Oddities and Eccentricities

Note to the reader:  I was exceptionally high on caffeine while composing this choice piece.

I dedicate this to all my friends who love me for exactly who I am: an odd little creature who bounced into your life, scrambled it up, and just…will not go away. Thank you for embracing the freak within. Not just my freak – yours too! When I take a loving glance at my friendships, the most glorious moments involve shrewd expressions (followed by large cackles) after we’ve realized we are both crazy. My family is wondering why I don’t mention them. Well, you either had a hand in creating me, or you had no choice but to accept me. So, I’m not thanking you. Kidding – thank you the most.

Alright freaks! From a western perspective, we might find what we’re about to discuss odd or eccentric. Eccentric is a polite term for “f-cking weird”. Don’t haul out your snobbery – you know it’s true. That’s why I love British people. They tell harsh truths politely. How? Using sophisticated words. Say this with a British accent: “She’s just a bit eccentric, that’s all.” Sounds like a statement we’d make to a crowd of acquaintances while sipping an elegant cup of tea. Cape Bretoners might say “She’s a friggin’ weirdo”. A bit more forthcoming, probably said in a tavern while guzzling beer. Actually Hollie, we guzzle beer and sip tea in both cultures, professionally. My sparse collection of British friends are like “I daresay, is she referring to me?” For some reason I picture Hugh Grant as being one of my actual British friends.

Point – when we jump into another culture, we get manhandled by two forces called “Different” and “Unfamiliar”. Eventually we accept (even welcome – gasp!) the infiltration of boundaries, realizing it doesn’t hurt to break them. That’s a lie. Some things trigger migranes and gag reflexes. This might just be essential to living an interesting life.

So, we’re all ethnocentric. Anything beyond our realm we call backwards, stupid, or just plain wrong. All the worldly people are annoyed with me. Yes, you are. Alright well, what are you but…but…reverse ethnocentricity? (Huh? Don’t analyze it. And um, I’m wrong). OK Listen, I won’t discount all the strange stuff worldly folk have become accustomed to – but they do the eye-roll on the inside when people recoil from the unfamiliar. Them: “No we don’t!” Us: “Yes you do!” Everyone: “Hmf.”

To prove I’m the perfect mix of ethnocentrism and hypocrisy, I’m going to take you on an imaginary tour of my life in Hong Kong. Again. Some oddities have magically revealed themselves as ‘stuff considered normal to other people’. The rest has remained stupid to me. You can decide for yourself. There is obviously no grey area (that’s where my ignorance comes in). 

Speaking of grey – who is reading Fifty Shades of Grey? Ha! What a debate. I completely forgive the horrific writing and am addicted to the  abundant smut. Why not, right? Again with the snobbery – put it away! You know, I’ve read the reviews on Goodreads. People either love (five stars) or loathe entirely (won’t even rate it). Oh, dichotomies. That’s all I’m going to say because I don’t have the energy to join the adult version of “Twilight sucks, stupid head! vs Twilight is my life – my LIFE!” debate. 

Works Cited

Carrey, Jim: “Loathe entirely”.The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (Hollywood version, 2000-something)

I’ve gone and said too much – I’ll have to post my O & E list separately. Be back in a bit. What? I’m not lying this time. Promise (yeah right – see you next week).  Well the point just isn’t always the point with me, now is it. 

Crap!

I’ve been out sick for two days – a common virus. It’s called gastro-something, so you know it involves a situation or two in the bathroom. I would elaborate, but my mama raised me proper. Wait! Maybe I should share the poopy details – I think my coworkers would like that. They seem particularly interested in the hyperactivity of my bowel.

The following is a dramatization of real life events. People and places have been renamed as to protect the privacy of those involved. That excludes my privacy, of course. because that’s irrelevant.

 The situation: Morning commute, car-full of people

Coworker 1: ‘Oh, how are you feeling now?’

Me: Much better!

Coworker 1: You have virus?

Me: Yeah…

Coworker 1: Throat – nose, or stomach-like?

Me: Stomach.

Coworker 1: Ohhh. You have diarrhea?

Me: (Were these words just spoken into my face?) Um. Ye—ah…

The situation: Sometime later at my wide-open, non-private workspace.

Coworker 2: Oh, you look terrible.

Me: Uh. Really?

Coworker 2: You were sick?

Me: Yeah. I feel better now. Thanks.

Coworker 2: What was wrong with you?

Me: Um…(noneofyourbusinessnoneofyourbusiness)…just a little virus.

Coworker 2: Oh, flu – like cold, or (rubs own belly)…?

Me: Stomach-ish.

Coworker 2: (Makes disgusted face).

Me: It’s not contagious.

Coworker 2: You have diarrhea?

Me:  (Poorly concealing expression of disbelief).

Coworker 2: (Pats me on back) Take a rest.

Me: Th—anks.

The situation: Hallway, packed with students and teachers.

Coworker 3: Oh – you look very pale. You do not look good!

Me: Uh…heh.

Coworker 3: What is wrong with you?

Me: (What’s wrong with ME?) Just sick – feeling much better. Thanks. Speed-walks away.

 And there you have it, folks. The care and concern my coworkers show me is second to none. Aren’t you jealous? All this after I call my English panel head, vice-principal and principal to request a day off, then go to the health clinic to receive a sick note that costs $HKD310 (approximately $CAN37), plus enough meds to wipe out a litter of kittens. 

What have I learned from these incredibly awkward and inappropriate situations? If you’re gonna skip school is it worth playin’ the fool? Now I completely understand why my coworkers opt for the sick mask  instead of a day in bed.

That’s What I Like About You

A view of our ‘neighbourhood’ from a local hiking trail. Who says you can’t enjoy nature in the big city?

It’s Labour Day in Hong Kong, so guess what that means? Holiday! The real labourers are, of course, working. So worker bees – I dedicate this post to you. 

 Amidst the rants and raves there comes a time for praise. I’m truly beginning to love this city. Not that I ever disliked it, but like any relationship, bonds must be forged and solidified.

Hong Kong allows me to enjoy life frequently and conveniently. Mix that with its exotic charms, and you’ve got a happy Hollie. 

Let’s stroll through a typical  day  and credit the simple things that create   the moments. 

 6:45: Nothing spells misery like a Monday morning, but my hardened expression is softened by our building’s security staff. Friendly and professional, they keep away the psychos, and I appreciate that. My favourite is the gentleman who gives me his best “Good eve-en-ing!” no matter what time of day it is. 

 Next it’s Fong, the clerk at Circle K. She’s an energetic little raisin. Fong: “Hellooo Missy!” Missy: HK’s Chinglishy version of ‘Miss’.They also call Skype “Skypie”. I wonder if pronouncing Nike “Nikie” can trace its origins back here? 

 6:50AM: Ah, the smell of fresh bread swirling up my nostrils! Local bakeries give me moments of optimism.

 6:58: So I’m on the train, and pang of excitement hits me: who am I going to call? After all, the phone company doesn’t rob me. My monthly bill is $25 per month, and that includes 2000 international minutes! This connects me to loved ones for cheap (even if they have to listen to the sound of the train pounding through a tunnel). 

 7:17AM: At last, I’ve arrived at Pacific Coffee. The staff and patrons are friendly, and it sort of comforts me to see the same people every day. I don’t know you, but our love of coffee grants you my personal respect.

 7:30AM: Maggie (my English panel head/lifeline) and her husband, Mr. Hung, pick me up at Hong Kong City U. It shaves 45 minutes off my morning commute. Thank you, Hung family. 

 8:00AM: Kids greeting me with “You are so beautiful!” I mean – come on. Really? Even when I’m wearing my frumpiest outfit and was too rushed to apply mascara. Bless the children. 

 The entire day: tropical flowery breezes, orchid trees in bloom, colourful shrubs! Potted plants and waxy palms. Nature’s fragrances wafting through the open corridors. Birds chirping.  This is my working environment.  The world’s way of reminding us to chill, and be present. 

 On the flip side – torrential rains and dramatic displays of thunder and lightning. It’s downright impressive. And exciting. Unless you forgot your umbrella. Or actually get struck by lightning, which is my biggest fear besides being eaten by a shark. 

 It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t shout out to our school’s maintenance staff. Let’s just put it this way: I don’t have to rinse my own coffee cup. 

 6:00PM: It’s usually yoga and (finally) cooking up a fine scoff (credit to Brian Murphy for that lovely Maritime phrase) … with Chris. Food is always at the centre of the plot, isn’t it? The Internet, HBO, books, and most importantly – Kate and Shamus, our dear friends – are the main characters. 

Our current ‘home sweet home’. It’s cozier than it looks.

Whatever we do, having my husband to bitch, chat, or put on a comedic show with makes me forget the stresses of the day. No matter where we are in this world, my true happiness is knowing where he is – is where I can call home. 

My Life in a Mall

The IFC (International Finance Centre). The tallest skyscraper in HK, and the 14th tallest in the world, folks. A grand edifice indeed. It's where Batman took his latest leap, and where you'll find a swanky mall of vast proportions. Photo cred: Sir Ivany

Remember Where the Heart Is? You know, that book-turned-movie about a pregnant girl who is abandoned at the local Wal-Mart by her deadbeat boyfriend. Most girls would call a friend to pick their stranded ass up, but she didn’t. She stayed. And lived at Wal-Mart. Well,  I’m that girl. Only, my husband hasn’t deserted me, and I’m not with child. But I do spend most of my time in a shopping box.  

So, our life: essentially lived in a mall. Really, what is Hong Kong but a glorious collection of shopping centres? Truth: the city is morphing into a jungle of malls and residential buildings. We’re forced into this air-conditioned surreal-ity. To eat, to pee, to shop. What else is there in life? (I’m kidding, don’t press close window option).

No, not every establishment resides in a mall, but most do. Hong Kongers (wisely) protest against this. Instead of affordable housing, eco spaces and culture-rich anything, you’ve got malls. They rise from the ashes like capitalist phoenixes – resisting all opposition! Ugh I just sounded like my 2005 undergrad self.

The worst part is, I’m mostly okay with this. Yes, it would be nice to eat dinner outside of a mall, and we do, but only when we feel like venturing into the heart of the city. It’s mad congested, so the country bumpkin in us avoids that. 

Anyway, here is a typical day:

1. Leave apartment, frolic outside for 3.2 seconds, enter MTR station (attached to a mall).
2. Arrive at designated stop: Festival Walk (a huge-ass mall)
3. Wait outside huge-ass mall for my drive.
4. Be Ms Hollie, not in a mall, but in a school as big as a mall. (Okay that doesn’t count but I wanted to add to the list).
5. Grab a bus to the MTR station (attached to a super-crowded mall where they don’t sell decent hair elastics. Why?!)
6. Shop for groceries at Taste in East Point City Mall.
7. Go to the local wet market for fresh produce. Location? Basement floor of a mall.

Weekend :

• Let’s go for dinner at Ma Thai! In a mall.
• Let’s go shopping at the APM Mall. Or the IFC Mall.
• Let’s go to the park – but first we’ll walk through a mall to get there.

My favourite non-mall places:

The hole-in-the-wall bars of Central, slightly swank bistros in Quarry Bay, and Chinese dress boutiques (found everywhere!). Coffee shops, healthy eateries and over-packed accessory stores I also enjoy. Do I frequent these? Not really. It’s so much easier to go to the mall.

The (more) Pungent (than)Repulsive: Part II

Julie and Mya taking in the foreign and exotic at a local wet market. I love when cooked flesh hangs in open graft, don't you?

Have I grossed you out yet? You’re secretly craving more, because that’s how people are. We love being sickened by each other’s appalling tales, don’t we? Friends, I’m pleased to serve up a steaming batch. 

 After all, Hong Kong’s collection of disgusting crap is impressive. Sometimes it comes in the form of actual whiffs of crap, inhaled freely from our balcony. Other times, it’s food, that, to my virgin nostrils, smells like crap. Actually it’s more like rotting fish. Mixed with crap. People are happily eating this on the side of the road. 

 To be fair, an objective view of this should come from a worldly journalist who describes Hong Kong’s vibrant food culture with enthusiasm, starting with its famous fish balls. But when I’m strolling down the street, and I sniff a steaming stick of balls (mixed with raw sewage), I’m not celebrating its authenticity. I’m gagging and speed-walking. Hey – truths from the rookie. 

 Another culprit is durian – a rough-skinned spiky fruit that smells like…rotting fruit. Durian’s odour is so pungent that it’s been banned from many public spaces in Asia (mostly airports and hotels). Yes, even the Chinese find this stench offensive. Well come on! Hong Kongers eat stinky dried octopus, frequent Chinese apothecaries and eat hot dogs for breakfast. Ever smell hot dog breath before you’ve had your coffee? I do it every morning. Shudder. Gag. Whimper. 

 About the Chinese apothecaries – or, medicine shops (I just like the word apothecary). They’re everywhere. Inside you’ll find ancient concoctions for ailments and jumbo glass jars filled with dried…things. Clerks use a traditional (abacus?) to tally up a bill. You can get ‘sick notes’ from the doctor – a much cheaper leave of absence than the usual $HKD250 spent at a health clinic. Just be ready to drink strange elixirs for your headache. And, don’t walk past on a hangover or you’ll never raise glass of liquor to your lips again. That would be tragic.  

 A scent I often forget about until it sneaks up on me is the B.O. Does anyone wear deodorant around here? No. Especially the male populous. Okay I know teenage boys grapple with the hygiene thing, but some have nearly knocked me to the floor with their rancid secretions. The least they could do is air out between classes. Instead their putting their arms around each other and…basking in each other’s B.O? 

 In their defense, it’s hot as a mo fo around here. And don’t say “Oh yeah, it was so hot last week here in Nova Scotia, oh my god – you don’t even…”

 …No. It wasn’t. It was sunny and slightly warm. 

 So, like most things, we’ll blame it all on the weather. 

An Air of Neglect

Me, Chris, Mya, Julie and Gary at The Venetian in Macau, China.

Yeah, I’ve abandoned you. I could blarf (homemade word) some false promises and sore excuses if you like. Nah, too much work. 

 Kidding – it’s just that Spring sprung with a force that clogs the blog in my brain (was that a rap verse?). Our family came to visit – Chris’s brother Gary, his wife Julie, and their precious baby Mya. Conclusion: we had Mya all to ourselves for two weeks (YES). We’re thinking… adventures should always be shared with loved ones. It was sweet to share Hong Kong with those who matter most. Now they have a real sense of what’s goin’ down. I mean, you tell people, but, unless they join the experience somewhere along the way, they’ll only have a vague sense of your adventure.

 I guess that’s why I blog (besides the fact that I just can’t stop talking). Even if our story is told from my ‘leans toward fiction’ perspective. Well I have to fill in the gaps somehow! I shall do it with fibs. Mmmyes.

 So I’ve made a decision. I’m going to embrace the truth, and unveil the daily Internet dork inside. I’m creeping around, so I might as well talk to you instead of staring at your Facebook photos. I know I’m drifting into uncharted water when I find myself clicking through an acquaintance’s “Summer 2008″ album. Frightening, really…

Yeah, my posts will be a lot shorter, but it’s quality you want. No one needs a drawling essay by yours truly. Dishing a la Reader’s Digest mode will keep me from becoming overwrought with tangled ideas. That eventually rot and… sink back into oblivion from whence they came. What a desolate picture!

 Uh – where were we? 

 Oh – The Pungent and Repulsive: Part II (my assaulted senses are good to remind me).

The Pungent and Repulsive: Part I

Dear Hygienic Hong Kongers:

 I see you out there, fighting alongside me on the Battlefield of Stink, and I honour your normalcy. This is not about you.

Your friend in freshness,

Hollie

All ‘ great kingdoms’ of the modern world cast shadows, yes. But only one mini metro measures 426 square miles and holds the world record for most sky scrapers. The mighty HK, baby! With a population of 7 point-something million, that’ll be a lot of trash, fish rot, poop and gingivitis. That’ll be a lot of stink stank stunk. Yes, these are the shadows – these are the demons –  that haunt me.

Hong Kong wasn’t named The Fragrant Harbour because it smells like orchid petals and newborns. Maybe like, during the 19^th century, but now? Pungency lurks in every alley, and it’s time to take a big whiff!  

Being human, my breath can, has and will… reek, but this isn’t the occasional red wine-humus mishap or a citizen’s right to morning breath. Hong Kongers, what is going on here? I’ve never seen such mouths full of repulsive rot in all my life. So. Many. Humans with translucent, grayish, plaque-encrusted teefs! Dotted with blackened disease! Lined with brown decay! The yellowish backdrop would turn the stomach of a Viking. And these are  fashionable business people? They’re carrying LV bags, wearing luxurious suits – but they have the mouths of corpses?  Let’s not forget about the kids. How, in your short little life, child, has your mouth succumbed to such death?

I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not talking about the innocent souls who can’t afford dental. I’m pointing a disgusted finger at the Lululemon lady in my yoga class. Her gingivitis is so rank it knocks me into child’s pose. Thing is, she’s not even sitting next to me, let alone blowing her decrepit breaf in my face. No, she’s just strolling by, proud as a peacock! So lady, you can afford a HK$3000 outfit and a year membership at a swank yoga studio, but can’t look after your mouth of living death. This is the situation?

OK world, tell me – is this an inexplicable phenomenon science has yet to unravel? Is it the pollution? Something in the water? What! How often are these people brushing? Are they brushing? They can’t be! Toothpicks are common here. Is the toothpick the Hong Kong toothbrush? 

The Ginga reigns as demonic king, but there are other noteworthy offenders. Actually, I planned to reveal all  sickening smells (and sights, I guess), but I’ve a duty to do them justice. It must be known! So, friends, in time. If this becomes a saga of stench, have patience.

 

Categorized Amazements

You know what’s weird?

Hong Kong.

It’s a wonder I don’t lose myself in this urban labyrinth – stacked, packed, jammed and crammed with weirdness! It’s a Dr. Seuss story come to life (“The road to hell is paved with adverbs” ~ Stephen King). They’re adjectives, Stephen.

I do get lost, but miraculously, my brain remains intact. It does threaten to unravel and throw fits, but I usually convince it to save the drama for – I don’t know – my dreams? They have more time.

Hong Kong  makes me feel like I’m living in an ‘80s pinball machine, but that hasn’t stopped me from falling in love with it. It’s like the oh-so-wrong people we briefly date in university: we know it’ll be a disaster, but something tells us to just give it a go. What was that something? I’d like to find it and slap it in the face! Actually it’s not like that at all.

 Wait — maybe living in Hong Kong is like adopting a kitten. At first we think, “Aw, pretty kitty!” Before long, we’re screaming, “Bad kitty!” when it begins to act like Emily Rose. After a while, though, it calms down and you say “I really do love you. Are you my soul mate?” Or so I hear. The only pet I’ve ever had was a goldfish, who I believe my parents murdered.

Alright, we’ve decided: Hong Kong is my new pet kitten.

Hello Kitty is teaching me a lot about my ignorance life, and, because my sanity endures a daily assessment conducted by The World, I categorize these oddities…in my weird little brain. Instead of “alsdjfowauel;asjf;s” I rearrange them into:“abcdefghijklmnop”, which feels normal.

Let’s talk about one category at a time, respectively titled:

Artfully Adorable

Pungent and Repulsive  

Odds and Eccentricities

Angry Birds

Artfully Adorable:

Know what keeps me distracted from the Pungent and Repuslive? Beautiful children dressed in freshly pressed school uniforms. Also, babies in soft fuzzy hoodies (with animal ears). Cutest. These little angels have porcelain skin, shiny black hair, and high-pitched voices that say “Hieeee, helloooo”. And then they stare. One parent actually admitted “He isn’t used to seeing um…um…” (This is where I helped him out): “White people?” Even though many say hi (I think to practice their English), most will not smile. It’s my mission to make them crack! They’re proving themselves resilient to humour, which probably means they are evil, and smarter than me.

When I’m avoiding dirty looks from toddlers, my mind often wanders, always drawing the same conclusion: Me. Hungry. If I’m ‘starving’ (My Mom despises this expression because “We don’t know what it really is to starve, do we?!”) I grab a bakery bun filled with cheese, pizza, chicken salad, beef curry, or even chocolate! So craftily cute and delicious. Chris calls them “buns with meals inside”.  It’s too easy for me to scarf one down then hide the evidence. Hidden secrets of my mind —> ( “Yummm…That never happened.”)

It won’t be denied – the ‘collaged’ outfits hurt me inside. You know, someone’s skirt paired with what should be someone else’s jacket, pants, shoes and purse. But, I marvel at the details. Why? ‘Cause they’re cute. Adorable. The eleven-year-old inside me is screaming, “I want, I want!” Difference is, I’m probably staring at a forty-year-old. But, I love the absence of the rule ‘you’re too old for that’. I mean, I wouldn’t follow it. I just…admire it. Much of this is inspired by  Japanese culture. If it’s ‘Made in Japan’, it may just be holy. Korean trends are hot, too. My students are always telling me they want Korean boyfriends. I’m like…what the? Anyway, I’m not talking about clothes or foreign boyfrans. I’m talking about stationary and school supplies. Yes! It’s adorable hilarity that is, quite frankly, out of control. And… I love it. Do you think there’s a school-bus yellow pencil to be found in Hong Kong? Don’t count on it. Why, wouldn’t you rather teddy bears (who are in love) bedazzling your pencils? How about sticky notes adorned with baby crocodiles snapping speech bubble ‘thank yous’? Don’t you dare go without a day journal that reads “True love you are the one never end when I’m with you it’s happy” (insert picture of Dickens-esque lovers on the cover). I really don’t see why anyone shouldn’t have a pencil case that resembles a log-shaped stuffed animal. You know, just in case you need a hug during math class.

I guess I’ll have to stop there, but this incomplete post gives me great cause to follow up NOWSAP. Forgive me for not posting as I would if I was still jobless and dwelling in a rural area. Shout out to the west side!

She’s got rants in her pants.

*Disclaimer: this has no direction or focus, and certainly lacks all forms of social etiquette and any sort of grace you were innocently expecting. 

But guess what? I DON’T CARE. He he. Heh. 

Alright, that’s it! Where have you been, Hollie? Lost your creative juices? Nothing happening in the most highly condensed city in the world? What, trotting the globe leaves you bereft of words? 

No way, guys!  It’s just that…I agreed to a second marriage, and my new surname is Can’t Go So Far As To Mention the Name of My Secondary School. I don’t even feel the wanton desire to write. You know that urge? Not a lick. I don’t even have the true gumption to be a real arsehole, thinking up clever adjectives and outrageous onomatopoeia (Ha! Alliteration – two points for Gryffindor – fiddlesticks, got sorted into Ravenclaw).

 You know what I did today? I wrote six five-hundred word essays. Six! Then I edited the soul out of them because they’ve got to be four-hundred words. They’ve got to be, do you hear me?! Yesterday I wrote seven. I wrote seven sample frucking (there’s an ‘r’ in there, I learned that from my Christian friends) essays for students (who don’t care about essays) so they can learn EXTRA STUFF, YAY(don’t care about learning) between teaching classes (who don’t want to be taught). After that, I tutored kids who don’t want to be tutored, and then, realizing I tutored twenty minutes too long, ran desperately to the MTR station. Ran, in a skirt and heels, while premature sweat stains formed under my newly laundered cardigan. Just this once, I’ll let you into the uncensored truth of my little brain: 

“I have yoga, and I registered online! If I miss it, I’ll be penalized from registering online for two weeks and that will frick and frack and fruck up everything! Then I can’t plan ahead. Crap! I’ll get fat, and waste the membership I paid a ying and a yang for, and my husband will lecture me (I hate when he lectures me. I hate hate hate)! Oh my god, I hate everyone! Move, old lady. Get out of the way, person with special needs! Hurry up, small innocent child, before I puck you in the…

BANG. Slow motion. Falling. Ugh. Ooof. Um. 

LovelygreatawesomeI’mreallygoingtotripinfrontofeveryoneinHongKong.

I’m on the god damn ground.” 

An arm reaches over, and who is it? Of course. One of my students! Because, because …there are only dozens of schools in this district, whilst thousands trample the streets! So, it’s just got to be a student of mine who I make a complete ass out of myself in front of. Doesn’t it? 

 After muttering and awkwardly half-hugging her while turning a violent shade of red that totally rivals my sweater, I need a moment. 

 …homm….homm…homm…namaste. And that’s officially all the yoga Ima get outta DIS day. 

 Now I’m home, and it’s okay, everyone. I enjoyed a lovely dinner of chicken and salad  (Oh yeah, I’m not a vegetarian anymore. Don’t have time for that crap). I’m currently in a state of mild rage, which resembles a frightful calmness, and will have to do. Chris is eyeing me nervously (kidding, he’s laughing at me). I’ve still got pepper lodged between my teeth, and I could be choosing my Ms Hollie clothes for tomorrow, but forget it! I’m writing this damn thing out of spite and bitterness! Do you hear me, world? Spite! Bitterness! 

 You know what really has me riling, though? It’s not even days like that. It’s several choice individuals (be diplomatic, Hollie. Oh, forget it!) who…frequent my presence during the workweek (we’ll say) and, who just happen to have chronic BURPING issues. They burp, burp, burp. Out loud, all day – non stop! No, I’m not exaggerating- does it sound like I’m in the mood to stretch the truth?  Sorry. 

 Excessively, disgustingly, wetly and deeply. Gutturally. Alto, tenor – a symphony of burping! They burp up their lunch, their tea, their gum. Air! They burp air, I know they do – just because it’s a habit, and they can’t stop themselves. And I listen to this, day after day after blessed holy miraculous day.  I asked my department head, “Is this a cultural norm? Is this something I have to adapt to?” Should I put on my acceptance hat and say, “How do you do? It’s totally FINE if you want to belch rudely and continuously in my presence, because I’m tolerant. I’m a worldly person and I get it.” But, guess what she said! She answered, “No, it’s not. It’s not a cultural thing at all, Ms Hollie. That’s very rude, actually.” Intrigued, I replied, “Really. Is that so.”

 Then – why is it happening. Everyday? Mix it with the hacking, the coughing, the nose-picking, the clipping of fingernails, the dislodging of food from teeth, the talking with mounds of gooey food in one’s mouth.

Sob! What do I do? I don’t know how I’ll continue to write 234,561,987 words a day (MLA style), teach struggling students, fall on my face in public and let the old grumper on the train hack into my blouse with…the…BURPING. 

 I QUIT THIS BURP BITCH!

PS: I am a grateful, fortunate human being. This is comedy, this is a farce. Amen. 

Gotta Be the Good Life

Hong Kong's vibrant skyline. Do we really live here?

As a NET (Native English Teacher), I’m something of an in-house editor. I spend a lot of time correcting grammar, writing sample essays and editing school documents. If I was writing in Chinese everyday I’d require an editor too. I don’t mind because I enjoy feeling academically superior helping people out.

In the attempt to write an essay describing life as a Hong Kong teen (easy enough if you are this person, requires a bit of research if you’re me), I cruised The Mighty Internets, searching for a teenage pulse (somewhere, anywhere!). My eyes met one ex-pat experience after another.  Champion Time Waster (me) read myriad accounts about life as a foreigner in Da Kong. The optimism swelled in my heart as I realized a lot of people are thinking what I’m thinking, doing what I’m doing, feeling what I’m feeling! Amazing discovery, yes? Not especially, Hollz. But, online expats offer a support system that, intangible or not, we can keep in our back pockets. You know, for those rainy days.  Shout out to my tangibles!

Amongst my discoveries was this fine piece:

One time only, I’ll agree with CNN, and I’m going to plagiarize my way through their list. Kidding - I’m totally re-writing everything, just stealing their ‘matter’. None of you care, anyway.

On to the list of great things about Hong Kong. I love lists.  

The MTR's master map!

“Public Transport Utopia” – is what CNN calls Hong Kong, and they’re dead on. Their futuristic rides (subway, ferry, taxi, big bus, minibus) are super-fast, super-clean, and super-multifunctional. It’s supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, unless someone hacks on you. You might inhale a few dandruff flakes, but nobody’s perfect. Ugh.

Ima charge dat. Personalized Octies are photo IDs.

Mr. Octopussy! – The Octopus Card is what Hong Kongers use to do the following:

Catch a ride on the subway

Buy a Happy Meal at McDonald’s

Grab a beer from the 7-eleven

Purchase a new outfit

Hop on a bus

 Sip a latte at Starbucks

Identify oneself

Innovative, genius, and convenient. That’s Hong Kong. I carry my Octopus like a child would, secured in my kitty-cat lanyard. Meow.

A chaotic scene in Wan Chai - expect nothing less!

Wan Chai Girl-tte– Let’s just say this neighbourhood promises a great evening out for the boys. Or girls, depending on how you roll. I’m the married sort, but apparently this…strip…is unrivaled. My man knows absolutely nothing about this…(…)…

Oh, the Worldliness – In 2009, CNN reported 115 countries having consulates in Hong Kong. Should probably figure out where the Canadian Embassy is…

Which one's your fave? I like Cecilia.

Tutor Dynasty– The academic pressure faced by Chinese students is astronomical, so how do they deal? Tutor-lebrities. These swanky smarties have their stylish mugs plastered all over the city – on billboards, buses and MTR signs. Would you like “Cecilia” to teach you English? Perhaps “Tony” is most suitable for math. I’m thinking “Marco” is the best choice for sciences. As long as your parents fork over $HK1000 per month, these rockstars will guide you on the road to greatness.

Lil Red and Big Red

Politically Paired – “One Country, Two Systems” is the post-handover operation ‘round here. Confused? Well, Hong Kong was once a British colony (for like, ever), until the Brits agreed to ‘hand’ China’s jewel back over, only if its citizens enjoyed democratic freedoms for up to fifty years. The Eye Mother Country watches over, but…she’s all good b’y, don’t worry!

Happy (Chinese) New Year! – Speaking of pairs, Hong Kong worships the sun  and the moon, so Hollie and Chris get to travel to Cambodia and Thailand…all in one month. That’s right, friends. Two New Year celebrations. Don’t hate.

You're a strange animal...that's what I know.

“I don’t agree with YOU” – This is a private joke I have with myself. In a low-band school, the English phrases aren’t exactly abundant. Prepping students for their oral exam means this phrase is on repeat (Chinese accent stressing incorrect words included). Not the point, but, keeping with repetition, Hong Kongers organize peaceful protests constantly, and for wacky causes. Amongst the titles you may find “Christians against Halloween: there are no pagan gods!” or “Charging too much for pedicures – inhumane prices!” Maybe it’s “Turn out the lights! Our eyes are being polluted.”

Night nom noms

PG-rated After Hours – Ah yes, another city that never sleeps (how can they when light is polluting their eyes?), but not because booze is coursing through their veins on a packed dance flo (although they do that too). But, they’re probably just…chillin. Drinking coffee, watching movies, or chopping at a hot pot. Late night eateries are everywhere, and the tame crowds flock. By tame I mean people screaming into their cell phones and smeating (smoking and eating at the same time).

Bamboo'd

Concrete Jungle – Know what they use for scaffolding around here? Bamboo chutes. Totally eco-friendly, apparently safe, and straight-up old skool.

Don’t Come ‘Round Here No More, Hey! I’m singing to the taxman, and I think he’s listening. You wonder why Hong Kong is filthy rich.

I know I said I’d continue the Cambodian canon, but that was so two weeks ago.

XOXO