Simple folk remedies: 02 (fish bone in the throat) (Singapore)

During my childhood days (in the 60s), the way my family dealt with a fish bone stuck in the throat was to swallow a lump of cooked rice, unless it was a big bone.  The idea is that the rice will wrap around the bone, thus protecting the walls of the throat and the oesophagus, and take the bone with it down to the stomach, where the digestive acid will break down the bone.

When the Queen Mother had a fish bone stuck in her throat, I heard on the news that she had to go to the hospital.  I’d immediately thought at the time, “She could’ve adapted the Chinese method by swallowing a lump of bread, which almost every Western household will have in ready supply.”  But then, she was the Queen Mother, so no simple folk remedy for her — it had to be professional help.  Most Westerners’ approach, too, I think, from what I’ve seen in my decades here.

(Singapore, 1960s)

War of attrition (Singapore)

Re-reading blog Punishing errant husbands (https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2016/06/punishing-errant-husbands-china-hong.html) has awakened the memory of what happened when I was 18.

For Oriental girls, 18 was the age to go partying — maybe 17 or 16, but not really any earlier than that out East then (the 60s).  In those days, partying meant going to someone’s house, or to a disco, and spending the evening dancing.  Some people might wander off to the corners of the garden or another room for some smooching, but no further than that.  I once found a party slightly boring about an hour into it, so I sat down on the floor against the wall, hugging one of the speakers.  Soon, a whole row of people joined me.  We spent the rest of the evening with our eyes shut, listening to Led Zeppelin and The Carpenters emanating from my lap, and had a good time.  All clean fun.

My mother, however, wasn’t so laid back about her youngest (and therefore pet) daughter coming home late.

The first time it happened, which was 10:30pm, I got home to find the lights all blazing in the living room.  (My mother went to bed at 9pm, with us children retiring to our rooms in the annexe.)  My mother was sitting upright in one of the armchairs.  A stern “Why so late?” greeted my entrance.  I said, “But, Mother, it’s only 10:30pm.”  That was accepted.

The next time, I got home at 11pm.  Mother was waiting in an armchair, “Why so late?”  “But, Mother, it’s only 11pm.”  Got away with that.

The third time, I returned at 11:30pm.  Lights all off.  Oh good.  Crept in.  A voice in the darkness, “Why so late?”  “But, Mother, it’s not midnight yet.”

The fourth time, I got home at midnight.  Gate locked.  Not a problem.  I hitched up my ankle-length, fairly close-fitting dress, and climbed up and over the gate.  The friend who’d given me a lift home, with the front of his car pointing at the gate, cheekily switched on his headlights so that the whole neighbourhood, if people were still up and happened to be looking out, could see my legs (probably even my knickers) as I climbed up, then down, the gate.

Crept into the dark living room.  No reproachful voice emerged from the depths of darkness.  My mother had given up waiting up for me to question my late return.

(Singapore, 1972)

Students’ version of Chinese: 04 (Softening tone of voice) (London)

Example 4: A beginner student doing one-to-one lessons with me back in the late 80s was taught in Lesson 1 that one way of softening the tone of voice in Chinese is to reduplicate the utterance, e.g.,

谢谢 xièxie (“thank thank” / thank you) would often be 谢谢，谢谢 (thank you, thank you);

请坐 qǐng zuò (“request sit” / please sit) would become 请坐，请坐 (sit down, sit down).

Monosyllabic utterances would normally be said three times, e.g.,

来 lái (“come” / come on) would become 来来来 (come, come, come) when, say, urging the guest to eat more food or have another drink.

The following lesson, I taught him another way of softening the tone of voice, which is to add the suggestion particle 吧 ba to a statement so that it doesn’t sound like a command, e.g.,

再来一杯 zài lái yī bēi (“further come a cup-of/glass-of” / have another one) would become 再来一杯吧 (do have another one). 

A week on, I was trying to revise material already learned, so I went over the polite exchanges used in socialising situations, one of which was to urge the other party to have another glass of alcohol, a typical hospitality scenario at Chinese parties.

The student said, “再来一杯 zài lái yī bēi”, which was correct.

I then said, “How about softening the tone of voice?” expecting him to just add the suggestion particle 吧 to the end of it.  What I got was,

再再再来来来一一一杯杯杯 

zài zài zài lái lái lái yī yī yī bēi bēi bēi

Students’ version of Chinese: 03 (London)

Example 3:  Sixteen years after Denis, and a much younger student, Daniel, aged 28 (versus Denis’s then-50), but the same hilarious — if a bit macabre — outcome nonetheless.  

    In a Listening Comprehension piece, one section in the story said, “I’m the switchboard operator.  With so many employees, I sometimes have to take over 1,000 calls a day.  Some of the callers even want to leave messages.”  The Chinese for “to leave a message” is 留言 liúyán / “leave-behind spoken-words”. 

    Daniel, as with lots of student before — and undoubtedly after — him, didn’t distinguish the tones so clearly, and ended up hearing yán (言 / “spoken-word”) as yǎn (眼 / “eyes”).  

    So Daniel’s version has these callers wanting to leave their eyes behind!  Infinitely more fun (if gruesome)!

PS:  haha, talk about hilarious outcomes!  I was typing too fast, so “tones” came out as “toes” — “didn’t distinguish the toes so clearly”.  It’s getting surreal, this!  These linguistic misses are really catching!

Students’ version of Chinese: 02 (Getting up after the elephants) (London)

Example 2: Denis sent in some homework — a translation of Chinese sentences into English.  

His version said: “He only got up after the elephants got up.”  Maybe the sentence was about a lazy zoo keeper who liked a lie-in, but the source text was a mainland Chinese publication, which — in my experience — generally didn’t rise to that plane of wackiness.  

The original sentence turned out to be: 大家起床了以后他才起床 dàjiā qǐchuáng le yǐhòu tā cái qǐchuáng / He only got up after everyone had got up.  

Denis had mis-read 大家 (dàjiā / “big family” / everyone) as 大象 (dàxiàng / “big elephant”).  

Quarter of a century on, the recollection still produces a chuckle — and will for another 25 years to come, if my memory is still intact by then.  

A much more interesting and memorable perspective than the grain production articles that a particular teacher tried to foist on her students at different places where she put students of Chinese through the mill.  (Sorry, couldn’t resist the pun — and the meow).

Oxymoronic instructions (London)

Student Ed and I spent lots of our lessons in academic year 2012/2013 reading works by famous Chinese writers.  

A common Chinese literary device is to ask a rhetorical question, then go on to provide the answer.  Or, a statement would be made about something, to be followed by an expansion on the point.  

At the beginning,  Ed would get to a point (rhetorical question, or just a statement), and immediately ask, say, “But why does she want to do that?” or “What’s the reason for that?”  I’d say to him, “You’ll find out if you read on.”  

After a few more times of this, it became: “Wait!  Move on and you’ll find out.”  

After that, it got shortened to: “Wait!  Move on!”  

Talk about oxymoronic instructions!

(London, 2013)

Overwrought imagination? (Singapore)

When I was at Raffles aged 17, I went to see a Japanese film with classmate Seok Leng.  As it was around 3 o’clock in the afternoon, we were the only 2 people in the cinema.

The story was set in mediaeval Japan. 

A powerful warlord (I think) had taken a fancy to a blind man’s sister. The warlord’s brother-in-law was worried about his sister’s position being threatened and wanted to remove the blind man. Invited blind man round for a game of Go, the black and white stone board game. 

Go (pronounced “gor”) is “圍 wei2 / to-surround” in Chinese. You win when you’ve surrounded your opponent’s stones, hence 圍.

The baddie removed one of the blind man’s stones (the blind man remembers every move in his head), then when the blind man put in the last stone for completing the surrounding, the baddie said no there’s still a stone missing. Blind man said there was meant to be a stone in that spot — the baddie said, “how dare you accuse me of cheating”, drew his sword and killed him. Dropped the body down a disused well.

The sedan chair went back to the blind man’s house empty. The sister suspected something, but being a woman she couldn’t go to the palace to find out why her brother hadn’t returned.

She went to the temple with a cat, prayed to the gods to help her find out the truth and avenge her brother, then told the cat to drink her blood and do the job for her as cats can climb over walls and enter places a young woman cannot. Then she killed herself. The cat drank her blood so her spirit entered the cat’s body.

The film then has the cat entering the palace and (after doing various things killing some people or something), the cat’s spirit then transfers to the body of the baddie’s sister. She starts to look and behave cat-like: her eyes, her sitting by the koi carp pond, sticking her hand into the water to catch the carp and eating the carp raw.

Seok Leng was getting more and more frightened, covering her eyes with her hands. Then she jumped up and said there was a cat in the cinema. I said, “What’s a cat doing in a cinema?! Your imagination is overworked!” She said she did see a cat. 

After a while, having told Seok Leng she was too wound up by the film, I saw the cat: it was weaving its way between the sections/blocks of seats, appearing in the aisle now and then, which was when Seok Leng saw it: a sort of “now you see it, now you don’t” way, teasing her.

(Singapore), 1971)