Stupid Pig’s China Blog

http://chunzhu.wordpress.com/
Here is one China blog that I've started following recently. The blogger (the stupid pig, if you must) is an American of Cantonese-Chinese descent, and he mainly writes about his life in China where he works now as an English trainer at Microsoft Beijing’s Advanced Technology Center.

I love the tongue-in-cheek humor in his posts, and the way he manages to present a different argument to anything from normal everyday situations to issues of national, or even international, concern. Plus he never takes himself seriously, which is fun. And he makes a lot of sense too.

So yes, I recommend that you read him. Go to his page. Now.

Pagbilao Beach, May 2008

I finally got to swim this summer. The last two times I was within five meters of a body of water, I had my period so swimming was out of the question. And because I love getting my picture taken, I had the most pictures. *giggles

I stole most of these from Jing and Artie.

Supersized Paranoia. To Go, Please.

As I was going home last Friday night, I noticed a woman wearing a black burkha (you know that head garment that basically covers the whole head and has only a slit for the eyes) sitting in the innermost part of the jeepney. Because she was dressed in dark colors, it was easy to miss her but once you'd seen her, it was impossible to ignore her. At first I was curious so I watched her. And because she was covered from head to toe save for her eyes and hands, there was that sense of watching something that could not watch back.

And then I got paranoid.

Thoughts flashed: She could be a holdupper pretending to be a Muslim so she could cover her face!

I watched even more.

The two women across from me were talking. One said, "Teka kinakabahan ako. Parang gusto ko na bumaba. (Wait, this is making me nervous. I think I want to get off.)" Friend replied, "Tara, baba na tayo. (Let's get off here.)"

Now that's mean, I thought.

I watched the woman some more. That's a pretty big bag. Wait, where's her hand? What's inside her bag? What if her hand's inside her bag, fingering a gun that she would point at us at just precisely the right time? What if she's a suicide bomber? What if she's not even a she?

Know that I am paranoid by nature. Compound that with the fact that everyday I read about attempted terrorist attacks, real or imagined. Really, it's like breakfast: a bus exploded in Shanghai. Pfft. A woman was reportedly caught with inflammable liquid onboard a flight going to Beijing. Um, is it time for lunch now?

Still I fought the urge to get off the jeepney. I was not going to discriminate against people of a different faith. I was not going to be mean to this innocent woman who did nothing wrong to me nor to anyone I know. I was not going to be one of those ignorant... wa-wait, I was not going to be in the headlines the next day!

Just make your hands visible, lady. Please. There, there. One, two. Two hands in sight. Ok, maybe five more minutes before my stop. Eyes on the hands...

Yes. Yes, I know. I am very, very ashamed of myself. I should not be thinking these thoughts.

I tried not to breathe an audible sigh of relief when we got to my stop. I got off the jeepney then walked fast. Away before it could explode.

Of course it did not explode and I berated myself even more.

And then she was there with me again on the jeepney last night. I was sitting beside the driver. I turned around and there she was right behind the driver.

The fact that nothing terroristic happened the last time should have been enough reassurance that nothing would happen again this time. But I could see her dark presence out of the corner of my left eye. And I couldn't keep watch of the hands this time.

And so I am here confirming that no jeepney was bombed last night.

And I am very, very, very ashamed of myself. Please forgive me.

Biting into the China Cake

I am taking a break from writing my special report on China's social unrest to retain my sanity. At least whatever's left of it. If you remember how it was back in school, two weeks before the final paper is due, then you'd have a fairly good idea how I feel every time. At best. Because unlike being in school where you have the whole term or at least half the term to fret about what to write, I have all of two weeks. And my heart would beat even faster as the days start passing me by...

As if that wasn't bad enough, I now also write special reports on top of the regular reports. It's like another term paper, only the deadline is more flexible. But not too much because then it would never get written. That's what I'm doing now: making sure it gets written. But then what's so special about it is that its scope is usually wider and the information more detailed. So I'm trying to work those in, aside from just getting it written.

The sense of intimidation emanates from the fact that I have only quite recently started serious reading of Chinese affairs. Every time I approach a topic, I would have at least 30 pages of research (font 9 because I want to save as much paper as I could) to read through before I can confidently convince myself that I know enough of it to write a credible article. And that's still only little crumbs of a much bigger cake that is China itself. Five thousand years of civilization! Can anyone blame me for feeling inadequate? I am always just trying to catch up at best.

And so everyday I calm my nerves enough to take a little bite and chew what I could handle. Never mind that it terrifies me to read about, we're not even talking about writing yet, inflation and how the yuan's rise impact the lives of both foreign investors and ordinary Chinese. Never mind that I didn't even know where Tibet was on the map previous to the riots that erupted there in March. Never mind that I could not identify more than half of the African countries China is now dealing with if not because of an article I had to write about the Sino-African relations.

And then comes the confession. Some masochistic part of me enjoys this biweekly torture. Maybe precisely because it reminds me of school. Or maybe because I am genuinely interested in the readings, except more often than not I wasn't made aware of their existence until I was already chewing on them. Or maybe I really am just a masochist.

And so break's over. Time to cram for my term paper due tomorrow.