Enjoy Every Second Your Way

My friend Sarah and I were trying to find the end of an immense queue for char kway teow noodles at the Malaysia Night festival. There were queues everywhere, full of all kinds of people waiting for all kinds of food, an organised chaos of interweaving lines like the London Underground. My British little heart looked at all the queues and found them beautiful.

Most people were happy to give other hungry and friendly strangers tips on where they had found the interesting food they were holding, or which end of which queue belonged to which food stall.

Of course, some were still a little bit too much on the British side.

"Hi! Hello! Um... excuse me, is this the queue for that stall over there?"

I smiled hopefully at the lady in the queue. The lady gave a mildly terrified look, as if I had just asked her to choose between her money or her life. Her eyes then unfocused, and stared right through me, a watery polite but insubstantial smile hovering on her lips. She turned away, having apparently decided I was some sort of ghostly apparition. Sarah giggled as I threw my hands up in exasperation.

It was my birthday earlier this week. I'm older, and none the wiser, and still asking strangers in the city questions while trying not to freak them out with my forthrightness. I also haven't been posting for the last couple of weeks- in fact, for two more weeks than I realised: this gives you some sort of idea of how badly I'm keeping track of passing time at the moment. My weekday evenings are packed with Mandarin, ukulele, Dungeons and Dragons and dance, my weekends are packed with cool friends, my kitchen is full of the cakes I've baked, my absolutely free time is non-existent. And I'm having a shedload of fun learning new things, catching up with old friends and meeting new ones.

Let's do another year!

In Which Tash Takes a Day Off

Well alright, most of the day off- but it's as close to a full day off as I've had in quite a while.

I've been very, very busy. I work full-time, manage five blogs altogether which involves a lot of baking, photoing and editing, writing and Going Out and Doing Stuff, I have a regular exercise routine, still occasionally try to keep up with music, and I have a very active social life from making sure I give my time to as many friends as possible. One of the downsides of being so busy all the time is that friends have gotten used to having to book me up to two months in advance, but at least my friends are also very understanding.

Recently I've been doing some voluntary online work for the up-and-coming Lady Dinah's Cat Emporium (London's very first cat café), which is super-exciting! Of course it's been a challenge to juggle the mad amount of stuff I already do, but I'm so happy to be able to be part of it in some way, although it does mean that time management has become a fine art.

Which is why maybe it's a bit sad that having a relaxing day is novel enough for me to write about it in The Wacky World of a Weird Girl. In fact, I'm writing this right now as a break before I get back to work.

I booked a day off work today, originally because a friend was coming down from Birmingham to visit, but then she had to go to a medic's function (she's a doctor). I decided to keep the day off instead of cancelling it, because I suddenly realised that actually, I really do need a day to myself.

So this morning after a mini lie-in (but not too much because I prefer being productive), I got up, and started the day by visiting a café I'd always wanted to try out for breakfast (reviewed in one of my other blogs).

I LOVE going into London just after the morning rush hour on a weekday. It's so quiet! I sat outside the café with my coffee and breakfast, and for the first time in months I felt truly relaxed. Note that I don't mean happy- I've been very happy indeed- but it was the first time in a long time I actually sat back in peace and quiet, did nothing and didn't feel guilty about doing nothing. I sat slowly sipping my coffee and nibbling my cake until it was all gone, and sat watching the world go by just for a little longer before I reluctantly got up and continued with my day.

Even though I was reluctant to shift myself from my relaxed spot, I knew I'd enjoy myself at my next destination: Camden Town, one of my favourite places in London. Also another great place to be during those few hours between breakfast and lunch on a weekday.

Camden Town on the weekend- and even during lunchtime on a weekday- is always absolutely rammed. It's a trendy place to be for all ages, is a popular tourist destination, and is just an overall cool place to be. This morning I got the chance to walk around at my leisure, discover new nooks and crannies without being squeezed out of the way by more people, and actually be able to look around without my vision being blocked by bodies.

Whilst I was there, I bought a cup of tea from Yumchaa, and sat on the balcony outside which overlooks the canal and the Camden Lock West Yard world food market. There was still an hour to go before people would start trickling in for lunch, and it was bliss. There was one funny moment when a couple of French tourists walked past me, sitting with my cup of tea, and one said something to her friend like 'Ah, le typique anglaise!', gesturing towards me in a way which she obviously thought was subtle. Yes, yes, we do love our tea here. And I do understand a bit of French, lady.

Sitting there after Relaxation Time Stage 1 earlier in the morning, in view of the canal and the smells of food from all around the world wafting from the market below, colourful bunting for the coming evening's music festival billowing in the gentle wind, with tea in my teacup and a little more left in the teapot- it was zen. There was even a resident friendly kitty cat to play with: perfect.

I was quite sad to leave when lunchtime hit and the zen was broken by the oncoming crowds of people- but I was able to leave my quiet spot outside the tea shop knowing that there was more fun stuff to do, even if relaxation time was over. I had lunch, and headed off home to do continue with work before making dinner for the family.

This weekend I'm back to my old tricks, going out to meet friends and baking and blogging and going to events, and soon the memory of being totally 'at ease' will fade- but one thing I will remember to do is take time off for myself more often: sometimes it feels like I'm so busy making time for other people that I forget to make time for myself. Don't get me wrong: I choose to be busy. It's a way of life I enjoy. However, sometimes I need to be reminded that I need switching-off time to recharge (even if it's only once every two months). I can't wait to be able to have another day off where I can sit with a cup or tea with my favourite place almost all to myself, and literally do nothing else but drink tea, sit and watch the world around me.

In the meantime, I'll try to hang on to that memory of the feeling of zen for as long as possible, before the business of tomorrow and the day after sweep it away.

Anyway. Back to work.

The Line Between Assertiveness and Rudeness

I bought some dried fruit from a market stall, today. There were two guys running it- one who seemed perfectly amiable who I was chatting to, and another who was quite mouthy in a way it was clear he thought was funny and edgy. As soon as I decided on what to buy, the mouthy guy brusquely took over from his colleague.

"So how much would you like?"

"Just a small handful, please."

The guy behind the stall grabbed a massive fistful of dried mango and stuffed it into the paper bag, to my dismay, and followed with a second fistful. He dumped the full-to-bursting bag onto the scales.

"That'll be eight pounds."

I gave an easy laugh to cover my annoyance. "I said a small handful! I don't think I can eat eight pounds worth. Can you make it about three pounds, please?"

Mouthy guy smirked and removed a small amount of fruit from the bag.

"Five pounds."

"Er- no, I said three pounds."

Mouthy guy grinned again. "Thirty pounds, did you say?"

"Three," I said firmly, trying to control my escaping patience. All I bloody wanted was a bloody bit of fruit. "If I can't eat eight pounds worth of dried fruit, I certainly can't eat thirty pounds worth of it."

"Okay okay, three." He finally took out enough of the bag to make a sensible amount of fruit, and I handed over a five pound note.

"Oh look," Mouthy guy said to his colleague, "She's given us a pound tip each!" The other guy gave a half-hearted 'ha-ha'.

"Sorry," I said, feeling my smile turn a little sharp. "I'm not that generous."

Mouthy guy finally stopped with the badly-constructed banter and handed over the change, and the other trader and I wished each other a nice day. Well, to seem less harsh, I wished a nice day back in both of their general directions. But really I only made eye contact with the less mouthy of the two (hah, take that. It's the small victories...)

Was I rude, by the end? I'm not sure. Not even sure I care. Hell, a few years ago I would have just accepted a gargantuan eight pound bag of fruit in order to avoid confrontation- but that's not me any more. I'm finding more and more that I'm able to take less and less crap. That can only be a good thing, right? I mean I've always wanted to be the kind of person who will treat everyone with equal respect and kindness, but there has to be a line between being kind and being a doormat.

Just last week I was in a bakery and this guy was completely blocking the aisle looking at something, bent over in such a sharp L-shape that his head touched one side of the aisle and his arse the other. My first polite 'excuse me' caused another gentleman to shift out of the way (and he wasn't really in the way to begin with, bless him). But the L-shape guy: nothing. My second polite 'excuse me' elicited no response from him, either.

My final attempt came out as a very acerbic "Excuse me". And by golly he moved- slowly and defiantly, but move he did- but not before giving me the most poisonous look I have ever seen directed at me. I mean it, too: I'm not in the habit of making enemies, but I'm pretty sure I made one, that day.

"Thank you!" I cheerfully trilled in a sugary-sweet voice, and almost danced past.

Again, did I cross the line of assertiveness and go over to the dark side of rudeness? Probably. Do I feel bad about it? No. Does a small part of me quite like this newfound power? Worryingly, yes.

So I Went to Berlin and...

... Ate cake the size of my face:

Co-invented Treslechesblaubeerrosemarmeladehaselnusssahnekuchen:

Saw some funny stuff:

Saw some powerful stuff:

And drank some girly beer:

And again, like in Australia, nothing particularly crazy happened. I even had a free seat next to me on the flight home. There was one small weird (or rather uncomfortable) moment on public transport though, on the bus to Schoenefeld airport: I was sitting directly opposite a young French couple, close enough so out knees were touching, and they were pretty much eating each other's faces for the whole journey. I stared to resolutely out of the window that I had a crick in my neck by the time the bus reached the airport.

Other than that, it really does seem like the truly bonkers stuff only happens to me when I'm on home ground. Interesting...

Public Transport: Stuck in the Air

Next weekend I'm going to Berlin to visit my friend Vicky, and it'll be the first time ever I've travelled by plane all by myself.

I'm not scared at all- I'm rather excited actually. However there is just one small matter that concerns me, and it's the same with any form of public transport:

What the random stranger sitting next to me is going to be like.

Or even if I'm going to be stuck with a few choice weirdos, never mind if they're right next to me or not. Some of my best stories and strangest memories comes from tales of the general public whilst on a train or bus: from stoners performing magic tricks to get out of paying a fare, to stoners metaphorically crying on my shoulder about their life (I really wish I could remember enough of that bus journey to do it justice here), to massive guys stinking of rotten cheese and literally falling asleep on my shoulder and squashing me to being on a train full of drunken football supporters and dog show competitors (at the same time). Only this time I'm going to be stuck in a tin can thousands of miles up in the air with them.

Of course I've been on flights where there have been irritating people on board, from the classic screaming child and back-of-seat-kicker to, most recently on the way back from Australia, a guy who took his shoes off and put his bare (and smelly and quite dirty) feet up when food was being served. It's always different when you're by yourself though, as there's nobody to go 'Get a load of this guy!' to.

Maybe I'll come back and absolutely nothing wacky will have happened to me, which will go towards confirming my theory that weird stuff only happens to me in Britain. We shall see. To be honest, if the last time Vicky and I met up is anything to go by, anything crazy that happens will most likely be self-inflicted. In fact, my German doppelgänger out there is probably about to write a blog entry about two mad British girls...

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~

So I Went to Australia and...

... Nothing happened.

Well. Lots of things happened. I went to my cousin's wedding:

Went to the Blue Mountains:

Cuddled some kangaroos:

Saw some fun fish:

... And of course, did touristy things:

But you know what the really odd thing is? Nothing, well, odd, happened to me during during any of the ten (well, eight, since two whole days were lost through travel) days Down Under. In fact, this is a trend I seem to face whenever I go abroad: weird things don't follow me on holiday. Except for one time quite a few years ago where food poisoning literally nearly killed me (don't forget: salads are washed in local water), nothing really happens to me.

Must be a British thing.