Nanjing: 300,000 at the Gate of China

After freshening up at the hotel for a bit, it was only 3:00 PM, so we decided to get a bit of sightseeing in. The major thing that Nanjing is know for outside China is the Rape of Nanking as termed in American history textbooks, now seemingly recognized properly at the Nanjing Massacre.

To this effect, we went to the appropriate memorial, named the Memorial for Compatriots Killed in the Nanjing Massacre by Japanese Forces of Aggression (侵華日軍南京大屠殺遇難同胞紀念館/侵华日军南京大屠杀遇难同胞纪念馆) after eating at a western restaurant. The food was quite good, there was just too much of it, so we ended up overeating.

The whole memorial was quite somber, as it was designed. The memorial was designed on a black and charcoal gray template, with the death toll on a cross made purposefully dirty juxtaposed with walls across a gray-pebble courtyard (evocative of Zen gardens) from the museum.

One point popped into the back of my head. It probably would have just gone away if my friend didn’t say anything about it. This memorial wasn’t built over any sort of ruins. The museum had fake ruins adorning the materials about the conflict and in no way was this site more historical than the rest of Nanjing.

This friend happened to have seen some of the major holocaust sites in Germany. She said that the Nanjing Massacre Memorial lacked the same authentic feel that Dauchau concentration camp did. I could see her point, but being that most of the museums that I’ve been to in the United States have been built on nothing more than their foundations of concrete and steel, this fact didn’t irk me.

The museum was more informative than anything else. Everything stated was presented as fact, and though the words “Japanese Invaders” were used more than once (or twice), artifacts from the conflict seemed to be displayed in a very impartial manner (though at the same time it was quite clear what country you were in).

It made me realize how much about Asia, and for that matter the world outside Anglophone North America and Europe I don’t know. I construe it as a simple statement on our Eurocentric public educations. I remember that in sophomore year of high school, the state set up a curriculum based on “World History,” but with our class being European History Advanced Placement, we were going to wait until after the AP test in May to cover the rest of the world. Thought it seemed to be a daunting task, covering the rest of the world in less than a month, we failed to accomplish anything at all. Instead, we watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail as well as Forrest Gump.

I do understand that in comparison with the eleven million people (six million Jews) that the Nazis killed, a simple 300,000 doesn’t seem like much by the Imperialist Japanese. The fact of the matter is though that 300,000 people make up still 300,000 lives, each one precious in its own regard.

To make matters special, whereas Germany likes to distance itself from its Nazi past, it is highly questionable whether Japan cares to do the same. Maybe 300,000 is a high estimate; “impartial” observers estimate 260,000; but Japanese historians head down to 100,000. I suppose the number isn’t important, but some Japanese officials say that all the deaths were military-related and that no war crimes occurred (being that you aren’t to target civilians nor attack when civilians are known to be present). Former Japanese Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi decided to go pay respect to the Japanese memorial honoring their fallen soldiers in the conflict.

The fact of the matter was that Japan was clearly the one that violated the well-established international law principle of territorial sovereignty, and in doing so continued to murder innocent civilians. I don’t hold anything against the Japan of today, because what’s past is the history. And though you are supposed to learn from your mistakes, I well understand many Chinese people’s anti-Japanese sentiment.

I suppose in some ways I’m a product of the whole conflict. Had Japan as well as Germany not started their courses in history in World War II, I, James Philip Jee, as I know myself would not be here today. People like to take guesses at my families’ histories. In Guilin, one American tourist decided to guess without solicitation that I have relatives who moved to the United States to build the railroads. Almost everybody assumes that having parents that are Chinese (meaning ethnicity) means that you can speak Chinese. To them it makes so much sense when I say that my mother’s from Hong Kong yet so much humor when I say my father’s from Detroit.

Because my parents didn’t meet in China, I don’t say my family’s from China, though I am proud of my Chinese heritage. In fact, my father’s never been outside of North America, so to say so would be an inaccuracy. If the conflict never started, would my mother’s parents have moved from Hangzhou? Would I have a much different set of relatives? Would I even exist? Could I be an only child?

Though my circumstances are rooted in a history so ugly, I guess I can say that thanks to my parents I have reestablished my roots in a way that they never would have predicted. In a way, I like to think that no one predicted it would come out this way.

I understand that I am one privileged individual. While I wouldn’t call myself filthy rich, I understand my circumstances well as being well, and it bothers me to see wastefulness in life and in spending.

So there is a reason I went to visit Nanjing, and it’s fitting in a way that it happened to be my last trip out of Hong Kong before my time here. Never should I forget where my past lives have been lived out, never should any one forget the horrors that we people have placed each other under.

I’ve come to appreciate my roots for my culture and my heritage for my traditions. I’ve come to respect my nation as something to subscribe to and my state as something to rely on, and though immigration regulations places restrictions where people are allowed to reside and work (which most notably means that certain places are more prosperous than others), we are all ultimately people, and the future of who we are and where we are lies nowhere else than with us.

To Love Your University

“What class are you going to?” asked one of my friends, a fellow political science major.

“I’m going to my fine arts class,” I casually replied.

“Why do you take an arts class? Are you taking it for fun?”

“Well, yes and no. I have to take it to graduate, but I also enjoy it,” I said truthfully.

“Why would you have to take an arts class? You study political science,” he said.

“Yeah, and it’s part of my general education requirements.”

“That seems errr, stupid.”

You know, as education systems go, I’ve come to the knowledge that I like and prefer mine. Though I’m sure that many, many people back home would argue this point with me, the fact that the vast majority of university students in the United States receive liberal arts educations is a competitive advantage as critical thought goes as well as important to that development of critical thought.

Now, as I can foresee, there are two points of contention that can arise from this: first that most all higher education in the United States can be called liberal arts and second that it is actually something positive and advantageous in the long run.

Let me first define liberal arts as I see fit. I understand full well that in the United States, liberal arts on the layperson’s level almost always refers to the liberal arts colleges (not universities, because they don’t confer graduate degrees), wherein professors teach small classes and instead of researching, professors just teach. As such, liberal arts colleges tend to be small themselves. They pride themselves on learning for the sake of knowledge and having knowledge for the sake of knowledge, which I can and do fully believe in.

That’s where I’m going to break it off. Though a liberal arts college teaches liberal arts, not all institutions that teach liberal arts are liberal arts colleges—in fact, the whole higher education set up of the United States is based on the liberal arts education and continues to become more and more so—and I like it.

So what exactly is a liberal arts education? In my understanding, the result is that you get a well-rounded knowledge base upon which to draw from, but what is most important is that you come up with well-rounded (profound and thoughtful) opinions and decisions, based on the fact that nothing in the world it of itself with nothing else. Philosophically speaking, the liberal arts education gives students a real-world education with the ability to analyze relations better than say someone who went to a vocational school, which trains you only for your job.

And that’s the alternative, or one of the alternatives. Vocational school in the United States refers to professions that require more technical skill over critical thought. Don’t get me wrong, because I believe that people who go to vocational school and people who hold jobs of any sort make the world go round, but vocational school is for the nitty gritty professions, like those of mechanics and plumbers.

So where do the rest of us fit in? Well, we get well-rounded educations. This means that we have general education requirements and often areas of specialization (on top of majors). In addition, general education requirements are often done in the first two years, which means that the breadth of disciplines that a student is exposed to can help him or her decide what to major in. And before you say, well, doesn’t everybody have general education requirements?, that’s a no.

As I understand, here at HKU, there are hardly any general education requirements as we would understand in the United States. They have one broad set of classes labeled “GE: General Education” but notices that the word “requirements” is left off. GEs are not required it appears. In that sense, the university curriculum (in addition to the primary and secondary school curriculums) are based heavily on the English.

In this sense, you are forced into specialization soon after you enter university, which I find bizarre. To start, their major curriculums are three years, whereas in the United States the typical time to graduate with a bachelor’s degree is supposed to be four years.

And that’s not specialization in just major—it’s more like career. Take a look at professional degrees in the United States—most are graduate degrees that require an undergraduate degree to apply for. Architecture, as one of the few fields left whose professional degree is undergraduate, might become a graduate degree soon. I recently read an article that the National Council of Architectural Registration Boards was investigating making it so, much in the same way law was made a doctorate back in the day.

Lawyers are doctors too (at least in the United States). Since the late nineteenth century, you have to earn a Juris Doctor (JD) degree to be eligible to take the bar in any state and thereby become licensed to practice. This means that you have to first get an undergraduate degree, and then go to law school for six semesters.

In England, as I understand, as well as many historically English-ruled countries, law is firmly an undergraduate (albeit professional) degree. Straight out of high school, English students can (if so accepted) go straight into law. After for studying for three years in a classroom and a doing year of practical (the substitute for the American bar), you become a fully qualified lawyer. Similarly, medical students study for five years as undergraduates (four in the United States), and then do their practical for however many years. Because of this, both physicians and lawyers start out younger in England than in the United States.

Some would say “Yay! More money for retirement!” but I think that if you spent so many fewer years on education, you’re inherently less educated than someone whose spent more. It’s like child prodigies who end up graduating college at the age of 13. They may have the same practical knowledge as a 21-year-old of the same qualifications, but do they really have an equal amount of life experience that truly enhances your education? I think not.

On a related note, in the last lecture of my Hong Kong and the World class, we had the pro-vice-chancellor of the university at our disposal as a guest speaker, and the main topic of the discussion was the education reform currently underway in Hong Kong.

As a background note, secondary education is becoming one year shorter and university education is becoming one year longer (in a timed manner). This means that in fall 2012, the nine universities of Hong Kong will be taking in two classes (for two different curriculums), or a 40% increase in students over the previous term and the previous year. The universities are all expanding their campuses as able to accommodate this increase.

Current university students overall seem to be pretty apathetic, since it’s not immediately affecting them. But in any situation like this one, students who have opinions tend to harbor strong feelings.

I love my university, and I appreciate what is being done for me. I wish that more often more people would be appreciative just of the air around them. I love my university, but besides reasons of gratitude, I couldn’t tell you why. The university isn’t a person, but a group of people, so I suppose my love would be for the environment, for (the majority of) the people.

In our last Hong Kong and the World class, one local student expressed a very strong dislike (or at least severely neutral) opinion of the University of Hong Kong. Now, HKU isn’t my university per say (though I registered with the alumni office at their request), but I see no reason not to love it. Though it is structured differently than UCSD, I can firmly see that a university is a university. I’m not so sure she can quantify her lack of affection for HKU either, much in the same way that I cannot quantify my affection for UCSD.

There are plenty of UCSD students who hate UCSD, but they tend to back up their feelings or opinions based on the liberal arts classes that they are forced to take, Making of the Modern World that one day I hope they will appreciate having taken.

In all honesty, I can’t really fully appreciate that student’s lack of affection for the university. Though I never asked her personally, she said to the pro-vice-chancellor that she believes her workload is far to heavy. (Although I have been here for only one semester, I can say that my full course load is producing far less work that I’ve had back at UCSD.)

So there’s haters everywhere I suppose, and it doesn’t matter whose grass your on. I think though that the ultimate reason why I love my university is that I’m an appreciative, positive person who tries to see everything and tries to see everything with an open mind.

And let the statement never disappear that many UCSD professors notice the difference in writing and critical thought in papers from Eleanor Roosevelt College students.

In the development of the person, it would appear that time is more important than money.

Copyright © 2009 James Philip Jee
This work may not be reproduced by any means without express permission of the author. 

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.

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.

Shopping for Classes, Part 3

To register for classes, you sign onto HKU Portal and click on Student Connect. To register classes, you find individual lectures on the “Optional Courses” search page and scroll down the list. Once you find it, you click on it, which prompts you for a lecture selection, which almost always is “A” since most classes don’t have enough enrollment to warrant multiple lectures and professors. Make sure to save between adding classes.

When you add a class, a “TS” appears next to it, meaning the department offering the course has to approve you for that specific course. If the department doesn’t approve you, you get a “TN” and if you’re approved, you get sent for approval by your super-departmental faculty, which while pending is assigned “TW.” Once you get a “TW,” you’re pretty much approved, but they can still deny your selection, giving you a “TN.” If all goes well, all your classes are now “TA” or fully approved to take.

Upon attending class, you are told to sign up for a tutorial (what I would call a section), the times of which are not publicized nor solidified. If you have a problem making any of the tutorial slots, say if you have lectures during each of the tutorials offered, then you should talk to the TA and or professor so that you can be accommodated.

Some classes have a convenient sign-up process online, which serves to confuse in its own right. It’s a competition to sign up for tutorials first so that you get the best time slot, which basically means it is neither too late in the day nor too early in the morning, considering existing schedule blocks for other lectures. The tutorial enrollment is only compared to the lecture enrollment once the add/drop period ends.

Needless to say, I have now finished registration in its entirety.

It was painful to go through, and seemed to add more corners that needed desperately to be cut off. Why couldn’t the Student Connect system for lecture registration be integrated with tutorial registration for better convenience in schedule arrangement? It would make logistics smoother and more operable, allowing professors and TAs to teach rather than arrange tutorial slots for the masses.

So now I’ve attended all of my tutorials at least once. With tutorials having started on the third week of instruction, I’ve already been to all my lectures at least two or three times by this point (with the exception of Cantonese, which has no tutorials), and for the most part, they have been good.

For my Traditional Chinese Society class (SOCI0052) the enrollment stands at thirteen students, split into two tutorials led by the professor himself. Last week, we had a typhoon level eight, which canceled morning and early afternoon classes, so we were all lumped into one section. This week, however, the two tutorials met separately, and mine only has five students. We presented our proposals for the ethnographic research project due in a month, and apparently mine was a good idea (details forthcoming).

For Hong Kong and the World (POLI0019), the tutorial was relaxed and focused on discussions of the readings and the lectures specifically (as the professor usually brings guest speakers in). We went over Hong Kong’s global competitive as a haven for multinational companies and international financial institutions and speculated as to its ability to maintain any such competitiveness.

In the tutorial for Introduction to Arts of Asia: Past and Present (FINE1008), the professor served as the tutorial leader, though she has one TA for her class. There, we discussed the major artworks (of various mediums) and went over the nitty gritties that we were to be tested on later.

In the tutorial for Phonetics (LING2004), my particular section saw the professor teaching. He went over a homework assignment that we have to turn in by next Wednesday. Though his approach is explicitly observational, I still feel that he’s trying to prescriptively teach the local students how to speak English like an American or a Brit.

For Humanity in Globalization (POLI0078), I just had my first tutorial. The lecture immediately prior, we watched a documentary on the Rwandan Genocide, to which we reflected upon in tutorial. While really quite depressing, the syllabus has topics in the future that involve logos whereas these first two weeks have really invoked the shock factor and pathos.

“Peux ce que veux,” non?

The Tongue of Another

I pick up here where I left off from “A Friend of Two,” posted in late August. I had just arrived here and found myself struggling with the lack of English. Honestly, I knew it was to be expected, and honestly, I know I should have tried to pick up some more basic Cantonese before I left.

But as it became readily apparent—I didn’t.

To this effect, I enrolled in Cantonese for Foreign Learners 1, which has, in the first five classes, served to localize my speech more than it had been before. Being an unstandardized, not completely written language, there is debate over how many tones Cantonese does (or should) have.

For those who don’t know much about the Chinese languages (called dialects), they are tonal, which in short means that same syllables pronounced with different pitches in tone (not all of which steady) have the potential to change their meaning.

Having gone to Chinese school (teaching Mandarin) when I was little, I was used to being told about the four tones in Mandarin, five including the neutral tone. With English being the language of my household, I learned the language an auxiliary language (contrary to popular opinion), and had not been able to pronounce understandably until just a few years ago. Now, in words that I know, I can pronounce the tones properly, albeit with an American accent.

In Cantonese, the debate over how many tones exist ranges from as low as six to as high as eleven or twelve, depending on your source. In the Hong Kong variety of Cantonese, there had historically been seven tones, but two consolidated with the recent “lazy generation.” So in my class, we are being taught with six tones, which usually appear as superscript numerals immediately following the syllable that they modify.

Explained in words, the first tone is high, the second is high rising, the third medium, the fourth medium falling, the fifth low falling then rising, and the sixth the lowest. For the vowels and consonant sounds, we use the Jyutping system, which the book claims was chosen for its resemblance to the International Phonetic Alphabet (though I know it could be closer).

So my goal in learning Cantonese, other than for the sake of learning Cantonese, is so that I can get around places earlier and apply such skills to a future professional career.

But like I mention time and time again, my classes here are in English (with varying levels of quality). This would imply that the local students and the Mainland Chinese students speak scholarly English to be able to read scholarly articles and to understand lectures in their entirety.

This leads me into the way that I’ve seen local students function as a reflection of their education. As my cousin told me, the education system, heavily influenced by the British, “teaches them to take orders, but doesn’t promote critical thought.” My mother, who spent part of her childhood in Hong Kong, told me how though they had English classes, they were not effective in method or end result. And according to my own research, Hong Kong schools only teach English to students based on vocational needs.

But this isn’t about English. Locals speak mostly Cantonese to each other here and most can work with Mandarin. However, with English as a co-official language, one would expect the system to make more of an effort to teach English. With Hong Kong seeing itself as “Asia’s world city,” English competence is one way that it keeps its competitiveness—a trait that it’s not maintaining, if it had it in the first place.

The University of Hong Kong purportedly uses English as the medium of communication for all classes (expect foreign language), so it would make sense that the students are competent in English in a scholarly capacity—which brings me back to what my Hong Kong University buddy, a local student, told me.

Apparently, when I called her the morning that she gave me the tour, she said that she was so nervous to be speaking English to me. Don’t get me wrong—I think that she’s a great person and I remain grateful she gave me that tour, but a student shouldn’t be frightened to speak in the language that they’re being instructed in.

Though she represents just one student out of the 20,000 here, thinking that a lot of local students doubt their own English competency helps explain a lot of things. For one thing, local students focus a lot on face, which is based on the Chinese emphasis on harmony in relationships over individuality and non-conformity. This means that if you say “Hi” to a local, you will get a “Hi” back, and little more. I have experienced this on multiple occasions when I attempted to break the ice with my floormates in my hall.

Needless to say all but like two practically gave the cold shoulder, as they did not know me yet, and did not feel comfortable enough with me to be open, which I feel is perfectly understandable. But a friend of mine, who speaks Cantonese (among other languages), finds that the local students warm up to him faster, which, needless to say, is in all likelihood because there is less of a perceivable language barrier.

So in their not responding to my friendly efforts in attempt to save face, they’ve actually lost face in my consciousness (and most exchange students’ sub-consciousness) as they isolate themselves from the exchange students (possibly as well as the Mainland Chinese).

And I’m not trying to be an English imperialist in the opinion. I believe everyone is entitled to the language of his or her choice, with the thought that one should be open when going abroad, especially to a non-English country. So I failed; I assumed that just because English is the language of instruction that English is something most everyone is competent in.

And to this effect, I am attempting the learn Cantonese. A month (one quarter) into my program, I find that by itself, my Cantonese has not improved, which to the contrary my Italian developed rapidly during my two weeks there last summer. This morning, as an example, I asked the minibus to stop in Cantonese, which, while understood, had a highly apparent accent, which even I myself could hear. So I’ve resigned myself to the primary goal of being understood in Cantonese.

But even if I’m understood and I can understand, I face a second dilemma—a dilemma that could be readily solved by speaking English. Since I look like a local despite being rooted 7,000 miles away, a lot of service workers think I’m stupid or slow when I speak to them in Cantonese. The little that I know is slow and heavily accented. When I speak English though, I get great service and people who think that I’m highly educated. In all likelihood, I probably get charged higher prices as well.

So I guess there’s just no winning. A friend of mine here, a Scottish exchange student who doesn’t look like a local, manages to ask the minibus to stop as well. She told me that when she does so, she get stares from both sides of the aisle. The locals look at her for having a funny accent with little appreciation for her efforts to learn the local tongue, and the tourists and ex-pats look at her, wondering what she just said.

So what can be done?

Well, for me, as I’ve said, I hang out mostly with exchange students. Scratch that—only with exchange students. It’s not my choice, as going abroad is, in my opinion, to branch out, especially into the host culture.

As for my Hong Kong University buddy, she informed me that she, as well as many other local students don’t attend lecture, opting just for tutorial (or section), which are often taught in Cantonese if everyone is competent. She told be that the professors speaking English are hard to understand.

So a few weeks ago, at my faculty’s orientation for registering for classes, I raised my hand with a question about tutorials: “My HKU buddy told me that some tutorials are conducted in Cantonese. So how easy would it be to switch tutorials if I need to get out of a Cantonese-language one?”

And the answer, “Well they aren’t supposed to be speaking Cantonese, so if it is in Cantonese and the tutor refuses to teach in English, tell us and we’ll get everything straightened out.”

Alrighty then.