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)

The bus that goes nowhere (Taipei)

Old friend Simon from SOAS (School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London) days went travelling in the East after he graduated.  Those were the days when people would take off and travel around the world, then come back and start looking for a job.

I’d asked him to look up my old friend Daniel when he got to Taipei.  Simon got on the bus to Daniel’s place — very brave for an Englishman with no Chinese. 

The bus in question is visually presented on the front as 0 南 and 0 北, said aloud as líng nán (“zero south”) and líng běi (“zero north”).  The 0 is not zero but represents a circular route, rather like the Circle line on London’s Tube, with the “north” and “south” indicating the direction: clockwise or anti-clockwise.

When he got back and told me about it, Simon said he thought it was “the bus that goes nowhere”.  

I had visions of this non-Chinese-speaking foreigner getting on, happily letting the bus that was going nowhere take him to nowhere.  Haha.

Can this count as sort of Kafkaesque?

Googling produces this:  

Quote 

…the word Kafkaesque is often applied to bizarre and impersonal administrative situations where the individual feels powerless to understand or control what is happening.  

Unquote

(Taipei, 1980/1)

Coincidence? (London/Singapore)

When my mother first broke her hip, sitting down too heavily on the sofa (probably misjudging the distance), I couldn’t go over immediately to visit her because I then had a bad fall myself, breaking two fingers.  

By the time my fingers had healed sufficiently, she was heading for the end, so my brother-in-law (who’d been handling her affairs) said to get over there as soon as possible.  

In the meantime, they’d asked the doctor to give her an injection to keep her going until all the three children abroad could get home in time.

I emailed my brother-in-law with details of my progress every step of the way, so that he could tell my mother and give her something to look forward to.  (I’m the youngest and her pet.)

"Going out to buy my air ticket today."

Next:

"Bought ticket now."

Then:

"Flight is leaving London on xx day at yy time, arriving Singapore aa day and bb time."

My flight out took off at 9am London time.  Singapore time = London +8 hours in winter, therefore 5pm SG time.  That was the time my mother died.

I don’t think it was a coincidence.  I believe she’d been hanging on, waiting until I was definitely on the plane.

(London / Singapore, 2016)

Polyglot punning (London)

January is mega-stress month because it’s tax return deadline month.  Every year, a crisis of some form will present itself, related to my efforts to file in time — or incur £100/day in penalty.  No exception this year, of course.

Anyway, when it was finally achieved, I texted Cecilia (a Malaysian Chinese student friend) to say I’d done it, and was going out to the garden to do some weeding to celebrate.  (I mentioned weeding 拔草 bá cǎo / “pull-up/-out grass” to her only because she’s a retired dentist, so it’d be good vocabulary for her to know, as 拔牙 bá yá = “pull-out tooth”.)

Cecilia:  Make sure you pull the weeds, not your hair!

Me:  沒有頭髮可拔了 / 没有头发可拔了 / méiyǒu tóufà kě bá le / “not have head hair can pull anymore”

Cecilia:  Ha ha, 可拔了 [kě bá le] in Malay (kepala) means head!

Triple language punning!  哇，太神了 wa, tài shén le / wow, amazing.  

With students like that, I’ll be out of work soon...

(London, 2023)

Read also my blog on kepala and spoonerism:  

https://piccola-chinita.blogspot.com/2011/07/spoonerism-kepala-and-kelapa.html

Pre-death phenomena (China)

Further to the story about what my mother said she saw before her death, here’s one by an ex-colleague from mainland China about her father’s last moments.  

Her mother and sister had been staying in the ward during her father’s illness.  

This is common practice out East, with family sleeping on a mattress on the floor beside the patient’s bed.  Comforting for the patient to have family with them round the clock, but it also takes some of the workload off the hospital staff.

Her father’s ward was the second last one down the corridor.  The last ward was empty.  

On the night her father died, out of nowhere a thunderstorm blew up, with thunder and lightning.  The lights and TV in the empty ward next door suddenly came on.  The nurse said to my colleague’s mother and sister, “大鬼来带小鬼了 / dà guǐ lái dài xiǎo guǐ le / The big ghosts have come to lead the small ghost.”  

When the father died, the thunderstorm stopped, and the lights and TV in the empty ward next door went off.

(China, 2008?)