The brain works in wondrous ways: 09 (Being recognised from the back) (London)

Reproduced from a blog under another title: A teacher can run but cannot hide; posted 28 October 2011.

I was waiting for a bus around 11pm one warm summer’s evening last year when an apparition suddenly leapt out from behind me on the pavement, stood in front of me and said, with a big smile, “老师，你好，我是 Brenda! / Hello, Teacher, I am Brenda!”  It was a Taiwanese ex-student who’d done my MA Bilingual Translation course back in 1998(??), and I hadn’t seen her since, which makes 12 years.  Yet she recognised me, in the dark, from behind!

A few months after that, I was on the bus home from St Paul’s, seated upstairs just in front of the top of the steps, therefore had my back turned to the steps.  As the bus moved away from the next stop, I heard my name called out by someone who’d come upstairs.  It was another ex-student, David, who’d also recognised me from behind.

“Women always think they look older”

 

Showed my most recent photo to friend Valerio, saying I was shocked to see how much I’ve aged / how old I look.  He said, “Women always think they look older.”

Reminds me of what I always say to people when, e.g., they’ve had a new haircut and say they look awful and want to hide away from the public eye: “You’re probably the only one who feels like that, because you see yourself in the mirror every day, so this new look is too strange compared to the regular one.  Most people, if not everyone, probably won’t even notice you’ve had a new haircut.”  

PS:  Why bother having a new haircut if no one notices.  Haha.

Ageism in the Chinese culture

 

Friend Valerio said, 

…we were told in Chinese class that in Chinese culture it is often a compliment to say to somebody “You must be very old!”

Yes, indeed.  Being old means that one deserves the respect and extra special treatment on account of one’s age.  

It’s socially an advantage to be old in the Chinese culture.  (I’m sure Japanese and Korean too.)  People are more patient with you, because you’re slower and more feeble.  They serve you the food first, and fetch the food from the dishes in the middle of the table and put it on your side plate or directly onto your rice in the bowl.  You get lifts to/from places.  And of course, you don’t pay for social outings, because you’re no longer earning.

The brain works in wondrous ways: 08 (The heavily freckled lady) (London)

A student’s flatmate Kate was very freckled.  

One day, she looked in the mirror and saw a small dark smudge on her forehead, so she tried to wipe it out, as she thought it was a bit of dirt.  Turned out to be a new freckle! 

So the brain registered a new freckle, even though she was very freckled! 

(London, mid-1980s)

The bodyguard (Singapore)

One of the girls in my Pre-U years at RI (Raffles Institution) was Wei Ling, the prime minister’s daughter.  She would come to school every day with a female bodyguard.

Her bodyguard would sit in the tuck shop all day, chatting to the stall holders while Wei Ling was attending classes, as she had nothing to do.

On our biology field trip, out into the secondary forest (called belukar) in the Bukit Timah area, the bodyguard came in a fairly straight skirt (therefore not loose and free flowing) and (low-)heeled town shoes, with a handbag as well. We young 17-year-olds in our sneakers and jeans were sniggering at how inappropriately dressed she was. 

When we struggled a bit climbing up a slope, she was the one to offer a hand and pull us up. 

When someone cut her finger on a sharp branch, out of the handbag came a plaster. 

When we needed to take a sample (of a leaf or twig), she produced a pen knife.

When we found a butterfly, out of the handbag came an envelope to store the butterfly in. 

We were ashamed that we’d sniggered.

(Singapore, 1971–2)

Approximation (Singapore)

A Singaporean who’d been educated in a Chinese stream school once wrote in her letter, “Friendly speaking, I don’t…”

This sort of approximation is very common, and not just among the Chinese either.  I’ve heard “Kings Cross” (the station in London) consistently being expressed as “King Cross” — mostly by Spanish speakers from South America, but also by Eastern Europeans.

When I was a child, people would say, when directing a driver to reverse, “Go stun go stun!”  I later realised it was meant to be “go astern”.  When you wowed people with, say, a new hairdo, they’d make an utterance that I used to think was Chinese because it was used in a conversation conducted in dialect.  I later found out that it was “I say man”*. 

So, lots of borrowings from British colonial days that are not quite there. Just a rough reproduction of what they heard without completely understanding the original words. 

(Singapore, 1950s–1970s)

PS:  Another one is my second sister (the rebellious featured in How to dent male chauvinistic behaviour), who consistently writes “Covic”.

From googling: 

*An expression of disappointment, indignation, or disbelief. This is a hangover from British colonial times, when the British gentleman masters would exclaim “I say, man!” when the wrong wine was served with their meals, or other such crises 

Double standards: 04 (London)

I myself also exercise double standards when it comes to writing in Chinese.

My early days of learning Chinese were in Singapore in the 1960s when the script adopted was the traditional/complex script.  I then spent two years in Taiwan where they use the traditional script.  The evening classes in London that I’d attended in 1977 for my ‘A’ levels used the mainland Chinese simplified script and the pinyin romanisation system — both of which I had to master within the one academic year.

I still prefer the traditional script because it’s the kosher one (well, maybe not all the way to 1,000 years ago…), not a version watered down by the post-1949 mainland Chinese authorities in an attempt to reduce the illiteracy rate.  It’s also more descriptive/graphic (pictographic).  When it comes to writing the characters out by hand, however, I go for the simplified version.  

Sometimes one just needs to resort to double standards to survive.  Same principle as the one adopted by mainland China in simplifying the script.

(London)

Simple folk remedies: 01 (sea urchin spines) (Greece)

A friend was talking about being highly allergic to wasp stings and needing an auto-injectable device that delivers the drug epinephrine* prescribed by his doctor.  

I said the Chinese home remedy for bee stings is vinegar.

This reminds me of a BBC Radio 4 listener talking about his experience on a holiday in Greece in the 1980s.  

He’d trodden on some sea urchins on the beach, leapt up in pain, and promptly landed on more of them.  Both his feet were covered in urchin spines.  At the hospital, they painstakingly — and painfully — removed each spine with a pair of tweezers.

Hearing this, another listener phoned in to say he’d also stepped on some sea urchins during a beach holiday on some small Greek island.  The locals sliced up some tomatoes (which are ubiquitous in their diet), plastered them all over his feet, and the spines just popped out after a little while of their own accord.

(Greece, 1980s) 

*A life-saving medication for those who have a severe allergic reaction to things like venom, food or medication.

The brain works in wondrous ways: 07 (The ex-student from 25 years ago) (London)

I had just collected Sienna and Cairo from school.  

They were playing at what I call The Tarzan Swing Rope place.  It’s a spot on the Parkland Walk* in north London where there’s a huge tree with sprawling roots and branches on the top of a bit of a ridge, so there’s a slope down on one side of the tree.  

Someone (the local government forestry maintenance people?) had put up a thick rope: one end around a big branch, the other end around the middle of a stout stick so that one can sit astride it like a T-bar on the ski slopes, and swing down over the space above the slope.  

Takes a bit of practice to get it right, but the children have been doing various versions: 

*sit astride the T-bar, and swing back and forth

*hold on to the T-bar with the hands, jump off and swing out in a wide circle, like a flying trapeze artist

A lot of people use this Parkland Walk — some exercising their dogs, some taking children home from school, some just out for a walk.  

On Monday, an Oriental couple walked past, then stopped to watch.  I was trying to work out if they were Japanese or Korean.  Sienna then asked me if they were tourists — I said maybe.

The bloke then took his mobile phone out to take a photo of Cairo swinging on the rope, so I called out, through my mask, “Do you want to have a go?”  He said he was too heavy, I said it’s very sturdy.  He worried he wouldn’t be any good at it, I said he could just have a little go, as it’s great fun.

He then turned round and called out my name!

It was a Japanese student of mine from 25 years ago!  He said he’d instantly recognised me from my voice.  Even through the mask!

(London, 2021)

*The Parkland Walk follows the course of the old railway that ran between Finsbury Park and Alexandra Palace.

Dealing with a truant student (London)

A false beginner student (let’s call her Mary) on the full-time degree programme had been missing classes.  She then failed a module or two.  I was concerned and tried to get her to come and see me to talk about it, both as her academic tutor and personal tutor.  She never responded to my numerous emails.  One day, I ran into her in the street, and put my request to her face.

The following day, she turned up, looking very frightened, expecting the worst from me.  The first thing she said as she walked in was, “I’m so sorry.”

I said, “Don’t apologise to me.  You should apologise to yourself.”  She looked completely taken aback.

I said, “I’ve already got two degrees.  You’re in the first year of your first degree.  You’re being irresponsible to yourself, so you should apologise to yourself.”  She had to digest this unusual approach.  

Next, I asked, “Who’s paying your fees?”  Her father, she said.  I said, “Then, you should also apologise to your father.  You’re throwing his money down the drain.  You’re being irresponsible to him.”

She didn’t know what to make of it.  Obviously no one had ever taken that approach with her before.

I continued, “If you hate it so much, then why not drop out from the Chinese degree, and go and do something else that makes you happy.  It’s a lot of money to waste [fees were a few thousands pounds at the time] and be miserable while you’re at it to boot.”  

She remains in contact to this day.

(London, 2008–9)