Children: High on Life

Children are miniature addicts, and their drug is simply 'Living'. Every day is an impossible, invincible high, peppered with occasional intermittent moments of tantrumous* lows. Some study somewhere done by someone** reckons that children laugh over three hundred times a day, whereas us gloomy adults only manage just under twenty.

I reckon a couple of kids let me borrow a laugh or two, today.

While doing the weekly shop this morning, I got a glimpse into someone else's life- the life of a parent of two little girls. They were about four and six years old- the oldest couldn't have been any older than seven. In any case, they were both at that stage of life where you have bundles of energy, a limitless imagination and where the world is your own personal playground.

The two girls were jumping around like grasshoppers and chattering non-stop, punctuating their animated conversation with plenty of sound effects. I glanced up at the dad, who was pushing the trolley, and had to stifle a sympathetic smile: he had bags under his reddened eyes, a slumping posture and a general Could-Have-Used-A-Few-Weeks'-Worth-Of-Sleep aura about him. Still, he'd automatically snap to attention if one of the bouncing girls was about to ricochet into the TV displays, or if one of them asked a genuine question (because sometimes children ask all sorts of things when it's clear they don't really care what then answer is- you'll answer them and they'll already be off like a rubber ball). So as exhausted parents of two young children go, he was pretty much as on the ball as you can get.

Just after he managed to deflect a potentially expensive bounce towards the electronics section, I heard him try to distract the girls by engaging them in proper conversation.

"Mummy said we need to get -x-, should we get it now? I think we should. Can you tell me which aisle you think it's down?"

There was a sudden, thoughtful silence. Then I heard one of the girls announce:

"I have decided that I want to be a feather."

And which much 'Wheeee!'-ing and 'Yaaaaaaay!'-ing the girls bounced off again.

Nice try Dad-Of-Two, but you just can't reason with these life addicts.

~Fin~

*When life hands you a situation that can't be summed up in one word... make a new one?

**Found on the internet and therefore completely irrefutable, of course...

I'm Not Wealthy, but I'm Rich all the Same

(A follow-on from A Mixed Bag of Nothing):

A couple of days ago I was sitting in a café in London, looking out of a window that faced outwards into Chinatown. Behind me and to the side of me were lots of white and European people- in front of me outside were lots of Chinese people- and there I was, both physically and metaphorically smack dab in the middle of both sides. It gave me the warm fuzzies.

Tonight marked the first night of Passover and my family and I held the Seder night together. At the end of the service, as I cracked out the traditional Jewish sweets I had baked the day before, my mum told me:

"It's not so long ago we were celebrating Chinese New Year, you know. Tash, you have no idea how rich a background you come from."

Oh, I know, Mum. I know.

~Fin~

You Made my Day

Dear Tall Guy,

Thanks for catching me when I nearly wiped out on the tube, today. I did thank you at the time (albeit in a flustered, grinning 'ohmygoodnessthatwasembarrassing' kind of way), but I thought I'd say how much that little gesture meant to me, because it went against the usual big city 'People Don't Care' attitude. You probably saw me in front of you, reaching out but unable to grab at any of the holding bars because of this other guy who refused to budge up, and knew I was going to tumble backwards as soon as the train pulled off- and if you didn't see it coming, my imaginary hat goes off to you for your ninja-fast reaction.

You probably didn't think twice about such a small thing. I know I don't when I occasionally get to help out a random stranger. However, I've never myself experienced that sort of common decency from a member of the general public before.

Hell, the last time I fell over on a train, everyone around me in the carriage actually backed away from me in order to give me a clear shot at the floor. The worst incident was when I was at the top of the stairs on a double decker bus and the driver braked sharply, causing me to fall down the stairs in a heap: everyone made a point of looking away, and no-one asked if I was okay, let alone came to help me.

Over the years I've become quite disenfranchised with the general public, and I've been getting to the point where I've been considering giving up on being someone that looks out for others. But you reminded me today that not everybody is only out for themselves, and that there are still a few people left that give a damn, even if just a small damn. Even through it's not many, it's not nobody- and the world needs all the people who are willing to catch a falling stranger it can get.

I wouldn't say you've restored my faith in humanity- I still think we suck in general- but you've definitely restored my faith in the importance of looking out for your fellow man (or woman). So, thanks.

Yours sincerely,

Toppling Girl

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Afterword

Maybe I should be sad that something that should be seen as (and was, once up on a time) 'common decency' has been elevated to 'an act of kindless'- but it just made me happy that there is any common decency left in the first place. A sign of the times? Yes. A sign to give up? Not today.

~Fin~

A Mixed Bag of Nothing

A direct quote from one of my other blogs, Where I Like To Eat:

'...I am in fact Jewish, as well as being half Chinese. An unusual mix, granted, and indeed when with either side of my family I feel neither Jewish enough nor Chinese enough- but at least that makes me exotic and interesting (at least I like to think so!)'

I've never had a problem with being a mixed bag of blood (specifically half Chinese with Russian and Polish blood from the Jewish side). In fact, I've always thought of my mixed background as pretty darn cool: I get the elegant mystique of the Far East along with the proud grittiness of East Europe. I can handle both my stinky fermented tofu and my drink my chopped liver like a pro. I've never felt a crisis of identity, or an insecurity in who I am, or a feeling of not belonging. I've always felt that I belonged everywhere, and that anywhere could be home.

That is, until relatively recently.

It all started about a month ago, on the week of Chinese New Year (just to clarify, I've always found myself identifying with my Chinese side a tiny bit more than my European side). A colleague of mine brought in some oranges to celebrate. Later on I caught her by the printer, an orange in my hand, to thank her. I laughed that I was glad to have some fruit, after having way too much nian gao (new year sticky rice cake). My colleague gave me a funny look.

"Nian gao..?" She asked.

"Er... yeah, you know- sticky rice cake. I bought one of those cute fish-shaped ones," I added helpfully. My colleague gave me an uncertain smile.

"Natasha, you're not Chinese are you?"

I suddenly felt uncomfortable- it's not the first time it's been noted that I look extremely un-Oriental, but it was definitely the first time I felt almost caught-out. I explained I was half, and conversation awkwardly petered out.

I made my way back to my desk and had a sudden flashback, back to when I was at school:

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I was walking down the hallway with a Chinese friend, and she was talking about setting up a club for the Chinese pupils of the school. I said I thought this was a great idea, and I'd love to help out and join. My friend laughed.

"You're not really Chinese though, are you?" she said.

I was unfazed. "'Course I am! I mean I may not be 100% Chinese, but I have enough Chinese DNA to count I think."

"Oh Tash you know what I mean- I mean you're not Chinese enough."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Not Chinese enough.

At the time I was too bogged down with all my musical extra-curricular activities to care much that I didn't have another to add to my list, but I find myself caring now, after about a decade.

On a similar vein, I was thinking of giving dancing a whirl, recently- for fitness, and because I believe in completing things on your bucket list well before you'd normally consider having a bucket list (I'm just that organised in life). I thought of how cool it would be to do some traditional Chinese dancing- with fans and ribbons and whatnot. So I did some Googling and found a group that do adult workshops in London.

My usual devil-may-care confidence went a bit wobbly when I saw the photos of the willowy, beautiful, extremely Chinese ladies practising in their qipaos. And here's me, with my European curves, unremarkable features and distinctly un-Chinese face, hoping to join them.

I'd be like a goose amongst cranes.

Another spanner in the works is my shoddy grasp of the language- despite having studied Mandarin as a side-module at university for two years. It doesn't help that my Chinese friends have all been Cantonese-speakers and the Chinese side of my family speaks Hakka rather than Mandarin, but it's a poor excuse, even so. In fact, I studied Japanese for one year and for some bizarre reason excelled at it, while two years studying my heritage language bore slightly weaker results.

So here I am, wanting to be more involved in my own culture- but finding out that it's not my culture, after all- not really. In fact, it's starting to occur to me that my Chinese friends and family- or at least the people in Chinatown, Wing Yip or other places I frequent with a Chinese community- might actually see me as a bit of a White Girl Wannabe.

Only even without the Chinese side, I'm not really a White Girl, either.

So where the bloody hell do I belong?

I'll never find a community I can fully fit into- it's in the nature of being mixed race, after all, and I think I've forgotten this somewhere along the way. In the meantime, I'll continue to enjoy eating lots of different types of food and learning about my different heritages: and every time someone finds out for the first time that I'm half-Chinese and that my middle name is Ching, and responds with stark disbelief, I'll just have to get over it.

Perhaps I will ask about that dance group- perhaps not. I definitely want to take up Mandarin again (and Japanese while I'm at it- no sense in letting my knack for it go to waste...) I just wish I were as blissfully unaware of my 'unwholeness' as I was before. I suppose I'll just have to find a new level of accepting myself, and not caring about what other people think.

And yes, my middle name really is Ching.

~Fin~