Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, a precursor to a new year and a chance to look back on the one that will soon be history. It is extremely cliché to say things like time flies or the older you get the quicker things happen, but these phrases are overused for a reason; they are completely accurate.
I recall being very excited last New Year's Eve because I was going to celebrate it with my friends in Yantai. However, what had me even more enthusiastic was my upcoming holiday, which was 2 weeks in Vietnam, followed shortly thereafter by almost 2 weeks traveling around China with my friend Tiff, who was flying in from San Diego to visit. Both trips ended up being some of the best moments of my life and I will never forget a single moment of them.
I was also happy for 2008 to come because I did not know where the year was going to take me. Coming to China had been an opportunity that presented itself under sudden magical circumstances. You might even say it was a bit of a prelude to divine intervention if you knew all the details and were so inclined. My teaching contract would be up in June and I had no inkling as to where I would end up next.
That next destination would be Hong Kong. In the middle of all this I took a weekend trip to South Korea, met an unbelievably amazing girl in Yantai, went back to the U.S. for the summer to see my family and friends, and turned 30 years old. On top of all this I witnessed monumental events in both my home country and my new place of residence; the election of the first black president in U.S. history, the Sichuan earthquake, and the 2008 Beijing Olympics just to name a few.
So I am here in Hong Kong and I have my sights set on the future again. My plans are not concrete, but they are there in fluid form, waiting to harden and be molded into something tangible. 2009 promises to be another adventerous year. At least I hope it does. Looking ahead with optimism definitely dulls the fact that you will turn another year older.
As for resolutions, everyone makes them, hardly anyone keeps them. I include myself in that list. Instead of modifying myself slightly, I would always attempt to give myself a complete make-over. An overhaul of epic proportions. I have learned my lesson. I will take gradual steps to become the person that I want to be. I realize that you cannot just wake up on January 1st and be a completely different entity; Gregor Samsa I am not.
So here in the last minute of the last round of 2008, I give thanks to my wonderful family, who have supported me in all my endeavors, no matter how auspicious or asinine, and also to my great friends all over the world. Let's have a healthy, happy, peaceful and prosperous 2009!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
A Brief Intermission
About 2 weeks ago I added a little counter to this page, to track the number of visitors I was receiving. I should have done it right when I started the page, but at the time, it was the least of my concerns. However, it is now installed and hanging out over there on the right, a little gray box sticking out like a diminutive sore thumb.
I installed it because I was curious to see how many people found their way to this insignificant mass of words, and I am pleased with the results. I have been averaging about 7 viewers a day! That's right, 7. This pleases me because there are only 5 people in my immediate family and I know they are not on here everyday checking up. Which means on any given day I have a handful of visitors who are either friends, students, or even better, strangers!
So if you're reading this, spread the word. As 2009 approaches, I want the readership of Dead Sea Fruit to increase to double figures. I'm looking for at least 10 readers a day. With your help and support we can make a positive change!
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!
I installed it because I was curious to see how many people found their way to this insignificant mass of words, and I am pleased with the results. I have been averaging about 7 viewers a day! That's right, 7. This pleases me because there are only 5 people in my immediate family and I know they are not on here everyday checking up. Which means on any given day I have a handful of visitors who are either friends, students, or even better, strangers!
So if you're reading this, spread the word. As 2009 approaches, I want the readership of Dead Sea Fruit to increase to double figures. I'm looking for at least 10 readers a day. With your help and support we can make a positive change!
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!
Monday, December 22, 2008
December Despondency
Earlier today I finished all my grading so far for the semester. Classes ended last week, and I don't have to think about school until January 2nd, when I must invigilate the final examinations. For all intensive purposes, I should be in a wondrous and joyful mood. I'm not.
Christmas will arrive in 3 days and for the first time in my life, I feel nothing. I am not looking forward to it in the slightest. This will be my second Christmas in a row away from my family and I am starting to feel more and more detached in my thinking towards the holidays.
Last year was my first year away from home during Christmas, and not surprisingly, it was a little difficult. However, a few factors made it more tolerable than I had anticipated; Opening up my presents on Skype while my family watched from back home, a great group of friends to spend the day with, a climate that was similar to that of Pennsylvania winters. While Christmas is not widely celebrated in mainland China, there are still Christmas decorations and Santa Claus greeting cards to be found. I spent the day with my fellow expat friends who were also missing their holidays back home, and together we made the most of the day.
In Hong Kong, it is a different story. The temperature on Christmas is supposed to reach 75 degrees. The other two teachers here with me have left Hong Kong. My computer at home does not support Skype. It has the capability of being an extremely boring day. I don't mind missing Easter, or Thanksgiving, or having a quiet New Year's, but Christmas is the one day out of the year where family and close friends are absolutely essential, and for the first time in my life I will have to make do without either.
Christmas greetings and salutations are welcomed and extremely encouraged. Phone calls would be an added bonus. I hope everybody has a wonderful holiday. Enjoy your family and friends. Let's prepare for the year ahead!
Christmas will arrive in 3 days and for the first time in my life, I feel nothing. I am not looking forward to it in the slightest. This will be my second Christmas in a row away from my family and I am starting to feel more and more detached in my thinking towards the holidays.
Last year was my first year away from home during Christmas, and not surprisingly, it was a little difficult. However, a few factors made it more tolerable than I had anticipated; Opening up my presents on Skype while my family watched from back home, a great group of friends to spend the day with, a climate that was similar to that of Pennsylvania winters. While Christmas is not widely celebrated in mainland China, there are still Christmas decorations and Santa Claus greeting cards to be found. I spent the day with my fellow expat friends who were also missing their holidays back home, and together we made the most of the day.
In Hong Kong, it is a different story. The temperature on Christmas is supposed to reach 75 degrees. The other two teachers here with me have left Hong Kong. My computer at home does not support Skype. It has the capability of being an extremely boring day. I don't mind missing Easter, or Thanksgiving, or having a quiet New Year's, but Christmas is the one day out of the year where family and close friends are absolutely essential, and for the first time in my life I will have to make do without either.
Christmas greetings and salutations are welcomed and extremely encouraged. Phone calls would be an added bonus. I hope everybody has a wonderful holiday. Enjoy your family and friends. Let's prepare for the year ahead!
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Pride of the Philippines
This morning I found myself leaving my apartment at 9:30 in the morning so I could go to the bar. My purpose was not to get completely inebriated before Sunday lunch, but to watch the Oscar De La Hoya/Manny Pacquiao fight live and in full Filipino glory. Anyone who follows the sport of boxing knows that Manny Pacquaio is the pride of the Philippines. In addition, Hong Kong has a very large population of Filipino workers, most of whom have Sundays off. The only place I could see this fight being more entertaining to watch is in Las Vegas, where it is being held, or the Philippines.
I ended up arriving at The Devil's Advocate, a sports bar in Wan Chai that is situated amidst cheap restaurants, trendy bars, and disreputable night clubs, right at 10. When the sun goes down the streets are teeming with drunken expats, prostitutes wearing neon skirts that end right below the ass, and working class Hong Kongers who are always on the move. On this particular Sunday morning, the streets were void of everything.
I arrived right as the telecast began for two reasons; I am a ravenous boxing fan and like to watch as many fights as I can, but more importantly, I was not sure how dedicated the Filipinos in Hong Kong would be when it came to watching the fight. Would they arrive before the bar even opened and stake a place in line? Would they get all the good seats, in turn, forcing me to stand for 3 hours? I would soon find that they are a dedicated and loyal group of fight fans, but I still managed to be the second person into the bar, thus securing a prime location to watch the events unfold.
After an undercard which featured 3 mismatches, 2 Carlsberg's, and a Tuna Melt on Foccacia bread, it was time for the main event. The bar was filled with at least 100 people, 90 of which were Filipino. There were even Filipino workers watching through the open doors of the bar from the bed of their pickup truck, parked directly in front on the street. It is said that in the Philippines, when Manny Pacquiao fights, all 90 million people will stop what they're doing and watch. It is also reported that there is absolutely no crime at all when one of his fights is televised. Such is the length that Filipinos will go to support their countryman and hero.
My table, that I had occupied for the previous two hours by myself, quickly filled up with Pacquiao supporters. At first they were confused by me. Who would I be rooting for? To the untrained eye one might say I even slightly resemble De La Hoya (or in any case, a Mexican). It's a good thing I had every intention of rooting for Pacquiao. It might have been uncomfortable going against the grain in that atmosphere.
This fight was being billed as "The Dream Match," a matchup of the best pound-for-pound fighter in the world in Pacquiao against the most marketable/popular in De La Hoya. A great little man in the prime of his career moving up 2 wight classes to take on a great bigger man nearing the end of his. Pacquaio is a tornado in the ring, a whirling dervish of unbridled ferocity and movement. However, he was the underdog because many believed De La Hoya was just too big for him. De La Hoya had the height advantage, reach advantage, and the technique (sound fundamentals and left hook) to take Pacquiao out. For this reason, it was frowned upon by diehard boxing fans. While the average fight fan who can only name a few boxers would salivate over the prospect of these two hooking up, the boxing "fraternity" scoffed at the size differential. There is a reason though why fights are fought in the ring and not on paper.
Filipino national anthem, Mexican national anthem, American national anthem, Michael Buffer and his "Let's get ready to rumble." It was time for the fight to begin. The fighters touched gloves, the bell rang, and for 30 seconds the interior of The Devil's Advocate was silent and still. Then Pacquiao landed a straight left hand right up the middle and the screaming and cheering began. Every time that Pacquaio landed a decent punch the patrons would go crazy. In between the first and second round, a man at my table started a "Manny, Manny!" chant. A small Pacquiao doppelgänger walked into the bar and everyone shouted in Tagalog to him and applauded. He smiled and joined the festivities.
Every round that went by, the cheers became louder for the Filipino hero. The two outspoken De La Hoya supporters (Westerners obviously) became more quiet and subdued. Pacquaio looked great. De La Hoya looked old. Midway through the fight it became clear that Pacquiao did not care about size differential. His speed and footwork were too much for De La Hoya, and his power shots were doing all the damage. And just like that, after 8 one-sided rounds, De La Hoya quit on his stool, and Pacquiao made an entire bar full of patrons erupt in a celebratory frenzy.
There is an old boxing adage that says "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog." No fighter more clearly exemplifies this than Manny Pacquiao. When he fights, he says he does so for his countrymen. He says he feels their support when he steps into the ring. He is fiercely proud of his country, and in return, his countrymen are extremely loyal to him.
After the fight Pacquaio said to De La Hoya "You are still my idol," to which De La Hoya replied "No, you're my idol."
With that statement, Oscar De La Hoya has joined at least 90 million other people who share the same belief.
I ended up arriving at The Devil's Advocate, a sports bar in Wan Chai that is situated amidst cheap restaurants, trendy bars, and disreputable night clubs, right at 10. When the sun goes down the streets are teeming with drunken expats, prostitutes wearing neon skirts that end right below the ass, and working class Hong Kongers who are always on the move. On this particular Sunday morning, the streets were void of everything.
I arrived right as the telecast began for two reasons; I am a ravenous boxing fan and like to watch as many fights as I can, but more importantly, I was not sure how dedicated the Filipinos in Hong Kong would be when it came to watching the fight. Would they arrive before the bar even opened and stake a place in line? Would they get all the good seats, in turn, forcing me to stand for 3 hours? I would soon find that they are a dedicated and loyal group of fight fans, but I still managed to be the second person into the bar, thus securing a prime location to watch the events unfold.
After an undercard which featured 3 mismatches, 2 Carlsberg's, and a Tuna Melt on Foccacia bread, it was time for the main event. The bar was filled with at least 100 people, 90 of which were Filipino. There were even Filipino workers watching through the open doors of the bar from the bed of their pickup truck, parked directly in front on the street. It is said that in the Philippines, when Manny Pacquiao fights, all 90 million people will stop what they're doing and watch. It is also reported that there is absolutely no crime at all when one of his fights is televised. Such is the length that Filipinos will go to support their countryman and hero.
My table, that I had occupied for the previous two hours by myself, quickly filled up with Pacquiao supporters. At first they were confused by me. Who would I be rooting for? To the untrained eye one might say I even slightly resemble De La Hoya (or in any case, a Mexican). It's a good thing I had every intention of rooting for Pacquiao. It might have been uncomfortable going against the grain in that atmosphere.
This fight was being billed as "The Dream Match," a matchup of the best pound-for-pound fighter in the world in Pacquiao against the most marketable/popular in De La Hoya. A great little man in the prime of his career moving up 2 wight classes to take on a great bigger man nearing the end of his. Pacquaio is a tornado in the ring, a whirling dervish of unbridled ferocity and movement. However, he was the underdog because many believed De La Hoya was just too big for him. De La Hoya had the height advantage, reach advantage, and the technique (sound fundamentals and left hook) to take Pacquiao out. For this reason, it was frowned upon by diehard boxing fans. While the average fight fan who can only name a few boxers would salivate over the prospect of these two hooking up, the boxing "fraternity" scoffed at the size differential. There is a reason though why fights are fought in the ring and not on paper.
Filipino national anthem, Mexican national anthem, American national anthem, Michael Buffer and his "Let's get ready to rumble." It was time for the fight to begin. The fighters touched gloves, the bell rang, and for 30 seconds the interior of The Devil's Advocate was silent and still. Then Pacquiao landed a straight left hand right up the middle and the screaming and cheering began. Every time that Pacquaio landed a decent punch the patrons would go crazy. In between the first and second round, a man at my table started a "Manny, Manny!" chant. A small Pacquiao doppelgänger walked into the bar and everyone shouted in Tagalog to him and applauded. He smiled and joined the festivities.
Every round that went by, the cheers became louder for the Filipino hero. The two outspoken De La Hoya supporters (Westerners obviously) became more quiet and subdued. Pacquaio looked great. De La Hoya looked old. Midway through the fight it became clear that Pacquiao did not care about size differential. His speed and footwork were too much for De La Hoya, and his power shots were doing all the damage. And just like that, after 8 one-sided rounds, De La Hoya quit on his stool, and Pacquiao made an entire bar full of patrons erupt in a celebratory frenzy.
There is an old boxing adage that says "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog." No fighter more clearly exemplifies this than Manny Pacquiao. When he fights, he says he does so for his countrymen. He says he feels their support when he steps into the ring. He is fiercely proud of his country, and in return, his countrymen are extremely loyal to him.
After the fight Pacquaio said to De La Hoya "You are still my idol," to which De La Hoya replied "No, you're my idol."
With that statement, Oscar De La Hoya has joined at least 90 million other people who share the same belief.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
December Decisions
At what point in our life do we make the transition from child to adult? Or more specifically, from a quasi-adult to full fledged adulthood? Obviously the answer varies, depending on the person asked and the criteria involved in determining what exactly constitutes being an "adult." I have thought at many points during my life that I was a grown-up, but looking back I realize I was grossly mistaken/naive/stupid/misinformed/fill-in-the-adjective-of-your-choice.
When I turned 18 I decided to celebrate my legal entrance into adulthood by getting a tattoo. I felt that by inking myself up I would shed my juvenile skin and leave all traces of immaturity behind. It occurred to me sometime later that not only did I pick tribal flash off the wall to get tattooed on my arm, but I was also working back drive-thru at McDonalds at the time. Not exactly the epitome of a modern man.
I though that moving to New York on my 24th birthday would be the next logical step, and for awhile I was on my way. I secured an internship/job at Now or Never Records and was paying over $500 a month rent sharing a tiny apartment with 2 others. Surely this was it. However, the label soon went under and I found myself working full-time as a waiter, partying with other like-minded people, and shirking responsibility to fully better myself (notwithstanding the internships at Star Boxing and Virgin Records).
After graduating university at the slightly unconventional age of 28, I found myself on a plane heading to China to teach at Yantai University. Without a doubt I would mature beyond my years. And while I did find myself accumulating life experience, knowledge, cultural appreciation, and subsequently showing my mettle and fortitude, I still did not feel like I had hit that plateau. This partially stemmed from my actual "teaching" experience, which seemed to me to be more of an exercise in mentoring the students, helping them with their grammar and pronunciation, and devising games for them to play so they would find themselves interested in learning English. 99% of the time I succeeded, but deep down I had a feeling that most people could have done what I did, if they had left their security blanket behind them and travelled across the world.
So I upgraded. I continued on to Hong Kong, where I now find myself at a much more legitimate university, teaching proper English courses, and simultaneously, finding myself even closer to "adult" nirvana. The reason for the change is, I believe, having a job in which you are respected, in which colleagues look at you almost directly instead of down on you from upon their soapbox. I have my own office and my own businesscards. On top of that, I find myself doing strange things like buying Italian silk ties and dress shirts in every color or thinking of what pair of wingtips would look best on me.
Though I find solace and happiness in where I am at this point of my life, I am now even more concerned with my next step. I have found myself stressing a bit too much as I plan for next year. Once again, as per usual with me, I can think of a few different paths I could take in my life. However, at this particular moment, I cannot stand behind any with complete conviction.
Decisions of the adult variety.
When I turned 18 I decided to celebrate my legal entrance into adulthood by getting a tattoo. I felt that by inking myself up I would shed my juvenile skin and leave all traces of immaturity behind. It occurred to me sometime later that not only did I pick tribal flash off the wall to get tattooed on my arm, but I was also working back drive-thru at McDonalds at the time. Not exactly the epitome of a modern man.
I though that moving to New York on my 24th birthday would be the next logical step, and for awhile I was on my way. I secured an internship/job at Now or Never Records and was paying over $500 a month rent sharing a tiny apartment with 2 others. Surely this was it. However, the label soon went under and I found myself working full-time as a waiter, partying with other like-minded people, and shirking responsibility to fully better myself (notwithstanding the internships at Star Boxing and Virgin Records).
After graduating university at the slightly unconventional age of 28, I found myself on a plane heading to China to teach at Yantai University. Without a doubt I would mature beyond my years. And while I did find myself accumulating life experience, knowledge, cultural appreciation, and subsequently showing my mettle and fortitude, I still did not feel like I had hit that plateau. This partially stemmed from my actual "teaching" experience, which seemed to me to be more of an exercise in mentoring the students, helping them with their grammar and pronunciation, and devising games for them to play so they would find themselves interested in learning English. 99% of the time I succeeded, but deep down I had a feeling that most people could have done what I did, if they had left their security blanket behind them and travelled across the world.
So I upgraded. I continued on to Hong Kong, where I now find myself at a much more legitimate university, teaching proper English courses, and simultaneously, finding myself even closer to "adult" nirvana. The reason for the change is, I believe, having a job in which you are respected, in which colleagues look at you almost directly instead of down on you from upon their soapbox. I have my own office and my own businesscards. On top of that, I find myself doing strange things like buying Italian silk ties and dress shirts in every color or thinking of what pair of wingtips would look best on me.
Though I find solace and happiness in where I am at this point of my life, I am now even more concerned with my next step. I have found myself stressing a bit too much as I plan for next year. Once again, as per usual with me, I can think of a few different paths I could take in my life. However, at this particular moment, I cannot stand behind any with complete conviction.
Decisions of the adult variety.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Still Here
Yes, this is in fact an update. To my loyal readership, now numbering 7 strong, I have not forgotten about you. I have been extremely busy grading autobiographical essays, and as of tomorrow morning I will be completely finished. This will give me a few days before I move on to the next assignment that will undoubtedly drain me of my spare time.
Over the past few weeks I have remained busy in many aspects. I went on a 30 km bike ride with 9 of my students through the New Territories. I also went on my first junk trip with 2 of my colleagues, as well as members of the HKAAL (Hong Kong Association of Applied Linguistics.) We started our trip in the quaint fishing town of Sai Kung and boated across the Inner Port Shelter until we reached High Island, where we had a nice lunch and relaxed until our boat took us back. Pictures from both excursions to follow.
Expect more semi-regular updates in the near future. I have some things I would like to express in hopes of getting some feedback, advice, or criticism. That's all for now. I'll be back shortly.
Over the past few weeks I have remained busy in many aspects. I went on a 30 km bike ride with 9 of my students through the New Territories. I also went on my first junk trip with 2 of my colleagues, as well as members of the HKAAL (Hong Kong Association of Applied Linguistics.) We started our trip in the quaint fishing town of Sai Kung and boated across the Inner Port Shelter until we reached High Island, where we had a nice lunch and relaxed until our boat took us back. Pictures from both excursions to follow.
Expect more semi-regular updates in the near future. I have some things I would like to express in hopes of getting some feedback, advice, or criticism. That's all for now. I'll be back shortly.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Featuring America
There is a new online forum that was launched today called Featuring America that I highly suggest you check out. Contained therein is my first published piece. A bit of social commentary dealing with the Chinese education system and what Americans could learn from it.
The idea behind Featuring America is as follows:
"The impetus for Featuring America was to create a forum for breakthrough writers and artists in this highly competitive publishing industry. Though we are attempting to provide a medium for the "unpublished" to share their talent, we gladly welcomed seasoned writers and artists as well, for the overall intent of this magazine is to showcase talent of all kinds. We felt it important to narrow our focus somewhat, but not overly so, and decided on "Featuring America" as both our title and our subject matter.
We are launching this magazine as a new president is elected by the American people, which seems only appropriate as this inaugural edition includes social commentary, art, and narrative pieces that speak about the environment, politics, and education, as well myriad of perspectives that define the "everyday." As we gather around our proverbial dinner tables, from diners in NYC to grassy knolls in the west, to ex-pats taking part in other countries' rituals, the fact that we've experienced or care about America and her future, binds us all to each other and to this multifarious North American land mass.
This space is not intended to present a case for nationalism of any kind. Rather, we want to celebrate diversity, ideals, modernity, and creative energy.
Welcome to the first edition of Featuring America. We're looking forward to seeing all that you bring to light here."
Peace and love,
Jac and Gil
If that sounds like something you are interested in, then please check it out. If not, do so anyway. It is worth it. If you are still not convinced, then read it for the simple reason that I contributed something. Then while you are there, read everything else.
Thank you.
The idea behind Featuring America is as follows:
"The impetus for Featuring America was to create a forum for breakthrough writers and artists in this highly competitive publishing industry. Though we are attempting to provide a medium for the "unpublished" to share their talent, we gladly welcomed seasoned writers and artists as well, for the overall intent of this magazine is to showcase talent of all kinds. We felt it important to narrow our focus somewhat, but not overly so, and decided on "Featuring America" as both our title and our subject matter.
We are launching this magazine as a new president is elected by the American people, which seems only appropriate as this inaugural edition includes social commentary, art, and narrative pieces that speak about the environment, politics, and education, as well myriad of perspectives that define the "everyday." As we gather around our proverbial dinner tables, from diners in NYC to grassy knolls in the west, to ex-pats taking part in other countries' rituals, the fact that we've experienced or care about America and her future, binds us all to each other and to this multifarious North American land mass.
This space is not intended to present a case for nationalism of any kind. Rather, we want to celebrate diversity, ideals, modernity, and creative energy.
Welcome to the first edition of Featuring America. We're looking forward to seeing all that you bring to light here."
Peace and love,
Jac and Gil
If that sounds like something you are interested in, then please check it out. If not, do so anyway. It is worth it. If you are still not convinced, then read it for the simple reason that I contributed something. Then while you are there, read everything else.
Thank you.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
November Hiatus
I have not even considered writing an entry lately because I have found myself inundated with work, and in the process, tired as a result of it all. To briefly recap any salient points that might have transpired in my life:
I am in the middle of grading 155 autobiographical essays. The sea of red marks on each paper is enough to give me a headache. If I had a white flag, I would hoist it in surrender. Each paper takes me about 15 minutes to grade. After an hour, I am exhausted. At this pace I will have their papers completed by Christmas time.
I am still teaching the youngsters at Talented Kids. Actually, let me clarify. I am their English speaking supervisor/play partner. Teaching is done in small doses, when I am not scolding them or chasing them around the classroom. Exhausting work. My respect for primary school teachers increases weekly.
I am still receiving treatments twice a week for my neck and back problems. I am seeing a man recommended to me by my boss. He practices "Harmonious Healing Services" and has been working with me for almost a month now. He is not a chiropractor, but rather, a muscle manipulator. He has me working on reprogramming my body and muscles to act in synchronization. I have also received light acupuncture treatments for the past few weeks. I do not feel an immediate difference yet, but he tells me it will take a few months to acclimate myself and get back on track.
That's about it. I need to get these essays done as soon as possible so I could relax, read a book, write, maybe take a trip. As much as I would like to get some writing done, my red pen is dancing circles in my mind, and I must resume my task of correcting grammatical errors.
Until next time...
I am in the middle of grading 155 autobiographical essays. The sea of red marks on each paper is enough to give me a headache. If I had a white flag, I would hoist it in surrender. Each paper takes me about 15 minutes to grade. After an hour, I am exhausted. At this pace I will have their papers completed by Christmas time.
I am still teaching the youngsters at Talented Kids. Actually, let me clarify. I am their English speaking supervisor/play partner. Teaching is done in small doses, when I am not scolding them or chasing them around the classroom. Exhausting work. My respect for primary school teachers increases weekly.
I am still receiving treatments twice a week for my neck and back problems. I am seeing a man recommended to me by my boss. He practices "Harmonious Healing Services" and has been working with me for almost a month now. He is not a chiropractor, but rather, a muscle manipulator. He has me working on reprogramming my body and muscles to act in synchronization. I have also received light acupuncture treatments for the past few weeks. I do not feel an immediate difference yet, but he tells me it will take a few months to acclimate myself and get back on track.
That's about it. I need to get these essays done as soon as possible so I could relax, read a book, write, maybe take a trip. As much as I would like to get some writing done, my red pen is dancing circles in my mind, and I must resume my task of correcting grammatical errors.
Until next time...
Saturday, October 25, 2008
October Tribute III
The triad of October birthdays in my family culminates today with my mother's. Before my two youngest sisters were born I always felt like the odd one out, with my birthday falling in July, and the rest of my family all celebrating in October. That feeling dissipated after Lexie and Sabrina were born. Still, October is a special month in my family, and today on the 25th I will pay my respect to my favorite woman in the universe: My mother.
It is difficult to begin writing about my mother. It's not that I don't have the words to describe her, but rather, I don't know where to begin. I feel as if I know my mother better than I know anyone else, yet because of this, it feels like an arduous task in putting her into words. I feel that language fails me right now, because even though my mother is a beautiful, caring, nurturing, fascinating, and warmhearted woman, these adjectives only reveal a fraction of who she truly is, and in order to know her and appreciate her, you must talk to her, interact with her, be taught by her, live under her roof, and sit down to one of her home cooked meals. It is then when you can begin to understand the magnitude and depth of her amazing character.
My mother is part of the reason why I am teaching here in Hong Kong. Undoubtedly, she would prefer if I was closer to her, and if I had to be teaching in another country she would opt for anywhere that requires less than 6 hours in the air to reach. However, my mother was a teacher, and when that early occupational choice came to a thudding halt back in 1978, she decided to change her profession. She went from teaching Catholic school children to opening up her own business specializing in antique jewelry and vintage clothing. She started off small, opening a tiny boutique in the basement of our house. And while she was planting the seeds for her future endeavors, she took the time to dedicate herself to teaching her newborn student.
One of my earliest memories of my mother was when I was a few years old. I used to sit across from her at the kitchen table or somewhere on the floor and she would hold up flashcards with words on them. I would say "table," "bedroom," and "grandmother," and she would smile at me and go through the deck a couple more times. My mother tells two great stories incorporating the wisdom she imparted upon me as a child. One involves me reading the Wall Street Journal when I was 2 years old, which is something I find funny on multiple fronts, especially since the only other time I ever picked up that particular newspaper was during Journalism class at KU. The second occured in kindergarten, where, at the end of the first week, my teacher pulled my mother aside and asked her if she was aware that I was reading at a 12th grade level, to which my mother replied, "Yes, I was waiting to see how long it took you to figure it out."
Because of my mother, I have been reading voraciously for as long as I can recall. Anything and everything I could get my hands on, I would tackle with youthful earnestness: Animal encyclopedias, The Hardy Boys mysteries, baseball card price guides, and video game magazines took up most of my youth. I would later graduate to classics like 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, Robinson Crusoe, and Frankenstein, and eventually I would go to college and major in English Literature, for the simple reason that I loved to read all kinds of books.
In addition, one of my greatest aspirations is to publish at least one book. I have watched my mother writing books for over 20 years now. I remember her first rejection letter, and I noticed how afterwards, she would try even harder to make sure her vision was realized. And my mother does exactly that. She realizes her vision, no matter how impossible or grand it may seem. She is constantly trying to reinvent herself, stay ahead of trends, and keep focused on her work. She has owned and operated one of the largest stores of its kind for the last 20 years while simultaneously publishing almost 20 books. On top of this she is employed on a full-time basis as both mother and Ettinger Estate museum curator. Her devotion, dedication, and passion are an inspiration to me.
I have no problem admitting that I am a "Momma's Boy." I would do anything for my mother, for I feel that she is the sweetest, gentlest, most loving and compassionate person ever. When she told me to never smoke a cigarette, I listened. When she told me to treat people with respect, I listened. When I am feeling depressed or slightly off, she will pick up on it instantly, and do her best to right my wrongs. My mother has been my mentor, guide, confidante, and coffee buddy, among other things. More importantly, she has been the best mother I could ever ask for. And I know that is the one job that she takes the most pride in.
Happy Birthday Mom! I am extremely proud of you and everything you stand for. You have shaped me into the person I am today, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
I love you!
It is difficult to begin writing about my mother. It's not that I don't have the words to describe her, but rather, I don't know where to begin. I feel as if I know my mother better than I know anyone else, yet because of this, it feels like an arduous task in putting her into words. I feel that language fails me right now, because even though my mother is a beautiful, caring, nurturing, fascinating, and warmhearted woman, these adjectives only reveal a fraction of who she truly is, and in order to know her and appreciate her, you must talk to her, interact with her, be taught by her, live under her roof, and sit down to one of her home cooked meals. It is then when you can begin to understand the magnitude and depth of her amazing character.
My mother is part of the reason why I am teaching here in Hong Kong. Undoubtedly, she would prefer if I was closer to her, and if I had to be teaching in another country she would opt for anywhere that requires less than 6 hours in the air to reach. However, my mother was a teacher, and when that early occupational choice came to a thudding halt back in 1978, she decided to change her profession. She went from teaching Catholic school children to opening up her own business specializing in antique jewelry and vintage clothing. She started off small, opening a tiny boutique in the basement of our house. And while she was planting the seeds for her future endeavors, she took the time to dedicate herself to teaching her newborn student.
One of my earliest memories of my mother was when I was a few years old. I used to sit across from her at the kitchen table or somewhere on the floor and she would hold up flashcards with words on them. I would say "table," "bedroom," and "grandmother," and she would smile at me and go through the deck a couple more times. My mother tells two great stories incorporating the wisdom she imparted upon me as a child. One involves me reading the Wall Street Journal when I was 2 years old, which is something I find funny on multiple fronts, especially since the only other time I ever picked up that particular newspaper was during Journalism class at KU. The second occured in kindergarten, where, at the end of the first week, my teacher pulled my mother aside and asked her if she was aware that I was reading at a 12th grade level, to which my mother replied, "Yes, I was waiting to see how long it took you to figure it out."
Because of my mother, I have been reading voraciously for as long as I can recall. Anything and everything I could get my hands on, I would tackle with youthful earnestness: Animal encyclopedias, The Hardy Boys mysteries, baseball card price guides, and video game magazines took up most of my youth. I would later graduate to classics like 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, Robinson Crusoe, and Frankenstein, and eventually I would go to college and major in English Literature, for the simple reason that I loved to read all kinds of books.
In addition, one of my greatest aspirations is to publish at least one book. I have watched my mother writing books for over 20 years now. I remember her first rejection letter, and I noticed how afterwards, she would try even harder to make sure her vision was realized. And my mother does exactly that. She realizes her vision, no matter how impossible or grand it may seem. She is constantly trying to reinvent herself, stay ahead of trends, and keep focused on her work. She has owned and operated one of the largest stores of its kind for the last 20 years while simultaneously publishing almost 20 books. On top of this she is employed on a full-time basis as both mother and Ettinger Estate museum curator. Her devotion, dedication, and passion are an inspiration to me.
I have no problem admitting that I am a "Momma's Boy." I would do anything for my mother, for I feel that she is the sweetest, gentlest, most loving and compassionate person ever. When she told me to never smoke a cigarette, I listened. When she told me to treat people with respect, I listened. When I am feeling depressed or slightly off, she will pick up on it instantly, and do her best to right my wrongs. My mother has been my mentor, guide, confidante, and coffee buddy, among other things. More importantly, she has been the best mother I could ever ask for. And I know that is the one job that she takes the most pride in.
Happy Birthday Mom! I am extremely proud of you and everything you stand for. You have shaped me into the person I am today, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
I love you!
Monday, October 20, 2008
October Tribute II
"Speak softly and carry a big stick, and you will go far."
-Theodore Roosevelt
If there is one quote which best describes my father, I would say it is this one, delivered by Theodore Roosevelt to the general public at the Minnesota State Fair in 1901, a brief two weeks before he would ascend to the presidency following the assassination of William McKinley. It is with absolute certainty that when my father reads this, he will laugh and crack a pecker joke, as he has been doing so for as long as I can remember. However, this is not the reason for my reference.
My father has always been the quiet member of the family. He is a private man who can be reticent of his affairs or opinions. However, when he speaks, people take notice. They listen. He is thoroughly economical with his words, but at the same time his arguments are forceful and incisive. So despite his inclination towards being slightly subdued at times, he more than makes up for it with the weight of his words. Speak softly, carry a big stick.
I have memories of living in Rancocas Woods, New Jersey, with my father, mother, and sister. We lived in a small log cabin with cartoon skunks painted on the shutters. I remember at the time thinking it was the coolest house ever. How impressed we are with things when we are 9 years old.
We lived here because my father was stationed at Ft. Dix. I remember sometimes, in the summer, he would take me to work with him. The ride to Ft. Dix was about 30 minutes and we listened to classic rock the whole time: Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Steppenwolf, Cream, Jimi Hendrix. It was these car rides and those musicians that started me off on my future musical path. When we arrived at the base, my father would joke around with his army buddies, sit down at his desk and read the paper, maybe finish the crossword. Then we would head out to the golf course, and I would caddie for him while he played a round with his colleagues. Sometimes, he would take me to an obstacle course and I would watch men rappel down wooden towers. I thought it was an exciting and thrilling job, but I knew nothing at the time of basic training or war.
It was in New Jersey when I first started playing sports. Basketball for a year, soccer for a few more, and my love at the time, little league baseball. From 4th grade until 7th grade, baseball was my life. I would play wiffleball in friend's backyards, go to the batting cages, throw rubber balls off walls for fielding practice, and when I wasn't playing I was buying baseball cards, trading baseball cards, or reading about baseball cards. And then, when it was game time, I would run my tiny 80lb frame out to second base, left field, shortstop, or whatever position I was penciled in for that day, and I would look across the diamond onto the bleachers or the side of the fence, and see my dad there cheering me on, and for a moment, I did not know of any greater feeling in the whole world.
Above all else, I am most impressed with my father for his dilligence and hardworking demeanor. He grew up on a dairy farm and was milking cows, loading hay, and delivering eggs at an age when most kids nowadays can't even be asked to clean their room without complaining. In his late teen years, he joined the Army and went to Vietnam. He returned and enrolled in university, graduating a short time later. He would retire from the Army at 45 as a major, after putting in time in Egypt, Panama, and South Korea, among other places in the United States. And instead of embracing his time off and relaxing with a beer on the local golf course, he would become bored with the idea of retirement, and go back to work.
Which leads me to the present day. My dad is currently employed as a prison guard and is undoubtedly the most intimidating guard there, regardless of age. I don't have to go anywhere near the prison to ascertain this statement. I know it is true. My close friends, the ones who have known my father for a long time, have an affectionate nickname for him: "The Crusher." They will say things to me like: "I saw the Crusher standing outside your mom's store," or "I saw the Crusher driving your car to work yesterday." And we will share a laugh, knowing that beneath my father's Charles Bronson-esque "tough guy" facade, they have nothing to worry about. Unless they disrespect him or get on his bad side. Then they don't stand a chance.
I am reminded about the story of Roosevelt, who was campaigning in Milwaukee in 1912 and was shot in the chest by an innkeeper. Roosevelt did not panic. He figured that since he was not coughing up blood he was in no immediate danger and, therefore, did not need to go to the hospital. Instead, with blood staining his shirt, he calmly announced to the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know whether you fully understand that I have just been shot; but it takes more than that to kill a Bull Moose."
For some reason this quote strikes me as something my father would say. It's probably because I have watched my father with admiration my whole life. He has always been the strong, determined, invincible leader, and no matter how many years go by, that opinion has never wavered.
Love you Dad! Happy Birthday! Have a healthy and happy 60th and may you have many more!
-Theodore Roosevelt
If there is one quote which best describes my father, I would say it is this one, delivered by Theodore Roosevelt to the general public at the Minnesota State Fair in 1901, a brief two weeks before he would ascend to the presidency following the assassination of William McKinley. It is with absolute certainty that when my father reads this, he will laugh and crack a pecker joke, as he has been doing so for as long as I can remember. However, this is not the reason for my reference.
My father has always been the quiet member of the family. He is a private man who can be reticent of his affairs or opinions. However, when he speaks, people take notice. They listen. He is thoroughly economical with his words, but at the same time his arguments are forceful and incisive. So despite his inclination towards being slightly subdued at times, he more than makes up for it with the weight of his words. Speak softly, carry a big stick.
I have memories of living in Rancocas Woods, New Jersey, with my father, mother, and sister. We lived in a small log cabin with cartoon skunks painted on the shutters. I remember at the time thinking it was the coolest house ever. How impressed we are with things when we are 9 years old.
We lived here because my father was stationed at Ft. Dix. I remember sometimes, in the summer, he would take me to work with him. The ride to Ft. Dix was about 30 minutes and we listened to classic rock the whole time: Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Steppenwolf, Cream, Jimi Hendrix. It was these car rides and those musicians that started me off on my future musical path. When we arrived at the base, my father would joke around with his army buddies, sit down at his desk and read the paper, maybe finish the crossword. Then we would head out to the golf course, and I would caddie for him while he played a round with his colleagues. Sometimes, he would take me to an obstacle course and I would watch men rappel down wooden towers. I thought it was an exciting and thrilling job, but I knew nothing at the time of basic training or war.
It was in New Jersey when I first started playing sports. Basketball for a year, soccer for a few more, and my love at the time, little league baseball. From 4th grade until 7th grade, baseball was my life. I would play wiffleball in friend's backyards, go to the batting cages, throw rubber balls off walls for fielding practice, and when I wasn't playing I was buying baseball cards, trading baseball cards, or reading about baseball cards. And then, when it was game time, I would run my tiny 80lb frame out to second base, left field, shortstop, or whatever position I was penciled in for that day, and I would look across the diamond onto the bleachers or the side of the fence, and see my dad there cheering me on, and for a moment, I did not know of any greater feeling in the whole world.
Above all else, I am most impressed with my father for his dilligence and hardworking demeanor. He grew up on a dairy farm and was milking cows, loading hay, and delivering eggs at an age when most kids nowadays can't even be asked to clean their room without complaining. In his late teen years, he joined the Army and went to Vietnam. He returned and enrolled in university, graduating a short time later. He would retire from the Army at 45 as a major, after putting in time in Egypt, Panama, and South Korea, among other places in the United States. And instead of embracing his time off and relaxing with a beer on the local golf course, he would become bored with the idea of retirement, and go back to work.
Which leads me to the present day. My dad is currently employed as a prison guard and is undoubtedly the most intimidating guard there, regardless of age. I don't have to go anywhere near the prison to ascertain this statement. I know it is true. My close friends, the ones who have known my father for a long time, have an affectionate nickname for him: "The Crusher." They will say things to me like: "I saw the Crusher standing outside your mom's store," or "I saw the Crusher driving your car to work yesterday." And we will share a laugh, knowing that beneath my father's Charles Bronson-esque "tough guy" facade, they have nothing to worry about. Unless they disrespect him or get on his bad side. Then they don't stand a chance.
I am reminded about the story of Roosevelt, who was campaigning in Milwaukee in 1912 and was shot in the chest by an innkeeper. Roosevelt did not panic. He figured that since he was not coughing up blood he was in no immediate danger and, therefore, did not need to go to the hospital. Instead, with blood staining his shirt, he calmly announced to the crowd, "Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know whether you fully understand that I have just been shot; but it takes more than that to kill a Bull Moose."
For some reason this quote strikes me as something my father would say. It's probably because I have watched my father with admiration my whole life. He has always been the strong, determined, invincible leader, and no matter how many years go by, that opinion has never wavered.
Love you Dad! Happy Birthday! Have a healthy and happy 60th and may you have many more!
Monday, October 13, 2008
Talented Kids?
This past Wednesday evening I received an email from a director of an English recruitment center. She obtained my email through one of my colleagues, and was looking for someone to fill a position that had suddenly come to her attention. She told me to forward my CV to her by the following morning, and if the employer was satisfied, I would have an interview scheduled later that day.
So I did, and they were, and I went.
My interview was scheduled for 6:00 in Tsuen Wan, which is the last stop on the red line of the MTR, about 45 minutes from work. Tsuen Wan marks the beginning of the New Territories, a 300 square mile area of land situated between Kowloon and the border of the People's Republic of China. The area used to be incredibly rural until the 1960's, with a population of only 400,000 people. However, due to Hong Kong and Kowloon becoming grossly overpopulated, many housing developments were built, and "new towns" rose up from the ground. In less than 50 years the population has increased to 3.5 million people.
I arrived at this gateway town, exited the MTR station, and found my way to the Nan Fung Centre, which happened to be right across the street. I took the elevator to the 15th floor and found the door I was looking for: Talented Kids
My interview took place at a small plastic pink table designed for children. I was barefoot and answered questions posed to me by a man who had a good command of the English language, but was terrified to apply it in an actual conversation. He stuttered, stammered, and made very little sense in explaining what exactly I would be doing. He told me I would teach 3 classes:
Trinity Guildhall Speech & Drama Young Performers (Age group 4-5).
Hooked on Phonics- Letter Sounds (3-5).
Hooked on Phonics- Kindergarten (4-8).
He told me a lot more information, but did so in a way where it seemed unimportant and pointless. He informed me it is a 20 week contract, every Saturday from 11-3, and it will pay 270HKD an hour. While I am not overly impressed with the money, I figure that I have nothing better to do on the weekend, so I might as well try to make a little extra. And plus, little Chinese kids are absolutely adorable. I might as well try my hand at it.
On Saturday I arrived at the classroom a few minutes early. I received my teaching materials and went to make myself comfortable. Three of my students were already in the class when I walked in the door. Upon seeing me, one of the girls burst into tears. She was not satiated until her mother came back into the room. I tried pacifying the girl with a smile and a hello. She replied hello to me, and then began crying again, this time even harder. It ended up being that she did not like the door shut. With the door open she could see her mother waiting outside for her. This gave her comfort. As soon as one of the students closed it, ungodly wails pierced the room.
This first class was my Young Performers class. My goal was to get them to actively participate in drama and activities. I tried to get all of them to sit down and sing a song with me. No dice. I tried to get them to play a game I made up for them. Nope. Let me mention that there were only 4 students in this class, yet there was always one student who was trying to leave the classroom, one who would ransack the toy collection, and one who wanted to envelop me in the miniature hula hoops that were strewn across the floor. The two girls actually tried to participate. The two boys were a little less receptive. And lest I forget, one of the girls was named...wait for it...
Fok Yu.
I wish I were joking. And it's pronounced just like you think it is. The only student in that class not to have an English name, and it's Fok Yu. I ended up calling her "honey" quite a bit.
My second class was a bit better. Three darling little girls (Belle Wong, Hung Ching, Venus Ho) who sang songs to me and impressed me with their English skills, especially for being so young. My syllabus for the day was to teach them the letter "M," however, we breezed through that in 15 minutes, leaving me 45 minutes to keep their attention on learning. I was only partly successful. Once again, the toys were discovered, and lesson time turned into play time.
The third class was a hybrid of the first two. The kids were older, but were by no means any more well-behaved. I taught them the "at" and "an" sounds, and for the most part they were fine. However, there was one boy in the class, ironically enough the oldest, who had very bad pronunciation problems and compensated for this by speaking in Cantonese all the time. When I told him to speak in English he would laugh maniacally and then fall backwards off his chair.
I am wondering what I have gotten myself into.
So I did, and they were, and I went.
My interview was scheduled for 6:00 in Tsuen Wan, which is the last stop on the red line of the MTR, about 45 minutes from work. Tsuen Wan marks the beginning of the New Territories, a 300 square mile area of land situated between Kowloon and the border of the People's Republic of China. The area used to be incredibly rural until the 1960's, with a population of only 400,000 people. However, due to Hong Kong and Kowloon becoming grossly overpopulated, many housing developments were built, and "new towns" rose up from the ground. In less than 50 years the population has increased to 3.5 million people.
I arrived at this gateway town, exited the MTR station, and found my way to the Nan Fung Centre, which happened to be right across the street. I took the elevator to the 15th floor and found the door I was looking for: Talented Kids
My interview took place at a small plastic pink table designed for children. I was barefoot and answered questions posed to me by a man who had a good command of the English language, but was terrified to apply it in an actual conversation. He stuttered, stammered, and made very little sense in explaining what exactly I would be doing. He told me I would teach 3 classes:
Trinity Guildhall Speech & Drama Young Performers (Age group 4-5).
Hooked on Phonics- Letter Sounds (3-5).
Hooked on Phonics- Kindergarten (4-8).
He told me a lot more information, but did so in a way where it seemed unimportant and pointless. He informed me it is a 20 week contract, every Saturday from 11-3, and it will pay 270HKD an hour. While I am not overly impressed with the money, I figure that I have nothing better to do on the weekend, so I might as well try to make a little extra. And plus, little Chinese kids are absolutely adorable. I might as well try my hand at it.
On Saturday I arrived at the classroom a few minutes early. I received my teaching materials and went to make myself comfortable. Three of my students were already in the class when I walked in the door. Upon seeing me, one of the girls burst into tears. She was not satiated until her mother came back into the room. I tried pacifying the girl with a smile and a hello. She replied hello to me, and then began crying again, this time even harder. It ended up being that she did not like the door shut. With the door open she could see her mother waiting outside for her. This gave her comfort. As soon as one of the students closed it, ungodly wails pierced the room.
This first class was my Young Performers class. My goal was to get them to actively participate in drama and activities. I tried to get all of them to sit down and sing a song with me. No dice. I tried to get them to play a game I made up for them. Nope. Let me mention that there were only 4 students in this class, yet there was always one student who was trying to leave the classroom, one who would ransack the toy collection, and one who wanted to envelop me in the miniature hula hoops that were strewn across the floor. The two girls actually tried to participate. The two boys were a little less receptive. And lest I forget, one of the girls was named...wait for it...
Fok Yu.
I wish I were joking. And it's pronounced just like you think it is. The only student in that class not to have an English name, and it's Fok Yu. I ended up calling her "honey" quite a bit.
My second class was a bit better. Three darling little girls (Belle Wong, Hung Ching, Venus Ho) who sang songs to me and impressed me with their English skills, especially for being so young. My syllabus for the day was to teach them the letter "M," however, we breezed through that in 15 minutes, leaving me 45 minutes to keep their attention on learning. I was only partly successful. Once again, the toys were discovered, and lesson time turned into play time.
The third class was a hybrid of the first two. The kids were older, but were by no means any more well-behaved. I taught them the "at" and "an" sounds, and for the most part they were fine. However, there was one boy in the class, ironically enough the oldest, who had very bad pronunciation problems and compensated for this by speaking in Cantonese all the time. When I told him to speak in English he would laugh maniacally and then fall backwards off his chair.
I am wondering what I have gotten myself into.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Blogging Injuries
It pains me to write this, literally and figuratively speaking, but I am placing myself on the computer disabled list. I have been very productive, in terms of writing, reading, and researching, ever since I have arrived in Hong Kong. I look forward to coming home from work, reading some fiction, then researching random topics, and finally writing. In fact, I like it so much that it has consumed almost all of my leisure time. I am ever so slowly turning into an isolated recluse. I enjoy spending time at the local libraries.
However, this is not what has me worried. It is my health that is ultimately paying the price.
Recently, after long spells at the computer, I have noticed that my right arm has felt slightly "off." It started with slight discomfort and escalated into numbness and tingling in my fingers. Panicking, I did what most people with an aversion to doctors and lack of proper health insurance do: I analyzed my symptoms on the internet.
After frightening myself into believing that I had a serious problem, possibly heart or blood related, I decided to ditch the virtual medical help and go with something more concrete.
It was then that I found out the beauty of the Hong Kong hospital situation. I was informed by a colleague that since I was a Hong Kong resident, with a valid ID card, I just had to show up at any public hospital of my choice, go to the registration desk, pay 100HKD, and I would get thoroughly checked out.
Any problem, no matter its significance or magnitude, was just 100HKD. Runny nose? Food poisoning? Severed limbs? All the equivalent of $13 US.
So I hopped on the MTR, headed towards Chai Wan, and found my way to the Pamela Youde Nethersole Eastern Hospital, where I registered, deposited my hundred, told the triage nurses my problem, and was told to have a seat in the waiting room. I was slightly annoyed by the sign informing me I had to wait approximately 3 hours before I was seen. I became more irritated when the waiting room filled up, and the sign changed to 5 hours. However, right around the 3 hour mark my name was called and I went to see the doctor.
10 minutes and a battery of tests later, the verdict was in: ulnar nerve stress.
It makes sense, being that my computer posture is less than desirable. I have a habit of leaning against the desk, using my forearms to support my weight. I also have not mastered the art of relaxing while typing, as I have the tendency to tighten up considerably while working. This also does not help my pre-existing neck and back problems.
The moral of my story: A self-imposed ban or strict limitation on the amount of time I spend on the computer. I will do this for about a week and see how I feel. Also, a strict routine of yoga, pilates, or just plain old-fashioned stretching. Loosen the limbs. Work out the kinks. And I need to ease up a bit. I know the world moves fast but I don't have to participate in the race.
I need to get myself into shape to sit down at a desk and type.
Sad but true.
However, this is not what has me worried. It is my health that is ultimately paying the price.
Recently, after long spells at the computer, I have noticed that my right arm has felt slightly "off." It started with slight discomfort and escalated into numbness and tingling in my fingers. Panicking, I did what most people with an aversion to doctors and lack of proper health insurance do: I analyzed my symptoms on the internet.
After frightening myself into believing that I had a serious problem, possibly heart or blood related, I decided to ditch the virtual medical help and go with something more concrete.
It was then that I found out the beauty of the Hong Kong hospital situation. I was informed by a colleague that since I was a Hong Kong resident, with a valid ID card, I just had to show up at any public hospital of my choice, go to the registration desk, pay 100HKD, and I would get thoroughly checked out.
Any problem, no matter its significance or magnitude, was just 100HKD. Runny nose? Food poisoning? Severed limbs? All the equivalent of $13 US.
So I hopped on the MTR, headed towards Chai Wan, and found my way to the Pamela Youde Nethersole Eastern Hospital, where I registered, deposited my hundred, told the triage nurses my problem, and was told to have a seat in the waiting room. I was slightly annoyed by the sign informing me I had to wait approximately 3 hours before I was seen. I became more irritated when the waiting room filled up, and the sign changed to 5 hours. However, right around the 3 hour mark my name was called and I went to see the doctor.
10 minutes and a battery of tests later, the verdict was in: ulnar nerve stress.
It makes sense, being that my computer posture is less than desirable. I have a habit of leaning against the desk, using my forearms to support my weight. I also have not mastered the art of relaxing while typing, as I have the tendency to tighten up considerably while working. This also does not help my pre-existing neck and back problems.
The moral of my story: A self-imposed ban or strict limitation on the amount of time I spend on the computer. I will do this for about a week and see how I feel. Also, a strict routine of yoga, pilates, or just plain old-fashioned stretching. Loosen the limbs. Work out the kinks. And I need to ease up a bit. I know the world moves fast but I don't have to participate in the race.
I need to get myself into shape to sit down at a desk and type.
Sad but true.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
October Tribute I
I remember many things about the year I spent in 3rd grade. Most of my recollections have nothing to do with school per se, but are more closely related to a time and a place. This was back when my family size was two-thirds of what it ultimately ended up being. The year was the transition point between living in Hopkinsville, Kentucky and moving to Mt. Laurel, New Jersey.
This was the year I lived in the small town of McAdoo, Pennsylvania.
The reason behind this one year sojourn to McAdoo was simple: My father was being stationed in South Korea for the year, and my mother wanted to move closer to her family. And so we moved.
Some memories that stand out during that year include:
1) Skipping little league practice on Saturday afternoons so that I could watch WWF and perform wrestling maneuvers on my pillows.
2) Taking a hula-hoop out to the backyard and naively hammering a young chick to death before feeding it to the neighbor's dogs.
3) Strutting around the block, boom box in hand, blasting The Bangles' "Walk Like an Egyptian" and "Manic Monday."
4) Faking it in swimming class by simply walking across the pool while freestyle stroking with my arms.
However, what sticks out most to me, was that it was the first time I can remember my sister Amber and I talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up.
My aspirations at the time were to be an exterminator or a zoologist, and I supplemented these dreams by vigorously reading every Funk and Wagnalls Wildlife Encyclopedia A-Z, as well as memorizing all my Wildlife Treasury cards, the ones that came in the green plastic carrying case. And while my career did not pan out how I had intended at the tender age of 8, I still look back at that time fondly.
Meanwhile, my sister had much larger goals. Her ambition had a much broader scope. She wanted to be a Cabbage Patch Kid, and then later, Strawberry Shortcake. And while this may have seemed amusing and youthfully cute, the fact remained, she was onto something. She had picked the two things that most excited and entertained young girls at the time. And my sister slowly turned into an entertainer herself.
While I was immersed in every animal, reptile, amphibian, bird, fish, insect, kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, and species, my sister would be in her bedroom, practicing a song or dance routine to entertain us with. Whether solo, or with help from her friends or cousins, she would always elicit laughter and a smile from anyone in attendance.
Fast forward 22 years later and my sister is still living out her childhood dreams. She has transformed herself into an entertainer extraordinaire. What started out as runway modeling shows at FIT has evolved into something beyond most people's comprehension. Print modeling in catalogues and magazines, swimsuit modeling in Miami, Hawaii, Spain, and the Bahamas, small parts in TV series and on the big screen, and appearances on a multitude of websites devoted to a variety of topics were just the beginning. Then came the Howard Stern Show, and with that many new doors opened, including the one which she is most famous for: Obama Girl.
Around the same time Obama Girl took off, I also "took off." Mine was more literal, as I actually did leave the United States to move to China and start teaching. And despite living under The Great Firewall of China, I was still able to follow my sister's exploits and adventures over the computer and on the phone. I watched a satirical video catapult her into a household name. I saw her go from my little sister to the sexiest woman on the web and one of MSN's most influential women of 2007. I read about her trips to California to host an award show and her jaunt down to the White House to dine with the President. And I cheered her on every step of the way.
Recently, I have seen her branch out even more. While she is still playing the Obama Girl role to perfection (situational comedy with Ralph Nader and amazing Sarah Palin impersonations), she has also started on her jewelry line (with my mother) as well as her music career. With her fashion designing background and my mother's knowledge and expertise, she should have a hit on her hands. And having grown up with her, as well as attending many concerts with her, I can vouch for her love and desire of all things musical. I know that no matter what she sets her mind to, she will put every ounce of her being into it, because that is who she is.
So here, on your 27th birthday, I say this to you sister: I am extremely proud of you. Everything you have done and everything you will continue to do. I see how hard you work, and I see all the good and bad that comes with the territory. I know that no matter what happens, you will succeed in anything you want. You are a wonderful, beautiful, talented, smart, funny, and versatile human being, but more importantly, you are a great sister. I love you.
Happy Birthday Amber!
This was the year I lived in the small town of McAdoo, Pennsylvania.
The reason behind this one year sojourn to McAdoo was simple: My father was being stationed in South Korea for the year, and my mother wanted to move closer to her family. And so we moved.
Some memories that stand out during that year include:
1) Skipping little league practice on Saturday afternoons so that I could watch WWF and perform wrestling maneuvers on my pillows.
2) Taking a hula-hoop out to the backyard and naively hammering a young chick to death before feeding it to the neighbor's dogs.
3) Strutting around the block, boom box in hand, blasting The Bangles' "Walk Like an Egyptian" and "Manic Monday."
4) Faking it in swimming class by simply walking across the pool while freestyle stroking with my arms.
However, what sticks out most to me, was that it was the first time I can remember my sister Amber and I talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up.
My aspirations at the time were to be an exterminator or a zoologist, and I supplemented these dreams by vigorously reading every Funk and Wagnalls Wildlife Encyclopedia A-Z, as well as memorizing all my Wildlife Treasury cards, the ones that came in the green plastic carrying case. And while my career did not pan out how I had intended at the tender age of 8, I still look back at that time fondly.
Meanwhile, my sister had much larger goals. Her ambition had a much broader scope. She wanted to be a Cabbage Patch Kid, and then later, Strawberry Shortcake. And while this may have seemed amusing and youthfully cute, the fact remained, she was onto something. She had picked the two things that most excited and entertained young girls at the time. And my sister slowly turned into an entertainer herself.
While I was immersed in every animal, reptile, amphibian, bird, fish, insect, kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, and species, my sister would be in her bedroom, practicing a song or dance routine to entertain us with. Whether solo, or with help from her friends or cousins, she would always elicit laughter and a smile from anyone in attendance.
Fast forward 22 years later and my sister is still living out her childhood dreams. She has transformed herself into an entertainer extraordinaire. What started out as runway modeling shows at FIT has evolved into something beyond most people's comprehension. Print modeling in catalogues and magazines, swimsuit modeling in Miami, Hawaii, Spain, and the Bahamas, small parts in TV series and on the big screen, and appearances on a multitude of websites devoted to a variety of topics were just the beginning. Then came the Howard Stern Show, and with that many new doors opened, including the one which she is most famous for: Obama Girl.
Around the same time Obama Girl took off, I also "took off." Mine was more literal, as I actually did leave the United States to move to China and start teaching. And despite living under The Great Firewall of China, I was still able to follow my sister's exploits and adventures over the computer and on the phone. I watched a satirical video catapult her into a household name. I saw her go from my little sister to the sexiest woman on the web and one of MSN's most influential women of 2007. I read about her trips to California to host an award show and her jaunt down to the White House to dine with the President. And I cheered her on every step of the way.
Recently, I have seen her branch out even more. While she is still playing the Obama Girl role to perfection (situational comedy with Ralph Nader and amazing Sarah Palin impersonations), she has also started on her jewelry line (with my mother) as well as her music career. With her fashion designing background and my mother's knowledge and expertise, she should have a hit on her hands. And having grown up with her, as well as attending many concerts with her, I can vouch for her love and desire of all things musical. I know that no matter what she sets her mind to, she will put every ounce of her being into it, because that is who she is.
So here, on your 27th birthday, I say this to you sister: I am extremely proud of you. Everything you have done and everything you will continue to do. I see how hard you work, and I see all the good and bad that comes with the territory. I know that no matter what happens, you will succeed in anything you want. You are a wonderful, beautiful, talented, smart, funny, and versatile human being, but more importantly, you are a great sister. I love you.
Happy Birthday Amber!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The End of September
It is nearing the end of September, a full month since I have arrived here. Tomorrow is the 1st of October, which in China's calendar signifies National Day. National Day is China's Independence Day, and tomorrow marks the 59th anniversary of the People's Republic of China.
What does this mean for me?
Last year it meant a week off from teaching and the first of many road trips throughout China. This year it means a day off from teaching and uncertainty.
I am aware that the fireworks celebration over Victoria Harbour will be spectacular. The view of the festivities from my apartment will undoubtedly be magnificent. But after dealing with fireworks EVERY SINGLE DAY last year in China, is there really anything else that can be done with them? I have witnessed 4th of July fireworks over Manhattan from the Hudson River. I experienced the pyrotechnical explosions in Yantai ushering in The Year Of The Rat. I viewed, via television, the amazing display of combustible chemicals and gunpowder that preceded the start of the 2008 Beijing Olympics. I know what a great fireworks display is supposed to look like. I also know that if there is any country that will constantly reinvent and outdo itself in this category, it will be China. And while Beijing and Shanghai might have more authentic and meaningful ear-splitting gatherings, the skyline of Hong Kong alone will make it a memorable evening.
Now I need to figure out how to spend my day.
Happy National Day China!
What does this mean for me?
Last year it meant a week off from teaching and the first of many road trips throughout China. This year it means a day off from teaching and uncertainty.
I am aware that the fireworks celebration over Victoria Harbour will be spectacular. The view of the festivities from my apartment will undoubtedly be magnificent. But after dealing with fireworks EVERY SINGLE DAY last year in China, is there really anything else that can be done with them? I have witnessed 4th of July fireworks over Manhattan from the Hudson River. I experienced the pyrotechnical explosions in Yantai ushering in The Year Of The Rat. I viewed, via television, the amazing display of combustible chemicals and gunpowder that preceded the start of the 2008 Beijing Olympics. I know what a great fireworks display is supposed to look like. I also know that if there is any country that will constantly reinvent and outdo itself in this category, it will be China. And while Beijing and Shanghai might have more authentic and meaningful ear-splitting gatherings, the skyline of Hong Kong alone will make it a memorable evening.
Now I need to figure out how to spend my day.
Happy National Day China!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Weather is Happening
Typhoon Hagupit came and went yesterday and I am still here to tell the tale. In reality, it was not that brutal of a storm. However, at times, I did feel like I was on a rowboat in the middle of Victoria Harbour (which is not a good feeling to have when you are sitting at your desk, in your apartment, on the 26th floor of an anorexic building built into the side of a cliff.)
The Hong Kong Observatory issued a number eight tropical cyclone warning around 6:00 pm yesterday, effectively ending everyone's workday and shutting down most transportation into and out of the city. By this time, I had already made it home and decided to watch the festivities from my window. The sky went from a bleak, dismal gray to an ominous and menacing black in minutes. The wind kicked up. The rain raced past my window in horizontal patterns. And a large letter "F" (made of cardboard, aluminum, or some other mystery substance), made like a whirlpool in reverse and rose from ground level to over my eyes and out of sight in seconds.
After a few hours of rattling doors and windows and slight nausea, I decided to head outside and experience the typhoon more intimately. I got in touch with Jenny and Laura and the three of us took the elevator down to see what was transpiring below. We informed the security guard that we were going outside and he looked at us with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. Wondering why we would be foolish enough to wander outdoors during a typhoon, yet slightly annoyed that he would have to dislodge the umbrella, which was doubling as a lock on the building's entrance.
Our initial impression about the weather was favorable, for it was the first time since arriving that the humidity didn't envelop you as soon as you stepped outside. The gale-force winds were a welcome respite from the sweltering and clammy days that had marked my first month here. The lateral raindrops lightly smacked our faces. We stretched our arms skyward and beckoned the clouds to do as they wished. And after three minutes of this, we decided we had experienced enough. No point in standing around and waiting for a rogue tree limb to impale one of us, in the concrete courtyard of Shue Yan University, far away from home.
So we went back inside and rode out the remainder of the storm in the comfort of our swaying abodes. And by morning, despite the scattered branches, overturned plants, upended goalposts, and broken glass, things had returned to normal in Hong Kong.
The Hong Kong Observatory issued a number eight tropical cyclone warning around 6:00 pm yesterday, effectively ending everyone's workday and shutting down most transportation into and out of the city. By this time, I had already made it home and decided to watch the festivities from my window. The sky went from a bleak, dismal gray to an ominous and menacing black in minutes. The wind kicked up. The rain raced past my window in horizontal patterns. And a large letter "F" (made of cardboard, aluminum, or some other mystery substance), made like a whirlpool in reverse and rose from ground level to over my eyes and out of sight in seconds.
After a few hours of rattling doors and windows and slight nausea, I decided to head outside and experience the typhoon more intimately. I got in touch with Jenny and Laura and the three of us took the elevator down to see what was transpiring below. We informed the security guard that we were going outside and he looked at us with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. Wondering why we would be foolish enough to wander outdoors during a typhoon, yet slightly annoyed that he would have to dislodge the umbrella, which was doubling as a lock on the building's entrance.
Our initial impression about the weather was favorable, for it was the first time since arriving that the humidity didn't envelop you as soon as you stepped outside. The gale-force winds were a welcome respite from the sweltering and clammy days that had marked my first month here. The lateral raindrops lightly smacked our faces. We stretched our arms skyward and beckoned the clouds to do as they wished. And after three minutes of this, we decided we had experienced enough. No point in standing around and waiting for a rogue tree limb to impale one of us, in the concrete courtyard of Shue Yan University, far away from home.
So we went back inside and rode out the remainder of the storm in the comfort of our swaying abodes. And by morning, despite the scattered branches, overturned plants, upended goalposts, and broken glass, things had returned to normal in Hong Kong.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Reverence Lost
I get the feeling that being an author and an acclaimed researcher gets less reverence and admiration than Jacob Cohen did. This idea came to me last week when I attended a lecture given by a certain individual from England, a Professor of Literature at Manchester, who had for many years prior taught Comparative Literature here in Hong Kong. Besides being a teacher, he has also written many books and authored even more articles for publication. His topics include everything from Dickens, James, and Dante to Romanticism, Modernism, and Western Opera. A veritable farrago of themes, eras, styles and differences. This man has written about it all.
I was curious about the talk because the theme was Cosmopolitanism, and in it, the lecturer was going to somehow tie it in with Derrida (who years ago penned an article entitled "On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness"). I was excited at the prospect of attending this reading, partly because of the topic, but also because I wanted to immerse myself in the Shue Yan Academic English circle.
So I walked down to the room it was being held in. I opened the door and entered.
And I was the only person there.
I waited 5 minutes. By that time, a grand total of 9 people were in attendance. 9 people. 5 of them were teachers, only 2 (including myself) from Shue Yan.
As soon as the talk was under way I immediately began to squirm in my seat. The academic doctor who sat before me spoke of "exile," "sovereignty," and "global tourism." He name-dropped Joyce, Forster, Kant, and Foucault. He verbalized this in a sedate English accent. And he continued to do so for over an hour.
It was a monumental disaster.
Had he been reading his paper to a group of English graduate students, it might have been an effective presentation. However, the students who were in attendance were not on that level. If the level that the speech required was the top floor of a skyscraper, then these students were subterranean.
An example of a student reaction and subsequent dialogue:
"Could you please explain what you were talking about in 25 words. I came here to practice my listening skills but I only understood 4 words of what you said."
"Well. It's about the idea of forgiveness and how it is a power struggle. Do you know who Derrida is?"
"Who?"
"Derrida, the great French philosopher and critic."
Blank looks and silence ensues.
The moderator then stood up and asked if any one else had a question. The same student raised her hand.
"What is the best way for us to practice our English?"
My advice for her. Stay far away from graduate level discourse.
Somewhere, a group of literati are channeling their best Jacob Cohen impersonation. Or maybe you know him by his more commonly used name, Rodney Dangerfield.
"I don't get no respect."
I was curious about the talk because the theme was Cosmopolitanism, and in it, the lecturer was going to somehow tie it in with Derrida (who years ago penned an article entitled "On Cosmopolitanism and Forgiveness"). I was excited at the prospect of attending this reading, partly because of the topic, but also because I wanted to immerse myself in the Shue Yan Academic English circle.
So I walked down to the room it was being held in. I opened the door and entered.
And I was the only person there.
I waited 5 minutes. By that time, a grand total of 9 people were in attendance. 9 people. 5 of them were teachers, only 2 (including myself) from Shue Yan.
As soon as the talk was under way I immediately began to squirm in my seat. The academic doctor who sat before me spoke of "exile," "sovereignty," and "global tourism." He name-dropped Joyce, Forster, Kant, and Foucault. He verbalized this in a sedate English accent. And he continued to do so for over an hour.
It was a monumental disaster.
Had he been reading his paper to a group of English graduate students, it might have been an effective presentation. However, the students who were in attendance were not on that level. If the level that the speech required was the top floor of a skyscraper, then these students were subterranean.
An example of a student reaction and subsequent dialogue:
"Could you please explain what you were talking about in 25 words. I came here to practice my listening skills but I only understood 4 words of what you said."
"Well. It's about the idea of forgiveness and how it is a power struggle. Do you know who Derrida is?"
"Who?"
"Derrida, the great French philosopher and critic."
Blank looks and silence ensues.
The moderator then stood up and asked if any one else had a question. The same student raised her hand.
"What is the best way for us to practice our English?"
My advice for her. Stay far away from graduate level discourse.
Somewhere, a group of literati are channeling their best Jacob Cohen impersonation. Or maybe you know him by his more commonly used name, Rodney Dangerfield.
"I don't get no respect."
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
New Friends in a Globalized World
The first two people I met here in Hong Kong are fellow teachers at HKSYU. I met them the day after I arrived, knocking on one door to make my presence known, meeting another later that night at dinner. They both arrived in Hong Kong via PiA (Princeton in Asia), which is a fellowship that places recent graduates of top universities in the US into different jobs throughout Asia.
Jenny just graduated from Princeton with a degree in English Literature. She was born in Anhui Province, China and moved to New Jersey when she was 4. She taught English for two months in Hunan Province as part of her fellowship program, so she has a little bit of experience in the nuances of teaching English in Asia.
Laura recently graduated from Georgetown with a degree in Culture and Politics, minor in African Studies. She is originally from Milwaukee, but is by no means a traditional "Midwestern girl." She has spent much of her last 4 years drinking grown men under the table, memorizing every gossip rag ever published, and traveling to exotic locations like Senegal, where she volunteered to teach English to the natives.
The two are extremely different, but both are very adventurous and a lot of fun to be around while peregrinating around the city. It was because of our wanderings that we stumbled upon one of the most iconic places in all of Hong Kong, Chungking Mansion.
Prior to the day we boarded the MTR and traveled under Victoria Harbor towards Kowloon Peninsula, we had done most of our exploring on Hong Kong Island. Every day we would board a bus, then hop on the subway, and get off at a different stop. One day it would be Causeway Bay to explore Times Square and check out the shopping. The next would be Wan Chai to find our teaching building and apply for our Hong Kong ID. We would travel to Central, the focal point of the island, and ride the world's longest covered escalator. At night we would meet fellow PiA'ers and head to Lan Kwai Fong, where we would try on fur coats and pose for pictures in the Russian ice bar or smoke apple shisha at a hookah lounge and make friendly with one another.
Then one day we decided to go to Kowloon. After getting off at the Tsim Sha Tsui exit, we stepped outside and were immediately bombarded by touts selling "copy watches," cheap phones, and illicit massages. And then, directly ahead of us, was the monstrosity known as Chunking Mansion. So we took a look inside.
British writer George Adams in his short story entitled "A Night in Chung King," calls Chungking Mansion a "decrepit rabbit warren of a building." On the other hand, TIME magazine, in it's annual The Best of Asia, referred to Chungking as "The Best Example of Globalization in Action." The dichotomy between these two statements are vastly different, however, both ring extremely true.
For those not in the know, Chungking Mansion is a 17 story, complex network of guesthouses, restaurants, clothing shops, junk stores, foreign currency exchanges, and foulness. It is widely known as being the cheapest place to stay in Hong Kong, and because of this, is a haven for backpackers and bargain hunters. This cheapness is put on display for all to see; The exposed electrical wires, the various insects and rodents that inhabit every nook and cranny. It is all part of the filthy appeal.
It is here where you can buy a sari, a pirated Bollywood DVD, a bowl of curry with tandoori bread, a secondhand mobile phone, and a Bob Marley T-shirt, all in the course of 5 minutes. It is a melting pot of Hong Kong's ethnic minorities, from countries spanning the globe. Gordon Mathews, a professor of Anthropology at City University of Hong Kong has "informally counted 120 nationalities" to have spent time on the premises.
While walking around, you feel a sense of fear, yet you also feel safe. You feel that the conditions are unendurable and overwhelming, yet you also feel that this is urbanization in it's most primal and humane form. And it is this polarity that makes you want to go back and do it all again.
Jenny just graduated from Princeton with a degree in English Literature. She was born in Anhui Province, China and moved to New Jersey when she was 4. She taught English for two months in Hunan Province as part of her fellowship program, so she has a little bit of experience in the nuances of teaching English in Asia.
Laura recently graduated from Georgetown with a degree in Culture and Politics, minor in African Studies. She is originally from Milwaukee, but is by no means a traditional "Midwestern girl." She has spent much of her last 4 years drinking grown men under the table, memorizing every gossip rag ever published, and traveling to exotic locations like Senegal, where she volunteered to teach English to the natives.
The two are extremely different, but both are very adventurous and a lot of fun to be around while peregrinating around the city. It was because of our wanderings that we stumbled upon one of the most iconic places in all of Hong Kong, Chungking Mansion.
Prior to the day we boarded the MTR and traveled under Victoria Harbor towards Kowloon Peninsula, we had done most of our exploring on Hong Kong Island. Every day we would board a bus, then hop on the subway, and get off at a different stop. One day it would be Causeway Bay to explore Times Square and check out the shopping. The next would be Wan Chai to find our teaching building and apply for our Hong Kong ID. We would travel to Central, the focal point of the island, and ride the world's longest covered escalator. At night we would meet fellow PiA'ers and head to Lan Kwai Fong, where we would try on fur coats and pose for pictures in the Russian ice bar or smoke apple shisha at a hookah lounge and make friendly with one another.
Then one day we decided to go to Kowloon. After getting off at the Tsim Sha Tsui exit, we stepped outside and were immediately bombarded by touts selling "copy watches," cheap phones, and illicit massages. And then, directly ahead of us, was the monstrosity known as Chunking Mansion. So we took a look inside.
British writer George Adams in his short story entitled "A Night in Chung King," calls Chungking Mansion a "decrepit rabbit warren of a building." On the other hand, TIME magazine, in it's annual The Best of Asia, referred to Chungking as "The Best Example of Globalization in Action." The dichotomy between these two statements are vastly different, however, both ring extremely true.
For those not in the know, Chungking Mansion is a 17 story, complex network of guesthouses, restaurants, clothing shops, junk stores, foreign currency exchanges, and foulness. It is widely known as being the cheapest place to stay in Hong Kong, and because of this, is a haven for backpackers and bargain hunters. This cheapness is put on display for all to see; The exposed electrical wires, the various insects and rodents that inhabit every nook and cranny. It is all part of the filthy appeal.
It is here where you can buy a sari, a pirated Bollywood DVD, a bowl of curry with tandoori bread, a secondhand mobile phone, and a Bob Marley T-shirt, all in the course of 5 minutes. It is a melting pot of Hong Kong's ethnic minorities, from countries spanning the globe. Gordon Mathews, a professor of Anthropology at City University of Hong Kong has "informally counted 120 nationalities" to have spent time on the premises.
While walking around, you feel a sense of fear, yet you also feel safe. You feel that the conditions are unendurable and overwhelming, yet you also feel that this is urbanization in it's most primal and humane form. And it is this polarity that makes you want to go back and do it all again.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Hong Kong Shue Yan University
If HKSYU were a television show, it would be an educational hybrid of The Brady Bunch and The Sopranos. A family run university with an orderly, sinister undercurrent.
Allow me to digress.
There is nothing overtly or inherently corrupt or criminal about the university, at least superficially. However, it is family oriented, in a culture in which familial bonds are stronger than most.
Prior to my arrival in Hong Kong, I had incorrectly assumed that Shue Yan was your normal, private liberal arts university. I did know that it had recently been accredited as a university after 35 years of college status. I also knew that it was one of the few, if not only, universities offering 4 year degree programs in Hong Kong.
What I failed to realize is that the President, Academic Vice-President, (the aforementioned F.C.) and the Administrative Vice-President are all from the same bloodline.
Not really relevant to a lower tiered teacher such as my myself, but interesting to say the least.
Although the semester has not officially started yet, the academic rigmarole is in full swing. All this week the new teachers have been made to sit through buffet lunches, departmental meetings, and induction ceremonies, where we talk about topics like Outcomes Based Teaching and Learning Initiatives, Teaching Excellence, and Plagiarism. We have toured the library facilities, perused oral presentation rubrics and taken crash courses in ILN (Internet Learning Network). But the real fun will not start until Monday, when I am thrown into a class of 40 business or sociology majors, and expected to teach them the finer points of the English language.
My schedule this semester consists of 5 classes of English Usage, meeting for 3 hours a week. All of my students will be freshman, and the majority will be terrified of me initially. However, I have the tendency to make students feel at ease quickly. I will see if that translates into a positive learning atmosphere.
The only negative I see early on is the commute to work. I was under the impression that I would be teaching on campus. With only 3 buildings on campus, I figured going to class every day would be a breeze. Not the case.
Starting this year, Shue Yan has opened up a new building in the Wan Chai district. The commute, which can be done by a bus-to-bus combo, or a bus-to-MTR combo, takes about 45 minutes each way. The reasoning behind all of this is because Shue Yan just received university status, therefore, they have been afforded the right to spend a heap of money on the school. Unfortunately, this money can only be spent on building things, like new classrooms, or computer labs. Hence, the new building.
The academic adventure begins...
Allow me to digress.
There is nothing overtly or inherently corrupt or criminal about the university, at least superficially. However, it is family oriented, in a culture in which familial bonds are stronger than most.
Prior to my arrival in Hong Kong, I had incorrectly assumed that Shue Yan was your normal, private liberal arts university. I did know that it had recently been accredited as a university after 35 years of college status. I also knew that it was one of the few, if not only, universities offering 4 year degree programs in Hong Kong.
What I failed to realize is that the President, Academic Vice-President, (the aforementioned F.C.) and the Administrative Vice-President are all from the same bloodline.
Not really relevant to a lower tiered teacher such as my myself, but interesting to say the least.
Although the semester has not officially started yet, the academic rigmarole is in full swing. All this week the new teachers have been made to sit through buffet lunches, departmental meetings, and induction ceremonies, where we talk about topics like Outcomes Based Teaching and Learning Initiatives, Teaching Excellence, and Plagiarism. We have toured the library facilities, perused oral presentation rubrics and taken crash courses in ILN (Internet Learning Network). But the real fun will not start until Monday, when I am thrown into a class of 40 business or sociology majors, and expected to teach them the finer points of the English language.
My schedule this semester consists of 5 classes of English Usage, meeting for 3 hours a week. All of my students will be freshman, and the majority will be terrified of me initially. However, I have the tendency to make students feel at ease quickly. I will see if that translates into a positive learning atmosphere.
The only negative I see early on is the commute to work. I was under the impression that I would be teaching on campus. With only 3 buildings on campus, I figured going to class every day would be a breeze. Not the case.
Starting this year, Shue Yan has opened up a new building in the Wan Chai district. The commute, which can be done by a bus-to-bus combo, or a bus-to-MTR combo, takes about 45 minutes each way. The reasoning behind all of this is because Shue Yan just received university status, therefore, they have been afforded the right to spend a heap of money on the school. Unfortunately, this money can only be spent on building things, like new classrooms, or computer labs. Hence, the new building.
The academic adventure begins...
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Arrival
I have arrived and it feels glorious.
The majority of my flight to Hong Kong was spent propped up against the window, airplane pillow acting as a buffer, as I managed to take a handful of individual catnaps that somehow added up to nearly 10 hours worth of sleep. When I was not dreaming I was eating, watching episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm, playing games, and even managed to catch a movie, Be Kind Rewind. As I awoke from my final brief slumber, we were approaching Hong Kong International Airport, and the view from my window was stunning. The setting sun cast a bright orange tint over the sea, boats and junks of all sizes spread out in various directions, and skyscrapers loomed larger and brighter than I could have ever imagined. And then we touched down.
I cleared customs, called Dr. Hu (affectionately known as F.C. for the duration of this trip) and lugged my 80 pounds of luggage onto the airport express, where I would travel for 30 minutes to Hong Kong Island to meet F.C. and be escorted to my living quarters.
I am living in the Residential and Amenities Complex of Shue Yan University, a massive building less than 3 years old, which is situated on top of a hill in the North Point section of Hong Kong Island. My apartment is tiny, furnished with an undersized twin bed, dining room table, closet, television, desk, a few chairs, bathroom, a washer, small refrigerator, hot plate, microwave, and the most dazzling and breathtaking view I have ever encountered. My window overlooks part of Tai Tam Country Park, past Happy Valley, over Causeway Bay, Wan Chai, Admiralty, Victoria Peak, Central, and all the way to Victoria Harbor. I can lay in bed and look at three of the tallest buildings in the world simultaneously. And every so often I will glance out of the window and make eye contact with some of Hong Kong Islands' most magnificent birds of prey, who soar and glide effortlessly, and reaffirm my altitude, in case I have forgotten just how high up I actually am.
And you wonder why I have a permanent smile on my face when gazing outward across the island?
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