The Oriental Yes / No answer

This is one of the linguistic hurdles for the student of CJK (Chinese, Japanese, Korean), because it’s the opposite of the English response.

English:

Are you British? —> Yes (I’m British) / No (I’m not British)

The CJK answer is the same as in English for positive questions.

The problem arises when the question is in the negative.

English: 

Are you not British? —> No (I’m not British)

CJK:  Yes (I’m not British) (i.e., agreeing with the question)

I teach my students (of Chinese and of English) to say, “Correct,” which makes it unambiguous.

NB:  

I’m throwing in Japanese based on my own (meagre) knowledge of the language, and Korean based on my observations from the traditional script subtitles in the Netflix dramas that I’ve been watching.  So, there might be more exceptions to the above “rule” in Japanese and Korean than in Chinese.  I haven’t tested out even the Chinese, as this is a fun-only blog, not a serious piece of writing based on academic research.  All corrections to disprove the “rule” would be welcome.

Language: who has borrowed from whom?

Talking to a student from Malaysia about the origins of the Malay term “mat salleh” for describing white people — thought to have been “mad sailors” for the white sailors in the early colonial days who’d get drunk and behave wildly.

She then added, ‘There is also the term “mat rempit” used for those young guys who race illegally on the roads and highways especially, on their motorbikes.’

Presumably, “mat” in “mat rempit” isn’t necessarily for the whites anymore, just “mad”.

As part of the extra mentoring that I offer students, I replied in Chinese, saying that “mat” certainly looks like the corrupted version of “mad”.  

In Chinese, “mad” = 瘋狂 / 疯狂 fēngkuáng.  

Apart from giving the breakdown of the compound (“mad crazy”), I also gave — as I always do for students who’re up to it and interested — the radicals for the two characters: sickness radical 疒 nè for 瘋 fēng / mad, and dog radical 犭quǎn for 狂 kuáng / crazy.

Then, I suddenly realised that the phonetic component 风 fēng / wind in 瘋 / 疯 is perhaps not purely for the sound / pronunciation element only.  I think there’s a logical contributive purpose.

One of the concepts in TCM (Traditional Chinese Medicine) is “wind”*.  I guess the closest English equivalent, in lay terms, is “draught”:  sitting in a draught can cause one to be ill.  Wind — usually cold, I think, for this purpose — will penetrate the system and cause all sorts of ailments.  Hence, the character for “mad” is written with the sickness radical and wind for the other component.

This, in turn, led me to the Malay term for “being mad/crazy”: kepala angin (/ˈaŋin/, [ˈa.ŋɪn]), which breaks down as “head wind”!  The wind has gone into one’s head, therefore “mad”.

So, is this a coincidence, or did one language borrow from the other?  If it is not a coincidence, I’d say it’s Malay borrowing from Chinese.

*wind:  Google says,

Quote

Wind is one of the six external factors of disease (six Qi or six Yin/Six Excesses). These climates can attack the body, enter the meridians, and cause external diseases; e.g., Cold Wind can cause a cold. Wind is a climatic condition that is observed everywhere, but is given a heightened importance in TCM.

Unquote

(climate in TCM = agents that cause disease)

• If you’re interested, more to be found in: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5234349/

Gaslighting myself?? (London)

There’s a film called Gaslight. 

Google says:

Quote 

Gaslight is a 1944 American psychological thriller film directed by George Cukor, and starring Charles Boyer, Ingrid Bergman, Joseph Cotten and Angela Lansbury in her film debut. Adapted by John Van Druten, Walter Reisch, and John L. Balderston from Patrick Hamilton's play Gas Light (1938), it follows a young woman whose husband slowly manipulates her into believing that she is descending into insanity. 

Unquote

The word has now become a gerund (verb functioning as noun).

Google says:  

Quote 

Gaslighting is a form of psychological manipulation in which the abuser attempts to sow self-doubt and confusion in their victim's mind. Typically, gaslighters are seeking to gain power and control over the other person, by distorting reality and forcing them to question their own judgment and intuition. 

Unquote

In this blog, I’m using the term loosely, hence adding “myself” to the title.  I’m not suggesting that the bank described below is actually deliberately trying to do any of the things listed in the definition given above.

In the last few weeks, I’ve been trying to set up a digital token for my account in Singapore (opened on my last visit there because I was thinking of moving back), in order to make a payment to the Singapore government, no less.

Didn’t have the digibank app.  My iPhone 6 is too old to support it, so I had to go out and buy a new (to me, but second hand) phone just to activate the digibank app in order to set up the digital token in order to make a transaction.

The bank’s blurb said it can be done in a few simple and easy steps.  Not so in my experience.  None of the steps or options given on that bank’s website worked.  

They tell you to tap Preferences at the top right hand corner.  Preferences not there.

They say you can change your personal details easily, just scroll down to My Profile.  My Profile not there.

After many attempts, and increasingly thinking I must be blind (for not finding the options they said were there), or stupid (for not getting to the right places, for not making anything work), or really that computer-illiterate, or all of those things, I email them. 

They come back with an attachment — a form for filing in and snail mailing or couriering back to them.  The attachment needs a password to get in.  Two options are given for this password:  my IC number and mobile phone number, or my IC number and my date of birth.  Thinking I can’t use the first option because my mobile phone number has died (which is the reason I’m going through all these hoops in the first place), I use my date of birth.  Not accepted.  

I email the bank again.  They simply repeat the instructions, like as if the first lot hadn’t been followed. (Reminds me of the well-known anecdote about English-speaking tourists repeating loudly what they’ve just said to the non-English-speaking locals when they didn’t get understood the first time, as if the loudness will somehow open up an English window in the other party’s head when they didn't know any English at all.)  No joy.  Have I got even my own date of birth wrong?!?! 

I ask them to re-send the form, in case there was something wrong with the first one.  Still couldn’t get in.  

I email them again, setting out all the failed steps.  The tone of voice is now getting desperate as my payment deadline approaches, with penalties and interest to pay if I don’t meet it.  At this rate, it’d be cheaper and less fraught for me to buy a ticket to Singapore and walk into the bank.  I was beginning to think: not just to get that payment made, but close the account as well.

A Customer Service Team member rings (to the bank’s credit, this is 10pm Singapore time).  Tells me to try again: the date of birth one I’d chosen to use.  No luck.  Tells me to use the mobile phone number one.  I get in.  (Not the end of the story yet, for this saga anyway:  if my signature varies from the old one, I’ll have to go to a notary public and get it and my IC notarised.)

My question is:  why give the option of using the date of birth and then not accept it?  No explanation.  I know they’re trying to protect my money from fraudsters, but the design is so bad, so user-unfriendly that I’m retracting all the publicity I’ve been giving the nation state, telling people how efficient and far-sighted it is in all its planning and so on.

This experience has also made me start to question my own intelligence (my computer literacy at any rate), my own ability to follow instructions (did I execute the right steps — it must be me if I can’t find those things), and — after numerous attempts to find things that are said to be there but not there — my own sanity as well.  Hence the appropriation of the term “gaslighting”.

(London, 2023)

Chinese sayings: 03 (鮮花插在牛糞上 / 鲜花插在牛粪上)

Disclaimer:  My blogs are mainly lighthearted, mostly based on my own experiences, for raising a laugh or a smile, with the occasional enlightenment moments (“Ah, I see!”).  What is covered in this blog about the Chinese script is what I teach my students, my own perspective and interpretation, as a mnemonic / an aid to remembering, not based on scholastic research and proven etymology.

鮮花插在牛糞上 / 鲜花插在牛粪上

xiān huā chā zài niú fèn shàng

“fresh flower stick on cow excrement top”

鲜 xiān / fresh

插 chā / to stick (into / onto)

糞 (粪) fèn / excrement

This saying is usually a comment on what a waste it is for a beautiful woman to be with an ugly man.  Could be useless man, not necessarily just looks.  Somehow it doesn’t apply the other way round, or at least I haven’t come across it myself, i.e., it’s not used to describe a handsome man being with an ugly or useless woman, maybe because of the flower reference.

The character for fresh 鲜 xiān is made up of 鱼 yú / fish and 羊 yáng / goat, sheep.  Both are strong-smelling, therefore have to be eaten fresh.

The character for “excrement” has an interesting composition. 

In the traditional version, 糞 fèn has three components: 

米 mǐ / (uncooked) rice

田 tián / (farming) field

共 gòng / together

The simplified version 粪 (米 and 共) has the “田 tián / field” missing.

It is reflective of the Chinese practice of recycling waste.  Rice (米 mǐ) is consumed, leaves the body, is taken out to the fields (田 tián), and mixed in together with (共) the soil as fertiliser.

Caring, the second episode of The Heart of The Dragon (a 12-part documentary series about China for the then-nascent Channel Four), was filmed in February 1982 in Harbin,  N.E. China.  

Just to give you an idea how cold it gets there in February (which is around Chinese New Year time):  Harbin is famous for its International Ice and Snow Sculpture Festival, with the creations (some as big as a building, allowing people to walk around inside) standing out in the open from late December to late February.

One of the cutaway shots in the episode Caring features a lorry driver shovelling the human waste in frozen blocks from the outdoor latrines onto the lorry, then tipping the frozen blocks onto the soil upon arrival at the fields.  When the weather warms up, the blocks will melt away into the soil.

Chinese sayings: 02 (打腫臉充胖子 / 打肿脸充胖子)

打腫臉充胖子 / 打肿脸充胖子

dǎ zhǒng liǎn chōng pàngzi

“hit swell-up face pose-as fatty”

出處：姚雪垠《李自成》* 第一卷第十八章

chūchù: Yáo Xuěyín “Lǐ Zìchéng” dì yī juàn dì shíbā zhāng

Source: Chapter 18, Volume 1 of “Li Zicheng”* by Yao Xueyin

(*出版於 / published 1963–1999)

This saying breaks down as “hitting one’s face until it swells up to look like a fat person”.

It is most revealing about the attitude of the Chinese where face (metaphorically, i.e., pride) is concerned, and also what “fat” means to them.

Everything is relative.  Take “fat” and “thin” for example.  In some cultures, “fat” is not a positive state to be in, health considerations aside — fat is not beautiful.  Some cultures, however, think “fat” is beautiful.  The Chinese for one, traditionally anyway, because fat means one has enough to eat, that one does not have to toil but can afford to sit around all day doing nothing.  It implies monetary wealth, and therefore social status.  

When one has put on weight, people say, 你發福了 / 你发福了 nǐ fāfú le / “you have generated good-fortune”.

The characters for “fat” (肥 féi; 胖 pàng) are written with the flesh radical (月), whereas the one for “thin” (瘦 shòu) is written with the sickness radical (疒 nè) 

Read also: 

https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2013/06/one-way-of-putting-on-weight-or-not.html

https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2020/04/the-chinese-perspective-on-fat-vs-thin.html

Technology maze (London)

In the 1980s, when I was working on two Chinese computer research projects at SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies / 倫敦大學亞非學院), a Japanese lecturer there asked me if I could teach him how to use the computer (for generating his teaching material, which he’d been writing out by hand).

He couldn’t grasp:  log in, create/open folder, create/open file, etc.

I had to say, “Log in is like having the key to unlock the door to enter the room. Create a folder is like setting aside a drawer in the filing cabinet for files of the same subject matter.” Only then could he visualise the concepts.

Another day, I saw a bookshop owner friend outside SOAS. He asked how my day had been. I said, “Terrible. My computer kept crashing and crashing.” He gave a gasp, then said, “What, fell to the floor?!?”, miming the toppling over of a computer onto the floor.

I’ve been feeling like that the last few days trying to get a digital token for my bank account for making a digital payment.  Took my nephew one second to pay on my behalf.  Days on and even fewer hair left on my head, I’m still no closer to sorting out the digital token.  

Various tech savvy friends have been pitching in, suggesting things like, “Try logging into ... in the web browser,” and I’d go back to them and ask, “What does web browser mean?”

I said to them, “I need a PhD to understand all this.  Maybe this is how my students feel about my Chinese grammar explanations…”

(London, 2023)

Technology is like dogs (London / Singapore)

What took nephew Kaikai one second to perform (digital payment on my behalf) took me days and I still got nowhere.

“These digital things are like dogs,” I said to him, “They know who to bite.”

More linguistic faux pas (London / Singapore)

Further to my blog Faux pas in Chinese:

I had a Spanish student who kept pronouncing 姐姐 jiějie (older sister) as 爺爺 yéye (grandfather).  Imagine the bemusement in real life as she’s pointing at her female sibling and announcing her as a 爺爺. 

My second sister did the same thing in Malay, mixing the different labels for siblings.  She said to a Malay chap, referring to my eldest sister, “She’s my adik [younger sister],” when my elder sister obviously did not look the younger one.  The man (an expectant father waiting for my mother’s return, to go and deliver his baby) said in surprise, “Adik?!”  My 2nd sister realised her mistake and said, “bukan bukan [not, not], abang, abang [older brother]!”  The poor man was even more confused.

(London, 1980s / Singapore, 1960s)

Different perspectives (Singapore)

My brother and third sister were brought up on grandma’s coconut plantation.  The elder of my two uncles lived there and looked after the matter of disciplining the children.

After a spate of disappointing behaviour from my brother, mainly on the school results front, my uncle decided it was time to apply the traditional Chinese style of public shaming, hoping this would make him sit up and re-think his life.

My uncle wrote, on two cardboard sheets, something along the lines of, “I am a bad boy.  I keep failing my school tests,” and hung them on my brother, one in front, one behind.  Then, he put him on the rear rack of the bicycle and cycled around the village for everyone to see — and point and laugh at him.  

Instead, my brother, aged around 9, treated it as one big free ride, smiling and waving happily at the onlookers.

(Singapore, early 1960s)

True chivalry (Singapore)

RI (Raffles Institution) classmates Heng Soon was alphabetically in front of me, Tian Poh [deceased] after.  

During school vaccinations, Heng Soon would stay back in the tiny room after he’d had his jab.  The nurse would say, “You’re done, you can go,” and Heng Soon would say, “I’m staying for her.”  The nurse would raise her eyebrows, uncomprehending.

I’d then go in.  Tian Poh would come in with me.  The nurse would say to him, “No, not your turn yet.”  Tian Poh would say, “I’m here for her.”

Then, they’d stand both sides of me and extend one arm each.  I’d grab each one so tight during the injection that I’d leave red marks.  

So chivalrous.  They did it both years.  So sweet.

(Singapore, 1971–72)