animals were all quite docile) and seeing that other people were doing it as well without issue, I tried approaching one of the calves to feed a piece of lettuce to. After the third calf turned my piece of lettuce away, the farmer informed me in Chinese (I don't remember his exact words) that I can't feed it to the calves because they only drink milk. It made sense.
So I fed it to a bull, and my friend attempted to get a picture of me doing it, though neither the bull nor I was in the picture in any reasonable form. I settled on petting a calf, for which I got a few decent pictures. In short, they weren't as soft as I would have imagined.
Heading back, we were given a demonstration of the fisher using pelicans to catch fish. In case you don't know, the fisherman puts a tie around the pelican's neck (it doesn't appear to hurt it) and it goes diving for fish. It catches them in its mouth but finds itself unable to swallow it. As a reward, the farmer gives the pelican smaller fish that it can fit through its reduced esophagus.
I later had a small discussion with some people about the ethics behind exploiting an animal for such pursuits. Though I didn't think it was completely moral per say (and I'd like to go vegetarian when I get back to UCSD), I compared it similarly to using dogs for hunting, also saying that people do much worse things to animals that exploit them much further, putting them in much more danger.
After we got back to shore, we were taken back to Guilin. From there, we walked to the train station, along the way enjoying a lot of street food.
I guess it's regrettable that we missed seeing Seven Star Park, which is one of the main things that Guilin is known for. But what we saw instead I think made the whole trip worth it. And the sisters the day before told us that if you go to Reed Flute Cave, Seven Star Park is just bigger and worse. I'd say that Guilin was my favorite trip so far in this study abroad experience.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
It was cold in the morning with the air as fresh as ever. We walked a few blocks down the main street and turned into that sidestreet where we went before to get Guilin noodles once more--and once again, they were quite good. By the time we finished, it was still early, with about an hour and a half to go before needing to get back to the hotel.
I guess Guilin Riverside Hotel is pretty centrally located in the city. One of the main symbols of the city, Elephant Trunk Hill (象鼻山) was just a few main streets to the east, so we headed out there. used in many a Chinese movie, this rock formation is unique in that its face has a large hole in it, so that one side looks like an elephant and the other side looks like its trunk.
My friend couldn't see it, but in my opinon, it's like observing constellations--just take it as it is and know that it's not bad to have just a bit of imagination. If you recall, water levels are low at the moment in Guilin, so Elephant Trunk Hill wasn't quite like the pictures. And in a ploy to make more money, viewing spots along the city streets have been blocked by copious amounts of foliage, so the entrance fee of ¥30 CNY per person to the viewing areas within the park becomes imperative.
This entrance fee is by land I guess, because as we were walking to the gate, we got offered by one of the many, many people looking for money a boat ride to see Elephant Trunk Hill from the river. And at ¥30 for the two of us, so ¥15 each, it was a good deal.
The boat that we were taken on had a flat bamboo bottom and was powered by a loud motor. Set up for passengers were simple chairs on the deck. He dropped us off and waited for us on an island in the middle of the river as we took pictures--and that's all we could do without entering the park--take pictures.
Heading back to the hotel, we saw our friend who had just woken up. He was heading over to the Guilin noodles place for breakfast as well and looked like he was going to make it well in time for the shuttle bus to the Li River Cruise.
On the shuttle bus, we met a couple from San Francisco. They were in the process of travelling all around the central and east Asia. Already they had gone to Azerbaijan and some other places that I can't remember. They came in through China along the historic Silk Road and explored several communities around Urumqi in Xianjiang. Already they had been exploring China for a month or two and had a month or two left until arriving in India where they had family.
We happened to book the English tour, which meant that the hour-long bus ride to where the boat was docked, somewhere down the river, was narrated by an English-speaking tour guide. Ours was named Eda in English, though everyone called her Shopping, since her Chinese name was something like Sha-ping in Pinyin.
She gave us some history behind Guilin and explained to us some of the ethnic minorities. One of which, for an extra price, we were going to see.
Our boat sat around one hundred people, with the upper deck for viewing and VIPs with a third level opened mid-way through the cruise for additional viewing. The seats were organized linearly on either side of rectangular tables on either side of the boat. There were eight seats per table.
The boat ride lasted about four hours as we went from near Guilin to Yangshuo, a tourist town. The water leve was noticeably low, for as a majority of the journey the bed of the river was visible from above. In addition, the river was crowded with boats full of tourists much like ours, and for the majority of the cruise we were riding the tail of the boat in front of us.
Though the weather was sunny, it seemed that there was a haze in the air that distorted the iconic mountains. Looking back through my photos, it's prettier now that when I was actually there. Along the cruise, we saw various named sights such as Nine Horses and Five Finger Hill, as well as the scene on the ¥20 CNY bill whose name I can't remember.
Just like on land, people (on boats) were trying to sell us stuff. The would dock alongside the moving larger boats and advertise their goods. People could open their windows on the main deck to buy stuff. People like me on the upper deck could reach down to grab some goods. I bought a fruit from a guy on a small bamboo boat. It cost me ¥5 and when I bought it he took out his big cleaver and cut off much of the thick skin surrounding what I was to discover was a highly seedy, albeit ripe and sweet, citrus fruit.
Check out the pictures of the Li River cruise for more on that. Most of the pictures speak for themselves.Oh and there were lots of animals to be seen from the boat.
Arriving in Yangshuo, we were bombarded with hawkers. For the next part of the tour, we were to meet half an hour later on the other side of the town at the Kentucky Fried Chicken. Sha-ping had to make sure we met in front of the correct one, because half a block further was a look-alike KFC. During that half-hour, we strolled around the town. It was noticeably done up and had a variety of ATMs as well as a McDonald's with a private pond. I ended up buying a piece of rice put into a vial and decorated into jewelry. What was so special about this grain of rice was that the guy was able to write my whole name on it.
As the second part of the tour came around, I realized how glad I was to have stayed for the extra day. The first stop was a rural village way outside the city. They had just about finished harvesting their rice and as such their rice patties had grounded stubs of what remained in the fields instead of flooded terraces.
We were shown onto a historic bridge that was built by a scholar in memory of someone in a story I can't quite remember. From there we could see Lion's Head Mountain, which from the right angle took very little imagination to see. Also on the bridge, we were away from boat traffic, meaning the water was calm enough to get the reflections of the mountains in the water.
Heading back to the bus, the tour guide Sha-ping bought us tangarines that were quite sweet. While I was eating mine, I found myself having to get out of the way as a farmer with two bulls came through. My two friends didn't feel anything special about it they say, because one's been in Iranian villages and one's been in many a Taishan village. I, however, saw something in it than they did because it was just so different and so much more charming than anything I'd ever been to, seen, or done.
Continuing on, we went to see one of the ethnic minorities. It was obviously there for the tourists, as many members of these ethnic minorities live urban lives. Many are not discernable from Han members of society. I can't find the official name for these people, but Sha-ping kept referring to them as the Drum people.
This leg of the trip entailed a bamboo boat ride (four for our group to be exact). They had the same single layer of bamboo keeping us afloat, and with the river being so shallow, the people maneuvering the boats weren't so much rowing as pushing the boat with a long piece of bamboo making contact with the riverbed. After asking, we were allowed to try our hand at it, and, as expected, it required a lot of upper body strength to propel and a lot of practice to steer accurately.
As part of the entertainment, a woman from the Drum people sang serenading songs on the boats. According to Sha-ping, they have a courtship tradition in which young men and young women sing to each other, at which point the young woman gives the young man this ball-shaped ornament (for lack of a more precise word) to be worn around the neck. Our entertainer had five to give away as souvenirs, and to get one, one of my friends serenaded her with the old Iranian national anthem, which was anything but romantic.
Down on the other side of the lake, we alighted. Farmers had their water oxen out for us to intereact with. (I heard some people on the Li River cruise call them 水牛.) After a little walk to get there (and some pictures of the scenery), we were given bits of lettuce to feed them. After making sure than no cow was going to charge me (the animals were all quite docile) and seeing that other people were doing it as well without issue, I tried approaching one of the calves to feed a piece of lettuce to. After the third calf turned my piece of lettuce away, the farmer informed me in Chinese (I don't remember his exact words) that I can't feed it to the calves because they only drink milk. It made sense.
So I fed it to a bull, and my friend attempted to get a picture of me doing it, though neither the bull nor I was in the picture in any reasonable form. I settled on petting a calf, for which I got a few decent pictures. In short, they weren't as soft as I would have imagined.
Heading back, we were given a demonstration of the fisher using pelicans to catch fish. In case you don't know, the fisherman puts a tie around the pelican's neck (it doesn't appear to hurt it) and it goes diving for fish. It catches them in its mouth but finds itself unable to swallow it. As a reward, the farmer gives the pelican smaller fish that it can fit through its reduced esophagus.
I later had a small discussion with some people about the ethics behind exploiting an animal for such pursuits. Though I didn't think it was completely moral per say (and I'd like to go vegetarian when I get back to UCSD), I compared it similarly to using dogs for hunting, also saying that people do much worse things to animals that exploit them much further, putting them in much more danger.
After we got back to shore, we were taken back to Guilin. From there, we walked to the train station, along the way enjoying a lot of street food.
I guess it's regrettable that we missed seeing Seven Star Park, which is one of the main things that Guilin is known for. But what we saw instead I think made the whole trip worth it. And the sisters the day before told us that if you go to Reed Flute Cave, Seven Star Park is just bigger and worse. I'd say that Guilin was my favorite trip so far in this study abroad experience.
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.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Beijing: Legacy of the Past
So it took me about two weeks to kind of finish talking about my latest trip to Beijing. This will kind of be my last published post on the matter. I don’t know how many avid readers I have (hopefully a handful), but I’ve been told, as has a fellow friend a blogger, that these (study abroad) blogs seem impersonal and all. I would like to say that, considering that a good chunk of the world could read this if they want to, I feel I’m being as personal as I can be without putting my public life (if such exists) on the burner. Like I’ve said before, I write first and foremost for myself. I care what other people think, and I have published it so that friends, family, and anyone interested can read about my adventures and comment, but I hold the reigns and I hold the pen, so some posts I write and put in the desk drawer. This is my open journal.
Beijing is undoubtedly a well-endowed city culturally. Similar to Italy, it has so much history in such an accessible area. Different from Italy, locals appreciate tourism and choose not to correct your English. In case you don’t remember, go back to my Roman Holiday. Unlike in Italy, where priceless paintings in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence were suffering from the same heat and humidity as outside, in China, they understand that they have stuff worth protecting and do so protecting it.
Take the Temple of Heaven. It’s an iconic symbol of Beijing. I actually bought a Temple of Heaven snow globe for a friend of mine--well actually I opted for the Great Wall snow globe, but you get the point. When I went there a few years ago, I didn’t realize that it was actually in the middle of a giant park of the same name. Not only do they keep the Temple of Heaven in tip top shape, the park is a local hotspot for everything Chinese. There were several erhu players, plenty of taichi practitioners, and some dancing going on. It was recreational area for the city with plenty of open space, creating a positive atmosphere for tourists and locals trying to unwind alike.
Even when it’s corny, it’s apparent that Beijing appreciates its tourism. We went to this “famous” production of “The History of Kung Fu” at Red Theater near the Temple of Heaven, which was really good. Though it was apparent the production was more about dancing and less about fighting, it was still really well coordinated and visually stimulating. The corny part was the fact that the dialogue was all in recorded English. The actors themselves mouthed along happily as the Chinese translation played along the caption screen above the stage. And though I didn’t follow some of the story line because about four actors played the main character, it was all good fun.
Lastly, to show that I did do something new in Beijing, I visited Lama Temple, which in Chinese is Yonghe Gong (雍和宮). It was touted as a compilation of Buddhist arches in Chinese, Tibetan, Mongolian, and Manchurian styles. It was nice looking, but for the size and because of the fact that we’d already seen so many temples, the impression was just average.
Sorry, not much of a conclusion to the Beijing posts! Onward and upward—Taipei’s coming up!
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Beijing is undoubtedly a well-endowed city culturally. Similar to Italy, it has so much history in such an accessible area. Different from Italy, locals appreciate tourism and choose not to correct your English. In case you don’t remember, go back to my Roman Holiday. Unlike in Italy, where priceless paintings in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence were suffering from the same heat and humidity as outside, in China, they understand that they have stuff worth protecting and do so protecting it.
Take the Temple of Heaven. It’s an iconic symbol of Beijing. I actually bought a Temple of Heaven snow globe for a friend of mine--well actually I opted for the Great Wall snow globe, but you get the point. When I went there a few years ago, I didn’t realize that it was actually in the middle of a giant park of the same name. Not only do they keep the Temple of Heaven in tip top shape, the park is a local hotspot for everything Chinese. There were several erhu players, plenty of taichi practitioners, and some dancing going on. It was recreational area for the city with plenty of open space, creating a positive atmosphere for tourists and locals trying to unwind alike.
Even when it’s corny, it’s apparent that Beijing appreciates its tourism. We went to this “famous” production of “The History of Kung Fu” at Red Theater near the Temple of Heaven, which was really good. Though it was apparent the production was more about dancing and less about fighting, it was still really well coordinated and visually stimulating. The corny part was the fact that the dialogue was all in recorded English. The actors themselves mouthed along happily as the Chinese translation played along the caption screen above the stage. And though I didn’t follow some of the story line because about four actors played the main character, it was all good fun.
Lastly, to show that I did do something new in Beijing, I visited Lama Temple, which in Chinese is Yonghe Gong (雍和宮). It was touted as a compilation of Buddhist arches in Chinese, Tibetan, Mongolian, and Manchurian styles. It was nice looking, but for the size and because of the fact that we’d already seen so many temples, the impression was just average.
Sorry, not much of a conclusion to the Beijing posts! Onward and upward—Taipei’s coming up!
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
The Point of No Return
Two months in I stand; two months in I see. Like a ship halfway to its destination, I know I have so much behind me now and yet there’s so much in front of me as well. In a way it’s misleading. I don’t really want to go back at the moment. I look forward to my return, just not this December, not in two months. However, in no way am I home scot-free. My experience here still has the very real possibility of being a naufraga in the same way that I don’t know if I’ll still be alive tomorrow. It requires constant maintenance, and more often than not, it’s an uphill battle.
I arrived August 21, confused, dazed, and fresh off a thirteen-hour flight without sleep. My passport was then used just a few times. Upon entering the country, I was given a student entry stamp on the page opposite my student visa. The square, black stamp looked to take up most of the page to my surprise. The airport gave false impressions of Hong Kong—not false as in better or worse, but false as in different. Getting off the train on Hong Kong Island, I was greeted with lots of noise, winding roads, and my first experience seeing traffic move on the left.
With time, I adjusted. The sweltering heat and humidity lessened slightly as my tolerance increased. The bus system that once confused me became manageable and I could successfully ask to get off the minibus in Cantonese—a skill than increased to requesting stops in specific locations. I found where the better food is and how to deal with copious amounts of rice.
I guess you could say that I’ve now plateaued culturally. While there still is room to grow, there will always be, and I will continue to progress, just slower. As I went from being nervous, I can now say I’m quite the opposite. Whereas at first I missed home and was counting down the days to go back, I find myself now trying to maximize the rest of my time here. I’ve lost count and already I want to do this again somewhere else next fall semester, money and time permitting, of course.
So where am I to go from here? I’ve not yet reached the top of the mountain, though I’ve been to the Peak twice. My finals schedule is starting to shape up, though I don’t care for it to end. With my eyes perpetually towards the future, I’ve decided to take the time to enjoy the present.
To this effect, I’ve begun a project that won’t be done until the end of the year. The idea hatched as I went to the Hong Kong Museum of Art for my Introduction to the Arts of Asia class to research for a paper. The topic was hand scrolls, which have an aesthetic to them that requires observation beyond that of any western painting I’ve seen.
To read a hand scroll properly, you roll it open section by section, right to left. At several meters long, each tends to tell a story, accompanied often by deeper meaning. Many are accompanied with poetry, but the use of motifs and themes allow the artist to tell the story in an abstract fashion. By story, I mean journey, and there is usually a path in the scroll guiding the reader’s eyes through this journey.
For this art paper, we were to observe Qiu Ying’s 清明商河图 or “Along the River During the Qingming Festival” as it is usually translated. We were to compare this Ming Dynasty scroll to Zhang Zeduan’s original of the same name, which was painted during the Song Dynasty. I won’t get into the specifics, though it is clear that Qiu Ying’s is not merely a copy of Zhang Zeduan’s.
To aid my paper, I bought a scaled reprint of the hand scroll at the museum’s bookstore, realizing later that it was in postcard format—fifteen postcards to be exact. Later I realized that this painting, divided into sections by the creases into postcards, being a journey, could be parallel to my journey here.
So I decided to cut apart this scroll replica into the postcards that were on the reverse. Sending them all back to my home in California, I addressed them as such, and stamped them all. As a representation of my journey here in Hong Kong, I’m sending them off from fifteen different post boxes, noting the location and its significance, as well as the date and time at which I sent it.
When I get back home, hopefully all fifteen will have arrived. At that point, I’m going to reattach them back together. This scroll reprint, in postcard/booklet format will then show the journey to the city center of Kaifeng on the front and my journey to Hong Kong on the back.
There are now four weeks of instruction left, so with deadlines looming and a push for more travels to look forward to, I shall resume my studying.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
I arrived August 21, confused, dazed, and fresh off a thirteen-hour flight without sleep. My passport was then used just a few times. Upon entering the country, I was given a student entry stamp on the page opposite my student visa. The square, black stamp looked to take up most of the page to my surprise. The airport gave false impressions of Hong Kong—not false as in better or worse, but false as in different. Getting off the train on Hong Kong Island, I was greeted with lots of noise, winding roads, and my first experience seeing traffic move on the left.
With time, I adjusted. The sweltering heat and humidity lessened slightly as my tolerance increased. The bus system that once confused me became manageable and I could successfully ask to get off the minibus in Cantonese—a skill than increased to requesting stops in specific locations. I found where the better food is and how to deal with copious amounts of rice.
I guess you could say that I’ve now plateaued culturally. While there still is room to grow, there will always be, and I will continue to progress, just slower. As I went from being nervous, I can now say I’m quite the opposite. Whereas at first I missed home and was counting down the days to go back, I find myself now trying to maximize the rest of my time here. I’ve lost count and already I want to do this again somewhere else next fall semester, money and time permitting, of course.
So where am I to go from here? I’ve not yet reached the top of the mountain, though I’ve been to the Peak twice. My finals schedule is starting to shape up, though I don’t care for it to end. With my eyes perpetually towards the future, I’ve decided to take the time to enjoy the present.
To this effect, I’ve begun a project that won’t be done until the end of the year. The idea hatched as I went to the Hong Kong Museum of Art for my Introduction to the Arts of Asia class to research for a paper. The topic was hand scrolls, which have an aesthetic to them that requires observation beyond that of any western painting I’ve seen.
To read a hand scroll properly, you roll it open section by section, right to left. At several meters long, each tends to tell a story, accompanied often by deeper meaning. Many are accompanied with poetry, but the use of motifs and themes allow the artist to tell the story in an abstract fashion. By story, I mean journey, and there is usually a path in the scroll guiding the reader’s eyes through this journey.
For this art paper, we were to observe Qiu Ying’s 清明商河图 or “Along the River During the Qingming Festival” as it is usually translated. We were to compare this Ming Dynasty scroll to Zhang Zeduan’s original of the same name, which was painted during the Song Dynasty. I won’t get into the specifics, though it is clear that Qiu Ying’s is not merely a copy of Zhang Zeduan’s.
To aid my paper, I bought a scaled reprint of the hand scroll at the museum’s bookstore, realizing later that it was in postcard format—fifteen postcards to be exact. Later I realized that this painting, divided into sections by the creases into postcards, being a journey, could be parallel to my journey here.
So I decided to cut apart this scroll replica into the postcards that were on the reverse. Sending them all back to my home in California, I addressed them as such, and stamped them all. As a representation of my journey here in Hong Kong, I’m sending them off from fifteen different post boxes, noting the location and its significance, as well as the date and time at which I sent it.
When I get back home, hopefully all fifteen will have arrived. At that point, I’m going to reattach them back together. This scroll reprint, in postcard/booklet format will then show the journey to the city center of Kaifeng on the front and my journey to Hong Kong on the back.
There are now four weeks of instruction left, so with deadlines looming and a push for more travels to look forward to, I shall resume my studying.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Beijing: Culture in a Land without Speech
I’d like to start by saying that I love Hong Kong. It’s become something of a home to me though I’ve only been here for a few months, and as I’ve explained, as much as I’d like to extend into to next semester, I just can’t. Yes, I’ve said my fair share of bad things about Hong Kong, but in my defense, I feel I’ve said some good things as well, and I voiced my criticisms in a respective way with reasons stated. So as a basis for comments voiced thus far on a particular blog post, I still have no regrets in coming to Hong Kong over many other choices of places to study.
In less crude terms, I’ve described many aspects of Hong Kong to be quite hollow. Hong Kong’s culture seems to be the lack of, and in a sense, the business and international finance aspect of Hong Kong is really the culture in and of itself. In many ways I’ve seen an identity problem here, as people acknowledge their British past before claiming to be part of the People’s Republic of China, even in the purely state sense.
So over reading week, I traveled to a city that seems more than proud to call itself Chinese. I’d been there before two years ago, but now, I got to see the nation’s capital in a new light, from a new perspective, having studying in Hong Kong for a while now, seeing how the locals view China and how they view their position in the world.
Probably a month ago now, we had Margaret Ng, a politician, as a guest speaker in my Hong Kong and the World class. At one point, she broke out to explicitly address the local students. “You are not any more special than Mainland Chinese students. Nothing about you having grown up here in Hong Kong makes you superior to students coming out of China.” She went on to say that they were smart and skilled, hinting at their English skills even being better than Hong Kong students. (No surprise there.)
On another note, in California (and probably in the United States), we value highly well roundedness in studies and a balance in life between work and fun. Likewise, majoring in music causes no overt criticism in saying that a major in neuroscience is just better. In the States, it’s about money, but it’s also about interest for most. “Do what you love,” everyone likes to say.
Do I think most Hong Kong students love business and finance? No. Could I be wrong, not likely, but at the same time very much so. Students here seem to lack interest in the arts or life as an academic and it seems like the few that don’t lack find better more conducive environments to their interests outside of Hong Kong.
In my Hong Kong and the World class again, they mention that businesses seeking to enter Asia, and especially China, go through Hong Kong because of the rule of law and free flow of information (which we would call freedom of speech back home). It seems though that for a people that have free speech, they don’t use it. In no way does that mean it should be taken away, but the fact that there is little visible political activism here (I’ve personally only heard whispers), while possibly a cultural thing, means that people here take a lot for granted and expect their business environment to stay open without much maintenance in that arena.
And I find myself more often an observer than an activist, but I think this lack of well-rounded interest, should it not change, may lead to the fall of Hong Kong. And of course it may not, and if I’m wrong, the more power to them. But thinking about their freedom of speech makes you think about places that don’t have it to the full extent that we do in the United States or in Hong Kong.
Take China, where I went to, where the Internet is censored and Tiananmen Square is supposedly monitored for unrest by PLA soldiers dressed as civilians. My friend, in searching for a particular bar in the hotel room, was blocked by the government and he lost Internet privileges to access Google for at least fifteen minutes as punishment.
Beijing just clicked as a city that’s on the right track to something. Yeah, the people spit (indoors too, sometimes) and horns honk as traffic breaks ranks, but the thing is that there’s more to Beijing than just business, or anything else for that manner. I’ve always heard that Beijing is China’s political center and Shanghai its economic, but the thing is that there’s so much more going on that just politics in Beijing.
There are sports and arts highly expressed around the city. Music blasts out of some shops, and Mandarin-language music in much higher quantity than just American music. In Hong Kong, the only places with music open at night and serve mostly tourists and expats looking for a good time. Street food so prominent around Beijing (though ultimately a way to make money) serves to ground the city and give it character, whereas in Hong Kong, non-locals struggle to find good street food, which is noticeably less common here than elsewhere as many people have moved onto restaurants and such.
It seems that to me, as well as my friends, all the little things that made the place more human and less business affected the environment. Beijing just turned into something that I wanted to keep exploring and keep experiencing.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
In less crude terms, I’ve described many aspects of Hong Kong to be quite hollow. Hong Kong’s culture seems to be the lack of, and in a sense, the business and international finance aspect of Hong Kong is really the culture in and of itself. In many ways I’ve seen an identity problem here, as people acknowledge their British past before claiming to be part of the People’s Republic of China, even in the purely state sense.
So over reading week, I traveled to a city that seems more than proud to call itself Chinese. I’d been there before two years ago, but now, I got to see the nation’s capital in a new light, from a new perspective, having studying in Hong Kong for a while now, seeing how the locals view China and how they view their position in the world.
Probably a month ago now, we had Margaret Ng, a politician, as a guest speaker in my Hong Kong and the World class. At one point, she broke out to explicitly address the local students. “You are not any more special than Mainland Chinese students. Nothing about you having grown up here in Hong Kong makes you superior to students coming out of China.” She went on to say that they were smart and skilled, hinting at their English skills even being better than Hong Kong students. (No surprise there.)
On another note, in California (and probably in the United States), we value highly well roundedness in studies and a balance in life between work and fun. Likewise, majoring in music causes no overt criticism in saying that a major in neuroscience is just better. In the States, it’s about money, but it’s also about interest for most. “Do what you love,” everyone likes to say.
Do I think most Hong Kong students love business and finance? No. Could I be wrong, not likely, but at the same time very much so. Students here seem to lack interest in the arts or life as an academic and it seems like the few that don’t lack find better more conducive environments to their interests outside of Hong Kong.
In my Hong Kong and the World class again, they mention that businesses seeking to enter Asia, and especially China, go through Hong Kong because of the rule of law and free flow of information (which we would call freedom of speech back home). It seems though that for a people that have free speech, they don’t use it. In no way does that mean it should be taken away, but the fact that there is little visible political activism here (I’ve personally only heard whispers), while possibly a cultural thing, means that people here take a lot for granted and expect their business environment to stay open without much maintenance in that arena.
And I find myself more often an observer than an activist, but I think this lack of well-rounded interest, should it not change, may lead to the fall of Hong Kong. And of course it may not, and if I’m wrong, the more power to them. But thinking about their freedom of speech makes you think about places that don’t have it to the full extent that we do in the United States or in Hong Kong.
Take China, where I went to, where the Internet is censored and Tiananmen Square is supposedly monitored for unrest by PLA soldiers dressed as civilians. My friend, in searching for a particular bar in the hotel room, was blocked by the government and he lost Internet privileges to access Google for at least fifteen minutes as punishment.
Beijing just clicked as a city that’s on the right track to something. Yeah, the people spit (indoors too, sometimes) and horns honk as traffic breaks ranks, but the thing is that there’s more to Beijing than just business, or anything else for that manner. I’ve always heard that Beijing is China’s political center and Shanghai its economic, but the thing is that there’s so much more going on that just politics in Beijing.
There are sports and arts highly expressed around the city. Music blasts out of some shops, and Mandarin-language music in much higher quantity than just American music. In Hong Kong, the only places with music open at night and serve mostly tourists and expats looking for a good time. Street food so prominent around Beijing (though ultimately a way to make money) serves to ground the city and give it character, whereas in Hong Kong, non-locals struggle to find good street food, which is noticeably less common here than elsewhere as many people have moved onto restaurants and such.
It seems that to me, as well as my friends, all the little things that made the place more human and less business affected the environment. Beijing just turned into something that I wanted to keep exploring and keep experiencing.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Beijing: A Question of Scale
Going back to Beijing and when we arrived, the gigantic airport was imposing but not impressive. As we scuttled through the terminal in an attempt to leave the airport it was noticeably empty. Don’t get me wrong; empty airports are good airports, and any day I’d take a flight in or out of the closer and smaller Burbank Airport over the larger and more crowded Los Angeles International Airport.
Designed and built by the same company that did my one of my favorite airports, Hong Kong International Airport, it shared much of the same features. The airport was noticeably efficient—we got our luggage quickly and lines at immigration were relatively short.
It’s architectural merits were there, with large and simple imposing columns with red being the main color of the place (with a slotted white ceiling). I personally didn’t like it looked, and from a glance it was evident that the terminal, built in preparation for the Olympics, was designed to impress. With a big country comes a polished capital airport. I could feel the might of China above my shoulders.
In contrast, flying into Washington Dulles Airport (which I’ve done once), I can’t say I felt the same. The airport was dingy and if I remember correctly we had to do an avoidance maneuver before landing which required us to ascend, loop around, and descend again. The terminals, while not shabby, were in no way impressive. It was designed for utility and though I have no idea how efficient it is, no one had in mind the wish to make an architectural statement or anything.
And therein lies one of the biggest changes I saw in Beijing in going back after two years. Starting at the way-too-big airport and ending at the way-to-big airport (where we spent hours bored because of a lack of decent coffee and a surplus of closed stores), Beijing was noticeably more secure than just a few years ago, and whereas some would cite Communism and extreme maintenance of the peace as the reasons behind this very apparent security, I, having been there before the Olympics, can say that this is not the way it’s always been.
After the Olympics and also due recently to National Day, security has been ever higher. Whereas I’ve met people who couldn’t point to China on the map (as they tried), now China’s has the world’s attention. I guess with great fame comes great responsibility. With China’s human rights record in question and the recent ethnic conflict in the west, China understands that it has enemies and understands that it has more real threats than before.
Two years ago, we went through airports in a snap. We walked through metal detectors without hesitation and even if one us beeped, rarely were we asked to stand for wand-waving or what have you. Mind you, that trip two years ago sent my family and I through four Chinese airports.
This time around, on leaving from Beijing, I beeped the metal detector because they didn’t require belts to be removed. Fine, whatever. A female officer did the whole wand-waving business and then proceeded to frisk me thoroughly. Through exit immigration, the officer alternated his focus between my passport picture and my face about five times. A friend of mine got whisked into a side room for potential questioning because her British passport looked suspicious somehow, though she was let go after six officers eyed it with a magnifying scope.
And that’s not the only place security is tight. China knows about domestic terrorism as well, don’t worry. The entire subway line, which expanded from two lines before the Olympics to God knows how many now and expanding still, has security personnel with x-rays to have you scan bags before entering the system. China’s vigilant and it shows.
But not everything was bigger this time. For one I would like to make a point now validated to me because of this trip. If you can do it, explore and sightsee yourself rather than with a tour group.
Two years ago, my family and I went to China in a tour group. It was super convenient. They loaded us onto a bus and shuttled us around and provided us with food for a real decent price. The thing is though, going to new places is not all about sightseeing, I’m convinced.
Yeah, I still see the sights and then some like the average tourist. The thing is though that when you get whisked away in a tour bus, you lose the opportunity to see real life—something that really doesn’t take more time to see.
This time around, we rode the subway to get to most places. We took a tour bus with Mainland Chinese people to see the Great Wall and Ming Tombs. In addition to the subway, we had to take a bus to see the Summer Palace.
Just being on the subway, you get to see the people. Mixing in with the locals and commuting with the businessmen, you really see some of the more innate aspects of culture—what is different and what is the same. I can’t even begin to describe how much I learned about Beijing this time around than the last time.
One thing that we did that was way off the tourist path though, I’m glad we did. The hotel was just a few subway stops away from the Temple of Heaven, so we decided to walk back to the hotel rather than take the subway. Along the way walking back alongside the main road, we peered into a side street. Feeling in the mood to explore, we ventured back into there. It was like a street full of vendors catering to locals. There were home supply storefronts as well as a guy selling lamb skewers to mention just a few. Walking even further we walked by the home fronts in one of the many hutong not mentioned or marked on maps. There was nothing the average tourist would want to see, but in my opinion it was all part of the experience.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Designed and built by the same company that did my one of my favorite airports, Hong Kong International Airport, it shared much of the same features. The airport was noticeably efficient—we got our luggage quickly and lines at immigration were relatively short.
It’s architectural merits were there, with large and simple imposing columns with red being the main color of the place (with a slotted white ceiling). I personally didn’t like it looked, and from a glance it was evident that the terminal, built in preparation for the Olympics, was designed to impress. With a big country comes a polished capital airport. I could feel the might of China above my shoulders.
In contrast, flying into Washington Dulles Airport (which I’ve done once), I can’t say I felt the same. The airport was dingy and if I remember correctly we had to do an avoidance maneuver before landing which required us to ascend, loop around, and descend again. The terminals, while not shabby, were in no way impressive. It was designed for utility and though I have no idea how efficient it is, no one had in mind the wish to make an architectural statement or anything.
And therein lies one of the biggest changes I saw in Beijing in going back after two years. Starting at the way-too-big airport and ending at the way-to-big airport (where we spent hours bored because of a lack of decent coffee and a surplus of closed stores), Beijing was noticeably more secure than just a few years ago, and whereas some would cite Communism and extreme maintenance of the peace as the reasons behind this very apparent security, I, having been there before the Olympics, can say that this is not the way it’s always been.
After the Olympics and also due recently to National Day, security has been ever higher. Whereas I’ve met people who couldn’t point to China on the map (as they tried), now China’s has the world’s attention. I guess with great fame comes great responsibility. With China’s human rights record in question and the recent ethnic conflict in the west, China understands that it has enemies and understands that it has more real threats than before.
Two years ago, we went through airports in a snap. We walked through metal detectors without hesitation and even if one us beeped, rarely were we asked to stand for wand-waving or what have you. Mind you, that trip two years ago sent my family and I through four Chinese airports.
This time around, on leaving from Beijing, I beeped the metal detector because they didn’t require belts to be removed. Fine, whatever. A female officer did the whole wand-waving business and then proceeded to frisk me thoroughly. Through exit immigration, the officer alternated his focus between my passport picture and my face about five times. A friend of mine got whisked into a side room for potential questioning because her British passport looked suspicious somehow, though she was let go after six officers eyed it with a magnifying scope.
And that’s not the only place security is tight. China knows about domestic terrorism as well, don’t worry. The entire subway line, which expanded from two lines before the Olympics to God knows how many now and expanding still, has security personnel with x-rays to have you scan bags before entering the system. China’s vigilant and it shows.
But not everything was bigger this time. For one I would like to make a point now validated to me because of this trip. If you can do it, explore and sightsee yourself rather than with a tour group.
Two years ago, my family and I went to China in a tour group. It was super convenient. They loaded us onto a bus and shuttled us around and provided us with food for a real decent price. The thing is though, going to new places is not all about sightseeing, I’m convinced.
Yeah, I still see the sights and then some like the average tourist. The thing is though that when you get whisked away in a tour bus, you lose the opportunity to see real life—something that really doesn’t take more time to see.
This time around, we rode the subway to get to most places. We took a tour bus with Mainland Chinese people to see the Great Wall and Ming Tombs. In addition to the subway, we had to take a bus to see the Summer Palace.
Just being on the subway, you get to see the people. Mixing in with the locals and commuting with the businessmen, you really see some of the more innate aspects of culture—what is different and what is the same. I can’t even begin to describe how much I learned about Beijing this time around than the last time.
One thing that we did that was way off the tourist path though, I’m glad we did. The hotel was just a few subway stops away from the Temple of Heaven, so we decided to walk back to the hotel rather than take the subway. Along the way walking back alongside the main road, we peered into a side street. Feeling in the mood to explore, we ventured back into there. It was like a street full of vendors catering to locals. There were home supply storefronts as well as a guy selling lamb skewers to mention just a few. Walking even further we walked by the home fronts in one of the many hutong not mentioned or marked on maps. There was nothing the average tourist would want to see, but in my opinion it was all part of the experience.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Mid-Autumn in Victoria
Known by some of my exchange-student friends as Mooncake Festival because of the lotus-seed mooncakes that are traditionally eaten (and now highly commercialized) on this holiday, Mid-Autumn Festival is traditionally the end of the harvest season, being held on the autumnal equinox (this year October 3).
From talking to people more familiar with this celebrating this day, they said that they’ve gone on the roof or in the backyard and ate mooncakes while admiring the moon. In addition, lanterns are brightly lit and more often than not hung as sky lanterns.
We saw this latter part, and likely the first part when we went to explore the festivities in Hong Kong.
Now promoted as a touristy event to behold, there were at least three Mid-Autumn Festival congregations around Hong Kong. Two were held in New Territories, but the one we went to was in Victoria park on Hong Kong Island, near Causeway Bay.
Actually, Victoria Park used to be Causeway Bay when it was a bay crossed by a causeway and today serves as a notable example of the extensive (and ongoing) land reclamation on top of being a recreation area. One day, my Cantonese teacher once joked, you’ll be able to walk to Kowloon (which is currently across Victoria Harbour), but this is a topic for a different post.
The festivities took up the entire park. There were plenty of carnival-style booths and PRC 60th Anniversary posters, as well as performances (in Cantonese) that we could not possibly see because of all the crowds.
According to one friend, an older local in passing said in Cantonese, “Why are all these tourists here!?”
Outside of the family-fun area were the actual families. In the open grassy area across the fence from the paved tennis courts sat families making their own lanterns, not minding the plethora of tourists (including me) taking photos indiscriminately.
Though a great evening, that night we apparently missed the fire dragon. It meandered among people and according to my friends it had some close calls with people. I’d like to think the operators (via poles attached to the underside of the dragon) knew what they were doing.
From talking to people more familiar with this celebrating this day, they said that they’ve gone on the roof or in the backyard and ate mooncakes while admiring the moon. In addition, lanterns are brightly lit and more often than not hung as sky lanterns.
We saw this latter part, and likely the first part when we went to explore the festivities in Hong Kong.
Now promoted as a touristy event to behold, there were at least three Mid-Autumn Festival congregations around Hong Kong. Two were held in New Territories, but the one we went to was in Victoria park on Hong Kong Island, near Causeway Bay.
Actually, Victoria Park used to be Causeway Bay when it was a bay crossed by a causeway and today serves as a notable example of the extensive (and ongoing) land reclamation on top of being a recreation area. One day, my Cantonese teacher once joked, you’ll be able to walk to Kowloon (which is currently across Victoria Harbour), but this is a topic for a different post.
The festivities took up the entire park. There were plenty of carnival-style booths and PRC 60th Anniversary posters, as well as performances (in Cantonese) that we could not possibly see because of all the crowds.
According to one friend, an older local in passing said in Cantonese, “Why are all these tourists here!?”
Outside of the family-fun area were the actual families. In the open grassy area across the fence from the paved tennis courts sat families making their own lanterns, not minding the plethora of tourists (including me) taking photos indiscriminately.
Though a great evening, that night we apparently missed the fire dragon. It meandered among people and according to my friends it had some close calls with people. I’d like to think the operators (via poles attached to the underside of the dragon) knew what they were doing.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Peux ce que veux
I am one disgusted individual and I know it.
Throughout most of my life I had been an incurable pessimist. I don’t know if I can say that I had that childhood sense of fantasy and imagination that many adults so intensely envy. I can say that as an adult, I’m glad that I didn’t have it, because while I’m willing to pick up the slack, I don’t like creating that slack for everyone else to pick up.
Parents say things that they don’t want their kids to hear and they know it. Fights happen, and while many kids would have ignored what’s happening and go back to their plush toys and action figures, I guess I’ve heard everyone argue, least of whom parents.
And therein lies my origin. I’ve been surrounded by more reasonable-sounding pessimists than logical optimists. And in weighing those two options, I joined the pessimists’ side in an attempt to follow reason.
Despite my pessimism, I’ve always had a positive outlook on my life personally. I grew up in a good neighborhood, always attended good schools (and still do), got to experience my share of extracurricular activities, and was given the opportunity to find my imagined niche.
My parents had always said to learn from their mistakes and learn from them the easy way rather than go and make the same mistakes and learn the hard way. I believed them, though the hard way seems to have a more everlasting impact than the easy way.
I had always been told by friends that moved away with family or for college that the world outside of East Ventura County is a different place. I believed them, and for that I prepared myself for an outside world of despair.
I’ve always complained about my hometown. I found drivers abnoxious and dangerous. People too snobby and pretentious, and kids to drowned in their alternative realities of perpetually green grass that cuts itself for $300 a week. The thing is though that I’ve stopped complaining about my hometown because I’ve begun to realize how trivial that is.
Basically, we’ve got bigger problems on our hands. (Well duh, James, you must be thinking.) The thing is that everyone says that. But who actually does anything?
Certainly but a few in the case of Rwanda. The reason I bring this up, first of all, is that we discussed the Rwandan Genocide in my Humanity in Globalization (political science) class. The second is that this topic serves as a catalyst to bring up this aspect of my personality not yet quite mentioned, and worth mentioning now in case circumstances change.
The title of this post comes from Romeo Dallaire, the Canadian general heading the peacekeeping force in Rwanda for the United Nations during this conflict, who ended his letter requesting to use force to prevent major loss of life with “peux ce que veux,” translating idomatically to “when there’s a will, there’s a way.”
This has been something of an upswing to me. Though there were other factors in my upturn from a pessimist to an optimist, namely religion, “peux ce que veux” has become something of a motto for me.
And those of you who know the specifics, this sentence did nothing for Dallaire’s efforts. Up to a million people were killed for immoral reasons and no state saw a reason to intervene because of a lack of state interests.
In short, maybe I’m too idealistic. I understand that I’m still young in my years, but some things I hope don’t change; some things I know won’t change.
I feel that money is only worth as much as the people without it, and to live a life past what could be called comfortable is not a goal for me. To spend money on lavish curtains rather than give to those in need is a simple moral dilemma in my view. I study political science and aspire to be a leading academic someday. I wish to attain a law degree to help advance and guarantee human rights, but where would I start?
Not caring so much about money is a start. With all the garbage that I had been fed by people like Bill O’Reilly, I had to re-evaluate my opinions. Yeah, lower taxes would be nice, but if we get see the social services we get in return (which we often look past) would accepting that some things are better than wealth be all that bad? If all illegal immigrants are trying to do is live and feed their families, would it be so bad to view them as fellow humans than non-Americans and see about helping them out as well?
I am an optimist, but not in the current framework. And within my optimism I remain a pessimist. I feel that in our current state system, with the artificial concept of nationality and citizenship now being so engrained in our lives, we have lost our common humanity. This is not a system that is coming apart any time soon in our realist world created my neoconservatives and the like.
I have made the little efforts that I can right now. Of the 44% Asian American population of UCSD, I do not belong. I always check “Other” or “Decline to State.” I don’t care about race and ethnicity statistics. We’re all human, and until we all thoroughly understand that, we as a people are going head-first into a glass wall comprised of seas, fences, and demilitarized zones.
But hey. Peux ce que veux. Y cuando la gente pueda y quiera hacer lo que nosotros, los serhumanos, tenemos que hacer, quizás la Tierra pueda entrar la nueva época.
你们要不要哏我去?
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Throughout most of my life I had been an incurable pessimist. I don’t know if I can say that I had that childhood sense of fantasy and imagination that many adults so intensely envy. I can say that as an adult, I’m glad that I didn’t have it, because while I’m willing to pick up the slack, I don’t like creating that slack for everyone else to pick up.
Parents say things that they don’t want their kids to hear and they know it. Fights happen, and while many kids would have ignored what’s happening and go back to their plush toys and action figures, I guess I’ve heard everyone argue, least of whom parents.
And therein lies my origin. I’ve been surrounded by more reasonable-sounding pessimists than logical optimists. And in weighing those two options, I joined the pessimists’ side in an attempt to follow reason.
Despite my pessimism, I’ve always had a positive outlook on my life personally. I grew up in a good neighborhood, always attended good schools (and still do), got to experience my share of extracurricular activities, and was given the opportunity to find my imagined niche.
My parents had always said to learn from their mistakes and learn from them the easy way rather than go and make the same mistakes and learn the hard way. I believed them, though the hard way seems to have a more everlasting impact than the easy way.
I had always been told by friends that moved away with family or for college that the world outside of East Ventura County is a different place. I believed them, and for that I prepared myself for an outside world of despair.
I’ve always complained about my hometown. I found drivers abnoxious and dangerous. People too snobby and pretentious, and kids to drowned in their alternative realities of perpetually green grass that cuts itself for $300 a week. The thing is though that I’ve stopped complaining about my hometown because I’ve begun to realize how trivial that is.
Basically, we’ve got bigger problems on our hands. (Well duh, James, you must be thinking.) The thing is that everyone says that. But who actually does anything?
Certainly but a few in the case of Rwanda. The reason I bring this up, first of all, is that we discussed the Rwandan Genocide in my Humanity in Globalization (political science) class. The second is that this topic serves as a catalyst to bring up this aspect of my personality not yet quite mentioned, and worth mentioning now in case circumstances change.
The title of this post comes from Romeo Dallaire, the Canadian general heading the peacekeeping force in Rwanda for the United Nations during this conflict, who ended his letter requesting to use force to prevent major loss of life with “peux ce que veux,” translating idomatically to “when there’s a will, there’s a way.”
This has been something of an upswing to me. Though there were other factors in my upturn from a pessimist to an optimist, namely religion, “peux ce que veux” has become something of a motto for me.
And those of you who know the specifics, this sentence did nothing for Dallaire’s efforts. Up to a million people were killed for immoral reasons and no state saw a reason to intervene because of a lack of state interests.
In short, maybe I’m too idealistic. I understand that I’m still young in my years, but some things I hope don’t change; some things I know won’t change.
I feel that money is only worth as much as the people without it, and to live a life past what could be called comfortable is not a goal for me. To spend money on lavish curtains rather than give to those in need is a simple moral dilemma in my view. I study political science and aspire to be a leading academic someday. I wish to attain a law degree to help advance and guarantee human rights, but where would I start?
Not caring so much about money is a start. With all the garbage that I had been fed by people like Bill O’Reilly, I had to re-evaluate my opinions. Yeah, lower taxes would be nice, but if we get see the social services we get in return (which we often look past) would accepting that some things are better than wealth be all that bad? If all illegal immigrants are trying to do is live and feed their families, would it be so bad to view them as fellow humans than non-Americans and see about helping them out as well?
I am an optimist, but not in the current framework. And within my optimism I remain a pessimist. I feel that in our current state system, with the artificial concept of nationality and citizenship now being so engrained in our lives, we have lost our common humanity. This is not a system that is coming apart any time soon in our realist world created my neoconservatives and the like.
I have made the little efforts that I can right now. Of the 44% Asian American population of UCSD, I do not belong. I always check “Other” or “Decline to State.” I don’t care about race and ethnicity statistics. We’re all human, and until we all thoroughly understand that, we as a people are going head-first into a glass wall comprised of seas, fences, and demilitarized zones.
But hey. Peux ce que veux. Y cuando la gente pueda y quiera hacer lo que nosotros, los serhumanos, tenemos que hacer, quizás la Tierra pueda entrar la nueva época.
你们要不要哏我去?
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
To Extend or Not To Extend
That is the question, isn’t it?
It’s something that I knew that I would have to decide sooner and later, and I have to say that though I have come to it, I can’t help thinking the decision was made before me.
I applied to study here for one semester in substitution for one quarter back home. I chose not to file the departmental preapproval form for extension, in hopes that that would force myself to come back home for the latter two quarters of the year.
The reason for doing this was that because this university runs on two semesters per year and UCSD runs on three quarters per year, my substitution of two semesters for three quarters would delay my graduation substantially, making me miss several required classes that are only offered once a year.
So I found out after I was accepted that I can actually petition to bypass that preapproval to allow me to study here for a full year. I realize that to graduate on time though, I can’t.
Though when I arrived, I practically began counting down the days to when I leave, I’m growing to love Hong Kong. Though I still look forward to going home, I still want to make sure that these next ten weeks (yeah, I only have ten weeks left here) are the best.
In Rhinesmith’s Ten Stages of Adjustment, I’m most definitely at the sixth stage, where I’ve fully accepted my host culture. After this last trip to Beijing, I realized that my Mandarin isn’t half bad, and I’m ready to put my Cantonese learning into a higher gear.
In some ways, it is a race to the finish line, with me trying to get my travels in, learn languages, and get good grades at the same time. Right now, I’d rather be the turtle though rather than the hare, and unfortunately I presently feel like the latter.
Ready, set, go.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
It’s something that I knew that I would have to decide sooner and later, and I have to say that though I have come to it, I can’t help thinking the decision was made before me.
I applied to study here for one semester in substitution for one quarter back home. I chose not to file the departmental preapproval form for extension, in hopes that that would force myself to come back home for the latter two quarters of the year.
The reason for doing this was that because this university runs on two semesters per year and UCSD runs on three quarters per year, my substitution of two semesters for three quarters would delay my graduation substantially, making me miss several required classes that are only offered once a year.
So I found out after I was accepted that I can actually petition to bypass that preapproval to allow me to study here for a full year. I realize that to graduate on time though, I can’t.
Though when I arrived, I practically began counting down the days to when I leave, I’m growing to love Hong Kong. Though I still look forward to going home, I still want to make sure that these next ten weeks (yeah, I only have ten weeks left here) are the best.
In Rhinesmith’s Ten Stages of Adjustment, I’m most definitely at the sixth stage, where I’ve fully accepted my host culture. After this last trip to Beijing, I realized that my Mandarin isn’t half bad, and I’m ready to put my Cantonese learning into a higher gear.
In some ways, it is a race to the finish line, with me trying to get my travels in, learn languages, and get good grades at the same time. Right now, I’d rather be the turtle though rather than the hare, and unfortunately I presently feel like the latter.
Ready, set, go.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Nationality and Ethnicity
I should start out with an apology. I’m having trouble keeping on schedule with my posts. This one in particular was supposed to coincide with National Day, celebrated October 1 to commend the founding of the People’s Republic sixty years go.
I guess you could say that my style is not that of impulse blogging. I wouldn’t go so far in the other direction to say that I maul over my posts for days on end, meticulously correcting mistakes, wittily adding in bits of symbolism every which way the reader turns. The way I’ve been working with the task that is this blog is to decide what topics I want to write about and queue them up to be expanded and finally published.
For example, this post has been in planning stages since mid-September. I felt that this timing would be appropriate to elaborate on the ongoing topic here of identity and nationalism.
I started out by saying that I would first identify myself as American before Chinese American and never Chinese except in ethnicity or ancestry. Regarding my trip to Italy, I explored the perceptions of those locals towards nationality and how it relates to ethnicity.
Some background—I would be close to the first to tell you that nationalism is an entirely fictitious concept. Ultimately we are all humans, and scientifically speaking there is more genetic variation within ethnicities than among different ethnicities, hence the terms “ethnicity” and “race” have no scientific basis. Nationalism, a concept that I push as a separate from race and ethnicity, then, would be even more artificial, especially since we are taught in primary school that Americans all have immigrant backgrounds (minus the Native Americans) and come from all walks of life.
I also have to say that I follow nationalism quite a bit. I feel I share a great deal more in common with a fellow American than with, say, a Chinese national. With common upbringing and (most likely) a common mother tongue, there just seems to be more to relate to whether there really is or not.
In the hand of irony though, the first person to question my nationality, requiring me to defend myself, was at the opinion of a guy from Massachusetts. Of note is the fact that I haven’t had to defend myself against my roommate, who, in a fell swoop of fabricated statistics, quasi-neoconservative opinions, and resistance to learning a single word of Cantonese, has found my being in the four percent of Americans in the Asian minority an acceptable thought.
And here I present two events: the first in my Traditional Chinese Society class, and the other with a good friend of mine here.
This little discussion in my sociology tutorial actually took place something like a month ago. Usually, it’s an insignificant occurrence when something like this happens to me because it happens more often than I’d like, but this time it was in an academic environment, involving an offensive on my perception of myself.
In discussing nationality and ethnicity as the topic of the week for that class, the topic over overseas Chinese came up. I made my point that while I have no problem identifying my ethnicity as Chinese, I would always stop short of calling myself Chinese in the general sense and overseas Chinese in that it appears that I have some sort of allegiance to China.
I don’t.
To say that I do would imply that I have Chinese nationality or citizenship, that I have the right to be in China, or that I have parents that do. A typical conversation would go like this:
“Why don’t you call yourself Chinese?”
“Because I’m not from China. I was born, raised, and educated here in California.”
“But your parents are from China.”
“Not really.”
“But your grandparents are from China?”
“And where are your grandparents from?”
The answer to that is rarely the United States.
But in class it was a bit different, it was a local student trying to convince me that I could not be anything but Chinese. This was weird, because all my life I have found that Chinese and Chinese Americans hesitate to call me one of them due to my lack of fluency in any Chinese language, yet prototypically perceived Americans refuse to see me as one of them as I look different from them.
If you couldn’t tell already, I identify more with the prototypically perceived Americans, though I like to believe that everyone who wants to call him- or herself American living in the United States is entitled to do so regardless of (primary) language spoken or customs or practices that happen not to be the societal norm. This guy though was using my appearance to say that I could not be anything other Chinese, which, while it happened a few times back home, was less common than not.
So with a different audience I had to defend myself in a different way. I used Chinese nationality law. Being an American both by birth and by blood, I figure to call myself Chinese in the same way, I would be able to be granted Chinese nationality in some form—but I can’t.
My father’s parents were Chinese nationals, though left when the Nationalists were in power. As a result, it would appear to be virtually impossible to find all the appropriate documents to prove that they had citizenship, then that my father had citizenship because of them. But even if my father were to have citizenship, it would likely not be conferred to me. My thinking is that even in U.S. nationality law, a citizen (natural-born or naturalized) must have lived in the U.S. for a certain period of time before his or her citizenship can be given to his or her children born outside the United States. And my father has never set foot outside of North America, much less lived in China for any period of time.
On the other side, my mother’s birth in Hong Kong to Chinese parents makes her a Chinese national in theory as of 1997, when her British National Overseas status was commuted with the handover. However, she was naturalized as an American long before I was born, and has made no effort (understandably) to claim PRC citizenship. In addition, as she has been naturalized, she may be rendered herself ineligible for PRC citizenship.
So me, being born American by virtue of being born in the United States and by virtue of being born to two American parents, makes me ineligible for PRC citizenship under nationality law that makes clear that children born abroad to Chinese parents (which mine were effectively not) are not Chinese if they gain a different citizenship on birth.
And another reason why I hesitate to grant myself allegiance to China is the fact that my mother’s family emigrated from China specifically because of the Communists and what they did to the family that I never met.
So when my roommate bought a deck of playing cards that sported Chairman Mao Zedong on every face, he slammed it down on the desk in front of me to show what he had just done. His motivations behind why he bought that deck of cards, as well as a stereotypical People’s Liberation Army hat I don’t agree with and feel are quite crude, but that’s no matter as long as he doesn’t bring it in front of me.
As I pushed my hand across my forehead, sighing in a miniature fit of displeasure at my roommate’s misguided intentions, he mistook my disgust and assured me that “James, they’re not offensive or anything.”
Yeah, he didn’t get it, nor do I expect him to.
In my second note, we were all at Lamma Island enjoying some seafood after a long hike in hot weather. A good friend of mine asked me about how my family hierarchy works if I claim to be so American.
I think my response satisfied her question.
I had no idea what she was talking about.
She said that at funerals, for example, the Daoist priest would call up nuclear families one at a time, in a certain order, based on their family hierarchy. I told her that at the last funeral that I attended, which was my maternal grandmother’s, we didn’t have any of that. The service was presided over by a Methodist leader and at the end we went up to say our goodbyes in no specific order.
This reminds me of when I was little and asked m mother about something to that effect. I brought in family hierarchy in the same manner as the English royal family and she just brushed off my question, because it really didn’t matter.
And so national day is celebrated—this year the sixtieth anniversary of the Communists taking over China, the founding of the People’s Republic. Out in Victoria harbor a half-hour fireworks show of massive proportions started at 8:00pm.
Good luck.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
I guess you could say that my style is not that of impulse blogging. I wouldn’t go so far in the other direction to say that I maul over my posts for days on end, meticulously correcting mistakes, wittily adding in bits of symbolism every which way the reader turns. The way I’ve been working with the task that is this blog is to decide what topics I want to write about and queue them up to be expanded and finally published.
For example, this post has been in planning stages since mid-September. I felt that this timing would be appropriate to elaborate on the ongoing topic here of identity and nationalism.
I started out by saying that I would first identify myself as American before Chinese American and never Chinese except in ethnicity or ancestry. Regarding my trip to Italy, I explored the perceptions of those locals towards nationality and how it relates to ethnicity.
Some background—I would be close to the first to tell you that nationalism is an entirely fictitious concept. Ultimately we are all humans, and scientifically speaking there is more genetic variation within ethnicities than among different ethnicities, hence the terms “ethnicity” and “race” have no scientific basis. Nationalism, a concept that I push as a separate from race and ethnicity, then, would be even more artificial, especially since we are taught in primary school that Americans all have immigrant backgrounds (minus the Native Americans) and come from all walks of life.
I also have to say that I follow nationalism quite a bit. I feel I share a great deal more in common with a fellow American than with, say, a Chinese national. With common upbringing and (most likely) a common mother tongue, there just seems to be more to relate to whether there really is or not.
In the hand of irony though, the first person to question my nationality, requiring me to defend myself, was at the opinion of a guy from Massachusetts. Of note is the fact that I haven’t had to defend myself against my roommate, who, in a fell swoop of fabricated statistics, quasi-neoconservative opinions, and resistance to learning a single word of Cantonese, has found my being in the four percent of Americans in the Asian minority an acceptable thought.
And here I present two events: the first in my Traditional Chinese Society class, and the other with a good friend of mine here.
This little discussion in my sociology tutorial actually took place something like a month ago. Usually, it’s an insignificant occurrence when something like this happens to me because it happens more often than I’d like, but this time it was in an academic environment, involving an offensive on my perception of myself.
In discussing nationality and ethnicity as the topic of the week for that class, the topic over overseas Chinese came up. I made my point that while I have no problem identifying my ethnicity as Chinese, I would always stop short of calling myself Chinese in the general sense and overseas Chinese in that it appears that I have some sort of allegiance to China.
I don’t.
To say that I do would imply that I have Chinese nationality or citizenship, that I have the right to be in China, or that I have parents that do. A typical conversation would go like this:
“Why don’t you call yourself Chinese?”
“Because I’m not from China. I was born, raised, and educated here in California.”
“But your parents are from China.”
“Not really.”
“But your grandparents are from China?”
“And where are your grandparents from?”
The answer to that is rarely the United States.
But in class it was a bit different, it was a local student trying to convince me that I could not be anything but Chinese. This was weird, because all my life I have found that Chinese and Chinese Americans hesitate to call me one of them due to my lack of fluency in any Chinese language, yet prototypically perceived Americans refuse to see me as one of them as I look different from them.
If you couldn’t tell already, I identify more with the prototypically perceived Americans, though I like to believe that everyone who wants to call him- or herself American living in the United States is entitled to do so regardless of (primary) language spoken or customs or practices that happen not to be the societal norm. This guy though was using my appearance to say that I could not be anything other Chinese, which, while it happened a few times back home, was less common than not.
So with a different audience I had to defend myself in a different way. I used Chinese nationality law. Being an American both by birth and by blood, I figure to call myself Chinese in the same way, I would be able to be granted Chinese nationality in some form—but I can’t.
My father’s parents were Chinese nationals, though left when the Nationalists were in power. As a result, it would appear to be virtually impossible to find all the appropriate documents to prove that they had citizenship, then that my father had citizenship because of them. But even if my father were to have citizenship, it would likely not be conferred to me. My thinking is that even in U.S. nationality law, a citizen (natural-born or naturalized) must have lived in the U.S. for a certain period of time before his or her citizenship can be given to his or her children born outside the United States. And my father has never set foot outside of North America, much less lived in China for any period of time.
On the other side, my mother’s birth in Hong Kong to Chinese parents makes her a Chinese national in theory as of 1997, when her British National Overseas status was commuted with the handover. However, she was naturalized as an American long before I was born, and has made no effort (understandably) to claim PRC citizenship. In addition, as she has been naturalized, she may be rendered herself ineligible for PRC citizenship.
So me, being born American by virtue of being born in the United States and by virtue of being born to two American parents, makes me ineligible for PRC citizenship under nationality law that makes clear that children born abroad to Chinese parents (which mine were effectively not) are not Chinese if they gain a different citizenship on birth.
And another reason why I hesitate to grant myself allegiance to China is the fact that my mother’s family emigrated from China specifically because of the Communists and what they did to the family that I never met.
So when my roommate bought a deck of playing cards that sported Chairman Mao Zedong on every face, he slammed it down on the desk in front of me to show what he had just done. His motivations behind why he bought that deck of cards, as well as a stereotypical People’s Liberation Army hat I don’t agree with and feel are quite crude, but that’s no matter as long as he doesn’t bring it in front of me.
As I pushed my hand across my forehead, sighing in a miniature fit of displeasure at my roommate’s misguided intentions, he mistook my disgust and assured me that “James, they’re not offensive or anything.”
Yeah, he didn’t get it, nor do I expect him to.
In my second note, we were all at Lamma Island enjoying some seafood after a long hike in hot weather. A good friend of mine asked me about how my family hierarchy works if I claim to be so American.
I think my response satisfied her question.
I had no idea what she was talking about.
She said that at funerals, for example, the Daoist priest would call up nuclear families one at a time, in a certain order, based on their family hierarchy. I told her that at the last funeral that I attended, which was my maternal grandmother’s, we didn’t have any of that. The service was presided over by a Methodist leader and at the end we went up to say our goodbyes in no specific order.
This reminds me of when I was little and asked m mother about something to that effect. I brought in family hierarchy in the same manner as the English royal family and she just brushed off my question, because it really didn’t matter.
And so national day is celebrated—this year the sixtieth anniversary of the Communists taking over China, the founding of the People’s Republic. Out in Victoria harbor a half-hour fireworks show of massive proportions started at 8:00pm.
Good luck.
Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Couture and Lamma
Like most public transportation systems, the MTR subway system here in Hong Kong has its fair share of advertisements. One advertisement was for the Couture exhibition at the Hong Kong Heritage Museum up in New Territories. It interested one of my friends, so we went up there to check out the exhibition as well as the permanent exhibits of the museum.
With public transportation, it took half an hour by bus to get to the MTR station and about 45 minutes on four lines of the MTR to get to the museum. From the Che Kung Temple station though, it was an easy walk from there.
When we got there, I knew I was hungry, and that at many American museums, they put decent restaurants on the premises to squeeze more money out of their patrons, but there, there was just a 7-Eleven style convenience store with a sitting area, along with a ritzy tea shop which didn’t serve food.
Going into the museum itself, I didn’t know what to expect. In the advertisement in the subway, it explained that the Couture exhibition was a fashion display specifically of London and Paris in the 1940s and ‘50s. It featured several models—all Asian, dressed up in clothing like that on display.
At the museum itself, which cost HK$10 as a student to get into, the exhibition took up several “thematic rooms” spanning the first floor (which would be the second floor in the United States) included rows and rows of dresses, along with original sketches. There was nothing more than what was to be expected, though one question remained on my mind.
Why is this about fashion on the other side of the globe? Why not have some sort of exhibition about contemporary culture in Hong Kong? This brings me to something that exchange students learn about Hong Kong—there is a deficiency of culture here—and I mean that in the nicest possible way.
Elsewhere in the museum there were exhibits about operas and theater in Hong Kong, as well as a permanent exhibit about the history of land reclamation here.
Land reclamation—Hong Kong is famous for it. The most visible and architecturally beautiful landmarks here are arguably on reclaimed land. Because they are on reclaimed land, they are relatively new, as land reclamation didn’t start until after the British arrived. This means that much of Hong Kong’s pre-colonial history is not cherished, including the many Tin Hau temples (dedicated to the Daoist goddess Mazu who overlooks seafarers) dotting the territory.
The result? Locals think they are more British than they really are. Because of Hong Kong’s history as a colony separate of China and its continuing high level of autonomy, it has been a haven for businesses of all sorts to make their way into East Asia.
This competitive advantage, though still visible in such aspects as freedom of press and free flow of information, is gradually but surely diminishing. Soon, I feel it will become nothing more than other large Chinese city.
Many locals think that the use of English in Hong Kong, having been a British colony, is an advantage that they have a monopoly on. However, the Mainland Chinese students coming over speak better English than the local Hong Kong students. With such a large business and finance presence here, in combination with the wide array of human capital here, why wouldn’t we get more business? However, why wouldn’t business skip Hong Kong and go straight to somewhere like Shanghai, where there is more usable land, cheaper human capital, and a rapidly expanding infrastructure.
With many of the locals that I meet being business majors hoping to go into finance, I can’t help but realize how true this veil really is. If diversification of industries is the key, then Hong Kong is behind a double-bolted door, in a room furnished with attractive furniture that is, unfortunately, of poor material, ready to break.
And I don’t mean the furniture is the people—it’s the attitude here. Many locals feel that Hong Kong is ultimately a financial center, feeling it wouldn’t be plausible, much less desirable, to introduce other economic sectors, such as creative industries, into the mix.
For a while, Hong Kong used to be second only to Hollywood (meaning Southern California) in film production in the world. Regarding local music, I’ve heard of Cantopop but I’ve never heard Cantopop. Sports?—what are sports?
So where do I feel Hong Kong stands in the world? I think it’s a declining city. Though not having reached its economic peak yet, life here seems hallow, and the culture seems conceited. Maybe Hong Kong should accept that it’s part of China and go from there in terms of long-term planning.
I don’t hate Hong Kong. I just think it’s misguided.
On a brighter note, the next day we went on a daytrip to Lamma Island. Still located within the SAR, it sits just southwest of Hong Kong island itself and contains a few large power plants and a lot of pristine, undeveloped land.
I can actually see Lamma Island from my window, but from Central it takes about a half-hour ferry ride to get to. While both of the towns on Lamma Island are noticeably touristy, there is a sense of relaxation and enjoyment there not present in the more crowded areas of Hong Kong.
My friends and I took the two-hour hike from one town to the other. On one hand, the weather was thoroughly unenjoyable. It was hot and really humid. My shirt was so soaked with sweat that instead of being able to spot sweat stains, my whole bright green shirt turned a shade darker.
It was totally worth it though. I feel like that was the most fun I’ve had since coming here. Walking through the first little town named Yung Shue Wan, we felt relatively crowded. We visited a temple and lit incense there. After getting out of the town, the island was overwhelmingly wooded with plenty of tropical-looking trees and pleasant houses pushed into the hillsides.
It was great until we spotted a huge spider up in the tree in front of us. Legs included, it was likely six-inches long. Then a friend of mine pointed one out that was but a few feet away from my head. It had noticeable stripes of color on it, and, long story short, I don’t like spiders.
In total we saw about six of those big spiders by the time we were halfway through the hike. Along the way, we saw a large beach named Hung Shing Yeh, complete with shark nets and expats and tourists. Halfway through, we bought water from a guy who raised prices to make an extra buck. Instead of buying water himself, one of my friends refused to pay the slightly higher prices and instead drank out of another friends bottle.
At the other town named Sok Kwu Wan we ate good seafood family style. We definitely paid tourist prices, but as part of eating there at Rainbow Seafood Restaurant we were given a ride back to Central on a charter boat.
With public transportation, it took half an hour by bus to get to the MTR station and about 45 minutes on four lines of the MTR to get to the museum. From the Che Kung Temple station though, it was an easy walk from there.
When we got there, I knew I was hungry, and that at many American museums, they put decent restaurants on the premises to squeeze more money out of their patrons, but there, there was just a 7-Eleven style convenience store with a sitting area, along with a ritzy tea shop which didn’t serve food.
Going into the museum itself, I didn’t know what to expect. In the advertisement in the subway, it explained that the Couture exhibition was a fashion display specifically of London and Paris in the 1940s and ‘50s. It featured several models—all Asian, dressed up in clothing like that on display.
At the museum itself, which cost HK$10 as a student to get into, the exhibition took up several “thematic rooms” spanning the first floor (which would be the second floor in the United States) included rows and rows of dresses, along with original sketches. There was nothing more than what was to be expected, though one question remained on my mind.
Why is this about fashion on the other side of the globe? Why not have some sort of exhibition about contemporary culture in Hong Kong? This brings me to something that exchange students learn about Hong Kong—there is a deficiency of culture here—and I mean that in the nicest possible way.
Elsewhere in the museum there were exhibits about operas and theater in Hong Kong, as well as a permanent exhibit about the history of land reclamation here.
Land reclamation—Hong Kong is famous for it. The most visible and architecturally beautiful landmarks here are arguably on reclaimed land. Because they are on reclaimed land, they are relatively new, as land reclamation didn’t start until after the British arrived. This means that much of Hong Kong’s pre-colonial history is not cherished, including the many Tin Hau temples (dedicated to the Daoist goddess Mazu who overlooks seafarers) dotting the territory.
The result? Locals think they are more British than they really are. Because of Hong Kong’s history as a colony separate of China and its continuing high level of autonomy, it has been a haven for businesses of all sorts to make their way into East Asia.
This competitive advantage, though still visible in such aspects as freedom of press and free flow of information, is gradually but surely diminishing. Soon, I feel it will become nothing more than other large Chinese city.
Many locals think that the use of English in Hong Kong, having been a British colony, is an advantage that they have a monopoly on. However, the Mainland Chinese students coming over speak better English than the local Hong Kong students. With such a large business and finance presence here, in combination with the wide array of human capital here, why wouldn’t we get more business? However, why wouldn’t business skip Hong Kong and go straight to somewhere like Shanghai, where there is more usable land, cheaper human capital, and a rapidly expanding infrastructure.
With many of the locals that I meet being business majors hoping to go into finance, I can’t help but realize how true this veil really is. If diversification of industries is the key, then Hong Kong is behind a double-bolted door, in a room furnished with attractive furniture that is, unfortunately, of poor material, ready to break.
And I don’t mean the furniture is the people—it’s the attitude here. Many locals feel that Hong Kong is ultimately a financial center, feeling it wouldn’t be plausible, much less desirable, to introduce other economic sectors, such as creative industries, into the mix.
For a while, Hong Kong used to be second only to Hollywood (meaning Southern California) in film production in the world. Regarding local music, I’ve heard of Cantopop but I’ve never heard Cantopop. Sports?—what are sports?
So where do I feel Hong Kong stands in the world? I think it’s a declining city. Though not having reached its economic peak yet, life here seems hallow, and the culture seems conceited. Maybe Hong Kong should accept that it’s part of China and go from there in terms of long-term planning.
I don’t hate Hong Kong. I just think it’s misguided.
On a brighter note, the next day we went on a daytrip to Lamma Island. Still located within the SAR, it sits just southwest of Hong Kong island itself and contains a few large power plants and a lot of pristine, undeveloped land.
I can actually see Lamma Island from my window, but from Central it takes about a half-hour ferry ride to get to. While both of the towns on Lamma Island are noticeably touristy, there is a sense of relaxation and enjoyment there not present in the more crowded areas of Hong Kong.
My friends and I took the two-hour hike from one town to the other. On one hand, the weather was thoroughly unenjoyable. It was hot and really humid. My shirt was so soaked with sweat that instead of being able to spot sweat stains, my whole bright green shirt turned a shade darker.
It was totally worth it though. I feel like that was the most fun I’ve had since coming here. Walking through the first little town named Yung Shue Wan, we felt relatively crowded. We visited a temple and lit incense there. After getting out of the town, the island was overwhelmingly wooded with plenty of tropical-looking trees and pleasant houses pushed into the hillsides.
It was great until we spotted a huge spider up in the tree in front of us. Legs included, it was likely six-inches long. Then a friend of mine pointed one out that was but a few feet away from my head. It had noticeable stripes of color on it, and, long story short, I don’t like spiders.
In total we saw about six of those big spiders by the time we were halfway through the hike. Along the way, we saw a large beach named Hung Shing Yeh, complete with shark nets and expats and tourists. Halfway through, we bought water from a guy who raised prices to make an extra buck. Instead of buying water himself, one of my friends refused to pay the slightly higher prices and instead drank out of another friends bottle.
At the other town named Sok Kwu Wan we ate good seafood family style. We definitely paid tourist prices, but as part of eating there at Rainbow Seafood Restaurant we were given a ride back to Central on a charter boat.
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