STUPID WHITE PERSON IN CHINATOWN

You might think that an ability to speak Cantonese and read Chinese would open doors. But in actual fact, it doesn't. Like the rest of the Chinese, the Cantonese usually cannot overlook the differences between white people (me, for instance), and themselves. A white person with any command of their language is still white. Always white, eternally white, objectionably white. Permanently and debilitatingly white. Albeit "white plus".
The 'plus', naturally, is the entertaining and theatrical oddness. Not infrequently it is assumed that whatever linguistic facility this Caucasian possesses is little more than a well-trained monkey trick.
How very clever and fascinating!
For a white person.
Freaky.

No matter how likable, a white person is someone you may not wish to be seen with. There were times while Savage Kitten and I were together that that precise thought crossed my mind. For two decades we never were in Chinatown together, and I never met her relatives.
Because of that I did not always feel like a human being.
If I were Cantonese things might have been different in that regard, but then she probably would not have had anything to do with me in the first place.
There were issues there. Her own and her family's Chineseness remained an obstacle for the dear girl. I cannot and will not hold that against her, but likely there will always be a lingering bitterness. It's just the way it is.

I could not change her, she could not change me; but we have both changed because of our long association.

We're no longer "together", BTW.


COMPLEX SUPERIORITY

Several years ago someone requested that I translate a communication which he had received from the Lee Family Association. Even after I patiently detailed the history of the Virginias and Carolinas, Anglo surnames and the Tidewater settlement, and mentioned the American Civil war and General Robert E. Lee, he firmly believed that I did not know what I was talking about and that I was determined to keep him from connecting with the great American branch of his clan. Because, of course, I was a white person. Which means less intelligent, less literate, and less trustworthy.
As a near-illiterate Toishanese bumpkin whose literacy in Chinese was far worse than mine, possessed of typical peasant paranoia and distrust, and sheerly incapable of speaking English besides, he was convinced that he was withall a superior human being. More knowledgable, too.

He subsequently sent them several hundred dollars he could ill afford.

Most Cantonese who are not able to speak English are not like that. They realize that anybody who has learned some of their language has at least expended effort. Perhaps not as much as they have while fruitlessly trying to learn our impossibly ridiculous and difficult gibberish -- Chinese is so much more logical and natural -- but they've grasped that switching tongues is by no means the easiest thing to do.
On the other hand, their Americanized cousins, who grew up more or less bi-lingual, can at times be real bastards to deal with. Scarcely able to read one word of every two if even that much, and totally ignorant of Chinese history or literature (and, like their white classmates just as blank when it comes to the history and literature of the Western World), they evince a truly superior air when someone who is not Chinese speaks to them in "their language". And, having been exposed ONLY to their parents dialect, they cringe at the atrocious, ATROCIOUS! kwailo pronunciation.


佢識廣東話好過你!


At least I can read the specials written in Chinese characters posted on the wall. Yeah, my pronunciation may be excruciatingly opaque at times. And even the restaurant staff may prefer to use English when possible for better communication. But I don't ask stupid questions, I can order in Chinese if it proves necessary, and I have no reason to be embarrassed by my flawed speech. No reason whatsoever. I'm white, remember? White. We stupid kwailos aren't supposed to understand anything, not even one word.
Evenso, I can get what I want.
If need be I'll write it down. The written words will make everything clear.
That may be all literacy in Chinese will get me. But that's a lot more than most American-born Cantonese will ever get.
Here or in Hong Kong.

I made the stupid mistake quite recently of reading the characters aloud for someone whose use of an English word for a bubble-tea flavour baffled the counterwoman. I forgot how offensively thin-skinned Cantonese can be.

收聲!

BTW, did I already mention that I can get what I want? It's a miracle of monumental proportion that that American-born twit didn't get a fat lip. Instead of the yummy bubble-tea flavour that she desired.
Fortunately I do not know the young adult in question. Nor would I ever want to. My effort was on behalf of the counterwoman, who until that instant had no clue what was required.

The young adult showed all the worst reactions of her class and kind. Over the years I have met several people like that, of all ages and backgrounds. Some sneer at white people whenever possible, some lecture inanely about the superiority of their kin and their culture, and some hate it, totally effing hate it, when white people know anything at all. The more whitey knows, the more insecure it makes them feel.

There are restaurants I never patronize anymore because they act irritated when I ask for something in Chinese that isn't on the English menu (but IS on the wall), and there are a number of people to whom I refuse to speak even one single word of Cantonese because they will make fun of me, in strongly accented English nota bene. Some folks I consciously no longer associate with at all.
My tolerance spans, at times, a very narrow spectrum.
In the same way that a number of Irish-Americans by their reaction to my accent in English prove themselves complete and utter pig bottoms, there are Chinese Americans who need to learn a modicum of politesse.
Or at least get over themselves and their thin skin.

When I lived in the Netherlands, natives would patronizingly remark that as far as they were concerned I was really Dutch. What that highlighted was that they made an exception; despite my being a Yankee and therefore odious, my speech and my manners were good enough that they would overlook those other things.

After I came back to the United States, nearly every day someone has asked me where I hail from, or made some comment about my accent.
And truly, they are not surprised that I speak English so fluently, because the Dutch make it a point to learn languages, and English is the Lingua Franca of the world!


The two-word phrase above (收聲) means "shut up". It is very impolite.
I have often wished to employ it against both Dutchmen and Americans. Unfortunately they would not grasp the layers of meaning or the flavour.
The eight word phrase before that (佢識廣東話好過你) means "he knows Cantonese better than you". It was what the counterwoman told the young lady after I left; I only overheard it because I had paused to light-up my pipe immediately afterwards. I heard it several months before also, upon exiting a shop where I had purchased a yi-hsing teapot. And there have been other times.
It is not patronizing, as it is never said when they think I can hear it.
Nor is it correct; I am not fluent, and I never will be.
But it's an acknowledgement of effort.

In both the Netherlands and the United States I can pass as long as I keep my mouth shut. My appearance is unobjectionable, and I look the part.
Among Chinese people that will never happen. I am always white.
And keeping quiet isn't something I can easily do.
This blog is proof of that.


AFTER-THOUGHT

If I say something in Chinese, and you then pull that rude attitude of "good lord what is this stupid white person saying I don't understand a thing talk English dammit" on me, I shall not repeat myself. Life is too short to drink bad coffee at Starbucks or deal with Frank Chin, Maxine Hong Kingston, or Amy Tan. When I use Chinese, it's always to establish communication, usually with people who would not understand me otherwise, but do comprehend quite well when I make the effort.

Did I already mention that I can get what I want?
If need be, I'll even write it down.


AFTER AFTER-THOUGHT

When I left, I headed straight toward my favourite alleyway at Washington Street facing the pyramid to have some very much needed quiet-time. That was probably one of the best smokes I've had, the tobacco absolutely sang. It was utterly and totally delicious. So I can say that I had a very good day.
That repulsive female, on the other hand, should understand that the big tapioca balls in her chilled fruity milk-tea beverage are fattening.

Incredibly fattening. Very bad for her.



IRRELEVANT AFTER AFTER AFTER-THOUGHT

A couple of days ago R-the-Anglo and R-the-Subcontinental had an argument. This isn't one hundred percent Germane to this post, and there is no need to go into any detail, other than to mention that R-the-Anglo told R-the-Subcontinental to return from whence he came.
"Go back where you came from."
That particular phrase is also one I've heard before. It is a sentence and a sentiment that utterly infuriates me. I have had it flung at me many times, in several languages, on three continents.
I shall insist that where ever you are at the moment is where you belong. Always!
So everyone can kindly shut the hell up. The Chinese can shut up. The Irish can shut up.
The Dutch can shut up. The "Americans" can shut up.
And R-the-Anglo can also shut up.
Kindly.

I love you all.
收聲。




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