Last year around this time, I was in Monrovia, Liberia, assessing the possibility of me moving there. The assessment wasn't all negative--there were expat compounds were full of coconut trees (or "so so coconuts" as the locals would say) and huge swimming pools. The life ahead of me would have been a celebration of love. I could imagine the story I'd tell others while putting my hand around my loved one: "Yes, I crossed two continents for him, because after two years apart we realized that this was true love, and that we needed each other." We would have had a life of adventure and fun together; parties, friends, and lots of debates and soul-searching talks. We would have just about covered the world in our travels: home visits to Brazil and China, work around Africa, vacations in Europe and the US.
This year, I've finally moved. My new house is in the heart of Shanghai, just a few blocks away from the house where I spent the first 9 years of my life. I've pondered long and hard whether this whole coming-full-circle is a sign to me, and if it is, what would be the deeper meaning. Well, who knows. In any case, however, I'm determined that this house will be a celebration of many things: single-hood, elapse of youth, banality of life, and the end to a Ying who had hoped for different life.
Now the question is, who will the new Ying be?
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Thursday, December 16, 2010
What I learned about Manila
So I've spent 4 days in Manila, and made a couple of observations.
1) Manila office wins the best snacks award, hands down. In fact, I'm scared to come back now. Somebody take these mini Toblerones and wafers away, please!
2) Somebody once hypothesized that third world countries tend to have poor services because they have never enjoyed good service and therefore don't know how to provide it. Well the Philippines is either the exception that proves the theory wrong, or the exception that proves the rule, or whatever, but it is the exception. Excellent service everywhere here. Or maybe people are just really really friendly?
3) I'm a "ma'am." Nowhere else have I been reminded of this fact more frequently.
4) Food is terrible here. Nothing else to add to this point.
5) It is a dangerous, dangerous country.
Why else would they have at least one security guard next to every single door? I mean, EVERY SINGLE DOOR. Including McDonald's, Starbuck's, CPK. It's not enough to have a building security guard, for example, but every company on every single floor gets an independent security guard. I must get sniffed by 3 dogs and searched by 2 guards between the hotel entrance to my room.
6) On this last point--I think the office came with a security guard. I suspect there's an invisible chain that links him to the door. As far as I can tell he's always there at the same spot, and sleeps there on the chair.
7) Lastly-people sing a lot, even in the office.
1) Manila office wins the best snacks award, hands down. In fact, I'm scared to come back now. Somebody take these mini Toblerones and wafers away, please!
2) Somebody once hypothesized that third world countries tend to have poor services because they have never enjoyed good service and therefore don't know how to provide it. Well the Philippines is either the exception that proves the theory wrong, or the exception that proves the rule, or whatever, but it is the exception. Excellent service everywhere here. Or maybe people are just really really friendly?
3) I'm a "ma'am." Nowhere else have I been reminded of this fact more frequently.
4) Food is terrible here. Nothing else to add to this point.
5) It is a dangerous, dangerous country.
Why else would they have at least one security guard next to every single door? I mean, EVERY SINGLE DOOR. Including McDonald's, Starbuck's, CPK. It's not enough to have a building security guard, for example, but every company on every single floor gets an independent security guard. I must get sniffed by 3 dogs and searched by 2 guards between the hotel entrance to my room.
6) On this last point--I think the office came with a security guard. I suspect there's an invisible chain that links him to the door. As far as I can tell he's always there at the same spot, and sleeps there on the chair.
7) Lastly-people sing a lot, even in the office.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sendai
After having been to several cities/towns outside of Tokyo, I've come to the realization that just about anywhere else in Japan is nicer than Tokyo. Sendai, for example, is a beautiful historic city 2-hours away from Tokyo by bullet train, with a much smaller population (ONLY 1 million), and a friendly, laid-back feel to it.
We went there on April 17, planning to see the cherry blossoms there, which are supposed to bloom later than Tokyo because of the colder climate. Well, it just so happened that Japan went back to winter-time that particular weekend, possibly because of the volcanic eruption in Iceland, and instead of a rain of cherry blossom petals, it was real snow that snowed on us. We shivered as we walked, and the cold definitely tarnished the experience at Matsushima, which was unfortunate because it was easy to see how beautiful the place must normally be.
What struck me the most, however, was how much warmer people are. In Sendai, a man saw that we were struggling with a map, and approached us to offer help. Never would have happened in Tokyo! At the magnificent, newly-restored Osaki Hachiman Shrine, which was designated a national treasure, we met a friendly and enthusiastic curator, who not only happily blabbed on about the shrine, but also gave us free gifts as we were leaving the shrine. And we never even had to pay an entrance fee! Although residents in Tokyo are very polite, they do not exude friendliness. It's a different story here.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Pole Dance in Tokyo
Last October I was on a study with a very tight timeline. I was working 12 hours on weekends and 18 hours on weekdays. On Sunday, Oct. 25, I was working away in the team room. I tried to resist the urge, but finally gave in after half an hour and told my teammates I had to go to this event. The event was my studio's recital. This video is the very end--or one should say, the climax--of the recital. The 4 instructors put together a jaw-dropping, adrenaline-flowing routine that left my heart pounding as I slunk back to the team room to finish my work.
I will miss the pole dancing in Tokyo. After seeing the pole dance lessons in Singapore and Shanghai, I was glad that I learned pole dancing in Tokyo, despite the vastly higher tuition. The instructors are serious about teaching the students the sport. While in other places instructors teach their students like they expect you to be a mistress trying to please your "boss" (i.e., they teach you to stand around the pole and look pretty), here the instructors teach you like they expect you to be next next pole dancer putting on a large show. You will get personalized attention, learn to do the tricks well, and advance to learn all the hard tricks.
There's also a much more bustling pole dance scene. I can find shows every week, and not just at the skanky places. And the dancers are indeed, dancers, not strippers. The dancers I know are livng in it (teaching it, showing it) because they are passionate about the dance. I respect them tremendously.
So if you're ever in Tokyo, try to take a pole dance class here. You'll have fun.
I will miss the pole dancing in Tokyo. After seeing the pole dance lessons in Singapore and Shanghai, I was glad that I learned pole dancing in Tokyo, despite the vastly higher tuition. The instructors are serious about teaching the students the sport. While in other places instructors teach their students like they expect you to be a mistress trying to please your "boss" (i.e., they teach you to stand around the pole and look pretty), here the instructors teach you like they expect you to be next next pole dancer putting on a large show. You will get personalized attention, learn to do the tricks well, and advance to learn all the hard tricks.
There's also a much more bustling pole dance scene. I can find shows every week, and not just at the skanky places. And the dancers are indeed, dancers, not strippers. The dancers I know are livng in it (teaching it, showing it) because they are passionate about the dance. I respect them tremendously.
So if you're ever in Tokyo, try to take a pole dance class here. You'll have fun.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Goodbye, Robertsport
I spent my last weekend in Liberia at Robertsport. It was a magical weekend that I’ll remember for a long time to come.
We left Liberia around noon. Despite the impending departure, I was in a very high spirit, and played a dance playlist in Alex’s car, the two of us laughing and dancing, much to the chagrin of our passenger in the backseat, who was trying to sleep. She was dismayed by “a rave on a Saturday morning.”Although the early onset of the rainy season had been inconvenient, it also brought out the lushness of the “bushes.” The road to Robertsport, which by now had grown very familiar to me, looked strangely beautiful and lively. The crowded, colorful Duala market where vendors sell their goods out of jars under billboard signs against rape; the congested single lane road where cars might stop in the middle at any time; the green forests dotted with tall coconut trees full of unpicked coconuts; the occasional wreckages on the windy, undulating road; the stretch of water lily pond where you might or might not get to admire the beauty of the water lilies depending on the time of the day you’re there; the small crowd of people gathered under the bridge in the narrow river doing their laundry, bathing, washing, and frolicking; the old, yellow taxis that dart in and out of the tiny villages along the road, every time slowing the traffic as they slowly gear up or down; the “best dirt road in Liberia” where trees on both sides are died red from the dust storm kicked up by every passing car; the lone foot-travelers who appear every now and then with buckets, trays, and whatever else they may be holding on their heads; the trucks that are weighted down by overloaded cargo and people either standing on the top or in the back, hanging on for dear life. These are the mental images that have been engraved along with the physical memory of the cars going too fast over speed bumps that are impossible to see until the car is too close.
When the view of the beach finally popped into view, we were singing “Start wearing purple” as we sometimes do. We checked into tent number 10, the one right under the huge mango tree. I was excited to see that the mangos are finally getting larger, but still sadly green and very firmly so. I was sad to think that I would not see the day they ripen.
The water was the most calm I had seen. The waves were pleasant splashes, unlike some previous days, when the waves were violent and would throw me all the way back to the beach, reaching out my limps to regain my balance as if an overturned turtle. No rips current either—I could safely stand and hop around. I was emboldened and went further out and spent more time alone. The water felt warm and refreshing on such a hot, stuffy day. I kept on waving my arms and legs under the water to admire the light pattern the sun and the ultra clear water were making on my skin. I’ll always remember that it was in Liberia that I learned to play in the ocean.
We started the champagne and partying around sunset, which was beautiful, but no more so than the other beautiful sunsets that one gets here. Dinner included lobster, and was good but not especially so. Still, dinner at Nana’s Lodge has a kind of signature taste that’ll be hard to forget. All the wine and heat made me sleepy, so I went for a nap right on the beach, just on the sharp ridge where the beach slants down into the water. The sound of lapping waves, the ocean breeze, and the dark, starry night sky felt soothing.
Later, though, the clouds rolled in, and pelts of rain started unexpectedly, making everyone scramble for cover, grabbing their chairs, glasses, and bottle of whatever—wine, beer, vodka. Within minutes the lightning show started and went on for hours. If I were a Romantic poet, I wouldn’t written a poem, as it was one of the most sublime experiences I had had.
But there was more. I followed Paul and Anthony to the water. Out on the beach, the spectacular lighting show felt more like a seizure-inducing Japanese anime show. In the warm water, green fluorescents were everywhere. I kept waving my arms to see them, and never in my life had I felt so at one with nature. The national anthems we sang afterward, and the all-night storm that kept the tent cool but loud gave the whole night a gentle descend from that spiritual high. It was a perform storm.
We left Liberia around noon. Despite the impending departure, I was in a very high spirit, and played a dance playlist in Alex’s car, the two of us laughing and dancing, much to the chagrin of our passenger in the backseat, who was trying to sleep. She was dismayed by “a rave on a Saturday morning.”Although the early onset of the rainy season had been inconvenient, it also brought out the lushness of the “bushes.” The road to Robertsport, which by now had grown very familiar to me, looked strangely beautiful and lively. The crowded, colorful Duala market where vendors sell their goods out of jars under billboard signs against rape; the congested single lane road where cars might stop in the middle at any time; the green forests dotted with tall coconut trees full of unpicked coconuts; the occasional wreckages on the windy, undulating road; the stretch of water lily pond where you might or might not get to admire the beauty of the water lilies depending on the time of the day you’re there; the small crowd of people gathered under the bridge in the narrow river doing their laundry, bathing, washing, and frolicking; the old, yellow taxis that dart in and out of the tiny villages along the road, every time slowing the traffic as they slowly gear up or down; the “best dirt road in Liberia” where trees on both sides are died red from the dust storm kicked up by every passing car; the lone foot-travelers who appear every now and then with buckets, trays, and whatever else they may be holding on their heads; the trucks that are weighted down by overloaded cargo and people either standing on the top or in the back, hanging on for dear life. These are the mental images that have been engraved along with the physical memory of the cars going too fast over speed bumps that are impossible to see until the car is too close.
When the view of the beach finally popped into view, we were singing “Start wearing purple” as we sometimes do. We checked into tent number 10, the one right under the huge mango tree. I was excited to see that the mangos are finally getting larger, but still sadly green and very firmly so. I was sad to think that I would not see the day they ripen.
The water was the most calm I had seen. The waves were pleasant splashes, unlike some previous days, when the waves were violent and would throw me all the way back to the beach, reaching out my limps to regain my balance as if an overturned turtle. No rips current either—I could safely stand and hop around. I was emboldened and went further out and spent more time alone. The water felt warm and refreshing on such a hot, stuffy day. I kept on waving my arms and legs under the water to admire the light pattern the sun and the ultra clear water were making on my skin. I’ll always remember that it was in Liberia that I learned to play in the ocean.
We started the champagne and partying around sunset, which was beautiful, but no more so than the other beautiful sunsets that one gets here. Dinner included lobster, and was good but not especially so. Still, dinner at Nana’s Lodge has a kind of signature taste that’ll be hard to forget. All the wine and heat made me sleepy, so I went for a nap right on the beach, just on the sharp ridge where the beach slants down into the water. The sound of lapping waves, the ocean breeze, and the dark, starry night sky felt soothing.
Later, though, the clouds rolled in, and pelts of rain started unexpectedly, making everyone scramble for cover, grabbing their chairs, glasses, and bottle of whatever—wine, beer, vodka. Within minutes the lightning show started and went on for hours. If I were a Romantic poet, I wouldn’t written a poem, as it was one of the most sublime experiences I had had.
But there was more. I followed Paul and Anthony to the water. Out on the beach, the spectacular lighting show felt more like a seizure-inducing Japanese anime show. In the warm water, green fluorescents were everywhere. I kept waving my arms to see them, and never in my life had I felt so at one with nature. The national anthems we sang afterward, and the all-night storm that kept the tent cool but loud gave the whole night a gentle descend from that spiritual high. It was a perform storm.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Coconuts, pineapples, grapefruits, bananas, watermelons, and...wait, what's this fruit here?
Liberia is fruit heaven. The country is full of coconut trees that are heavy with coconuts that nobody seem interested in. Mango trees line the streets, and I've been tortured by the sight of slow-growing green mangos. Patience, I kept on telling myself. Well, it didn't pay off. Now that the mangos are finally rippening, I'm about to leave!
The fruits here are certainly no lookers. The grapefruits, for example, are green with ugly, black scars, and most are not even round. Once open, however, they reveal a sweet juicy inside that contradicts their exterior. And don't wait for the bananas here to turn yellow--they will ripen and rot away in their deceiving green skin.And every now and then I'd find some strange unidentifiable fruits. "What's that?" I asked. The kids said, "Apple." I stared at them and sought clarification. "Apple? But the apples I know look totally different!" Then the kids added, "These are monkey apples." I tried a piece. Apples they surely are not. These fruits should be sued for false advertisement. They're sweet, but give off no juice or flesh. I felt like a sucker, because sucking was the only thing I could do with the fruit.
Well, I felt like a sucker again today. I bought four of these little fruits. The street vendor assured me that they're sweet. I later realized I asked the wrong question. I should've asked if they're meaty. Just like monkey apples, these are for sucking only. I didn't bother to ask for its name.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Chimpanzee island
On Sunday I made it outside of Monrovia to an island on which a bunch of pre-war lab chimpanzees were kept. The scenic fishing village and cute kids were pleasant unexpected extras.
We started the day by stopping at a surreal luxury resort in Liberia, Kendeja,
which just opened last year. The poolside buffet was plentiful and delicious, and I got to have an appropriate brunch drink, Amaretto and orange juice. In line with many other restaurants and grocery stores in town, however, the price was exorbitant ($25 USD, plus $10 for a shot of amaretto!), keeping in mind that a driver who works 6 days a week earns about $130 a month. Well，still a better value than a $5.50 can of Campbell soup, I guess.Our 11-member gang then drove for an hour on a dirt road, at the end of which was a village serene and beautiful, but also a stark contrast to the 5-star luxury from which we departed. Kids in tattered clothes rushed out of the closely-built, small, squalid huts to greet us, each demanding to have a photo taken. Once the pics have been taken, they'd rush over and fight over themselves to see their own pictures on the tiny camera screens. While most of the group partied on with these adorable kids, one of us negotiated with the locals to arrange a boat ride.
We sat on one of the two largest boats and headed off. A smooth, relaxing, 20-min boat ride later, we were there. From the distance, we saw a large, black chimp sitting there at the edge of the island as if he was keeping watch. He rocked back and forth for a few seconds upon seeing us--I was told that's a sign of anxiety, and then walked towards the port where boats anchor.
The chimp island is a legacy of the pre-war Liberia Institute of Biomedical Research, a once-world-renowned lab where the vaccine for hepatitis B was developed. When chimp research was discontinued, the chimps were taken to three small islands, where they have lived till this day.
We threw some bananas at the chimps, and they ate them. They shared them. They asked for more of them. It was the first time I had seen chimps outside a zoo setting, where I could see them directly interacting with people. I was impressed.
When I got back to the fishing village, however, I got a good talking-to by a fisherman who was mending a net: "Why don't you people ever come to see us? Aren't we interesting? Why don't you come talk to us, and give us some money? Don't you know that we have nothing?"
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