Let Your Conscience be your Guide

I've had a pretty rough week. No, let me rephrase that: I've had a pretty productive week. It's just that it's been so productive, I'm shattered beyond belief, and there's still one more day of non-stopness to go. Every day after work I've been going out on errands and the like, and now it's the weekend I've been even busier running around for people (two consecutive birthdays = a lot of baking of Tashcakes). The only evening I had off in my diary to rest this week was Tuesday.

However, this changed on Monday evening. I was in town after work because I had to commute, my car being in the garage for its MOT. I decided to stop by my favourite bubble tea shop on the way home, because I was tired and fed up, and it was only Monday.

There are lots of bubble tea shops to choose from in Chinatown, but the small shop Cuppacha was the first to sell bubble teas in almost as many flavours as you can get in South West Asia- and even though since then a bigger, more internationally popular bubble tea brand with a bazillion flavours and options has set up shop right on the main street of Chinatown, I've remained loyal to Cuppacha. Why?

Because they smile.

They are always so friendly in Cuppacha, and an attitude like that is becoming tough to find in retail and catering. At the other places, you're not really a human being, just a talking, moving body. And even if all customers are just bodies moving in and out of the shop, a smile really makes a difference.

So I went in to get my tea, ordering a fancy one where the topping comes separately. The guy serving me double-checked that I knew the topping was 50p extra, and I confirmed I knew. I paid for my tea, put my change in the tip jar, picked up my bubble tea and left.

A worried little buzzer went off in my brain as I sat on the train home sipping my bubble tea, and I fished the receipt out of my pocket: I hadn't been charged that extra 50p. I'd effectively stolen a topping! What was I going to do?

Normally, I'd feel a tiny bit guilty but forget about it, knowing a small undercharge wouldn't be missed. However in this case I felt terrible. This little tea shop was beginning to struggle to compete against the bigger company in its prime location, and I felt ridiculously loyal to it for a silly old bubble tea shop. However I always go to it- how on earth could I go back and look them in the eye again knowing I'd stolen toppings?

So the next day, I went two hours out of my way after work to go back and give them the extra 50p.

I know I know, I'm mad.

I felt really embarrassed, but the girl that was serving that day gave the cutest, most delighted laugh I have ever heard and like magic I felt better. Of course, I also bought another bubble tea while I was there (see? Being smiley works).

Don't tell me you've never been in a situation where you feel like you've conned someone, willingly or not, and felt bad afterwards. Was I completely pathetic going back? Probably. But at least my conscience is clear.

~Fin~

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~

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~

Friends with Sugar

My friend Vicky was visiting from Germany, and this evening we went to a dessert bar in Chinatown, where we ate a silly amount of cake. Vicky also gets a bit jittery on MSG, so having already been to another Chinese restaurant she was already getting a little bouncy. Me too- I'd just had a drink that was made out of 50% beans and 50% sugar. This didn't matter though- we were ready to tackle this magical place of cake.

By the end of it, we were giggling like idiots at nothing much in a cake and sugar-induced stupor. I was vaguely aware of Vicky beginning to stack the plates up neatly when I heard her declare proudly, "I shall be helpful! Ploop!"

The 'Ploop!' was accompanied by my sugar-crazed friend more or less slam-dunking the chunk of lemon from her half-finished lemon tea back into her mug- out of which tea shot out of in all directions.

I suppose she was helpful in the end, as she mopped all the spilled tea up- I was less so though, because I was too busy laughing like a hyena.

A Really Cool Book 'Shop' and an Awkward Near-Encounter

Today, I met up with my friend Min-Hwee in the west end. We had lunch in Chinatown at Jen Café and then had tea at Camellia's Tea House on Carnaby Street. When we were walking around on Carnaby Street we came across a book exchange: the Carnaby Book Exchange.

Totally free, you can come in, choose a book and sit down for a good read, or you can bring in an old book of yours to leave and take another away.

You're also encouraged to leave a note for another reader to find. So Min-Hwee and I went in on a mini-quest to find a book with a note.

Min-Hwee found one on her first try- a really old book (can't remember what it was) with the message 'Take care of yourself'' pencilled in on the inside of the front cover. It took me a while to find a book with a message, but when I did it was a good one.

This was the book I picked up:

I actually have this book too: it's an amazing bit of non-fiction.

I was surprised someone had left this, because it really is a very powerful book- Min-Hwee was too (she also has the book at home). When I turned the front cover, I found out why.

Both Min-Hwee and I are Chinese (well, I'm half-Chinese, to be exact), so we found it pretty funny.

Now to the awkward near-encounter... at the time, ironically, my friend and I were talking about who we still kept in contact with from our old school, and who we'd bumped into recently. We were in a shop when she suddenly pointed and said,

"Look, that girl was from our school! Wasn't she in your year?"

I looked around, and noticed the girl- two of them together in fact- were indeed from my year, if not from my class.

"Should we go say hello to them?" Min-Hwee asked.

"No!!" I suddenly felt a bit panicked: I'd never really been on speaking terms with these two at school so I felt like it would be a bit fake to go over and be all friendly and 'hiiii I haven't seen you in aaaaages' etc. etc. And to my further horror, I realised that I'd also forgotten their names.

I'll tell you now: I'm really, really appalling with names. As soon as I meet someone I warn them of this. Lots of people claim they're bad with names, but really, they're not too bad and just putting a polite disclaimer in, just in case. No, my brain forcibly ejects names from my mind like a pilot from a failing aircraft, often within a matter of seconds of being told someone's name, and then I have to be told several times over and over again afterwards. I try really, really hard, I honestly do, and it's certainly nothing personal- but I've always been like this. I used to dread being made to give out everyone's workbooks at school after the teacher had marked them because I couldn't remember which named book belonged to which classmate (particularly when our classes were 'disbanded' and we started mixing with other people from our year).

I explained this in hushed tones to my friend after she asked me if I was sure, and we hung back a bit to allow my former school peers to get a head start once they left the shop. After a few minutes passed, we (cautiously) emerged.

"Did you see which way they went?" I asked nervously.

"Yes, I think they went in that direction." And Min-Hwee unwittingly pointed straight at my two former schoolmates, who were only a few yards away.

"Agh, they're right there!" We both spun around and started to walk in the other direction, to find it was a dead end. We faced another two directions: more dead ends! By now I was giggling almost hysterically at this ridiculous situation, and pretty sure they could now hear the nervous ruckus I was making.

Eventually my two former school peers headed off.

"Did you think they saw me?" I asked.

"Well... one of them actually looked straight at you at one point- I'm pretty sure they did."

This calmed me down a bit. Surely if they saw me, recognised me and actually wanted to come over and say hi, they would, right? But they didn't- just like me. Maybe because they were in the same predicament and didn't remember my name and knew we weren't really close at school. Or, more embarrassingly, they sensed my unease and felt put off by my perhaps-obvious awkwardness.

I actually remember one of their names now- but I won't write it down, just in case they ever read this blog. Yes, I'm that freaking awkward.

~Fin~