Into the World:
The Random Thoughts in My Mind

My Malaysian Chinese girlfriend frequently speak of how pushy her parents can be.  Not only run errands for the house, force her to go to university to study what they dictate, and compel her to help out with the family business on a more permanent basis.  She tells me that she just want to get away from her family and move far far away to become independent  just like what I am currently doing by living and working in Malaysia.  While such complaints are common among Asians growing up in the West with its strong individualistic values, it is rather interesting to observe similar mentality in collectivist Asia .

A previous post commented on the seemingly constant presence of inter-racial tension in Malaysia , where nearly equal numbers of Malays, Chinese, and Indians jostle for economic and political positions as they co-developed within the same, yet divided society for generations.  However, that post was written with the assumption that each of the three races mentioned tend to look and act as a unified bloc, with individuals that place their own racial identity above anything else as they strive to move upward in the social ladder of the complex multicultural society.

“See, sometimes foreigners just do not ‘get’ Korean music.  They just don’t seem to understand it!”  As an avid follower of Korean pop music that has been all the rage across Asia in the past decade , I still frequently hear about such genuine anxieties in heated discussions with those with keen interest in continued global expansion of K-pop across the world.  They see a clear “glass ceiling” for just how much Korean pop music, and Asian pop music in general, to expand beyond Asia .

Occasionally (perhaps a little misleadingly) abbreviated as “the Eid” and better known as the “Hari Raya” to Muslims in Southeast Asia, the three-day festival marking the Islamic fasting month of Ramadan, is a time of, as much as it is possible in the Islamic world, gaudy commercialism.  With a four-day weekend, many jump on long-distance buses and reunite with their families in their hometowns and celebrate the end of fasting with a big family feast and many exchanges of gifts.

Language acquisition is about immersion in an environment where people constantly use common vocabulary from that particular language...yet, being in Thailand for little more than a day, and your foreign male tourist literally manage to pick up one single word...not "goodbye," not "hello," and not even "thank you" (tried and failed on that one).  Instead, it is a word that even short-term foreign expats in Thailand manage to pop into their conversation...in English.  The keyword of the day was "farang," a term for Caucasians derived (supposedly) from Arabic transliteration of "Franks."

The prominent-looking bar/club on a busy side-street of Bukit Bintang, the premier inner-city shopping district in Kuala Lumpur, has a colorful sign perched on top of it, looming large over the skyline of the narrow street crammed with hawker stands and attracting attention from all passersby.  The sign prominently features young East Asian songstresses clad in miniskirt, skimpy tank-top uniforms, making the usual suggestive poses, in a way largely ( or perhaps not at all ) inappropriate for the conservative culture of this Muslim country.

Living in Malaysia , a purported Islamic state where Islam is clearly defined as the state religion within its constitution, one is often left to wonder just what really an “Islamic state” really means in the Malaysian context.  From the alcohol sold everywhere to the ever-so-subliminally sexual K-pop being blasted everywhere, to the clear Westernization in all aspects of life from fashion to food, the country simply has very little in common with the imagination of non-Muslims when it comes to the words “Islamic society.”

Having a quick chat with my Iranian landlord regarding the tripartite racial divisions here in Malaysia , he remarked that the Malays and Indians here are much more welcoming of foreigners and all around more open, warm, and friendly than the ethnic Chinese here.  Two weeks into my life here at Kuala Lumpur, and despite being ethnic Chinese myself, I am becoming more and more inclined to agree with him (and many other foreign expats I come across at work) that this notion is indeed true.  The Chinese here really are less friendly than the other two races.

"So, do you get paid in Ringgits or Euros?" a coworker casually asked over a quick lunch at the local hawker stand outside the office building.  The nonchalant air he tried to project as he suddenly blurted out the question betray a damning curiosity that is nothing but nonchalant.  Indirectly, he just spoke volumes about the internal division within the company: the difference between foreigners and locals working in the German company here in the remote corner of Kuala Lumpur is not simply a matter of skin color and national origin, it is a matter of financial status that could have deep ramifications.

"Multicultural Asia," for someone who has never been outside East Asia, is largely an oxymoron and impossibility.  Even the most cultural diverse in the region, China, has no real diversity to speak off.  Minorities languish in the political, economic, and obviously demographic dominance of the Han Chinese, who has made assimilation an ultimate goal in creating a stable society.  And then, an East Asian who shows up to Malaysia is simply dazzled, amazed by how the Malays, the Chinese, and the Indians have together carved out a truly multiethnic country where no one is more foreign than the other.

While the overseas Chinese sites and commentators have been abuzz with videos, pictures, and stories remembering that fateful day 23 years ago, there was an eerie silence on the Chinese blogosphere, punctuated by short bursts of coded messages with indirect references.  Most of them disappear from cyberspace in matter of minutes, thanks to extra-diligent monitoring by relevant personnel at the various mainland-based social networking sites, but the few that avoid their meticulous reviews of new contents then go on to ignite a viral round of coded reply before the whole thread disappears.

Perhaps in no democracies in the traditionally labelled liberal, developed West is there such a huge schism in social issues as people see in the United States of America.  Even in local city elections of supposed "progressive" urban parts of California, there are plenty of incidents where right-wing candidates passionately declare their intentions to "boldly stand up for Christ" if elected.  While plenty of atheists with a "live and let live" attitude toward individual behaviors exist, equal numbers among the citizenry feels the urgent need to halt America's "moral decline."

In many ways, the ongoing political confrontation with regard to the blind human rights activist Mr Chen Guangcheng is nothing new. Mr Chen, who has seen his fate tossed about by behind-the-door negotiations between Chinese and American diplomat since his daring escape to the US Embassy from years-long house arrest in his rural hometown in Shandong Province, seems to be just another figure that portrays the damning and ever-so-embarrassing situation of human rights violation in China.  Yet, scratch below the surface of all the usual opinions and a new picture seems to emerge.

Three non-black guys, happily tipsy but fully conscious, causally strolled into a second-floor dance club on the premier tourist strip of the Gambian coast.  The place was jam-packed with locals and the DJ was blaring a beautiful mix of African and American hip-hop.  Before the three guys can get a full look of their immediate surroundings, they all felt female bodies being heavily and intentionally brushing against theirs in a rhythmic up-and-down movement.  Surprised and with female scents aggressively invading their otherwise inebriated nostrils, they come face to face with African beauties lying in their arms...

Walking down any dusty, unpaved road in any small town in Gambia, a foreign tourist is bound to be chatted up by a local within a matter of seconds.  "Hello, you alright?" blurts out the local, typically a young man in his late twenties, just casually strolling down the street in a T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and flip-flops.  As the tourist takes this to be a casual greeting and responds with a polite "I am fine, how are you?" a seemingly genuine friendly smile appears on the youngster's face and the conversation continues to the standard questions about the tourists' national origins and motivations for coming to the Gambia.

The use of foreign languages in a particular country often shows the status of that language in the foreign country.  For instance, English, as the global lingua franca, is heard in most places around the world.  Rich countries, with their rich tourist crowds, usually get the benefit of locals attempting to speak their native tongues.  So it caught me as a rather interesting surprise when I overheard local Spaniards using their broken Chinese, rather than Japanese (as it is usual) to the Asians walking down the street.

A fellow traveler staying at the youth hotel on the hills of old Lyon made an interesting remark. “The French does not discriminate against people of different color or background, but they do openly discriminate against people who do not speak French.” While the first part could be considered an understatement given the frequent news of ethno-social divisions in the country, the second, by all means, is generally an accurate state in daily life.

In an average quiet residential neighborhood of west London, a little building just like any other around it had a massive national flag of Gambia flying from its second floor. A little plaque at the front door denoted it as the "Gambian High Commission in London," as anyone who did not deliberately came looking for the place surely would have been very much confused as to why there would be such a big flag flying in a random neighborhood of the metropolis without any other diplomatic presence.

Being in any university, one has to encounter at least well-organized ethnic society on campus. From the Russian to the Australian, from the Portuguese to the Argentinian, these tight-knit clubs are seem to definitely offer one thing: a home away from home for the students of that particular ethnicity or nationality in the university, maintaining regular contacts with fellow countrymen bolstered with the language, cuisine, and occasional small chats about TV shows and celebrities from back home.

Two Chinese grad students from LSE walked into a half-empty Chinese restaurant in the middle of the equally empty London Chinatown, looking for a quick late-night meal over a casual conversation in Chinese. The restaurant has about two dozen big round tables in a bright-lit atmosphere. Three or four groups of white people were having loud conversations in English over their meals and a few drinks. The two LSE students, seemingly the only Chinese customers at that time, were shooed by the waiters speaking heavily accented English to a small square table in the poorly lit back corner of the dining, skipping past many better tables closer to the entrance. Perhaps less than a couple of minutes after sitting down, the Chinese were immediately compelled to place their orders for food and drinks. After the food arrived, the staff of the restaurant came to check on our "progress" many times, and as soon as we were done, our table was cleaned and complimentary desserts presented.