After a few weeks of Chinese classes i was beginning to curse The Karake Kid and Mr. Miyagi.
The classroom consisted of four desks arranged in a rectangle facing the board; I was sitting in my usual seat next to the teacher, on her left hand side.
For the moment, all was silent because we, the students, had collectively complained: to practice the dialogue from the book we always started with Eric and read a sentence each going around the class, today, we wanted a more creative way.
The teacher finally spoke. “Park, you read the first sentence this time,” she declared proudly to the Korean guy directly opposite Eric.
I want to buy a book.” “How much is that book?” ‘Which book?” “That book,”
we all repeated.
Praise the lord, I thought, the dialogue conversation sounded so different and fresh on this, the tenth time, now that it was circling clockwise rather than anti-clockwise around the class.
"Now let’s read the vocabulary,” she announced.
Clockwise or anti-clockwise, I thought, or maybe, we are going to get another spectacular piece of innovation like odds and even numbers?
"Not exactly Mr. Miyagi is it man?” said Adrian. “It doesn’t get any better.”
Adrian sat on my left, he had been in Taiwan for about five years. He was back at the Chinese school studying Chinese because he needed a visa.
Unfortunately, I was beginning to understand Adrian wasn't just a moaning old hand: the teaching was still very Dead Poet’s Society and i was wondering why i was bothering to study. I had got an apartment near Shih Ta University because I planned to study Chinese in their language program - supposedly the best in Taipei, Taiwan. I thought having to give them a letter of reference was strange because I was a paying customer, studying for personal pleasure, but I nonetheless prepared all the documentation to prove himself worthy of a place. Then it started: rote combined with memorization, repetition and drills, and only the register in between. I complained that perhaps they should at least be allowed to make a sentence to practice, but apparently the teacher knew better, we were too basic to be allowed to innovate. Finally, there was a weekly test which I began to be sure she just hid behind to waste a lesson. I walked out after two months shaking my head telling them: 'You waste one lesson a week testing me when I am a paying adult. Gonna make me stand in the corner next?' I decided if authority was going to be so unquestioning, I would head to a private Chinese language school like this one, where there were no rules.
"Wipe on, wipe off...” said Adrian, pleased with his observation. “You watched the Karate Kid when you were young, right, man? I wanted to come to Asia because of that movie. Wanted to be taught by a cool little Asian dude like Mr. Miyagi...The ultimate teacher, with his cool, alternative methods for learning karate. Not like the reality, eh?”
"I hear you, man,” I replied.
It was funny: east Asia have done one fantastic thing, they have managed to convince the world that they are these great delivers of knowledge. Trust in me and I can impart knowledge to you in some magical way. It is not just Mr. Miyagi. There is Kung Fu with Grasshopper, Jackie Chan…In fact whenever Chinese, Japanese and maybe even Koreans appear on the scene it is inevitably a double act of master and student with the student getting wiser by the second just by being in the aura of the great teacher.”
"But they are actually good students?”I countered because all the top students in my school were East Asian.
"Much more earthy reasons.” Adrian pretended to crack a whip.
He continued, "Five years I have been here man, in and out of schools studying Chinese, and I haven’t met a teacher who threw out the traditional for the creative, the tried and tested for the unusual and inspirational. Unfortunately, the downside of Miyagi’s techniques, unquestioning loyalty for the teacher’s methods I have seen too fucking much of.”
"Thanks. You want to go to lunch?” I said making an excuse to get away. The unfortunate reality Grasshopper got his pupils to write the sentence a thousand times behind the curtain wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
Showing posts with label Taiwan culture shock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Taiwan culture shock. Show all posts
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Taking Taiwanese girl back to the West to make her more outgoing
I had really assumed this kind of behavior was a relic of the past, but then the friend who inspired me to write this blog confessed to doing it, and then I bumped into the guy below. Clearly, some things never change…
Dave Ritco had got married to a Taiwanese girl and left about 2 years ago. I had got occasional emails from him but now I suddenly saw him on the street in Taipei.
“Why are you back? Thought you were nicely settled in Canada?” I asked.
“It is a long story man. Sorting out the divorce.”
“What?” I asked. We then had a long conversation about what had happened and how she had refused to work or make friends in Canada. It wasn't a surprise to me but then the key words came out: “I thought she would change back in the West. Become more outgoing.”
I felt sorry for him because we had all been through this stage. It was also an interesting confirmation of that fact: to lesser degree or more we had all bought into the nonsense that the West was going to make Taiwanese girls more outgoing.
The argument of course went like this: Taiwan was sexist and given the freedoms and emphasize on being yourself in the West, said Taiwan girl will come out of her shell. It was an easy mistake to make, but still a bad one nonetheless.
Don’t forget to check out the kindle books linked in the post below.
Dave Ritco had got married to a Taiwanese girl and left about 2 years ago. I had got occasional emails from him but now I suddenly saw him on the street in Taipei.
“Why are you back? Thought you were nicely settled in Canada?” I asked.
“It is a long story man. Sorting out the divorce.”
“What?” I asked. We then had a long conversation about what had happened and how she had refused to work or make friends in Canada. It wasn't a surprise to me but then the key words came out: “I thought she would change back in the West. Become more outgoing.”
I felt sorry for him because we had all been through this stage. It was also an interesting confirmation of that fact: to lesser degree or more we had all bought into the nonsense that the West was going to make Taiwanese girls more outgoing.
The argument of course went like this: Taiwan was sexist and given the freedoms and emphasize on being yourself in the West, said Taiwan girl will come out of her shell. It was an easy mistake to make, but still a bad one nonetheless.
- Not everyone in the West was outgoing – Once you thought about that fact and realized that most people spent their time knocking themselves or trying to do anything possible to gain more confidence you would realize the take them back argument wasn't going to work.
- Outgoing was a personality issue not a society one – This tied in with the above and had reams and reams of evidence to prove it. Once you met loads of Taiwanese you realized that an awful lot of them were extremely outgoing. Taiwanese: set up businesses, they are extremely social, they have little fear of public speaking or even public singing and dancing. They just operate within a social framework which makes certain aspects of their character appear timid. They are scared of their parents and bosses and we define outgoing and freedom as the ability to tell our parents to fuck off. I always like to refer to Dangerous Liasons the film with Glen Close. Clearly she is an outgoing, determined woman but she has to keep it under wraps because of the society in France at the time. 17 or 18th century France didn't by default make all women doormats, but rather made them think harder about where and how they could express their character.
- Taiwan society isn't that repressed – As well as being very sexist and paternalistic, Taiwan is also one of the most socially and sexually liberal places in the world. Parents in general don't care what their kids do as long as come home, pay up the monthly allowance and are seen when relatives come to visit. They operate an extremely long rope policy turning a blind eye to most of the things their kids get up to. The classic being the Taiwanese girl who is on the phone to her mother at 11pm to tell her she is staying at a friend’s house; the mother says nothing even though she can hear a guy discussing hotel room sizes with the receptionist in the background. In short, if someone was naturally outgoing there were a million ways to express yourself. And, in even shorter, if your Taiwanese girlfriend was afraid to sing in KTV, or dance in the disco, or meet your friends, or get up and speak at work; she was naturally introverted and that was that. No amount of time in the West was going to change her.
Don’t forget to check out the kindle books linked in the post below.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Taiwan Culture Shock: Best to blame the wall after all
Taiwanese and westerners differing ideas of family inevitability are the source of endless debate. On this occasion i was watching Shine with the wife.
You remember Shine? The story of the brilliant Australian pianist who has a nervous breakdown, seemingly caused by his overbearing father who pushed him too hard.
We were at the crucial part of the movie where he sees his father again after many years and everyone hopes he won’t be bullied again.
“Why do you always blame your parents for everything?” said the wife.
“Not everything,” I replied. “But the old guy is a bastard. Even now he is not sorry and trying to tell him he is an idiot and needs his father.”
She didn’t seem convinced and so i took the bait.
“I guess we face reality and admit our parents aren’t gods.””
She shrugged. “He just wants the best for his son.”
If the truth be told i had foreseen this topic arising and a possible argument; picked the DVD up, put it down, but wasn’t able to leave it alone.
“I know compared to the average Taiwanese parent he is a hippy who doesn’t care if his children weave baskets while smoking pot for all eternity.”
I could see her getting into explode mode so i changed tact. “Anyway, when you are facing ten years for drug smuggling, and banging your head against a wall with self-loathing at your own stupidity, you need someone to blame for your actions, to make yourself feel better,” I replied.
“We take responsibility ourselves,” she replied smugly. “You westerners should try and learn that is only your fault in the end. No excuses.”
“No you don’t,” I said. “You blame luck or the moon. And you still do the murder or robbery. Just deny why.”
“You talk too much,” she said. “My sister is naughty and i am not. Both have the same parent.”
She had a point.
“I don’t know,” I replied trying to be sociological. “Perhaps we believe that by identifying the root of the problem, and facing it we can get closure and hopefully improve, be happier as a person. Improve our society.”
“Does it work?” she asked.
“Of course not. I would say almost never. We firmly identity our parents as the problem. Wallow in self-pity. Restrict ourselves. Talk about it all the time. Make it the center of our lives, but still die alone and bitter having been unable to do anything about it….In that case, you are right – We might as well blame the wall or the 3rd letter of our names.”
You remember Shine? The story of the brilliant Australian pianist who has a nervous breakdown, seemingly caused by his overbearing father who pushed him too hard.
We were at the crucial part of the movie where he sees his father again after many years and everyone hopes he won’t be bullied again.
“Why do you always blame your parents for everything?” said the wife.
“Not everything,” I replied. “But the old guy is a bastard. Even now he is not sorry and trying to tell him he is an idiot and needs his father.”
She didn’t seem convinced and so i took the bait.
“I guess we face reality and admit our parents aren’t gods.””
She shrugged. “He just wants the best for his son.”
If the truth be told i had foreseen this topic arising and a possible argument; picked the DVD up, put it down, but wasn’t able to leave it alone.
“I know compared to the average Taiwanese parent he is a hippy who doesn’t care if his children weave baskets while smoking pot for all eternity.”
I could see her getting into explode mode so i changed tact. “Anyway, when you are facing ten years for drug smuggling, and banging your head against a wall with self-loathing at your own stupidity, you need someone to blame for your actions, to make yourself feel better,” I replied.
“We take responsibility ourselves,” she replied smugly. “You westerners should try and learn that is only your fault in the end. No excuses.”
“No you don’t,” I said. “You blame luck or the moon. And you still do the murder or robbery. Just deny why.”
“You talk too much,” she said. “My sister is naughty and i am not. Both have the same parent.”
She had a point.
“I don’t know,” I replied trying to be sociological. “Perhaps we believe that by identifying the root of the problem, and facing it we can get closure and hopefully improve, be happier as a person. Improve our society.”
“Does it work?” she asked.
“Of course not. I would say almost never. We firmly identity our parents as the problem. Wallow in self-pity. Restrict ourselves. Talk about it all the time. Make it the center of our lives, but still die alone and bitter having been unable to do anything about it….In that case, you are right – We might as well blame the wall or the 3rd letter of our names.”
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Taiwan Culture Shock: The definition of dangerous
The people who have kids will understand this one better.
I have an ongoing dispute with the mother-in-law about the definition of dangerous.
Her take appears to be straightforward: the bodies of young children have an inability to regulate temperature, but are resistant to drinking bleach.
When she is in my house, or looking after the children, she runs two paces behind them continually ready to take the place of their natural temperature gauge. In the summer, she is blasting aircon at them and nagging me every two minutes to take them back from the park because it is too hot. In the winter she has them wearing enough clothes for the arctic. The autumn and spring are the worse times of the year because the weather is changeable and the disputes increase. You arrange to meet the wife and mother-in-law in the park and, when you get there, of course, to combat the mild breeze they are wearing 3 layers of clothing.
“They are too hot,” you say.
“He is right,” would say the mother-in-law. “The sun is strong. Let’s go back to the apartment and turn on the aircon.”
“No. There is nothing wrong with the sun. Take off a couple of layers of clothing.”
I will of course then try and remove two layers and i will get terrible stares from the wife and mother-in-law.
“They will get a cold,” they say in unison.
I will insist, and the battle will then really begin as the mother-in-law follows them continually with that 2nd layer, taking every time the sun pops behind a cloud or the breeze vaguely picks up, to try and force a jumper over their heads.
I indulge this battle of wills for a while, but inevitably give up and go back to the apartment.
Once there, it starts again as she blasts on the aircon and adds layers and i turn off the aircon and remove.
“Wife. Take off the sweater. Feel his forehead.”
“It is cold.”
“So turn off the aircon.”
“Then it is too hot.”
And so on, and so on…
Meanwhile, during all of this it will be:
“Wife. Please ask your mother not to leave huge meat cleaver on the edge of the worktop. Better still, when she walks away to take a phone call, shut the damn kitchen door because she is actually cooking something on the stove.”
The wife will actually look at me, shocked that i could actually think her mother was careless.
So there it is: it seems children are impervious to meat cleavers, household cleaners left hanging around, and hitting windscreens because no seat belt, but if they are not wearing two jumpers they will collapse in an instant.
I have an ongoing dispute with the mother-in-law about the definition of dangerous.
Her take appears to be straightforward: the bodies of young children have an inability to regulate temperature, but are resistant to drinking bleach.
When she is in my house, or looking after the children, she runs two paces behind them continually ready to take the place of their natural temperature gauge. In the summer, she is blasting aircon at them and nagging me every two minutes to take them back from the park because it is too hot. In the winter she has them wearing enough clothes for the arctic. The autumn and spring are the worse times of the year because the weather is changeable and the disputes increase. You arrange to meet the wife and mother-in-law in the park and, when you get there, of course, to combat the mild breeze they are wearing 3 layers of clothing.
“They are too hot,” you say.
“He is right,” would say the mother-in-law. “The sun is strong. Let’s go back to the apartment and turn on the aircon.”
“No. There is nothing wrong with the sun. Take off a couple of layers of clothing.”
I will of course then try and remove two layers and i will get terrible stares from the wife and mother-in-law.
“They will get a cold,” they say in unison.
I will insist, and the battle will then really begin as the mother-in-law follows them continually with that 2nd layer, taking every time the sun pops behind a cloud or the breeze vaguely picks up, to try and force a jumper over their heads.
I indulge this battle of wills for a while, but inevitably give up and go back to the apartment.
Once there, it starts again as she blasts on the aircon and adds layers and i turn off the aircon and remove.
“Wife. Take off the sweater. Feel his forehead.”
“It is cold.”
“So turn off the aircon.”
“Then it is too hot.”
And so on, and so on…
Meanwhile, during all of this it will be:
“Wife. Please ask your mother not to leave huge meat cleaver on the edge of the worktop. Better still, when she walks away to take a phone call, shut the damn kitchen door because she is actually cooking something on the stove.”
The wife will actually look at me, shocked that i could actually think her mother was careless.
So there it is: it seems children are impervious to meat cleavers, household cleaners left hanging around, and hitting windscreens because no seat belt, but if they are not wearing two jumpers they will collapse in an instant.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Taiwan Culture Shock: Are they lying or too polite?
The age old debate about whether the Taiwanese are lying or too polite is always an interesting one. Usually people will quote the experience of the expat businessman who, every time he asks his staff if they can finish on time reply, ‘of course’ and don’t do so. He thinks they are full of shit, but the truth is they were just being Taiwanese: in Taiwan the boss rewards you for trying to get it done, not for being realistic about whether you could get it done. This is a simplistic generalization as in many instances the Taiwanese are capable of being direct; however, you have to gauge the circumstances – were they talking to you as a peer or underlying? In general, when the pressure hits and you are talking to them as their boss, they will revert to Taiwan style: say yes to everything you ask, sit in the office until six in the morning, but not get it done.
But this is not the most interesting aspect of the polite versus lying debate. A few months ago I heard one from a friend that was a really good example:
Chris (friend), “Hey, man. I will never get these Taiwanese. This guy says he will get me a work visa through his company and it never happens. I have lived here so many years….It is a dishonesty. They think it ok to lie.”
Me: “So, were you paying this guy? Why was he doing this for you?”
Chris: “You know I am working with Michael…He is Michael’s friend. Supposed to do it as a favor.”
Me: “Ok, so he obviously isn’t that close a friend to Michael. You are not offering him anything.”
Chris: “So why didn’t he just tell me direct? He is a coward.”
Me: “No. He is Taiwanese. It is up to you to use your commonsense.”
Chris: “It wouldn’t happen like this back home.”
Me: “No, it wouldn’t. Because you wouldn’t bother to ask complete strangers to do you a favor.”
And this I venture in my humble opinion spells out the crucial, fundamental cultural difference: The Taiwanese will always say yes and you have to work out if what you have asked them is actually realistic.
It can be broken down further:
a) When the Taiwanese agree to do something it doesn’t mean any obligation on their part to tell you if what they promised is realistic. Through painful experience I have a million examples. It is the way they view doing a favor. For example, you ask someone if they can help you change some money at the bank because you can’t speak good Chinese. They agree and you tell them the appointment is at 2pm. They arrive at 3pm and you go on a rant about waiting for an hour, and why didn’t they call and if you couldn’t make it just say. They get really offended because they agree to do you a favor and in their opinion did their best to do it for you; to them, you asked them to help, you were originally at zero. The fact that they turned up at all means you should be grateful. It happened a few weeks ago when we were going to a bar. A girl we met outside said she was a member and she could get us in for cheaper, wait here and she would be back with her friends. We asked her if she would be back soon because it was only saving us 100NT and we would rather pay. ‘Of course,’ she said. She came back about half an hour later just as we were about to give up and go in. And, again, of course, she had no concept of the fact that we would have rather paid than wait. She had offered to do us a favor.
b) The Taiwanese actually do it to each other in exactly the same way. Countless times the wife at work might mention her birthday in passing and it will develop like this. Colleagues have to show excitement and push her to do a party, because they have to show their passion. She is not particularly interested, but has to show her passion back as they push harder. A party is arranged and we sit in KTV at 9.30 on her birthday and none of them turn up or even phone to make an excuse. If you asked them why not, they would simply reply, “You mentioned your party so it was the right thing to make you feel good about it. Get you excited…” This actually leads nicely into the next point, because the only people who turn up at the KTV are the real friends. Again, please don’t guess I am suggesting there is deliberate nastiness going on here, most of the time there isn’t. It is just the unfortunate results of herd mentality and a culture that emphasizes being polite.
c) Please use your commonsense. I once invited a Canadian guy to my wedding party who was more a friend of a friend; I knew him but didn’t really make the effort to call that often. He replied: “Thanks, man. I don’t know what I am up to on Sunday. If I can get up I might swing by.” At the time I was shocked by his directness, but after a while I kind of realized it was appropriate. I was simply trying to invite him to make up the numbers and we weren’t close. He was just reflecting that in his answer. Being English I wouldn’t have been able to be that direct, I would have had to try to think of an excuse, while secretly thinking ‘why the fuck is this guy inviting me to his wedding?’ Now a Taiwanese would have stood there for twenty minutes telling you how much he appreciated the invitation, and where was it, and how excited he was, but then just not bothered to turn up. In the end, the result is the same: nobody goes to the wedding because it wasn’t appropriate to invite them in the first place. What is my point? When some Taiwanese offers to do something for you, or you ask them to help you get you a visa when you are offering nothing in return, think about why the hell they should do this for you.
d) And it is not easy to do the above because the Taiwanese are actually really generous and friendly. When you arrive in the first few months you are overwhelmed by the offers of help and free gifts and lunches. Taiwanese invite to their house for dinner, they almost always pick up the check when you go for dinner for the first time, they drive you around, and they give bottles of whiskey that are hanging about in their house. Don’t get cynical they do these things because they like to be kind to guests and especially to foreigners. They are social people and are therefore also having a great time. There is no ulterior motive. So from this it is very easy to let your commonsense go out the window and start asking for things that are really beyond the pale. You wouldn’t ask someone you hardly knew in your own country: I have overstayed my visa could you go to the police station with me and act as my guarantor? I am looking to get out of teaching could you ask around in your company and try and get me a job? You wouldn’t ask these questions because you would be rightly told to fuck off. In Taiwan you wouldn’t be told to fuck off, they would be polite, but then just not do it.
What is the moral of the story? Think about the situation not the words you just heard.
But this is not the most interesting aspect of the polite versus lying debate. A few months ago I heard one from a friend that was a really good example:
Chris (friend), “Hey, man. I will never get these Taiwanese. This guy says he will get me a work visa through his company and it never happens. I have lived here so many years….It is a dishonesty. They think it ok to lie.”
Me: “So, were you paying this guy? Why was he doing this for you?”
Chris: “You know I am working with Michael…He is Michael’s friend. Supposed to do it as a favor.”
Me: “Ok, so he obviously isn’t that close a friend to Michael. You are not offering him anything.”
Chris: “So why didn’t he just tell me direct? He is a coward.”
Me: “No. He is Taiwanese. It is up to you to use your commonsense.”
Chris: “It wouldn’t happen like this back home.”
Me: “No, it wouldn’t. Because you wouldn’t bother to ask complete strangers to do you a favor.”
And this I venture in my humble opinion spells out the crucial, fundamental cultural difference: The Taiwanese will always say yes and you have to work out if what you have asked them is actually realistic.
It can be broken down further:
a) When the Taiwanese agree to do something it doesn’t mean any obligation on their part to tell you if what they promised is realistic. Through painful experience I have a million examples. It is the way they view doing a favor. For example, you ask someone if they can help you change some money at the bank because you can’t speak good Chinese. They agree and you tell them the appointment is at 2pm. They arrive at 3pm and you go on a rant about waiting for an hour, and why didn’t they call and if you couldn’t make it just say. They get really offended because they agree to do you a favor and in their opinion did their best to do it for you; to them, you asked them to help, you were originally at zero. The fact that they turned up at all means you should be grateful. It happened a few weeks ago when we were going to a bar. A girl we met outside said she was a member and she could get us in for cheaper, wait here and she would be back with her friends. We asked her if she would be back soon because it was only saving us 100NT and we would rather pay. ‘Of course,’ she said. She came back about half an hour later just as we were about to give up and go in. And, again, of course, she had no concept of the fact that we would have rather paid than wait. She had offered to do us a favor.
b) The Taiwanese actually do it to each other in exactly the same way. Countless times the wife at work might mention her birthday in passing and it will develop like this. Colleagues have to show excitement and push her to do a party, because they have to show their passion. She is not particularly interested, but has to show her passion back as they push harder. A party is arranged and we sit in KTV at 9.30 on her birthday and none of them turn up or even phone to make an excuse. If you asked them why not, they would simply reply, “You mentioned your party so it was the right thing to make you feel good about it. Get you excited…” This actually leads nicely into the next point, because the only people who turn up at the KTV are the real friends. Again, please don’t guess I am suggesting there is deliberate nastiness going on here, most of the time there isn’t. It is just the unfortunate results of herd mentality and a culture that emphasizes being polite.
c) Please use your commonsense. I once invited a Canadian guy to my wedding party who was more a friend of a friend; I knew him but didn’t really make the effort to call that often. He replied: “Thanks, man. I don’t know what I am up to on Sunday. If I can get up I might swing by.” At the time I was shocked by his directness, but after a while I kind of realized it was appropriate. I was simply trying to invite him to make up the numbers and we weren’t close. He was just reflecting that in his answer. Being English I wouldn’t have been able to be that direct, I would have had to try to think of an excuse, while secretly thinking ‘why the fuck is this guy inviting me to his wedding?’ Now a Taiwanese would have stood there for twenty minutes telling you how much he appreciated the invitation, and where was it, and how excited he was, but then just not bothered to turn up. In the end, the result is the same: nobody goes to the wedding because it wasn’t appropriate to invite them in the first place. What is my point? When some Taiwanese offers to do something for you, or you ask them to help you get you a visa when you are offering nothing in return, think about why the hell they should do this for you.
d) And it is not easy to do the above because the Taiwanese are actually really generous and friendly. When you arrive in the first few months you are overwhelmed by the offers of help and free gifts and lunches. Taiwanese invite to their house for dinner, they almost always pick up the check when you go for dinner for the first time, they drive you around, and they give bottles of whiskey that are hanging about in their house. Don’t get cynical they do these things because they like to be kind to guests and especially to foreigners. They are social people and are therefore also having a great time. There is no ulterior motive. So from this it is very easy to let your commonsense go out the window and start asking for things that are really beyond the pale. You wouldn’t ask someone you hardly knew in your own country: I have overstayed my visa could you go to the police station with me and act as my guarantor? I am looking to get out of teaching could you ask around in your company and try and get me a job? You wouldn’t ask these questions because you would be rightly told to fuck off. In Taiwan you wouldn’t be told to fuck off, they would be polite, but then just not do it.
What is the moral of the story? Think about the situation not the words you just heard.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
The temptation of being treated VI: Pierre's new occupation
On time, a couple of weeks after borrowing the money from John, Pierre revealed his new occupation.
He arrived at John's apartment, got out a huge wad of money, flaunted it, implied he had to go immediately, and, when we didn’t ask why, decided to say anyway.
"This is between us," he said. This was the first time we all got the this will be putting the future of the civilized world in your hands look and for a moment he had us hanging. He paused, desperately trying to appear as if he was solemnly weighing up rather than just blabbing - “I started work at a Friday club.”
“Yeah?”
“Your joking right?”
“No, two weeks now!”
“Jesus man. I want to know what is it like…” blurted Eric.
Pierre gave us a little detail – not too much because then we would have to be shot – and we sat back impressed, impressed that he was doing it and we knew someone who was.
"It is only short-term, but I am going to get together some cash, look around for something else…earn the money quickly and so I can do my stuff during the day."
“Nah, man! It is cool! For once you don't have to explain," said Eric.
“So the big question is, have you muff dived for money yet? Banged for a buck?” asked John.
“Man, every time you wank it money down the sink…Have you thought about insuring your dick?”
“Sorry, man! You are our hero, you know that,” I said.
Pierre took the stick because he knew he actually was the hero on this occasion. Besides, he was not going to answer the question, and for once, we actually wanted to know. We poured him a couple of shots of whiskey and he went off to work in the Armani suit he had borrowed the money for.
“He is still of course prostituting his language and nationality to get a job,” pointed out Josh at heart quietly morally outraged.
“I don’t which is better - prostituting your language or just plain old fuckin’ prostituting? No fuckin’ pun intended, boys.”
“I don’t know, but if it is true the dude has my vote for the moment.” Then Eric thought for a moment, “We are now his confidantes.”
It was true - We had become members of Pierre’s secret society, but with a twist: instead of fighting, pushing, and promising loyalty to get there, we were elevated to it kicking and screaming, with complete indifference. And we would never follow the rules, attended meeting, or do anything to keep up our membership.
“Anyway, are you going to that school tomorrow morning to sign up? - I’ll come with you,” asked Eric to Josh and John who were both paying money at the school with no classrooms and teachers to get a visa extension.
“But you are a serious student?” I asked Eric.
“I have a good language exchange now! Anyway, you know me...!” Eric had thrown himself out of every school in Taipei. And, now, because he loved studying Chinese and wanted to stay in Taiwan, he was going to pay at the school you didn’t have to attend so he could study at home.
He arrived at John's apartment, got out a huge wad of money, flaunted it, implied he had to go immediately, and, when we didn’t ask why, decided to say anyway.
"This is between us," he said. This was the first time we all got the this will be putting the future of the civilized world in your hands look and for a moment he had us hanging. He paused, desperately trying to appear as if he was solemnly weighing up rather than just blabbing - “I started work at a Friday club.”
“Yeah?”
“Your joking right?”
“No, two weeks now!”
“Jesus man. I want to know what is it like…” blurted Eric.
Pierre gave us a little detail – not too much because then we would have to be shot – and we sat back impressed, impressed that he was doing it and we knew someone who was.
"It is only short-term, but I am going to get together some cash, look around for something else…earn the money quickly and so I can do my stuff during the day."
“Nah, man! It is cool! For once you don't have to explain," said Eric.
“So the big question is, have you muff dived for money yet? Banged for a buck?” asked John.
“Man, every time you wank it money down the sink…Have you thought about insuring your dick?”
“Sorry, man! You are our hero, you know that,” I said.
Pierre took the stick because he knew he actually was the hero on this occasion. Besides, he was not going to answer the question, and for once, we actually wanted to know. We poured him a couple of shots of whiskey and he went off to work in the Armani suit he had borrowed the money for.
“He is still of course prostituting his language and nationality to get a job,” pointed out Josh at heart quietly morally outraged.
“I don’t which is better - prostituting your language or just plain old fuckin’ prostituting? No fuckin’ pun intended, boys.”
“I don’t know, but if it is true the dude has my vote for the moment.” Then Eric thought for a moment, “We are now his confidantes.”
It was true - We had become members of Pierre’s secret society, but with a twist: instead of fighting, pushing, and promising loyalty to get there, we were elevated to it kicking and screaming, with complete indifference. And we would never follow the rules, attended meeting, or do anything to keep up our membership.
“Anyway, are you going to that school tomorrow morning to sign up? - I’ll come with you,” asked Eric to Josh and John who were both paying money at the school with no classrooms and teachers to get a visa extension.
“But you are a serious student?” I asked Eric.
“I have a good language exchange now! Anyway, you know me...!” Eric had thrown himself out of every school in Taipei. And, now, because he loved studying Chinese and wanted to stay in Taiwan, he was going to pay at the school you didn’t have to attend so he could study at home.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Taiwan Culture Shock: It is hard being the superior sex IV
Eric hadn’t called back Diane. Once he woke up in the morning he had decided this was his first time dumping a girl based on looks and so, of course, it had been hard. He shouldn’t unilaterally declare himself unable to be a stud but give himself a few more opportunities to adjust. He might be able to get used to being the superior sex. Get over his culture shock.
He had been dating Emily – the introduction from John - for a few weeks now. She was beautiful, interesting and fun. His fears had been unfounded. He knew he had to view things differently; in Taiwan he could get hot girls and he knew he shouldn’t question that. Just enjoy. He put on that smart shirt he had bought when they started dating, thinking he would have to buy a new one soon - and he changed out of his shorts. He really missed his goatee. Finally, he checked his wallet and went out the door to meet Emily for dinner.
“You are not having a sweet?” asked Emily.
Eric calculated the cost of the dinner in his head. “No thanks.” His main course had been four hundred NT dollars, and when you added in the cost of the starters and drinks it would go over fifteen hundred dollars - Nothing if he was back in New York, but he wasn’t. He was in Taiwan where good food could be had for sixty in a basic eatery, and a set meal for a hundred and fifty in a nice teashop. Today the bill was high because they were eating at an Italian restaurant. He preferred to eat Chinese or some other Asian food, but if you have a hot woman who was interested in you because you were a foreigner he presumed this was the price you have to pay.
“I will pay you know. You don’t always have to. Please let me today,” said Emily. “I know you are a student and you don’t have much money. You know we Taiwanese girls are not interested in the money, but feeling. Feeling is most important. We support our man. You know, my ex-boyfriend wanted to set up a business so I lent him one million NT, and he never paid it back. You are a good guy. I know you are young and studying Chinese because you are interested in Chinese things. You are very hard working. I know you will do very well in future.”
Jesus, thought Eric, don’t you know I am a neurotic fucker. You have just given me enough to obsess over the rest of my life.
Still he tried to focus on the issue that had started her diatribe. ‘Ok’, would be a good answer, but then he felt guilty – beautiful, interesting, and sharing paying for dinner.
“It is ok. I am the man – I will pay.”
Eric took a look around the restaurant discreetly. It was filled with white guys like him trying to impress Taiwanese girls with conversation about the thin-crust pizza, that was authentic Italian pizza; that the Pizza hut chains across the city were not proper pizza, and stick with them and you could learn what Americans are really doing.
What fucking bullshit. There were fucking thousands in Pizza Hut in America selling the same shit they were here.
Emily didn’t get a sweet because Eric was paying and he got the bill. They walked down the lane looking in the window of restaurants heading in the direction of the main road, Chong Hsaio East Road. This stretch starting at Sogo at Chung Hsiao East and Fu Hsing South roads’ intersection then continuing on Chung Hsaio in an easterly direction for about twenty minutes to Guang Fu South road, was unofficially declared downtown.
He had asked why this was considered downtown and it seemed the answer the number of department stores. Back home towns and centers of populations grew up around a river or a hill or a church, here it was the department store. A hundred years ago most of the city was slum housing, or rice fields, so don’t expect to find any Westminster Abbeys or Versailles Palaces, the department stores are the nicest looking buildings around. Since Diane had told him it was the department stores he had questioned several people: What about Nan Jing and Chung Shan Roads, Hsimenteng, the area around the Warner Village in the very new Hsin Yi District, and Tienmu? But everyone was sure there were more square inches of makeup counters, escalator rungs, wooden racks, mirrors and changing booths per person in this area than any other part of the city - maybe the world. Along with the department stores were the KTVs ( family and adult), offices, high street brands from around the world, small boutiques, tea houses, fast food joints, gymnasiums, coffee shops and upscale restaurants all with music blaring.
Off the main road the lanes sprawling south to RenAi and north to Civil Boulevard were all restaurants, teashops and small boutiques on the first floor, and apartments above. This was still prime residential real estate despite the noise.
“Wow, can we stop?” said Emily spotting a stall selling sweet bean curd with peanuts and sweets.
“Of course.”
They ordered and sat down on the round metal stools, elbows perched on the edge of the stall next to their polystyrene bowls; scooters shooting past them. “You know this is what I miss most in America, Taiwanese snacks. I know you are an American and I should get used to eating American food, but I don’t really like it. Next time can we go to the night market? It will be fun,” she said.
What a fucking arsehole, thought Eric. That is about six thousand in dinners I have paid for. I could have avoided working for a week…I could have paid for a trip down south for a few days…Fuck.
She leaned forward. “We don’t always have to go out you know. I like to just buy some food and eat at home...More time to make love. I know you like the massage.”
“I got the picture. You can have an overload of salt to heal a wound…I think…”said Eric.
“So you don’t like America,” he continued.
“I like America very much. Hmm, very free.”
I see – I knew this was too good to be true: want the passport, don’t you girl! I ain’t going to be your green card then dumped, thought Eric pleased he hadn’t been entirely wrong about her.
“I could have stayed in America. My boyfriend want to marry me, but I think not many job opportunities. It was so sad. I loved him so much, but here I am the manager.”
“There are still good opportunities in America for you.”
“I know but my English is not perfect. I don’t do the MBA for nothing.”
Emily paid for the sweets, then asked: “Can we go to the bar for a drink? We have never been together. John introduced us and we should buy him a drink to say thank you.”
Eric got excited by the prospect of walking into the bar with one of the best looking girls…He started to worry about what would happen if some guy came to hit on his woman. “John is not out tonight. Next time, ok,” he said.
* * *
An hour later they were at a love hotel making love.
Suddenly Emily started to cry. “Sorry. I am sorry I got inside too quickly,” said Eric. “No excuses. I am too rough.”
Eric started massaging her breasts and manoeuvre his head between her legs.
“What are you doing? I am crying,” she said.
He negotiated another wave of self-loathing and moved back up next to her.
“I’m sorry. What is wrong?”
“I think you a shame of me. You won’t take me to the bar to meet your friends. You won’t take me to your apartment…And…”
She went silent.
“What?”
“I know I shouldn’t say. I am maybe not so pretty, and so interesting compare to the American girl. My mother say I won’t ever marry because I too bad-tempered …don’t respect man -”
Eric blinked: “One thing at a time, please. Ok, I am listening.”
“If you are a Taiwanese man, maybe I say nothing, but you say I can tell you anything if I have a problem; that you American men will listen. I think you don’t respect me. You only want to see me once a week. You don’t ask me where I want to eat. You say you like the American way but you don’t let me pay for dinner. I don’t feel like the proper girlfriend…”
Eric explained she hadn’t come to his house because he had a mattress on the floor and no furniture…He took her to a good restaurant because he was trying to impress…That they only met once a week because he didn’t have any money to take her other times. The question of why he didn’t take her to the bar went unexplained because he didn’t want to sound like a wimp.
They made love and then as he lied on the bed watching TV, he decided again that he had to accept that it was a different dynamic. As Josh said, it was about supply and demand and there weren’t many whiteys like him in Taiwan.
He looked at her sleeping naked next to him. She was different from Diane because all he had had to say was - “You look fantastic, and I would like you to sleep naked”- and the next day, he didn’t see those pyjamas again. She did look fantastic. He preferred a girl to have breasts. If she put on five kilos or so she would look even better, and would have something that would feel cuddly and soft rather than tight contours. It would be nice, if he couldn’t feel bones against his crotch when they made love. If her nipples were dark and large, rather than small and light pink it would be amazing. A little suntan and she would be perfect.
Anyway, he couldn’t exactly finish with her for being over-emotional. As a Taiwanese woman in this society she no doubt had a hard life, suppressed a lot of emotions. He felt sorry for her that no Taiwanese man would accept her just for speaking out what she felt. He should be forgiving that, perhaps, she was letting out a lot of emotions now she felt safe to do so with a foreigner. Still he would have to watch to see she didn’t get carried away. He didn’t know about the future however now he had found out she was extremely bad-tempered. She had to understand a western man didn’t let you get away with everything; there was responsibility with the freedom he offered…
He had been dating Emily – the introduction from John - for a few weeks now. She was beautiful, interesting and fun. His fears had been unfounded. He knew he had to view things differently; in Taiwan he could get hot girls and he knew he shouldn’t question that. Just enjoy. He put on that smart shirt he had bought when they started dating, thinking he would have to buy a new one soon - and he changed out of his shorts. He really missed his goatee. Finally, he checked his wallet and went out the door to meet Emily for dinner.
“You are not having a sweet?” asked Emily.
Eric calculated the cost of the dinner in his head. “No thanks.” His main course had been four hundred NT dollars, and when you added in the cost of the starters and drinks it would go over fifteen hundred dollars - Nothing if he was back in New York, but he wasn’t. He was in Taiwan where good food could be had for sixty in a basic eatery, and a set meal for a hundred and fifty in a nice teashop. Today the bill was high because they were eating at an Italian restaurant. He preferred to eat Chinese or some other Asian food, but if you have a hot woman who was interested in you because you were a foreigner he presumed this was the price you have to pay.
“I will pay you know. You don’t always have to. Please let me today,” said Emily. “I know you are a student and you don’t have much money. You know we Taiwanese girls are not interested in the money, but feeling. Feeling is most important. We support our man. You know, my ex-boyfriend wanted to set up a business so I lent him one million NT, and he never paid it back. You are a good guy. I know you are young and studying Chinese because you are interested in Chinese things. You are very hard working. I know you will do very well in future.”
Jesus, thought Eric, don’t you know I am a neurotic fucker. You have just given me enough to obsess over the rest of my life.
Still he tried to focus on the issue that had started her diatribe. ‘Ok’, would be a good answer, but then he felt guilty – beautiful, interesting, and sharing paying for dinner.
“It is ok. I am the man – I will pay.”
Eric took a look around the restaurant discreetly. It was filled with white guys like him trying to impress Taiwanese girls with conversation about the thin-crust pizza, that was authentic Italian pizza; that the Pizza hut chains across the city were not proper pizza, and stick with them and you could learn what Americans are really doing.
What fucking bullshit. There were fucking thousands in Pizza Hut in America selling the same shit they were here.
Emily didn’t get a sweet because Eric was paying and he got the bill. They walked down the lane looking in the window of restaurants heading in the direction of the main road, Chong Hsaio East Road. This stretch starting at Sogo at Chung Hsiao East and Fu Hsing South roads’ intersection then continuing on Chung Hsaio in an easterly direction for about twenty minutes to Guang Fu South road, was unofficially declared downtown.
He had asked why this was considered downtown and it seemed the answer the number of department stores. Back home towns and centers of populations grew up around a river or a hill or a church, here it was the department store. A hundred years ago most of the city was slum housing, or rice fields, so don’t expect to find any Westminster Abbeys or Versailles Palaces, the department stores are the nicest looking buildings around. Since Diane had told him it was the department stores he had questioned several people: What about Nan Jing and Chung Shan Roads, Hsimenteng, the area around the Warner Village in the very new Hsin Yi District, and Tienmu? But everyone was sure there were more square inches of makeup counters, escalator rungs, wooden racks, mirrors and changing booths per person in this area than any other part of the city - maybe the world. Along with the department stores were the KTVs ( family and adult), offices, high street brands from around the world, small boutiques, tea houses, fast food joints, gymnasiums, coffee shops and upscale restaurants all with music blaring.
Off the main road the lanes sprawling south to RenAi and north to Civil Boulevard were all restaurants, teashops and small boutiques on the first floor, and apartments above. This was still prime residential real estate despite the noise.
“Wow, can we stop?” said Emily spotting a stall selling sweet bean curd with peanuts and sweets.
“Of course.”
They ordered and sat down on the round metal stools, elbows perched on the edge of the stall next to their polystyrene bowls; scooters shooting past them. “You know this is what I miss most in America, Taiwanese snacks. I know you are an American and I should get used to eating American food, but I don’t really like it. Next time can we go to the night market? It will be fun,” she said.
What a fucking arsehole, thought Eric. That is about six thousand in dinners I have paid for. I could have avoided working for a week…I could have paid for a trip down south for a few days…Fuck.
She leaned forward. “We don’t always have to go out you know. I like to just buy some food and eat at home...More time to make love. I know you like the massage.”
“I got the picture. You can have an overload of salt to heal a wound…I think…”said Eric.
“So you don’t like America,” he continued.
“I like America very much. Hmm, very free.”
I see – I knew this was too good to be true: want the passport, don’t you girl! I ain’t going to be your green card then dumped, thought Eric pleased he hadn’t been entirely wrong about her.
“I could have stayed in America. My boyfriend want to marry me, but I think not many job opportunities. It was so sad. I loved him so much, but here I am the manager.”
“There are still good opportunities in America for you.”
“I know but my English is not perfect. I don’t do the MBA for nothing.”
Emily paid for the sweets, then asked: “Can we go to the bar for a drink? We have never been together. John introduced us and we should buy him a drink to say thank you.”
Eric got excited by the prospect of walking into the bar with one of the best looking girls…He started to worry about what would happen if some guy came to hit on his woman. “John is not out tonight. Next time, ok,” he said.
* * *
An hour later they were at a love hotel making love.
Suddenly Emily started to cry. “Sorry. I am sorry I got inside too quickly,” said Eric. “No excuses. I am too rough.”
Eric started massaging her breasts and manoeuvre his head between her legs.
“What are you doing? I am crying,” she said.
He negotiated another wave of self-loathing and moved back up next to her.
“I’m sorry. What is wrong?”
“I think you a shame of me. You won’t take me to the bar to meet your friends. You won’t take me to your apartment…And…”
She went silent.
“What?”
“I know I shouldn’t say. I am maybe not so pretty, and so interesting compare to the American girl. My mother say I won’t ever marry because I too bad-tempered …don’t respect man -”
Eric blinked: “One thing at a time, please. Ok, I am listening.”
“If you are a Taiwanese man, maybe I say nothing, but you say I can tell you anything if I have a problem; that you American men will listen. I think you don’t respect me. You only want to see me once a week. You don’t ask me where I want to eat. You say you like the American way but you don’t let me pay for dinner. I don’t feel like the proper girlfriend…”
Eric explained she hadn’t come to his house because he had a mattress on the floor and no furniture…He took her to a good restaurant because he was trying to impress…That they only met once a week because he didn’t have any money to take her other times. The question of why he didn’t take her to the bar went unexplained because he didn’t want to sound like a wimp.
They made love and then as he lied on the bed watching TV, he decided again that he had to accept that it was a different dynamic. As Josh said, it was about supply and demand and there weren’t many whiteys like him in Taiwan.
He looked at her sleeping naked next to him. She was different from Diane because all he had had to say was - “You look fantastic, and I would like you to sleep naked”- and the next day, he didn’t see those pyjamas again. She did look fantastic. He preferred a girl to have breasts. If she put on five kilos or so she would look even better, and would have something that would feel cuddly and soft rather than tight contours. It would be nice, if he couldn’t feel bones against his crotch when they made love. If her nipples were dark and large, rather than small and light pink it would be amazing. A little suntan and she would be perfect.
Anyway, he couldn’t exactly finish with her for being over-emotional. As a Taiwanese woman in this society she no doubt had a hard life, suppressed a lot of emotions. He felt sorry for her that no Taiwanese man would accept her just for speaking out what she felt. He should be forgiving that, perhaps, she was letting out a lot of emotions now she felt safe to do so with a foreigner. Still he would have to watch to see she didn’t get carried away. He didn’t know about the future however now he had found out she was extremely bad-tempered. She had to understand a western man didn’t let you get away with everything; there was responsibility with the freedom he offered…
Taiwan culture shock: It is hard being the superior sex III
Eric looked at Diane through the steam coming off the pot in the middle of the table. They were at a Korean barbeque -- Eat as much as you want. Eric was getting ready to be the superior sex.
It would be appropriate for his final memory of her to be in one of these restaurants because they had been to so many. At the back of the restaurant in refrigerators were trays of soft shell crabs, prawns, clams, squid; every kind of meat, blood pudding, tofu, dumplings, and vegetables which you went to collect and then either cooked in the pot in the middle of your table or on the grill surrounding the pot. Finally you dipped it in a mixture of barbeque sauce, spring onion, garlic, chilies, soy and egg white – which you stirred together.
“You are not eating too much tonight?” said Diane.
“I am taking it slow.”
Eric then put a couple more pieces of squid and bacon on the grill around the pot.
Diane certainly could eat. Experience had told him if you wanted your money’s worth you stuck to grilling because one mouthful of the soup kicked in the sleep fuse for an overloaded stomach. Not her, she drank the soup - which after an hour or so of vegetables, blood pudding, meat and seafood giving up their fat and nutrition to its saturated molecules could solve world famine – like she had a desert thirst.
They had been together for eight months now, but he was going to finish with her tonight. He should have finished with her a couple of weeks ago because he had started to date another girl, an introduction from John. Emily was stunning; beautiful and it seemed she wanted to be his girlfriend. He really couldn’t turn down that opportunity: That is why he had come to Taiwan.
He wondered why he was feeling so bad, considering he had never expected to marry Diane. He still planned to be out of Taiwan in now just over a year and he was young. It had been a relationship of convenience, and he had made that all clear. Suddenly, he couldn’t think of a reason why didn’t he just continue with her until he left Taiwan. She had done nothing wrong after all, apart from not being fantastically attractive. I am not a fucking jock. He looked back on days when he didn’t have to make those decisions.
“Are you finished?” That was a drawback of her eating skills, he thought, they had been in the restaurant for almost three hours. But he had to let her have her way today.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said as they left the restaurant. He had brought her to this restaurant because he knew there was a community park one lane over. Somewhere neutral they could talk.
He found a bench as far away from the old men still playing Mahjong as possible.
“Diane, I am sorry. I think we should break up. I will leave in a while and I don’t want you to get too attached.”
She sat silent for what seemed like hours to Eric.
Presumably she doesn’t have to answer, he thought, but I don’t know I can just walk off.
“I would like us to remain friends. I should walk you back to your scooter….Sorry,” said Eric slapping his leg; regretting wearing shorts as there were a lot of mosquitoes in the park. “Nothing…” He wanted to say, “I always get bitten easily” but personal anecdotes were not appropriate.
“Wait. This is the shock. I need some time to think about this.”
He held back from telling her he didn’t need her approval.
“I know you don’t love me. If you wait until you leave I will be sad, but I can accept it - I know you are the American. Now it hurts because you finish with me for no reason. I don’t like to be finished with. I do nothing wrong.”
“What can I say? I am sorry.” Eric didn’t understand most of that, and was afraid to get an explanation he didn’t like.
“I get dumped, and what about my face. You have met my family and friends now.”
Why are you making it easier for me? he thought. You are giving me reasons to not feel guilty.
“I thought I was your English teacher?” he replied.
“You know the Taiwan family. They just call you that. They really know.”
“I don’t think they will feel so bad. Anyway, this is not a discussion, and I hope you can leave me with a good impression of you.”
They arrived and after a couple of minutes of standing around, she headed to her scooter.
“Hey…I’m sorry. I’ll give you a call,”
God, it was so crass and Neanderthal being a stud, he thought. He walked off thinking about how hard that had all been. How he really didn’t have the energy to do it again. How he wasn’t cut out to play the field. If he wasn’t going to do it again, then it had been pointless to do it this once. Diane was a nice girl, and this new girl was uncharted territory. Maybe, he should just call Diane back in the morning and say he had made a mistake. He would sleep on it.
It would be appropriate for his final memory of her to be in one of these restaurants because they had been to so many. At the back of the restaurant in refrigerators were trays of soft shell crabs, prawns, clams, squid; every kind of meat, blood pudding, tofu, dumplings, and vegetables which you went to collect and then either cooked in the pot in the middle of your table or on the grill surrounding the pot. Finally you dipped it in a mixture of barbeque sauce, spring onion, garlic, chilies, soy and egg white – which you stirred together.
“You are not eating too much tonight?” said Diane.
“I am taking it slow.”
Eric then put a couple more pieces of squid and bacon on the grill around the pot.
Diane certainly could eat. Experience had told him if you wanted your money’s worth you stuck to grilling because one mouthful of the soup kicked in the sleep fuse for an overloaded stomach. Not her, she drank the soup - which after an hour or so of vegetables, blood pudding, meat and seafood giving up their fat and nutrition to its saturated molecules could solve world famine – like she had a desert thirst.
They had been together for eight months now, but he was going to finish with her tonight. He should have finished with her a couple of weeks ago because he had started to date another girl, an introduction from John. Emily was stunning; beautiful and it seemed she wanted to be his girlfriend. He really couldn’t turn down that opportunity: That is why he had come to Taiwan.
He wondered why he was feeling so bad, considering he had never expected to marry Diane. He still planned to be out of Taiwan in now just over a year and he was young. It had been a relationship of convenience, and he had made that all clear. Suddenly, he couldn’t think of a reason why didn’t he just continue with her until he left Taiwan. She had done nothing wrong after all, apart from not being fantastically attractive. I am not a fucking jock. He looked back on days when he didn’t have to make those decisions.
“Are you finished?” That was a drawback of her eating skills, he thought, they had been in the restaurant for almost three hours. But he had to let her have her way today.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said as they left the restaurant. He had brought her to this restaurant because he knew there was a community park one lane over. Somewhere neutral they could talk.
He found a bench as far away from the old men still playing Mahjong as possible.
“Diane, I am sorry. I think we should break up. I will leave in a while and I don’t want you to get too attached.”
She sat silent for what seemed like hours to Eric.
Presumably she doesn’t have to answer, he thought, but I don’t know I can just walk off.
“I would like us to remain friends. I should walk you back to your scooter….Sorry,” said Eric slapping his leg; regretting wearing shorts as there were a lot of mosquitoes in the park. “Nothing…” He wanted to say, “I always get bitten easily” but personal anecdotes were not appropriate.
“Wait. This is the shock. I need some time to think about this.”
He held back from telling her he didn’t need her approval.
“I know you don’t love me. If you wait until you leave I will be sad, but I can accept it - I know you are the American. Now it hurts because you finish with me for no reason. I don’t like to be finished with. I do nothing wrong.”
“What can I say? I am sorry.” Eric didn’t understand most of that, and was afraid to get an explanation he didn’t like.
“I get dumped, and what about my face. You have met my family and friends now.”
Why are you making it easier for me? he thought. You are giving me reasons to not feel guilty.
“I thought I was your English teacher?” he replied.
“You know the Taiwan family. They just call you that. They really know.”
“I don’t think they will feel so bad. Anyway, this is not a discussion, and I hope you can leave me with a good impression of you.”
They arrived and after a couple of minutes of standing around, she headed to her scooter.
“Hey…I’m sorry. I’ll give you a call,”
God, it was so crass and Neanderthal being a stud, he thought. He walked off thinking about how hard that had all been. How he really didn’t have the energy to do it again. How he wasn’t cut out to play the field. If he wasn’t going to do it again, then it had been pointless to do it this once. Diane was a nice girl, and this new girl was uncharted territory. Maybe, he should just call Diane back in the morning and say he had made a mistake. He would sleep on it.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Taiwan culture shock: A night at a Taiwanese family's house
Most of the time we hang around with other expats or our local girlfriends; we are kind of aware we are in a different country but not feeling it in our bones - until, that is, you spend an evening at a Taiwanese family's house.
I couple of things really offend our meritocratic and space loving western selves:
a) They really do see that cousin twice-removed on a regular basis - and have a specific title and position for everyone in the family tree.
b) Don't expect 'No thank you, I don't want anymore' to get them to stop offering -They know you are just being polite.
Now if you are Eric, suffering alienation and nostalgia for a land where it is ok to hate and ignore even your closest relatives, you don't want to be spending a lot of time at a Taiwanese family apartment.
I arrived at the apartment of the girlfriend at the time, a Carol Tu. I insisted she say i was her English teacher so that nobody would lose face if we broke up later.
As I entered Carol’s apartment: “Jesus – Why are there so many people?” I asked.
“They are my family,” she answered.
“You have five brothers and six sisters?”
“No, they are uncles…aunties.”
I had heard the stories of girls expecting to get married after a few months. “What the hell? I told you I ain’t getting married….Engaged… Nothing. I’m out of here.”
Carol caught me a flight of stairs down. “Hey. Come back. Why you leave?”
“All those relatives in your house - You think I am stupid?”
“You really are strange. You want to meet my family and then you leave. I know you don’t want to marry me.”
“Uncles and aunties only come for special occasions: This ain’t one.”
“This is Taiwan, we see them every day.”
I stood silent, my sails minus any wind: “I’m sorry. I don’t see my uncles and aunties unless it is a wedding, funeral or christening. You don’t have christenings here, and everyone looked too happy for the other one. I’m sorry. Okay. I’m cool.”
“So arrogant,” she added scornfully as they walked back in past the metal grate door.
“Nice to meet you,” said Carol’s father. “I hear you are a good English teacher.”
Diane started to introduce everyone.
“That is my Jou jou…uncle,” replied Carol.
“Jou jou is his name,” I asked.
“No, jou jou means uncle – Oh…” said Carol as another middle-aged Taiwanese guy walked over. “That is my bo fu…Uncle,” she said.
I was confused. “Explain, please.”
“Jou Jou means uncle on my mother’s side and Bo fu my father’s - What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said rolling my eyes in disbelief.
“That is Xiao (small) Jou (Younger brother from mother’s side),” she continued as they went around the room.
“Sorry…Perfectly logical I suppose,” I said. “What if there are three uncles, what do you call the middle one? Zhong (middle) Jou?”
“Don’t be stupid, Number Two Uncle.”
“Ok, attach other title for side of the family...I am getting it,” I said. “Now I know where ‘Number One Son’ came from."
She continued to explain the various titles for grandparents and cousins and aunties based on side of the family and age. For example, if you had two older brothers then they would be ‘big brother’ and brother number two.
The truth is I had seen this on the textbook, but ignored it as vocabulary used in ancient times. “Sorry. You actually use these titles? Are we in Mississippi or something?”
I thought for a moment and then pushed: “So what is his actual name? He is not my Younger Brother from Father’s side.”
There was a pause and Carol didn’t answer.
“Hey, what’s the matter? You serious?” I asked. “Don’t you know his name?” For a moment I thought it was quite cool she didn’t know her relatives’ names – I made a point of ignoring Mine.
“I have never asked him…Younger Brother from Father’s side, what is your name?” asked Carol.
He looked at her as if to say what the fuck has it got to do with you, when he realized and came walking over.
“My name is Michael. How are you?” His English name wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.
He continued, “Is it a good name? I don’t know. Many years before, I have the teacher from Canada.”
“It is a good name, man. What is your Chinese name?”
“Mr. Hu.”
“Thanks, man,” I said. We are not going to get your Chinese first names out under torture are we?
“And you are Dan. What does Dan mean?” asked Mr. Hu.
It was that old chestnut again, I thought. My name has to mean something like: Son of the mighty mountain sword.
“Cool dude, man. It means cool dude…Sorry, it has no meaning of course. Western names have no meaning.”
“What does your name mean?” I asked trying a different angle to get his Chinese name.
“Don’t you just say English name no meaning?”
“Yeah, man. I am not going to crack you, am I?”
The men were finished now so Diane could start to introduce the women. “That is my mother’s younger sister.”
She is sexy I thought. “Where is her husband?”
“No - Thirty-five never married. My grandmother very sad when she have the second daughter, not the son. She think it best she stay at home and help look after her when she is old."
I started to furrow my brow again.
“It is okay,” added Carol. “She is happy to do it for her mother. It is her duty - Taiwan families.”
“Say, “How are you?” to the foreigner,” said the uncle to his five year old son.
I smiled a fake smile as I hadn’t come to teach English.
“And that is my cousin - My grandmother’s brother’s son.”
“Okay, he is your second cousin, but that is like feeling a sense of attachment to the children of a woman my father slept with in university. I have first cousins I don’t know the names of.”
“I don’t know. I call him cousin. He is staying with us because he have to study in Taipei. He already live with us two years so I call him younger brother.”
I started to fizz and shoot bolts.
“Taiwanese families are very complicated,” she said. “You know, he is a good boy. He got into the best Junior High School in Taiwan when he thirteen. He make his parents very proud. They miss him very much, but he has to study...”
“So where do they all live?” I asked. There was her mother and father, grandmother, aunty, sister, brother and his girlfriend, her, and the second cousin who she now called younger brother, and there were only three bedrooms in this apartment.
“My father and his brother bought the apartment opposite for my grandmother. My aunty stays with her for free. She is very grateful.”
“It is not for free – she is an indentured slave to your grandmother.”
“My aunty is very traditional. I tell you that. Me? No way. That is why I like the foreigner.”
“What about your uncle?”
“The floor below,” Then as if it made it sound like it was so much further away. “Opposite.”
“So which room is yours?”
“I sometime sleep with my mother…Hmm…sometime sister. My brother needs the room for his girlfriend. My step-brother because he is a student.”
“I’m sorry,” I exclaimed not even interested in asking where the father slept, because I knew it would only result in my head shaking off its base.
“So what about your MBA application?” I asked trying to change the subject away from my personal nightmare of relative-density.
“Say, How are you?, to the foreigner,” shouted the uncle to his son for the twentieth time.
“I’m off work now,” i quipped in Chinese to tremendous laughter and I assumed they got the point.
Back to the subject of Carol's MBA. “Don’t talk about it. I am very sad.” It seemed her brother needed to get married - he had just got his girlfriend pregnant and so he needed money to pay for the wedding. Her father had no money because his shoe factory in Shenzhen just went bankrupt and it was down to the daughters. They had protested that their brother didn’t have any money because he refused to work, but her father had insisted: “He is your older brother, and we are all family so you should help. You are girls - Your children cannot pray for us when we are dead.”
“You are going to accept this,” I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. “We are a traditional family. I’ll earn the money again.”
If you are a traditional family why was he getting his girlfriend pregnant before marriage, I thought. I really have just arrived in the Asian version of a council estate.
“Say, “How are you?” to the foreigner,” shouted the uncle to his son.
“What is your name?” I said to the kid hoping that would placate things but he ran off followed by the uncle who had lost face now because his kid didn’t answer.
“Let’s eat,” said Carol’s mother.
Ten minutes later. “What’s up?” I asked because nobody was going to eat.
“My grandmother is keeping us waiting.” Carol explained – nobody would eat before the grandmother and she kept everyone waiting just to see she was getting respect. Finally, her two sons went to the sofa to get her and they walked arm-in-arm to the table.
“You want a knife and fork,” asked Carol to me. “My uncle is asking.”
“That is okay. I can use the chopsticks,” I said picking them up and waving them in the air.
“No need to be polite,” pushed the uncle. “Yi-Ching (Carol) get him the knife and fork.”
“I’m okay. Look.” This time I picked up a salty thousand year old egg and took a bite.
“Wow, you eat the real Chinese food,” said her uncle.
“I would if you would only let me get on with it.”
“Sorry?” said her uncle.
“Of course. Something has to be pretty special to make me sit in the room with more than two relatives of any one family.”
“Sorry?”
“I like it very much.”
“Where are you doing?” I asked to Carol as she started to go out the door.
“I have to go to the uncle apartment. Look for the knife and fork,” she said happy to leave me there.
I started to break off a piece of the steamed fish and pile on some garlic and ginger – but the uncle was still trying to help. “Just a…moment,” he pushed. “She get you the knife and fork.”
“Thanks. I’ll use the chopsticks while I am waiting.”
“You eat the pig intestine,” asked Carol’s mother who had sat quietly waiting for her turn to praise after the men.
Carol was back, her mission to find the knife and fork failed.
“Tell your mother I am happy to try everything. Western food is very bland.”
“What is she doing?” I asked, because Diane’s mother was picking the chillies out of the dish of intestines and putting the rest on the little plate next to his bowl. “She know you don’t like too spicy.”
“Then she knows something I don’t.” I began to feel under pressure as Carol’s mother piled food on my plate in a manner that hadn’t happened to me since I was five.
I took a breather.
“Eat a little more,” pushed the aunty who looked after her grandmother.
“Wo cher bao le, Xie xie (I am full, thank you),” I said to raucous laughter and a chorus of “bu yong ke chi (No need to be polite).”
Carol’s mother finished shelling the plate of prawns and tipped them into my bowl: “Just a little left - ”
“I know – No need to be polite,” I said.
“They are just trying to be polite,” said Carol.
“I know, but don’t they know I am a cold, heartless westerner? In the name of exerting my individuality I was brought up to say exactly what I want at all times no matter who it offends. No matter ruining that persons life with the truth was completely unnecessary. When I say I am full, I am full. You understand?”
“Uh,” said Carol.
The mother started pouring me a bowl of chicken soup so I, in vain tried to stop her. “Really. I am full. Thanks,” I said.
“She says it have the Chinese medicine. It is very ‘bu’. I don’t know how to say…uh…good for your health.”
It wasn’t good for the chicken’s health I thought as I noticed its sad face staring at me from out the top of the pot. Eye-to-eye with this chicken at this moment dispelled any myths these creatures didn’t feel. Still as someone I had met said: So you don’t want to know it was ever alive. Isn’t that hypocritical? It was, and I was no hypocrite. As for the ‘bu’ thing, I was curious. I wasn’t feeling in bad health, but he had an open mind about the power of Chinese medicine. Maybe, I could stay in good health without going to the gym. And, as an Englishman, I had to concede on issues of fat: overweight in this country was a couple of kilos, not twenty or so.
“Cheers,” I said to the chicken while looking it in the eye.
I finished my bowl of soup then accepted guile was the only way to stop them feeding me: “I have to go the bathroom.”
I stayed in the bathroom for five minutes counting the tiles on the wall, floor, just about everywhere. Still it didn’t take very long because it was the typical Taiwan bathroom: toilet, sink and bath with shower unit inside, all stacked up next to each other; sealed floor so you could spray water anywhere – and a box of tissues on the toilet unit behind your head, rather than a roll on a conveniently placed holder in front of you.
“You ok?” said the uncle to concerned smiles from everyone when I came out of the toilet. “Not used to the Chinese food, eh.”
“That is right. I wouldn’t go in there again today.”
While I was gone they had all retired to the sofa. “Please sit down,” said at least four relatives just in case I was afraid to.
It was also a typical living room: huge black leather sofa, and armchairs; hard wood floor never carpet; altar consisting of a table with a Daoist deity behind; undecorated white walls save for a picture of dead relatives and some scrolls with lucky Chinese phrases on the front; and then lots of dark, hard wood furniture. The furniture seemed to be a sign of wealth and the more Indonesian rainforest you had managed to purchase the richer you were.
“Please,” said the mother. The coffee table was now awash with watermelon, grapes and small tomatoes that were supposed to be dipped in plum powder.
It wasn’t exactly environmentally friendly: there was a box of tissues to mop every drop of juice, cocktail sticks to pick up the fruit, finally, to spit or drop that grape peel or those watermelon seeds were little paper boxes. It seems you couldn’t have any thing reusable.
I didn’t have anything to say so I started to peel the skin from the grapes and pretend to be deep in concentration, while looking at the TV out of the corner of my eye as they flicked through the channels. There was the soap that I was sure was now actually a documentary. On the next channel was a Hong Kong soap opera set in ancient times with young, pretty boy Chinese pop stars wearing long wigs and gowns, swishing their swords and trying to sound stern, and authoritative - Imagine Haircut One Hundred, Milli Vanilli, or Soft Cell playing Shakespeare, cowboys or Knights of the Round Table.
“So why you come to Taiwan?” said one of the uncles. "Earn money?” added oldest aunty from the mother’s side.
“No. I am interested in the culture. In studying Chinese,” I replied to fall about laughter.
“So you want to go to the China. Do some business,” she continued.
“You are very lucky. We really admire the America,” said uncle number two from the father’s side. “You have the quality of life. Nice house. Taiwan too small.”
"What do you think about England," I asked trying to subtlely make the point before continuing.
“I like here. People are very friendly and the food is good.
"And I know: Wo bu yong ke chi (I don’t need to be polite)."
“Thank you. It is my honor to meet the foreigner,” said Uncle Michael.
“So who is the old guy on the wall,” I asked trying to change the conversation guessing who it was.
“That is my grandfather - My father honour him.”
“Good, but does he have to watch me eat?”
“My father say the picture help us remember to respect him. To think what he would like us to do.”
“And do opposite, presumably.”
“Stupid. You know when he died it was so much trouble. We crawl on the hands and knees to show our respect. He have the old red brick house with a courtyard, and all the family, get out the car at the gate and crawl to the door of the house with our heads down to the ground, crying, praying to the God for him - Oh…very painful.”
“My heart would hurt, yes, if I crawled for anyone.”
The aunties and uncles then got up, got out the card table and started to gamble. I figured he had half an hour or so to wait before I could politely make my excuses and go.
. . .
“Nice to meet you, Dan?” said everyone as I headed for the door.
I was glad we lied and said I was her English teacher because it had meant less pressure. The truth is I had enjoyed himself - it had been an experience. But he still couldn’t possibly imagine it becoming part of my world.
“I give you a ride,” said the uncle, Michael. I protested it was okay to get a bus but, like on all other occasions, I wasn’t able to refuse.
“Carol say you are the good English teacher,” said Michael as they drove.
“Thanks, mate.”
“Don’t worry. We know. You have some fun. But we are a traditional family her father not approve the foreigner. Just fun, ok.”
Suddenly I couldn't think of anything else but getting accepted by Carol’s family…
I couple of things really offend our meritocratic and space loving western selves:
a) They really do see that cousin twice-removed on a regular basis - and have a specific title and position for everyone in the family tree.
b) Don't expect 'No thank you, I don't want anymore' to get them to stop offering -They know you are just being polite.
Now if you are Eric, suffering alienation and nostalgia for a land where it is ok to hate and ignore even your closest relatives, you don't want to be spending a lot of time at a Taiwanese family apartment.
I arrived at the apartment of the girlfriend at the time, a Carol Tu. I insisted she say i was her English teacher so that nobody would lose face if we broke up later.
As I entered Carol’s apartment: “Jesus – Why are there so many people?” I asked.
“They are my family,” she answered.
“You have five brothers and six sisters?”
“No, they are uncles…aunties.”
I had heard the stories of girls expecting to get married after a few months. “What the hell? I told you I ain’t getting married….Engaged… Nothing. I’m out of here.”
Carol caught me a flight of stairs down. “Hey. Come back. Why you leave?”
“All those relatives in your house - You think I am stupid?”
“You really are strange. You want to meet my family and then you leave. I know you don’t want to marry me.”
“Uncles and aunties only come for special occasions: This ain’t one.”
“This is Taiwan, we see them every day.”
I stood silent, my sails minus any wind: “I’m sorry. I don’t see my uncles and aunties unless it is a wedding, funeral or christening. You don’t have christenings here, and everyone looked too happy for the other one. I’m sorry. Okay. I’m cool.”
“So arrogant,” she added scornfully as they walked back in past the metal grate door.
“Nice to meet you,” said Carol’s father. “I hear you are a good English teacher.”
Diane started to introduce everyone.
“That is my Jou jou…uncle,” replied Carol.
“Jou jou is his name,” I asked.
“No, jou jou means uncle – Oh…” said Carol as another middle-aged Taiwanese guy walked over. “That is my bo fu…Uncle,” she said.
I was confused. “Explain, please.”
“Jou Jou means uncle on my mother’s side and Bo fu my father’s - What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said rolling my eyes in disbelief.
“That is Xiao (small) Jou (Younger brother from mother’s side),” she continued as they went around the room.
“Sorry…Perfectly logical I suppose,” I said. “What if there are three uncles, what do you call the middle one? Zhong (middle) Jou?”
“Don’t be stupid, Number Two Uncle.”
“Ok, attach other title for side of the family...I am getting it,” I said. “Now I know where ‘Number One Son’ came from."
She continued to explain the various titles for grandparents and cousins and aunties based on side of the family and age. For example, if you had two older brothers then they would be ‘big brother’ and brother number two.
The truth is I had seen this on the textbook, but ignored it as vocabulary used in ancient times. “Sorry. You actually use these titles? Are we in Mississippi or something?”
I thought for a moment and then pushed: “So what is his actual name? He is not my Younger Brother from Father’s side.”
There was a pause and Carol didn’t answer.
“Hey, what’s the matter? You serious?” I asked. “Don’t you know his name?” For a moment I thought it was quite cool she didn’t know her relatives’ names – I made a point of ignoring Mine.
“I have never asked him…Younger Brother from Father’s side, what is your name?” asked Carol.
He looked at her as if to say what the fuck has it got to do with you, when he realized and came walking over.
“My name is Michael. How are you?” His English name wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.
He continued, “Is it a good name? I don’t know. Many years before, I have the teacher from Canada.”
“It is a good name, man. What is your Chinese name?”
“Mr. Hu.”
“Thanks, man,” I said. We are not going to get your Chinese first names out under torture are we?
“And you are Dan. What does Dan mean?” asked Mr. Hu.
It was that old chestnut again, I thought. My name has to mean something like: Son of the mighty mountain sword.
“Cool dude, man. It means cool dude…Sorry, it has no meaning of course. Western names have no meaning.”
“What does your name mean?” I asked trying a different angle to get his Chinese name.
“Don’t you just say English name no meaning?”
“Yeah, man. I am not going to crack you, am I?”
The men were finished now so Diane could start to introduce the women. “That is my mother’s younger sister.”
She is sexy I thought. “Where is her husband?”
“No - Thirty-five never married. My grandmother very sad when she have the second daughter, not the son. She think it best she stay at home and help look after her when she is old."
I started to furrow my brow again.
“It is okay,” added Carol. “She is happy to do it for her mother. It is her duty - Taiwan families.”
“Say, “How are you?” to the foreigner,” said the uncle to his five year old son.
I smiled a fake smile as I hadn’t come to teach English.
“And that is my cousin - My grandmother’s brother’s son.”
“Okay, he is your second cousin, but that is like feeling a sense of attachment to the children of a woman my father slept with in university. I have first cousins I don’t know the names of.”
“I don’t know. I call him cousin. He is staying with us because he have to study in Taipei. He already live with us two years so I call him younger brother.”
I started to fizz and shoot bolts.
“Taiwanese families are very complicated,” she said. “You know, he is a good boy. He got into the best Junior High School in Taiwan when he thirteen. He make his parents very proud. They miss him very much, but he has to study...”
“So where do they all live?” I asked. There was her mother and father, grandmother, aunty, sister, brother and his girlfriend, her, and the second cousin who she now called younger brother, and there were only three bedrooms in this apartment.
“My father and his brother bought the apartment opposite for my grandmother. My aunty stays with her for free. She is very grateful.”
“It is not for free – she is an indentured slave to your grandmother.”
“My aunty is very traditional. I tell you that. Me? No way. That is why I like the foreigner.”
“What about your uncle?”
“The floor below,” Then as if it made it sound like it was so much further away. “Opposite.”
“So which room is yours?”
“I sometime sleep with my mother…Hmm…sometime sister. My brother needs the room for his girlfriend. My step-brother because he is a student.”
“I’m sorry,” I exclaimed not even interested in asking where the father slept, because I knew it would only result in my head shaking off its base.
“So what about your MBA application?” I asked trying to change the subject away from my personal nightmare of relative-density.
“Say, How are you?, to the foreigner,” shouted the uncle to his son for the twentieth time.
“I’m off work now,” i quipped in Chinese to tremendous laughter and I assumed they got the point.
Back to the subject of Carol's MBA. “Don’t talk about it. I am very sad.” It seemed her brother needed to get married - he had just got his girlfriend pregnant and so he needed money to pay for the wedding. Her father had no money because his shoe factory in Shenzhen just went bankrupt and it was down to the daughters. They had protested that their brother didn’t have any money because he refused to work, but her father had insisted: “He is your older brother, and we are all family so you should help. You are girls - Your children cannot pray for us when we are dead.”
“You are going to accept this,” I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. “We are a traditional family. I’ll earn the money again.”
If you are a traditional family why was he getting his girlfriend pregnant before marriage, I thought. I really have just arrived in the Asian version of a council estate.
“Say, “How are you?” to the foreigner,” shouted the uncle to his son.
“What is your name?” I said to the kid hoping that would placate things but he ran off followed by the uncle who had lost face now because his kid didn’t answer.
“Let’s eat,” said Carol’s mother.
Ten minutes later. “What’s up?” I asked because nobody was going to eat.
“My grandmother is keeping us waiting.” Carol explained – nobody would eat before the grandmother and she kept everyone waiting just to see she was getting respect. Finally, her two sons went to the sofa to get her and they walked arm-in-arm to the table.
“You want a knife and fork,” asked Carol to me. “My uncle is asking.”
“That is okay. I can use the chopsticks,” I said picking them up and waving them in the air.
“No need to be polite,” pushed the uncle. “Yi-Ching (Carol) get him the knife and fork.”
“I’m okay. Look.” This time I picked up a salty thousand year old egg and took a bite.
“Wow, you eat the real Chinese food,” said her uncle.
“I would if you would only let me get on with it.”
“Sorry?” said her uncle.
“Of course. Something has to be pretty special to make me sit in the room with more than two relatives of any one family.”
“Sorry?”
“I like it very much.”
“Where are you doing?” I asked to Carol as she started to go out the door.
“I have to go to the uncle apartment. Look for the knife and fork,” she said happy to leave me there.
I started to break off a piece of the steamed fish and pile on some garlic and ginger – but the uncle was still trying to help. “Just a…moment,” he pushed. “She get you the knife and fork.”
“Thanks. I’ll use the chopsticks while I am waiting.”
“You eat the pig intestine,” asked Carol’s mother who had sat quietly waiting for her turn to praise after the men.
Carol was back, her mission to find the knife and fork failed.
“Tell your mother I am happy to try everything. Western food is very bland.”
“What is she doing?” I asked, because Diane’s mother was picking the chillies out of the dish of intestines and putting the rest on the little plate next to his bowl. “She know you don’t like too spicy.”
“Then she knows something I don’t.” I began to feel under pressure as Carol’s mother piled food on my plate in a manner that hadn’t happened to me since I was five.
I took a breather.
“Eat a little more,” pushed the aunty who looked after her grandmother.
“Wo cher bao le, Xie xie (I am full, thank you),” I said to raucous laughter and a chorus of “bu yong ke chi (No need to be polite).”
Carol’s mother finished shelling the plate of prawns and tipped them into my bowl: “Just a little left - ”
“I know – No need to be polite,” I said.
“They are just trying to be polite,” said Carol.
“I know, but don’t they know I am a cold, heartless westerner? In the name of exerting my individuality I was brought up to say exactly what I want at all times no matter who it offends. No matter ruining that persons life with the truth was completely unnecessary. When I say I am full, I am full. You understand?”
“Uh,” said Carol.
The mother started pouring me a bowl of chicken soup so I, in vain tried to stop her. “Really. I am full. Thanks,” I said.
“She says it have the Chinese medicine. It is very ‘bu’. I don’t know how to say…uh…good for your health.”
It wasn’t good for the chicken’s health I thought as I noticed its sad face staring at me from out the top of the pot. Eye-to-eye with this chicken at this moment dispelled any myths these creatures didn’t feel. Still as someone I had met said: So you don’t want to know it was ever alive. Isn’t that hypocritical? It was, and I was no hypocrite. As for the ‘bu’ thing, I was curious. I wasn’t feeling in bad health, but he had an open mind about the power of Chinese medicine. Maybe, I could stay in good health without going to the gym. And, as an Englishman, I had to concede on issues of fat: overweight in this country was a couple of kilos, not twenty or so.
“Cheers,” I said to the chicken while looking it in the eye.
I finished my bowl of soup then accepted guile was the only way to stop them feeding me: “I have to go the bathroom.”
I stayed in the bathroom for five minutes counting the tiles on the wall, floor, just about everywhere. Still it didn’t take very long because it was the typical Taiwan bathroom: toilet, sink and bath with shower unit inside, all stacked up next to each other; sealed floor so you could spray water anywhere – and a box of tissues on the toilet unit behind your head, rather than a roll on a conveniently placed holder in front of you.
“You ok?” said the uncle to concerned smiles from everyone when I came out of the toilet. “Not used to the Chinese food, eh.”
“That is right. I wouldn’t go in there again today.”
While I was gone they had all retired to the sofa. “Please sit down,” said at least four relatives just in case I was afraid to.
It was also a typical living room: huge black leather sofa, and armchairs; hard wood floor never carpet; altar consisting of a table with a Daoist deity behind; undecorated white walls save for a picture of dead relatives and some scrolls with lucky Chinese phrases on the front; and then lots of dark, hard wood furniture. The furniture seemed to be a sign of wealth and the more Indonesian rainforest you had managed to purchase the richer you were.
“Please,” said the mother. The coffee table was now awash with watermelon, grapes and small tomatoes that were supposed to be dipped in plum powder.
It wasn’t exactly environmentally friendly: there was a box of tissues to mop every drop of juice, cocktail sticks to pick up the fruit, finally, to spit or drop that grape peel or those watermelon seeds were little paper boxes. It seems you couldn’t have any thing reusable.
I didn’t have anything to say so I started to peel the skin from the grapes and pretend to be deep in concentration, while looking at the TV out of the corner of my eye as they flicked through the channels. There was the soap that I was sure was now actually a documentary. On the next channel was a Hong Kong soap opera set in ancient times with young, pretty boy Chinese pop stars wearing long wigs and gowns, swishing their swords and trying to sound stern, and authoritative - Imagine Haircut One Hundred, Milli Vanilli, or Soft Cell playing Shakespeare, cowboys or Knights of the Round Table.
“So why you come to Taiwan?” said one of the uncles. "Earn money?” added oldest aunty from the mother’s side.
“No. I am interested in the culture. In studying Chinese,” I replied to fall about laughter.
“So you want to go to the China. Do some business,” she continued.
“You are very lucky. We really admire the America,” said uncle number two from the father’s side. “You have the quality of life. Nice house. Taiwan too small.”
"What do you think about England," I asked trying to subtlely make the point before continuing.
“I like here. People are very friendly and the food is good.
"And I know: Wo bu yong ke chi (I don’t need to be polite)."
“Thank you. It is my honor to meet the foreigner,” said Uncle Michael.
“So who is the old guy on the wall,” I asked trying to change the conversation guessing who it was.
“That is my grandfather - My father honour him.”
“Good, but does he have to watch me eat?”
“My father say the picture help us remember to respect him. To think what he would like us to do.”
“And do opposite, presumably.”
“Stupid. You know when he died it was so much trouble. We crawl on the hands and knees to show our respect. He have the old red brick house with a courtyard, and all the family, get out the car at the gate and crawl to the door of the house with our heads down to the ground, crying, praying to the God for him - Oh…very painful.”
“My heart would hurt, yes, if I crawled for anyone.”
The aunties and uncles then got up, got out the card table and started to gamble. I figured he had half an hour or so to wait before I could politely make my excuses and go.
. . .
“Nice to meet you, Dan?” said everyone as I headed for the door.
I was glad we lied and said I was her English teacher because it had meant less pressure. The truth is I had enjoyed himself - it had been an experience. But he still couldn’t possibly imagine it becoming part of my world.
“I give you a ride,” said the uncle, Michael. I protested it was okay to get a bus but, like on all other occasions, I wasn’t able to refuse.
“Carol say you are the good English teacher,” said Michael as they drove.
“Thanks, mate.”
“Don’t worry. We know. You have some fun. But we are a traditional family her father not approve the foreigner. Just fun, ok.”
Suddenly I couldn't think of anything else but getting accepted by Carol’s family…
Taiwan culture shock: It is hard being the superior sex II
Being able to date above our league, the superior sex, unleashes fear and doubt in all of us which you have to get over. Eric particularly so - after a year he was still saying the same culture shock nonsense that we used to justify being with our first girlfriend.
He claimed to be interested in the women but had then kept his girlfriend, Diane, for one year.
Diane was maybe fifty-five kilos, a little over weight, but definitely not fat. She was one of the girlfriend/secretary combos that were popular when you first arrive. A big step up from what we are used to, but after a couple of months our sights would adjust and we would move on.
For these girls, picking a guy as he got off the plane was a high-risk strategy - not least because he was usually a moaning, sanctimonious, homesick prick - but sooner or later they would come across an unsure of himself simple boy from Ohio, they could make their own. Next week, I was going to the wedding of the secretary from my school and a good young All-American boy who’s trainers were still clean and shorts pressed. I reckoned he would be going to Eric’s wedding next.
Whenever, we attempted to introduce him, it was always the same thing.
“Hey, man! I ain’t falling for that get myself a young beautiful chick shit! Walk down the street with her proud, but have nothing to say,” he would reply.
"I don’t know why a woman can’t be beautiful and intelligent," I would say. "That is actually pretty sexist."
Eric hated the idea of being sexist, so he would immediately change tact: “Anyway, they will dump you soon. These beautiful ones cannot be trusted.”
"Your evidence for this? And you were planning to marry her?"
That evening Diane had also come to the bar with some friends.
"So bring her over," said John. "Let's be charmed by her intellect and conversation."
"Man, I ain't going to do that - I have to speak to her later to get sex."
He claimed to be interested in the women but had then kept his girlfriend, Diane, for one year.
Diane was maybe fifty-five kilos, a little over weight, but definitely not fat. She was one of the girlfriend/secretary combos that were popular when you first arrive. A big step up from what we are used to, but after a couple of months our sights would adjust and we would move on.
For these girls, picking a guy as he got off the plane was a high-risk strategy - not least because he was usually a moaning, sanctimonious, homesick prick - but sooner or later they would come across an unsure of himself simple boy from Ohio, they could make their own. Next week, I was going to the wedding of the secretary from my school and a good young All-American boy who’s trainers were still clean and shorts pressed. I reckoned he would be going to Eric’s wedding next.
Whenever, we attempted to introduce him, it was always the same thing.
“Hey, man! I ain’t falling for that get myself a young beautiful chick shit! Walk down the street with her proud, but have nothing to say,” he would reply.
"I don’t know why a woman can’t be beautiful and intelligent," I would say. "That is actually pretty sexist."
Eric hated the idea of being sexist, so he would immediately change tact: “Anyway, they will dump you soon. These beautiful ones cannot be trusted.”
"Your evidence for this? And you were planning to marry her?"
That evening Diane had also come to the bar with some friends.
"So bring her over," said John. "Let's be charmed by her intellect and conversation."
"Man, I ain't going to do that - I have to speak to her later to get sex."
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Josh and Taiwan girls: No means no - and yes means no too
As i have said people are complicated, varied and filled with the capacity to surprise. However, you can draw some rough guidelines, and with the women in Taiwan i would draw these: they are averagely more coy, demure, committed, downtrodden and less direct than in the west - Now, if you are a good, middle-class college boy from the west brought up on Mike Tyson date rape trials and 'no means no' campaigns, it can be a little daunting at first. If you then add to the mix an overly neurotic desire to be honest and upfront so as not to hurt other people, you can get yourself in a lot of trouble meeting Taiwanese girls.
Six months ago, Josh had had a girlfriend who said she loved him after one month. We all do, it is not a cause for panic. You just have to ask a Taiwanese female friend what is means and she will tell you the girl is just trying to create a romantic atmosphere. It is actually a little more than that: the culture emphasises friendship and the Taiwanese compete to say nice things to each other all the time, viewed from that perspective you can take it with a pinch of salt.
Josh, unfortunately, had panicked. He had since told every date before the starter had finished that - "I must tell you I am not looking for anything serious” - and six months later he was still sexless.
Finally, we had convinced him that if she didn't ask, then he was not obliged to answer; that, in fact, he was not obliged to know if he was in love and committed to the relationship within a month - and he could take his time. More importantly, he was unquestionably getting his date's back up by taking such a position.
Half convinced he went on another date. Slowly over the next few months he revealed how badly it went...
His date for the evening was Candies Lien, a late twenties account executive for Christian Dior who had a degree from Canada.
"You are a little quiet," said Candies now they had finished the main course.
"Yeah, sorry, a few things on my mind," said Josh.
For twenty minutes now he had been trying to analyse if she was going to fall in love with him or not. Whether he needed to tell her the truth.
“Are you busy?” he said.
“Yes, of course. I have to earn money,” she replied.
He sighed and hissed because he knew it had been another time-wasting question.
“Okay,” said Josh, aware that things were dragging and he was the one with his heels to the ground. "Hmm, so - "
“So, you know I am a foreigner.”
Fuck, that is stupid, he thought.
“You know we foreigners have a reputation,” he said referring to the one Westerners had for loving and leaving in most of the world.
“I know,” she said smiling.
“And?”
“Hmm…Just I know. What can I do?”
She smiled and then pushed out her bottom lip and hunched her shoulders. He was sure he caught her flick an inviting look…but then a moment later he was unsure.
“So, you know and that means??”he replied.
She went through the same set of body moments and gestures, and for a fleeting moment he was sure and unsure again.
“I see you know...” he said, presuming he was beginning to make himself unappealing to even a Taiwanese girl. “Hey…Nothing…Again...”
He stared at her hard trying to will an answer out of her that he wanted to hear: Don't worry, i know life is complicated. He was frustrated because he kind of guessed she had given him the answer he wanted, but she hadn’t put it up on a big neon sign - The minimum he required at this stage.
He looked her up and down again – She had soft features, pleasant manner, unassuming; if she had heavy eye shadow, an aggressive manner; her tone of voice pleasant not snappy, this would be easy.
He decided he had to tell her.
“I am just gonna go to the bathroom,” said Josh. “Sorry.”
He walked through the curtain next to the coke machine on the back wall, and he opened the door to the left with the Chinese characters for bathroom. It was small, barely a meter and a half wide and a couple meters long. He couldn’t swing a cat. It was tiled white. No carpet. Carpet was a rarity in homes in Taiwan and definitely nowhere to be found in toilets. It was unisex with a urinal on the back wall on the left opposite the door and a squat toilet on the right. Squat toilets were bedded in a set of bricks so that further limited his ability to pace. It was smelly. It had no air conditioner. He wanted to be out of there quickly. He paced up and down from the bricks around the urinal to the floor below, considering what was said. Presumably, he told himself, even though he was no expert on Chinese culture, he could relax. She was saving face and not directly giving her answer. It was pretty basic, he made up his mind. He would head back to his seat. Hold on, he thought. He still didn’t have the answer to that look. After all she just said he understood what we were like, she didn’t say she agreed. She was still going to love him. He thought of ways to ask her whether she agreed, but he was too nervous already. He had been in the bathroom too long.
I’ll decide on the way out, he thought.
She gave him a fake smile. “Everything okay?”
‘No problem. Thank you,” he said knowing he looked anything but like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“So, Candies…” He stalled.
"What?"
“So, do you want to go back to mine?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, but started to put her coat on to go with him. Still Josh needed to find out if he was sending her to his home or hers. She didn’t answer.
“It is okay? You want to come to mine?” He asked again. She had made it easy for him so many times already so he felt a little harrying might get her to give him the answer he wanted and save any guilt.
She didn't answer but they got on his scooter, her behind.
“Are you okay?”he asked again.
She registered what he meant and started to get annoyed: This was her first time to go back to a guy’s place so quickly, and she was embarrassed, and she really wanted him to respect her feelings as a ‘lady’ and be more subtle.
Still, she wanted to do this, and so decided the question could be perceived as checking if she was alright on the back of his scooter.
“Yes...thank you,” she answered putting her arms around his chest. "We Taiwanese are used to riding on the motorbike.”
He fell silent because he knew she wasn’t answering the question he asked. He knew she was going to fall in love with him.
For the next twenty minutes until they arrived at his house, he said nothing and she began to feel uncomfortable the result of his negatives vibes; starting to feel dirty instead of caught up in the moment.
He parked his scooter outside his apartment buildings, turned off his engine, sat facing forward for a second, then turned his head.
“If you don’t want to do this just say?” he blurted out.
I am already outside your apartment you stupid boy, she thought, I thought you foreigners were sex maniacs.
She got off the back of the motorbike, and stood saying nothing; trying to block out that ever dissipating enthusiasm.
“You know if we have sex tonight, it is just sex, it doesn’t make you my girlfriend, nor does it mean I love you. It takes a long time to know if you love someone,” said Josh.
She felt humiliated. She wanted to be romanced, given a break from reality, lied to if necessary; instead she was left feeling the next move was to slap on rubber gloves and press hard on each other’s anal G-spots.
“If I have sex with someone, it is very important to me. It means I care about that person very much,”she said.
Ten minutes later in the taxi back home reflection had set in for both of them, and they were kicking themselves hard.
. . .
A week later Jasmine was sat on Josh’s bed watching the TV, waiting...
Two days ago she had called up. “Hello,” she said. “Um, I am sorry about last time.”
“No, my fault,” he said and invited her to come round.
About an hour before she arrived the nerves had started to kick in, and he started to feel bad again: The poor girl was that desperate. He had bullied her into coming. He had lied to her. Now she was going to have sex with him and he was going to break her heart.
She hadn’t had a big beaming smile when she entered the door – and he noted that and got more nervous.
He got her a glass of wine, and remembered she might just be being shy. Then led her into the bedroom – He shared an apartment with two other Canadians and he didn’t want her sitting in the lounge and them coming back when he made his move.
He psyched himself: just relax because she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to, take the lead because she was shy, don’t keep asking and don’t wait.
Candies was sat on the bed with her knees tucked up to her chest. He flashed her a smile, she didn’t respond to. She was sitting on a strange man’s bed after all – she knew she shouldn’t make it too easy for him. She remembered her nationality: what men expected of their women.
She straightened her legs out when she remembered he was a foreigner – they don’t look down on girls for sleeping around, she told herself – and smiled.
He took up position next to her.
Fuck, he thought. It was that dating show – the Taiwanese version of Blind Date. He had heard almost every couple on the show got married.
“Why don’t we watch MTV,” he said.
She looked sad, but said nothing as she didn’t want to appear argumentative or selfish.
He turned his head to kiss her because he wanted things over - Just a few moments later, he started to try to remove her top. She watched him desperately trying to remove her top by pulling it up over her breasts. After a minute or so it was hurting her as, in his attempts to get it up without moving her or putting his hand inside, meant he was pulling it outwards taunt against her back, scraping along. It was also her favourite Dior t-shirt and she didn’t want it ruined. She arched her back slightly, hoping it was enough to give him a hint what to do, not enough so he could take the top off completely, because that was his job to man-handle her. Finally, he moved her enough to remove the outer layers of clothing – the skirt, tights and t-shirt.
The bra went, and then he went for the underwear. “What are you doing?” she said, partly annoyed at the speed of all this, partly as an instinctive action she was already regretting.
He sat up.
A few moments passed and she felt awkward sat topless on the bed.
“Kiss me,” she said grabbing him.
They kissed with him spending more time thinking, and the pants went. He massaged and kissed, and procrastinated as he doubted whether he should put her through this life changing experience.
He thought about going down on her, but he guessed he was only hard now because he was pressed up against her thigh, and taking that physical pressure away would mean victory of the mental pressure over his apparatus.
“Bu yao la (I don’t want!)” she said as he tried to enter her.
He sat up straight immediately. Doubts were drowning out the registration of devilment in her voice and the lack of volume in her protestations. He knew it could be explained by culture factors, but he suppressed that immediately – cultural issues were putting his head in a spin. At this stage - 'fuck me now, fuck me hard’ - would have been interpreted as an attempt by her to get the act over as quickly as possible so she could go home soon and start mending her broken heart. He was hoping she would rape him.
“You are not interested, right? Okay, I get you a taxi,” he said.
She covered herself with the duvet and lay on the bed unmoved, a little puzzled, she realized that he actually was going to get her a taxi, and she started to sniffle and fumble for her clothes.
Overwhelmed with anger and shame, he put on his boxers and headed to the living room to make a call. As it dawned on he had completely messed up anyway, he might as well tell the truth.
“Candies, I am sorry. I am a fucking goof - that is idiot. I don't know if i am looking for anything serious. I have to be honest to you.”
“I know,” she said, reacting positively to his new soft approach.
“What do you mean, ‘you know’,” he replied thinking there should be more words said than that.
“I know you will leave me one day. I can feel, but I want this opportunity. I don’t regret…Hmm, show me your hand,” she said.
He looked at her strange, but a sense of fairness was kicking in – he had behaved like the idiot – and he followed along.
“See this line - It means you will be very successful at work. And this shows you will have many lovers. I know now it is my fate.”
Again, he looked at her strange. It just sounded too weird for him. He knew the Taiwanese were superstitious and religious people: there were temples everywhere, the priests in the orange and brown robes; people were always burning paper money for some ghost or festival, or for dead relatives to spend in the afterlife. He wasn’t interested in these things. He had intended to ignore this aspect of the culture. Now it was dawning on him they really did take it seriously.
They made love – passionate, romantic love like you do when you have just come to an understanding.
A few hours later they were relaxing watching TV. They were both feeling fantastic: Candies hadn’t had a boyfriend for a year and was happy to just feel wanted; Josh was excited because he could find a girl on his terms.
Candies leaned over and looked him in the eye. "I love you," she said.
Josh started to run for the door before he realised it was his home.
Six months ago, Josh had had a girlfriend who said she loved him after one month. We all do, it is not a cause for panic. You just have to ask a Taiwanese female friend what is means and she will tell you the girl is just trying to create a romantic atmosphere. It is actually a little more than that: the culture emphasises friendship and the Taiwanese compete to say nice things to each other all the time, viewed from that perspective you can take it with a pinch of salt.
Josh, unfortunately, had panicked. He had since told every date before the starter had finished that - "I must tell you I am not looking for anything serious” - and six months later he was still sexless.
Finally, we had convinced him that if she didn't ask, then he was not obliged to answer; that, in fact, he was not obliged to know if he was in love and committed to the relationship within a month - and he could take his time. More importantly, he was unquestionably getting his date's back up by taking such a position.
Half convinced he went on another date. Slowly over the next few months he revealed how badly it went...
His date for the evening was Candies Lien, a late twenties account executive for Christian Dior who had a degree from Canada.
"You are a little quiet," said Candies now they had finished the main course.
"Yeah, sorry, a few things on my mind," said Josh.
For twenty minutes now he had been trying to analyse if she was going to fall in love with him or not. Whether he needed to tell her the truth.
“Are you busy?” he said.
“Yes, of course. I have to earn money,” she replied.
He sighed and hissed because he knew it had been another time-wasting question.
“Okay,” said Josh, aware that things were dragging and he was the one with his heels to the ground. "Hmm, so - "
“So, you know I am a foreigner.”
Fuck, that is stupid, he thought.
“You know we foreigners have a reputation,” he said referring to the one Westerners had for loving and leaving in most of the world.
“I know,” she said smiling.
“And?”
“Hmm…Just I know. What can I do?”
She smiled and then pushed out her bottom lip and hunched her shoulders. He was sure he caught her flick an inviting look…but then a moment later he was unsure.
“So, you know and that means??”he replied.
She went through the same set of body moments and gestures, and for a fleeting moment he was sure and unsure again.
“I see you know...” he said, presuming he was beginning to make himself unappealing to even a Taiwanese girl. “Hey…Nothing…Again...”
He stared at her hard trying to will an answer out of her that he wanted to hear: Don't worry, i know life is complicated. He was frustrated because he kind of guessed she had given him the answer he wanted, but she hadn’t put it up on a big neon sign - The minimum he required at this stage.
He looked her up and down again – She had soft features, pleasant manner, unassuming; if she had heavy eye shadow, an aggressive manner; her tone of voice pleasant not snappy, this would be easy.
He decided he had to tell her.
“I am just gonna go to the bathroom,” said Josh. “Sorry.”
He walked through the curtain next to the coke machine on the back wall, and he opened the door to the left with the Chinese characters for bathroom. It was small, barely a meter and a half wide and a couple meters long. He couldn’t swing a cat. It was tiled white. No carpet. Carpet was a rarity in homes in Taiwan and definitely nowhere to be found in toilets. It was unisex with a urinal on the back wall on the left opposite the door and a squat toilet on the right. Squat toilets were bedded in a set of bricks so that further limited his ability to pace. It was smelly. It had no air conditioner. He wanted to be out of there quickly. He paced up and down from the bricks around the urinal to the floor below, considering what was said. Presumably, he told himself, even though he was no expert on Chinese culture, he could relax. She was saving face and not directly giving her answer. It was pretty basic, he made up his mind. He would head back to his seat. Hold on, he thought. He still didn’t have the answer to that look. After all she just said he understood what we were like, she didn’t say she agreed. She was still going to love him. He thought of ways to ask her whether she agreed, but he was too nervous already. He had been in the bathroom too long.
I’ll decide on the way out, he thought.
She gave him a fake smile. “Everything okay?”
‘No problem. Thank you,” he said knowing he looked anything but like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“So, Candies…” He stalled.
"What?"
“So, do you want to go back to mine?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, but started to put her coat on to go with him. Still Josh needed to find out if he was sending her to his home or hers. She didn’t answer.
“It is okay? You want to come to mine?” He asked again. She had made it easy for him so many times already so he felt a little harrying might get her to give him the answer he wanted and save any guilt.
She didn't answer but they got on his scooter, her behind.
“Are you okay?”he asked again.
She registered what he meant and started to get annoyed: This was her first time to go back to a guy’s place so quickly, and she was embarrassed, and she really wanted him to respect her feelings as a ‘lady’ and be more subtle.
Still, she wanted to do this, and so decided the question could be perceived as checking if she was alright on the back of his scooter.
“Yes...thank you,” she answered putting her arms around his chest. "We Taiwanese are used to riding on the motorbike.”
He fell silent because he knew she wasn’t answering the question he asked. He knew she was going to fall in love with him.
For the next twenty minutes until they arrived at his house, he said nothing and she began to feel uncomfortable the result of his negatives vibes; starting to feel dirty instead of caught up in the moment.
He parked his scooter outside his apartment buildings, turned off his engine, sat facing forward for a second, then turned his head.
“If you don’t want to do this just say?” he blurted out.
I am already outside your apartment you stupid boy, she thought, I thought you foreigners were sex maniacs.
She got off the back of the motorbike, and stood saying nothing; trying to block out that ever dissipating enthusiasm.
“You know if we have sex tonight, it is just sex, it doesn’t make you my girlfriend, nor does it mean I love you. It takes a long time to know if you love someone,” said Josh.
She felt humiliated. She wanted to be romanced, given a break from reality, lied to if necessary; instead she was left feeling the next move was to slap on rubber gloves and press hard on each other’s anal G-spots.
“If I have sex with someone, it is very important to me. It means I care about that person very much,”she said.
Ten minutes later in the taxi back home reflection had set in for both of them, and they were kicking themselves hard.
. . .
A week later Jasmine was sat on Josh’s bed watching the TV, waiting...
Two days ago she had called up. “Hello,” she said. “Um, I am sorry about last time.”
“No, my fault,” he said and invited her to come round.
About an hour before she arrived the nerves had started to kick in, and he started to feel bad again: The poor girl was that desperate. He had bullied her into coming. He had lied to her. Now she was going to have sex with him and he was going to break her heart.
She hadn’t had a big beaming smile when she entered the door – and he noted that and got more nervous.
He got her a glass of wine, and remembered she might just be being shy. Then led her into the bedroom – He shared an apartment with two other Canadians and he didn’t want her sitting in the lounge and them coming back when he made his move.
He psyched himself: just relax because she wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to, take the lead because she was shy, don’t keep asking and don’t wait.
Candies was sat on the bed with her knees tucked up to her chest. He flashed her a smile, she didn’t respond to. She was sitting on a strange man’s bed after all – she knew she shouldn’t make it too easy for him. She remembered her nationality: what men expected of their women.
She straightened her legs out when she remembered he was a foreigner – they don’t look down on girls for sleeping around, she told herself – and smiled.
He took up position next to her.
Fuck, he thought. It was that dating show – the Taiwanese version of Blind Date. He had heard almost every couple on the show got married.
“Why don’t we watch MTV,” he said.
She looked sad, but said nothing as she didn’t want to appear argumentative or selfish.
He turned his head to kiss her because he wanted things over - Just a few moments later, he started to try to remove her top. She watched him desperately trying to remove her top by pulling it up over her breasts. After a minute or so it was hurting her as, in his attempts to get it up without moving her or putting his hand inside, meant he was pulling it outwards taunt against her back, scraping along. It was also her favourite Dior t-shirt and she didn’t want it ruined. She arched her back slightly, hoping it was enough to give him a hint what to do, not enough so he could take the top off completely, because that was his job to man-handle her. Finally, he moved her enough to remove the outer layers of clothing – the skirt, tights and t-shirt.
The bra went, and then he went for the underwear. “What are you doing?” she said, partly annoyed at the speed of all this, partly as an instinctive action she was already regretting.
He sat up.
A few moments passed and she felt awkward sat topless on the bed.
“Kiss me,” she said grabbing him.
They kissed with him spending more time thinking, and the pants went. He massaged and kissed, and procrastinated as he doubted whether he should put her through this life changing experience.
He thought about going down on her, but he guessed he was only hard now because he was pressed up against her thigh, and taking that physical pressure away would mean victory of the mental pressure over his apparatus.
“Bu yao la (I don’t want!)” she said as he tried to enter her.
He sat up straight immediately. Doubts were drowning out the registration of devilment in her voice and the lack of volume in her protestations. He knew it could be explained by culture factors, but he suppressed that immediately – cultural issues were putting his head in a spin. At this stage - 'fuck me now, fuck me hard’ - would have been interpreted as an attempt by her to get the act over as quickly as possible so she could go home soon and start mending her broken heart. He was hoping she would rape him.
“You are not interested, right? Okay, I get you a taxi,” he said.
She covered herself with the duvet and lay on the bed unmoved, a little puzzled, she realized that he actually was going to get her a taxi, and she started to sniffle and fumble for her clothes.
Overwhelmed with anger and shame, he put on his boxers and headed to the living room to make a call. As it dawned on he had completely messed up anyway, he might as well tell the truth.
“Candies, I am sorry. I am a fucking goof - that is idiot. I don't know if i am looking for anything serious. I have to be honest to you.”
“I know,” she said, reacting positively to his new soft approach.
“What do you mean, ‘you know’,” he replied thinking there should be more words said than that.
“I know you will leave me one day. I can feel, but I want this opportunity. I don’t regret…Hmm, show me your hand,” she said.
He looked at her strange, but a sense of fairness was kicking in – he had behaved like the idiot – and he followed along.
“See this line - It means you will be very successful at work. And this shows you will have many lovers. I know now it is my fate.”
Again, he looked at her strange. It just sounded too weird for him. He knew the Taiwanese were superstitious and religious people: there were temples everywhere, the priests in the orange and brown robes; people were always burning paper money for some ghost or festival, or for dead relatives to spend in the afterlife. He wasn’t interested in these things. He had intended to ignore this aspect of the culture. Now it was dawning on him they really did take it seriously.
They made love – passionate, romantic love like you do when you have just come to an understanding.
A few hours later they were relaxing watching TV. They were both feeling fantastic: Candies hadn’t had a boyfriend for a year and was happy to just feel wanted; Josh was excited because he could find a girl on his terms.
Candies leaned over and looked him in the eye. "I love you," she said.
Josh started to run for the door before he realised it was his home.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Taiwan culture shock: It is hard being the superior sex I
As foreigners in Taiwan we had the opportunity to play above our league. It may seem straightforward, but Taiwanese girls are different (see Culture Shock: Women) and there is alot of adjusting to do. It is difficult for all of us but for Eric particularly so.
Eric looked around at the people sat around him in the teashop. It was quiet considering there were twenty people inside. About half were reading magazines or Japanese comics. He looked at the cover of the magazine the girl to his left was reading. It was another image of a late teens girl pulling a kooky innocent smile while holding tight her teddy bear. She is not twelve, he thought. Two tables down a bunch of girls had just gathered together to take a photo with the obligatory V for victory sign, and were now clapping each other with that elbows and wrists together clapping style. He looked across at Diane and slowly dragged himself up straight in his chair, and yawned. “You know I read today the government wants to make Taiwan the Asian information services center. If you are going to become a center of learning, expertise and innovation your teachers and bosses need to learn to be questioned. Can’t keep prompting someone because they know someone or are older.”
“Yes. You know this is Taiwan,” she said.
“What? If you don’t agree you can say. No need to be so polite.”
I am not interested in this stupid topic, she thought. I am bored to death with it.
“We are taught to respect men, it is natural,” she replied before going back to catching glimpses of the front of the Cosmopolitan magazine on the lower shelf of the table, the one I said she couldn’t read. That was another thing she didn’t like about the foreigner - if there was no conversation why couldn’t she read a magazine or newspaper? Why did they have to sit desperately trying to make polite conversation? She wanted to be in that new Californian restaurant that had opened last week, and was the place to be seen for young internationally-minded Taiwanese like herself. Eric had vetoed it by saying it was no better than TGI Friday, and he didn’t come to Taiwan to hang around in American theme restaurants. Now she was drinking ice-green tea with lemon in a teashop on Shih-Ta Road, the kind of place she hung out at when she was a student.
Didn’t he fucking know she was brought up on this stuff?
She thought after graduation she would be leaving behind this area and hanging around in the more upmarket areas around Ren-Ai, Fu-Hsing, and Dun-hua Roads, but it seemed another drawback of being with a foreigner was hanging around student areas, and in particular Shih-Ta Road.
He sighed – Won’t anything provoke you? He was dying to have his character picked apart, to be argued with; he had no intention of changing but enjoyed the discussion - actually needed it – as opinions left languishing in his brain would start to lose their shape and self-esteem after a few days or weeks because they hadn’t been challenged. He wasn’t a great conversationalist, preferring to argue, and he now fondly remembered noisy afternoons being picked on by his two older sisters and mother; respect wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
“You know I am not a Taiwanese guy. It is cool to argue with me. I won’t suppress you.”
Hmm, thought Diane, What about not being able to read the magazine? Go to KTV on a Sunday afternoon because I should be out enjoying nature? - Tonight and this teashop? But she said nothing because she had never expected much from men. Foreign men were just a different kind of stupid, but they let women do whatever they wanted.
She sat up slowly in her seat. “That is why we want to go to school in America.”
“I know so you can learn to question. You know if enough of you go to school abroad it will set up an irresistible momentum.”
“Yes…Uh, if I have the MBA I can be the boss.”
She leaned forward putting her mouth around the straw, looking down through the glass table top at the Cosmopolitan. “One of my uncles live in San Francisco,” she said out the corner of her mouth.
“Never been there,” he replied thinking he had got a girlfriend to avoid the conversation about their American Dream, hoping things would move onto other topics.
“Really? You know I push my parents to emigrate. I am so disappointed they didn’t send me to university in America - Berkeley is my dream. You know I have a cousin at Berkeley and his mother is so proud. His mother has so much face now in the family. I want to give her face.”
“That is the mother who beat you,” he said. And I have had to hear about so many times.
“I forgive her now. She was under pressure from my grandmother. Everyday, she humiliate my mother. Tell my father to divorce her - She think my mother is too low class. So my mother have the bad temper.” She continued, “And her son is useless so she have push me because I am smart - Will give her face.”
He wrestled with getting another refill of water for his pot of fruit tea. He took the spoon and ate the fruit at the bottom of his jug (kumquat, orange and apple), finished up the last of the roasted broad beans, squeezed the last of the peppered peas from their pods, and got up.
“Are you finished?” he asked. “Ok, let’s go.”
“Please you drive?” pushed Diane on seeing Eric get into position near the back of the scooter.
“What is this face thing? You have to be driven by the guy.” (He had been told before a girl will lose face if she is seen on the front with a boy on the back.)
“No, I don’t have a face problem. You are too heavy,” she replied because it was only a 50cc scooter.
“Yeah right,” he murmured before thinking she may have a point.
...
“Whoa! Whoa! Hsu fu! Hsu fu (Comfortable)!” screamed Diane as he and her made love, prompting him to check his manhood for recent growth.
“You want harder? Softer? Deeper?” He asked for the 10th time.
“No, no…now is hsu fu! hsu fu! You decide…Oh, my God, so powerful.”
“Are you sure?” he continued checking her face again for signs of faking.
“Just a moment, I need to put on a condom,” he said.
“What are you doing?” she had said the first night.
“I am putting on a condom,” he had replied.
“Not necessary. My period has just finished.”
“It is cool - The safe thing to do.”
“You think I am dirty girl? I don’t have the one-night stand.”
He looked at her for a few seconds, thinking of a way that wouldn’t offend her.
“Of course, you are not a dirty girl,” he had replied and threw away the condom, deciding to persuade her over time about the virtues of safe sex.
Back to tonight. He had spoken to her often about the subject over the last few weeks and he was determined to enforce it today.
“I don’t want to get you pregnant,” he explained feeling his cowardice.
“Don’t worry. It will be okay. I don’t think I can easily get pregnant,” she replied.
Again, he was stumped by her answer because it was so far out of the logic box it was hard to deal with: Was she saying she was sterile?
“Please don’t stop,” she said, looking him in the eye, pleading.
He made up my mind not to put up with the nonsense anymore. Next time he would wear the condom no matter what.
He didn’t stop, instead dropping down a gear instead so he could muse on his own stupidity. Back home, he didn’t like to wear a condom, but he had come to Taiwan to play around, and that meant he needed to. He was no different from every other guy hoping to screw himself senseless. And that was another reason for the relationship with Diane: he had failed miserably to wear one for the two months so far, and so had crawled into the relationship to regroup behind it’s relatively sexually safe walls, reeducate myself about what was important. Launch myself on the females of Taiwan with a good habit established.
“You want to change positions? What is good for you?”he asked.
“If you like?”
“Do you like from behind?”
“Whatever you want?”
“I am going to cum? Shall I wait?” he asked.
“No, no! Please cum. I want to see.”
Two minutes later: “Wow! What a man! - Look so much! Why you so powerful?” He squirmed as he always did. He hadn’t been the school football captain - chess team captain, yes, but a quick check of his frame confirmed training for this team hadn’t turned me into a ‘lean mean fighting machine.'
"Please tissues. It is dripping,” said Diane.
He gave her one tissue.
“More. Quick. More.”
He gave her three more tissues and watched her feeble attempts to utilize the full mopping power of any of them.
“More.”
“Diane that is enough - Think about the environment.” The overuse of tissues was getting him down: Nobody used a cloth to wipe anything; boxes of tissues were everywhere. Go to anyone’s house and it was difficult to turn your head more than fifteen degrees without seeing a box of them; a drop of watermelon juice would hit the table, and all the women in the house would pounce, each pulling five tissues from the nearest box, throwing them away in disappointment when they missed the chance to exterminate that drop...Still he felt like a prick for mentioning now. It came out because he felt compelled to dampen the atmosphere.
“Why are so mean? I just make love with you.”
We made love together, he thought. Not wishing to count out any more tissues, he handed her the box.
“See you cum a lot. Cover all my stomach. What can I do?” she said looking him in the eyes.
I have no clue, he thought. Aren’t women supposed to be the sensible ones?
“Sorry, I didn’t make you cum. You can tell me to wait - it is cool, I am not a Taiwanese guy,” he added after a couple of moments of silence.
“No, no, no! I really enjoy. Today I stressed, next time,” she replied.
“I can make you cum, no problem,” he said determined to empower her.
He tried to put his head between her legs and she jumped up in panic. “No. No. Very dirty! I am embarrassed.”
American cosmopolitan wasn’t lying, she thought.
“It ain’t dirty. This is normal girl. You are with a foreigner now.”
“I mean it is hot in Taiwan - Very sweaty,” she replied afraid the foreigner was going to dump her for being a prude. He was relieved in a way: he had just had sex without a condom and no man liked to taste himself. And, he didn’t know this girl very well…and you had to assume she was lying about how many boys she had slept with before…and it was not your country so the unfamiliar bred suspicion…and even if she wasn’t lying about her previous sexual partners being a couple of thumbs worth, she never bothered about condoms and one of them might be one of those guys who come in and out of Thailand on a regular basis. He pushed out his tongue in distaste.
“I am just going to the bathroom,” he said, deciding to stimulate himself; determined to make her cum.
Thirty minutes later he was desperately trying to ignore my tiredness and frustration; refusing to change positions because it is was already going soft, and once it popped out he knew it wasn’t going back in. He wanted to stop but that would be insulting to her, insulting to his manhood...Still he was slowing down...
Come on, man, he said to myself a little loud.
Diane looked round. “Are you ok?” she asked. “I know I don’t have so much experience. I’m sorry.”
This just made him feel worse. “Not your fault. Really,” he insisted.
She looked at his face. “Lie down! Take a rest. I know you are tired.” Diane took the pillow out from under her, patted it even and put it under his head.
“I am sorry, but...” I said.
“That is okay. No need to say.” She put her fingers to my mouth.
He desperately wanted to explain. What did she think of him? He wondered what judgments she was secretly making about him, and worrying what a chauvinist he was going to become when he didn’t have to explain. He came back from the bathroom all the more determined to make her satisfied, show he cared about her.
“You are tired,” she said. “Next time, you can make me cum.”
These foreigners can be pushy, she thought. I am watching TV now.
A few moments later. “I love you,” she turned to him and whispered.
He closed his eyes and felt the crash. The whole tissue thing had been raised to hopefully avoid this.
“Girl you have known me for four weeks. That ain’t cool.”
He had sensed this coming for a while - Then he saw the irony of the use of the word 'while’: they had slept together about six times, and once they had become a kind of item he was sure he could see it trying to squeeze out.
“Girl, I am a foreigner so need to play the dedicated girl because we had sex. You want to be with a Western guy, you have to drop the bullshit about needing to love before making love.”
“You don’t understand the Taiwanese girl, we fall in love easily.”
“And you don’t know the foreign guy, we are afraid of commitment. We don’t like our relationships to go too fast. We tend to run hard if they do - You watch our movies.”
“But you are with the Taiwan girl now. You must appreciate we are conservative girls. I only do the sex with someone I love.”
“Then it is best we break up. If you are in love after three weeks, then you will be tattooing my name across your body in another two - And it will be unfair to you as clearly you are in the end zone when I am still considering kicking off.”
“What?”
“I think you get my point. I am under too much pressure to live up to your expectations.”
“Why you foreigners always so picky in your relationships? Reason so much?”
“I am just trying to think of you…So do you think we can take this slow? Or should we break up?”
“What can I do? I must respect you. I want to be with the foreigner so I know it will be hard - Maybe, you will love me one day. I am willing to take the risk.”
AHHHHHH, he thought.
Diane went back to munching away on some dried cuttlefish, already having put on most of her clothes. He knew he was going to have to take the lead. He was going to have to teach. He wasn’t sure he was qualified. He was hoping to learn a little more first. He knew he would get lazy – he always did – and she would gradually build up resentment against him and become unhappy. That was what his mother taught him: if you asked a woman to do something unfair or you didn’t treat her properly she may agree, but she would remember, and you would pay one day.
He thought about getting one of the few western girls in Taipei, but then he looked at Diane and remembered she was the prettiest girl he had ever been with. He thought about the number of women he had slept with in my four months so far. He remembered the feelings of frustration over girls he couldn’t get in college because they were supposed to be out of his league; the fear of failure, of being laughed at if he approached a table of women in a bar back home. It already seemed so far away. He decided it would be good for him to be the teacher for once. He would find myself a local girl who was outgoing and westernized in her attitude, then cut her a lot of slack to bring her out of her shell.
It was 10:30. Diane had to be home by eleven o’clock so she got up, and got dressed. First time, he had said, Girl, you are twenty-three. How can you accept that? Then he thought about the benefits to himself, and was glad she didn’t disobey her parents.
He picked up his textbook and started to look forward to some study - Then he felt restless: It was a Wednesday night, and it was Ladies Night all across the city. He was in Taiwan. One of the reasons for being here was the women. He should go out and chase.
He dragged himself to the shower, then poured himself a large vodka for Dutch courage – drinks were too expensive in that disco – and picked up the phone. “Hey, John. Do you want to go out?”
“I told you not to call me. I am not going out anymore.”
“Are you coming?”
There was a pause. “So where the fuck are we going?”
Eric looked around at the people sat around him in the teashop. It was quiet considering there were twenty people inside. About half were reading magazines or Japanese comics. He looked at the cover of the magazine the girl to his left was reading. It was another image of a late teens girl pulling a kooky innocent smile while holding tight her teddy bear. She is not twelve, he thought. Two tables down a bunch of girls had just gathered together to take a photo with the obligatory V for victory sign, and were now clapping each other with that elbows and wrists together clapping style. He looked across at Diane and slowly dragged himself up straight in his chair, and yawned. “You know I read today the government wants to make Taiwan the Asian information services center. If you are going to become a center of learning, expertise and innovation your teachers and bosses need to learn to be questioned. Can’t keep prompting someone because they know someone or are older.”
“Yes. You know this is Taiwan,” she said.
“What? If you don’t agree you can say. No need to be so polite.”
I am not interested in this stupid topic, she thought. I am bored to death with it.
“We are taught to respect men, it is natural,” she replied before going back to catching glimpses of the front of the Cosmopolitan magazine on the lower shelf of the table, the one I said she couldn’t read. That was another thing she didn’t like about the foreigner - if there was no conversation why couldn’t she read a magazine or newspaper? Why did they have to sit desperately trying to make polite conversation? She wanted to be in that new Californian restaurant that had opened last week, and was the place to be seen for young internationally-minded Taiwanese like herself. Eric had vetoed it by saying it was no better than TGI Friday, and he didn’t come to Taiwan to hang around in American theme restaurants. Now she was drinking ice-green tea with lemon in a teashop on Shih-Ta Road, the kind of place she hung out at when she was a student.
Didn’t he fucking know she was brought up on this stuff?
She thought after graduation she would be leaving behind this area and hanging around in the more upmarket areas around Ren-Ai, Fu-Hsing, and Dun-hua Roads, but it seemed another drawback of being with a foreigner was hanging around student areas, and in particular Shih-Ta Road.
He sighed – Won’t anything provoke you? He was dying to have his character picked apart, to be argued with; he had no intention of changing but enjoyed the discussion - actually needed it – as opinions left languishing in his brain would start to lose their shape and self-esteem after a few days or weeks because they hadn’t been challenged. He wasn’t a great conversationalist, preferring to argue, and he now fondly remembered noisy afternoons being picked on by his two older sisters and mother; respect wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
“You know I am not a Taiwanese guy. It is cool to argue with me. I won’t suppress you.”
Hmm, thought Diane, What about not being able to read the magazine? Go to KTV on a Sunday afternoon because I should be out enjoying nature? - Tonight and this teashop? But she said nothing because she had never expected much from men. Foreign men were just a different kind of stupid, but they let women do whatever they wanted.
She sat up slowly in her seat. “That is why we want to go to school in America.”
“I know so you can learn to question. You know if enough of you go to school abroad it will set up an irresistible momentum.”
“Yes…Uh, if I have the MBA I can be the boss.”
She leaned forward putting her mouth around the straw, looking down through the glass table top at the Cosmopolitan. “One of my uncles live in San Francisco,” she said out the corner of her mouth.
“Never been there,” he replied thinking he had got a girlfriend to avoid the conversation about their American Dream, hoping things would move onto other topics.
“Really? You know I push my parents to emigrate. I am so disappointed they didn’t send me to university in America - Berkeley is my dream. You know I have a cousin at Berkeley and his mother is so proud. His mother has so much face now in the family. I want to give her face.”
“That is the mother who beat you,” he said. And I have had to hear about so many times.
“I forgive her now. She was under pressure from my grandmother. Everyday, she humiliate my mother. Tell my father to divorce her - She think my mother is too low class. So my mother have the bad temper.” She continued, “And her son is useless so she have push me because I am smart - Will give her face.”
He wrestled with getting another refill of water for his pot of fruit tea. He took the spoon and ate the fruit at the bottom of his jug (kumquat, orange and apple), finished up the last of the roasted broad beans, squeezed the last of the peppered peas from their pods, and got up.
“Are you finished?” he asked. “Ok, let’s go.”
“Please you drive?” pushed Diane on seeing Eric get into position near the back of the scooter.
“What is this face thing? You have to be driven by the guy.” (He had been told before a girl will lose face if she is seen on the front with a boy on the back.)
“No, I don’t have a face problem. You are too heavy,” she replied because it was only a 50cc scooter.
“Yeah right,” he murmured before thinking she may have a point.
...
“Whoa! Whoa! Hsu fu! Hsu fu (Comfortable)!” screamed Diane as he and her made love, prompting him to check his manhood for recent growth.
“You want harder? Softer? Deeper?” He asked for the 10th time.
“No, no…now is hsu fu! hsu fu! You decide…Oh, my God, so powerful.”
“Are you sure?” he continued checking her face again for signs of faking.
“Just a moment, I need to put on a condom,” he said.
“What are you doing?” she had said the first night.
“I am putting on a condom,” he had replied.
“Not necessary. My period has just finished.”
“It is cool - The safe thing to do.”
“You think I am dirty girl? I don’t have the one-night stand.”
He looked at her for a few seconds, thinking of a way that wouldn’t offend her.
“Of course, you are not a dirty girl,” he had replied and threw away the condom, deciding to persuade her over time about the virtues of safe sex.
Back to tonight. He had spoken to her often about the subject over the last few weeks and he was determined to enforce it today.
“I don’t want to get you pregnant,” he explained feeling his cowardice.
“Don’t worry. It will be okay. I don’t think I can easily get pregnant,” she replied.
Again, he was stumped by her answer because it was so far out of the logic box it was hard to deal with: Was she saying she was sterile?
“Please don’t stop,” she said, looking him in the eye, pleading.
He made up my mind not to put up with the nonsense anymore. Next time he would wear the condom no matter what.
He didn’t stop, instead dropping down a gear instead so he could muse on his own stupidity. Back home, he didn’t like to wear a condom, but he had come to Taiwan to play around, and that meant he needed to. He was no different from every other guy hoping to screw himself senseless. And that was another reason for the relationship with Diane: he had failed miserably to wear one for the two months so far, and so had crawled into the relationship to regroup behind it’s relatively sexually safe walls, reeducate myself about what was important. Launch myself on the females of Taiwan with a good habit established.
“You want to change positions? What is good for you?”he asked.
“If you like?”
“Do you like from behind?”
“Whatever you want?”
“I am going to cum? Shall I wait?” he asked.
“No, no! Please cum. I want to see.”
Two minutes later: “Wow! What a man! - Look so much! Why you so powerful?” He squirmed as he always did. He hadn’t been the school football captain - chess team captain, yes, but a quick check of his frame confirmed training for this team hadn’t turned me into a ‘lean mean fighting machine.'
"Please tissues. It is dripping,” said Diane.
He gave her one tissue.
“More. Quick. More.”
He gave her three more tissues and watched her feeble attempts to utilize the full mopping power of any of them.
“More.”
“Diane that is enough - Think about the environment.” The overuse of tissues was getting him down: Nobody used a cloth to wipe anything; boxes of tissues were everywhere. Go to anyone’s house and it was difficult to turn your head more than fifteen degrees without seeing a box of them; a drop of watermelon juice would hit the table, and all the women in the house would pounce, each pulling five tissues from the nearest box, throwing them away in disappointment when they missed the chance to exterminate that drop...Still he felt like a prick for mentioning now. It came out because he felt compelled to dampen the atmosphere.
“Why are so mean? I just make love with you.”
We made love together, he thought. Not wishing to count out any more tissues, he handed her the box.
“See you cum a lot. Cover all my stomach. What can I do?” she said looking him in the eyes.
I have no clue, he thought. Aren’t women supposed to be the sensible ones?
“Sorry, I didn’t make you cum. You can tell me to wait - it is cool, I am not a Taiwanese guy,” he added after a couple of moments of silence.
“No, no, no! I really enjoy. Today I stressed, next time,” she replied.
“I can make you cum, no problem,” he said determined to empower her.
He tried to put his head between her legs and she jumped up in panic. “No. No. Very dirty! I am embarrassed.”
American cosmopolitan wasn’t lying, she thought.
“It ain’t dirty. This is normal girl. You are with a foreigner now.”
“I mean it is hot in Taiwan - Very sweaty,” she replied afraid the foreigner was going to dump her for being a prude. He was relieved in a way: he had just had sex without a condom and no man liked to taste himself. And, he didn’t know this girl very well…and you had to assume she was lying about how many boys she had slept with before…and it was not your country so the unfamiliar bred suspicion…and even if she wasn’t lying about her previous sexual partners being a couple of thumbs worth, she never bothered about condoms and one of them might be one of those guys who come in and out of Thailand on a regular basis. He pushed out his tongue in distaste.
“I am just going to the bathroom,” he said, deciding to stimulate himself; determined to make her cum.
Thirty minutes later he was desperately trying to ignore my tiredness and frustration; refusing to change positions because it is was already going soft, and once it popped out he knew it wasn’t going back in. He wanted to stop but that would be insulting to her, insulting to his manhood...Still he was slowing down...
Come on, man, he said to myself a little loud.
Diane looked round. “Are you ok?” she asked. “I know I don’t have so much experience. I’m sorry.”
This just made him feel worse. “Not your fault. Really,” he insisted.
She looked at his face. “Lie down! Take a rest. I know you are tired.” Diane took the pillow out from under her, patted it even and put it under his head.
“I am sorry, but...” I said.
“That is okay. No need to say.” She put her fingers to my mouth.
He desperately wanted to explain. What did she think of him? He wondered what judgments she was secretly making about him, and worrying what a chauvinist he was going to become when he didn’t have to explain. He came back from the bathroom all the more determined to make her satisfied, show he cared about her.
“You are tired,” she said. “Next time, you can make me cum.”
These foreigners can be pushy, she thought. I am watching TV now.
A few moments later. “I love you,” she turned to him and whispered.
He closed his eyes and felt the crash. The whole tissue thing had been raised to hopefully avoid this.
“Girl you have known me for four weeks. That ain’t cool.”
He had sensed this coming for a while - Then he saw the irony of the use of the word 'while’: they had slept together about six times, and once they had become a kind of item he was sure he could see it trying to squeeze out.
“Girl, I am a foreigner so need to play the dedicated girl because we had sex. You want to be with a Western guy, you have to drop the bullshit about needing to love before making love.”
“You don’t understand the Taiwanese girl, we fall in love easily.”
“And you don’t know the foreign guy, we are afraid of commitment. We don’t like our relationships to go too fast. We tend to run hard if they do - You watch our movies.”
“But you are with the Taiwan girl now. You must appreciate we are conservative girls. I only do the sex with someone I love.”
“Then it is best we break up. If you are in love after three weeks, then you will be tattooing my name across your body in another two - And it will be unfair to you as clearly you are in the end zone when I am still considering kicking off.”
“What?”
“I think you get my point. I am under too much pressure to live up to your expectations.”
“Why you foreigners always so picky in your relationships? Reason so much?”
“I am just trying to think of you…So do you think we can take this slow? Or should we break up?”
“What can I do? I must respect you. I want to be with the foreigner so I know it will be hard - Maybe, you will love me one day. I am willing to take the risk.”
AHHHHHH, he thought.
Diane went back to munching away on some dried cuttlefish, already having put on most of her clothes. He knew he was going to have to take the lead. He was going to have to teach. He wasn’t sure he was qualified. He was hoping to learn a little more first. He knew he would get lazy – he always did – and she would gradually build up resentment against him and become unhappy. That was what his mother taught him: if you asked a woman to do something unfair or you didn’t treat her properly she may agree, but she would remember, and you would pay one day.
He thought about getting one of the few western girls in Taipei, but then he looked at Diane and remembered she was the prettiest girl he had ever been with. He thought about the number of women he had slept with in my four months so far. He remembered the feelings of frustration over girls he couldn’t get in college because they were supposed to be out of his league; the fear of failure, of being laughed at if he approached a table of women in a bar back home. It already seemed so far away. He decided it would be good for him to be the teacher for once. He would find myself a local girl who was outgoing and westernized in her attitude, then cut her a lot of slack to bring her out of her shell.
It was 10:30. Diane had to be home by eleven o’clock so she got up, and got dressed. First time, he had said, Girl, you are twenty-three. How can you accept that? Then he thought about the benefits to himself, and was glad she didn’t disobey her parents.
He picked up his textbook and started to look forward to some study - Then he felt restless: It was a Wednesday night, and it was Ladies Night all across the city. He was in Taiwan. One of the reasons for being here was the women. He should go out and chase.
He dragged himself to the shower, then poured himself a large vodka for Dutch courage – drinks were too expensive in that disco – and picked up the phone. “Hey, John. Do you want to go out?”
“I told you not to call me. I am not going out anymore.”
“Are you coming?”
There was a pause. “So where the fuck are we going?”
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Taiwan culture shock: Don't expect PC
In Taiwan don't expect people to understand the rules of PC that we follow in the West.
One evening, a few months after getting to Taiwan, I was sat on my mattress on the floor watching a Taiwanese soap with the girlfriend of that time, a Carol Tu. I had just finished tipping and pouring food from plastic bags into paper bowls or plates, positioned between us. There was ducks’ blood with ground peanuts, a portion of smelly tofu, a bowl of fish ball soup, a plate of cold clams pickled in soy and garlic and pig’s intestine with thick soy all balanced precariously on that mattress.
"What is the foreigner dude doing on the show?” i asked Carol.
“He was meeting the girl’s father. He kick him out. Say the foreigner doesn’t understand Taiwan culture.”
Apart from a hammer jolt of injustice, I was thinking Carol seemed very nonchalant about it all.
“The father is a bastard? Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? It is racist -What about your father?”
“He think you foreigners like to fuck around.”
Then Carol kind of suggested her father had a point: there was the Canadian guy who didn’t marry her after all, and she knew I didn’t love her. She had been with two western guys before, and it appeared what her father said about the GIs in Taiwan was right - American soldiers were stationed in Taiwan to protect it against the communists up until the end of the seventies.
“Your father has a second wife and kids in Indonesia and your calling westerners the unfaithful ones?” I replied. Carol liked to recount this story, and numerous others of her grandmother trying to install another woman in the family home to replace her mother as reason why she liked the foreigner. Then there was his student Amanda, and his other student Mary who liked to recount stories of catching her husband being unfaithful, and how their mother-in-laws always said: 'Your husband works very hard. He needs to have some fun.' I knew I should keep clear of these types of students, but feeling other’s pain was addictive, as was, it seemed, their interest in telling me. I once asked if she discussed this with her friends and Amanda had replied: "You know, I don’t talk this to anyone. Will lose the face. I know, you are the foreigner. You are very open."
I was slowly working out there was a downside to being seen as approachable.
I thought for a moment and then felt obliged to qualify my statement based on what most guys were up to in Taipei. “Yes, we fuck around before marriage, then we stay faithful to our wives. Unlike you people who get married to the first person they meet and then start to fuck around.”
Carol stared blankly at me clearly thinking: was I supposed to be impressed? Suddenly, she no doubt saw an image of herself hanging around in that foreigner bar in ten years time, putting up with boring conversation about the pollution, how westerners are taught to ‘think’ in the west; all delivered in badly broken Chinese where she had to guess the tones. She decided her next boyfriend would be old - If I didn’t marry her and make her happy of course.
"Anyway, he doesn't know i don't want to fuck around. He should judge every one as an individual."
"So you want to marry me?" she asked.
I learned my lesson. I never got into this argument again.
One evening, a few months after getting to Taiwan, I was sat on my mattress on the floor watching a Taiwanese soap with the girlfriend of that time, a Carol Tu. I had just finished tipping and pouring food from plastic bags into paper bowls or plates, positioned between us. There was ducks’ blood with ground peanuts, a portion of smelly tofu, a bowl of fish ball soup, a plate of cold clams pickled in soy and garlic and pig’s intestine with thick soy all balanced precariously on that mattress.
"What is the foreigner dude doing on the show?” i asked Carol.
“He was meeting the girl’s father. He kick him out. Say the foreigner doesn’t understand Taiwan culture.”
Apart from a hammer jolt of injustice, I was thinking Carol seemed very nonchalant about it all.
“The father is a bastard? Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? It is racist -What about your father?”
“He think you foreigners like to fuck around.”
Then Carol kind of suggested her father had a point: there was the Canadian guy who didn’t marry her after all, and she knew I didn’t love her. She had been with two western guys before, and it appeared what her father said about the GIs in Taiwan was right - American soldiers were stationed in Taiwan to protect it against the communists up until the end of the seventies.
“Your father has a second wife and kids in Indonesia and your calling westerners the unfaithful ones?” I replied. Carol liked to recount this story, and numerous others of her grandmother trying to install another woman in the family home to replace her mother as reason why she liked the foreigner. Then there was his student Amanda, and his other student Mary who liked to recount stories of catching her husband being unfaithful, and how their mother-in-laws always said: 'Your husband works very hard. He needs to have some fun.' I knew I should keep clear of these types of students, but feeling other’s pain was addictive, as was, it seemed, their interest in telling me. I once asked if she discussed this with her friends and Amanda had replied: "You know, I don’t talk this to anyone. Will lose the face. I know, you are the foreigner. You are very open."
I was slowly working out there was a downside to being seen as approachable.
I thought for a moment and then felt obliged to qualify my statement based on what most guys were up to in Taipei. “Yes, we fuck around before marriage, then we stay faithful to our wives. Unlike you people who get married to the first person they meet and then start to fuck around.”
Carol stared blankly at me clearly thinking: was I supposed to be impressed? Suddenly, she no doubt saw an image of herself hanging around in that foreigner bar in ten years time, putting up with boring conversation about the pollution, how westerners are taught to ‘think’ in the west; all delivered in badly broken Chinese where she had to guess the tones. She decided her next boyfriend would be old - If I didn’t marry her and make her happy of course.
"Anyway, he doesn't know i don't want to fuck around. He should judge every one as an individual."
"So you want to marry me?" she asked.
I learned my lesson. I never got into this argument again.
Taiwan culture shock: Wishing you weren't a foreigner
You know when you are an vacation or business you have to press palms and talk about yourself. You happily do it for the first few months in Taiwan, but then you remember you are not in Taiwan for two weeks, and sooner or later the non-PC unsubtly and stereotypes begin to get you down – and you lose your perspective for a little time, start to wish you weren't a foreigner.
On this occasion I was sat outside my school on a bench waiting for class.
“Wai gwo ren (Foreigner),” shouted a passing young mother as she turned her little daughter’s head in my direction and pointed.
“Wave! Quick say, ‘hello’,” she continued, now stopping her daughter dead in front of me, expecting a hello back from the foreigner.
Not again, I sighed, looking around me for other prying eyes, now embarrassed by my white skin.
“Hi,” I answered begrudgingly because I couldn’t bring myself to use the speech I had prepared about the fact that I was a person, and this street wasn’t a zoo; that the Taiwanese didn’t disturb perfect strangers from their own country -- Had I signed away my privacy after getting off that plane at Chiang Kai-Shek airport?
“Where are you from?” the mother asked. I was asked this question, along with: ‘How long had I been…’ and ‘Was I used to it?’ a thousand times a day, and, I was beginning to think it was racism.
How did she know I wasn’t from here? Apparently, there was one white guy with a Taiwan passport, and she might have stumbled upon him.
“Here,” I said determined to make a point.
“Really?” she answered sceptically. “So how long have you been here?”
“I said, ‘I am from here. I was born here.”
“Are you used to it here?”
“I am from here. I have lived here all my life. And, of course, I like Chinese food.”
“Really?” she insisted. She was now annoyed I had spoilt her chance to ask if he liked the food. “So…um…where are you actually from? America?”
“Yeah, I give up. ”
“Very good,” she replied. “Huh. Wow. Nice to meet you - Uh…you English teacher?”
“Student,”I replied outraged she would pigeon-hole me in that way, even though I was also a teacher like everyone else.
“You want to teach my son?” she asked.
It was futile she had broken me: “Why not," I replied. "And when I come to your house I want proper imported coffee, freshly ground from beans. Not the 3-in-1 packets of instant coffee, powdered milk and sugar you Taiwanese drink...Definitely no Chinese tea. If you want to give me lunch then it has to be pastrami on whole wheat bread, heavy on the mayo. And the first time I come to teach, you will have to come and pick me up at my house because there is no way I can find anything in your city…Of course I can’t speak any Chinese.”
“No problem. You come on Saturday for dinner and we take you to TGI Friday. You like steak, right?”
“I am American, aren’t I?”
“Great. I must go,” she said rushing off to her car.
In hindsight I know she couldn’t wait to get home to tell her sister they were all going out to dinner on Saturday with a foreigner, and to ask her where to buy a coffee maker. But at the time all I could think about was she was wearing clothes from a good label and dragging her kid into her double parked Benz. She was obviously middle class, and she should know better than to teach her kids to point at foreigners on the street and make generalizations. She should know only the ethnic minority, because they are sensitive and oppressed, has the right to bring up the colour of their skin, and their ethnic stereotypes. Like it was back home.
Still I thought of the free steak on Saturday, the daily praising of my country, and the well meaning unsubtly of the mother. I felt churlish and ungrateful.
I knew I should just go with the flow. Still it took a while.
On this occasion I was sat outside my school on a bench waiting for class.
“Wai gwo ren (Foreigner),” shouted a passing young mother as she turned her little daughter’s head in my direction and pointed.
“Wave! Quick say, ‘hello’,” she continued, now stopping her daughter dead in front of me, expecting a hello back from the foreigner.
Not again, I sighed, looking around me for other prying eyes, now embarrassed by my white skin.
“Hi,” I answered begrudgingly because I couldn’t bring myself to use the speech I had prepared about the fact that I was a person, and this street wasn’t a zoo; that the Taiwanese didn’t disturb perfect strangers from their own country -- Had I signed away my privacy after getting off that plane at Chiang Kai-Shek airport?
“Where are you from?” the mother asked. I was asked this question, along with: ‘How long had I been…’ and ‘Was I used to it?’ a thousand times a day, and, I was beginning to think it was racism.
How did she know I wasn’t from here? Apparently, there was one white guy with a Taiwan passport, and she might have stumbled upon him.
“Here,” I said determined to make a point.
“Really?” she answered sceptically. “So how long have you been here?”
“I said, ‘I am from here. I was born here.”
“Are you used to it here?”
“I am from here. I have lived here all my life. And, of course, I like Chinese food.”
“Really?” she insisted. She was now annoyed I had spoilt her chance to ask if he liked the food. “So…um…where are you actually from? America?”
“Yeah, I give up. ”
“Very good,” she replied. “Huh. Wow. Nice to meet you - Uh…you English teacher?”
“Student,”I replied outraged she would pigeon-hole me in that way, even though I was also a teacher like everyone else.
“You want to teach my son?” she asked.
It was futile she had broken me: “Why not," I replied. "And when I come to your house I want proper imported coffee, freshly ground from beans. Not the 3-in-1 packets of instant coffee, powdered milk and sugar you Taiwanese drink...Definitely no Chinese tea. If you want to give me lunch then it has to be pastrami on whole wheat bread, heavy on the mayo. And the first time I come to teach, you will have to come and pick me up at my house because there is no way I can find anything in your city…Of course I can’t speak any Chinese.”
“No problem. You come on Saturday for dinner and we take you to TGI Friday. You like steak, right?”
“I am American, aren’t I?”
“Great. I must go,” she said rushing off to her car.
In hindsight I know she couldn’t wait to get home to tell her sister they were all going out to dinner on Saturday with a foreigner, and to ask her where to buy a coffee maker. But at the time all I could think about was she was wearing clothes from a good label and dragging her kid into her double parked Benz. She was obviously middle class, and she should know better than to teach her kids to point at foreigners on the street and make generalizations. She should know only the ethnic minority, because they are sensitive and oppressed, has the right to bring up the colour of their skin, and their ethnic stereotypes. Like it was back home.
Still I thought of the free steak on Saturday, the daily praising of my country, and the well meaning unsubtly of the mother. I felt churlish and ungrateful.
I knew I should just go with the flow. Still it took a while.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Taiwan culture shock: Taiwan girls
My friends would ask me what it is like dating a girl from Taiwan
I used to quote the above as a comical first analogy when I had not been in Taiwan
One of the first things you think when you first start dating a Taiwanese girl is that they are ‘so nice.’ As if there is something in their heart that is just nicer than other races or cultures. Maybe, she leans into you and says something like: “You are such a wonderful boyfriend. I am so glad to be with you. That restaurant was so good you took me too. I am really grateful. Tonight you can do anything you want to me. You know I am just the little Taiwan
Depending on how heavily you carry your own western baggage about directness, honesty and being realistic, your reaction ranges anything from skepticism, feeling a like squeamish to damn right revulsion. One of the things you do is remember how she is a downtrodden little Asian and you feel sorry for her because she has been pushed into this terrible position. Otherwise, you feel she is weak.
Of course this is nonsense. The correct way of viewing it is the culture emphasizes being polite, nice, enthusiastic, helpful. Asians are prepared to go to far greater levels of service than we are – Things that we won’t do because we view as impinging upon our rights, they will just do without thinking. Just take an Asian airline compared to a European or North American one. If you are on the Asian airline you can press the button on your seat a thousand times and the girl will come and give you a new drink; on the European one, after the second press you can already see her face resenting you and she will say something on the lines of, Get up and get it yourself, I know that is my job, but I think I have provided you with sufficient service. In short, we westerners don’t like to offer too much because we are too caught up with our rights and not being taken advantage of.
In fact, there is a word that sums up what the girl above is doing: Sa jiao. When a Taiwanese girl first started using the word with me I could only come up with a negative translation: sucking up or brown nosing. The girl will put her arms around you and say lots and lots of nice things and say how much he likes to ‘sa jiao’ with you. I suppose, we do have words that are similar such as ‘bonding’ – but, in general, we refer to the above more often than not in a negative way.
So, as she is being nice to you, how do you allay your fears that she is weak? You will soon find that out in time because if she is weak then she won’t require you to reciprocate and also be polite. And that comes back to the Pulp Fiction analogy and why it reminds me of Taiwanese girls. The joke is clear: She is in the wrong because she forgot to do the one thing that he requires her to do. We are thinking the stupid bitch should be apologizing and putting up her hand and saying ‘My bad.’ But no – Bruce’s character has to apologize in the end to stop her crying.
So how does it fit in? There you have the price for a Taiwanese girl being nice to you: You are expected to be nice back. A couple of the phrases you will hear most often are: “Ne bu yao
“Why you get angry with me?”
“I wasn’t getting angry. I was shouting because it was a noisy road.”
“Still no need to shout. Just talk nicely.”
“I think talking nicely means you would be squashed.”
“Now you are being sarcastic.”
She refused to budge, at which point most of us would have walked off at the preposterous injustice of having to apologize for saving someone’s life – but not John, as I said he was good at dealing with Taiwanese, so he replied as follows: “I am sorry for losing my temper – You know how much I love you and so I panicked.”
She forgave him immediately no doubt giving him the best sex of his life that evening. We listened in admiration because, while we all loved the idea of the Taiwanese girl, we weren’t so good at handling them ourselves.
We can’t leave this topic without touching on the idea of sexism. Taiwan was still an incredibly sexist society compared to the west – exceptionally liberal compared to most of the rest of the world you have to remember – but it wasn’t that straightforward as that: Taiwan has one of the best employment markets for women in Asia and with economic opportunities come freedom. And while society was officially sexist many families were not. Women were used to getting their own way in more subtle ways rather than direct confrontation.
Another thing we like to say is the women don’t compete with us – At every turn they don’t try and show men that they can do it as well or better than them. Well, they don’t, but of course it has its drawbacks. Don’t expect them to say, No I am not tired, or, It’s ok I don’t need any help or I’ll go and pick up that dry cleaning I forgot myself. This is shown best when she has your kid. Don’t expect her to be up off the bed after one day to prove to you she is a strong woman. She will enjoy every day of the special month she is given in which gives her the right to lie on the bed, and do nothing. Don’t tell her every minute how hard she has worked and it is best she rests for longer – and you see how much trouble you get in for the rest of your life.
She lets you be the stronger sex, don’t be surprised therefore when she wants to be the weaker.
Another favorite is to accuse the girl of being a fraud because she was so nice to you in the first two months and suddenly not so afterwards; that she is reeling you in. The more likely explanation is you come from two different cultures separated by 5000 years of different culture. She was nice to you. You weren’t particularly nice back. After two months she is hoping you are going to start doing it her way and you are hoping she is going to do it yours. You are getting to the stage of the relationship where you have to start making decisions together and you will disagree on many things – and your cultural differences are no longer such fun. She has a face problem and drops into passive aggressive mode. You feel bad so push her to spell out she has a problem. It all goes to pieces.
Of course, the above pops its head up to differing degrees in every girl. If it doesn’t then she is the exception that proves the rule.
Of course there are some girls who don’t speak nicely to you or treat you like a man. There are also some girls who do it and don’t expect it back. In those cases I would suggest you look not to the failure of this but to personal issues with the girl: spoilt bitch, psycho or doormat.
I am not trying to put you off dating Taiwanese girls, just expect to behave like a ‘man’ if you want to be treated like one.
Oh, and by the way, it is all worth it. Every second.
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