Start of the Healing

 

The year is coming to an end and so, I thought I would try and write about a few reflections. At the time of writing, things on the geopolitical stage look pretty awful. America has just put back its most erratic an incompetent president into power. The genocide in the Middle East looks set to intensify and there seems to be no end in sight for the war in Ukraine. The world, it seems is turning to s***.

Still, life has carried on and as always, I manage to find an optimistic side to things. For the first time in 13-years, I am single again. My 13-year marriage to Huong, that determined and focused Vietnamese girl, ended in March of this year. We’re still friendly and I’m glad to announce that she’s since remarried and seems settled in the USA. Ironically, she’s found happiness in Washington State, the place where my stepfather Lee and his family live.

When I told Kiddo that I had officially ended things with her Mum, she asked if I’d still be her dad. The answer remains yes but she’s now an adult and this experiment with parenthood goes into a different phase of letting your kid find her own way and respecting it no matter how much you may disagree with the choices she makes.

Sold our home in July. There’s nothing like seeing the physical emptying of the house you once shared for the message that “It’s Over” to really sink in.

 

 

I do miss her. She remains by far and away the best looking and most focused of the women to touch my life. I got to see the “real” Vietnam, thanks to visits to her Home Town and more importantly, she brought Kiddo into my life.

The pain of divorce was cushioned by the fact that I had fallen for someone else quite deeply – as in the, I’ll my body in harms way for you type of love. It was kind of unexpected but it happened and I’m glad it did. It was like I gave her a portion of my life force and whenever I was around her, I felt that the world was mine to conquer.

Unfortunately, things are not meant to be. In a rare moment of vulnerability, she revealed that I am a cause of pain to her and since my presence in her life is painful for her, I shall remain outside and away from her existence.

I am, as the Americans say “Playing the field.” The main person in my life is a nice girl, who seems to want to make life better. She admits that she realizes she’s “not my type” and given that my mother has described “my type” as “sh****” it’s probably a good thing and I could get used to being around someone who is genuinely, in the words of my youngest brother “shockingly normal.”

So, amidst all these developments in my personal life, I work on pampering myself a little. Exercise remains a fact of life and occasionally I get my head shaved by a professional and on the odd occasion, there’s afacial treatment to get my 50-year-old self looking presentable.

 

 The family I was born into, remains a source of strength. Mum organized a family trip in Malaysia for the event. It was good to see the family. We’re all growing older we remain as close as ever.

 

 

 

Professionally, I remain in the insolvency trade. Never saw myself in anything resembling legal or accounting but I remain here, celebrating a decade with the same employer. I have gone from the guy who couldn’t hold down a job to a guy who has been in the same job in the same place for a decade. I enjoy the fact that I remain “unqualified” in an industry where everyone is obsessed with paper qualifications.

I have no idea what the next year will bring. I’ve heard from two sources that the fortune tellers tell me that I shall soon be approaching the decade where I make my fortune. I can’t verify any of this but I will do my best to be as decent a person as I can be, even if the world goes to the dogs.

The White Lions

 https://www.sunway.city/kualalumpur/the-white-lion-kingdom/

I had a late night with the Loveable Pillow, who took me to see “Mufasa the Lion King,” in a luxury Cinema in Johor Bharu last night. The story of Mufasa is the prequel to Disney’s “Lion King” and tells the story on Mufasa, the father of the proverbial Lion King.

While Disney may not have intended it, the release of the movie in Asia close to Christmas proved to be highly significant. Let’s face it we are celebrating the birth of someone who became the first real champion of Outcast or “God from the Gutter.” Read the gospels and you’ll notice that Jesus is constantly having a go at the established characters like the scribes and the pharisees and speaking up for the outcast like the whores and tax collectors.

The story of Mufasa has a similar theme. The central character, Mufasa gets lost from his parents and ends up getting adopted by another pride. The theme of “outsiders” becomes very prominent from this moment. The King Obasi, the leader of the pride he adopted into, has rules against outsiders, stating that dilutes the background and so on and so on. However, his Queen, Eshee, speaks up for Mufasa who is finally adopted into the pride but on condition that he hangs out with the females, which is a “snub,” a sort of we’ll let you stay but you do the s*** work. King Obasi tells his son, Taka to follow his lead and exude power – which is to sleep.

Then, there’s the moment of truth, when Queen Eshee is attacked by the villainous White Lions, who are bigger and meaner than the average lion (in the movie – bears not biological evidence), her own flesh and blood son hides and trembles whilst his mother is attacked. It is Mufasa, the cub she adopted who fights with her, effectively rescuing her. It is Mufasa who has the skills and the brains to know that the White Lions are coming for the pride.

So, how is it such that the “stray” functions so much better than the heir? Well, it starts out with the fact that he was sent to be with the females. It’s supposed to be a “snub,” a way of saying he should be grateful that they’re letting him live provided he does all the “s***” or in this case “female” work. However, in a Lion Pride, it’s the females who do the hunting. They are the ones who bring home the food. So, whilst their work is deemed “lowly,” they’re doing something essential for the survival of the pride. Mufasa learns to hunt from his adopted mother and he learns the necessary skills for survival. So, by the time Mufasa and Taka are told to flee the pride, its Mufasa who takes the lead because he’s the one who’s had to go out and do things. Taka, who later becomes Scar, snivels away and expects things to happen for him, because, well, he was destined to be a prince who exudes power by sleeping.

Think about how many times we’ve snubbed someone because of their job but had problems the moment they stopped doing their job. Think of Communist societies where the top guy is known as the “General Secretary.” Ironically, this job was considered unimportant, which is why Stalin first got the job. It was Lenin’s way of trying to push him into obscurity. However, whilst everyone was looked elsewhere, it was the General Secretary who was appointing his people to every lever of power in the party and government.

The other characters are also “outcast” so to speak. Rafiki, the “wise mandril” is an exile from his tribe because they think he brings them bad luck, even though he actually gets it right when he predicts danger.

So, the lesson is clear, the things you consider “virtues” may not necessarily be so. Taka has “blood” relations with this family but flees at the first sign of trouble. Mufasa the stray, fights with the pride that adopted him.

Then, there’s the lesson of never snubbing people based on their profession. Mufasa sent to hunt with the females, is the one with the skills needed to survive. When push comes to shove, he’s the one with the ability to get thing done.

Ironically there’s a flip side to this in the shape of the villainous White Lions, who are cruel and incidentally more powerful than the average lion. It turns out that the white lion pride is not an organic pride but a collection of exiles from prides who exiled them for looking different. Being rejected by the ones supposed to be on their side gives them a sense of vengeance.

Think about the calls for mass deportation from Western countries and bans on Muslims. Yet the truth is rather different. First generation migrants are funnily enough the ones who are the most loyal citizens. They’re grateful to be far away from wherever they came from originally. The problem is not the migrants but the second generation. Think of the guys who bombed London on 7 July 2005. They were people born and bred in the UK.

The lesson here is very clear. Welcoming people and treating them with dignity works. Alienating people who look different gives them a reason to want to harm you.

Mufasa should be made compulsory viewing for kids in elite schools. The messaging on leadership is clear and people born into privilege need to get the message as early as possible that they need to understand that warmth and kindness are not weaknesses but the essence of good leadership.

The Art of Kissing Up

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Bananas, Apples and Coconuts

 

My mother takes a certain sense of pride in the fact that all her children are “Bananas.” We are “Yellow on the outside but white on the inside.”

I never really liked this phrase as I grew up. As I grew up in WASP country (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant) country, I went to great pains to show that I was not one of them. I only maintained a smattering of Cantonese dialect because it was the one thing that made me different from all my school friends. I actually dreamt that I would be able to be in a position where I would only wear a “Mandarin Collar” in public.

Although growing up a “WOG” (Western Oriental Gentleman) has given me a lot of advantages (speaking with the right accent helps when you have to deal with British or American immigration), I’ve always felt and still feel that there’s something lacking in me. I never wanted to be part of the clubs of colonial masters. I wanted to be the rickshaw boy who was secretly a member of the Boxer Rebellion. I wanted to be small Oriental guy in black pajamas who sent the GI’s packing. Up till this day, I maintain the position that the only good colonial is six feet under and the only thing better than a colonial master six foot under, is the act of putting him there yourself.

Whilst I sign my name as “Li Tang,” rather than my birthname of “Tang Li” (Deng Li if you use Pinyin), I only do so because I was living in a society where I was “Li Tang,” a fact that it took me a while to accept. I remember my mum telling me it was better to be flexible than to constantly correct people over my name. I’ve been told that the “Colonial Legacy” has gifted me what I do for a living, to which I’m still curious as to why that should make me grateful for that legacy.

Having said that, I’ve now reached the age that although I may have wanted to be the “stereotype” Chinaman, my mother is right. While I am Chinese and my name is Tang Li, there’s actually very little else that’s Chinese about me. I grew up speaking English. It was the language of the home, school and now work place. To compound that, the only other language where I am vaguely literate in, is German. My American and German families are White and some of my best mates are WASP (OK, a lot of Welsh too).

The only thing that disqualifies me from being a “Banana” is the fact that the people I’ve had most affinity with, have inevitably been from South Asia or Arabia. I can pick up a few words of Hindi here and there from watching Bollywood but the only Hokkien I’ve picked up in over twenty-years of living in Singapore are the curse words. I am very comfortable in Hindi music lounges and greeting “Namaste” or “Salaam.”

I recount all of these emotions growing up as an Oriental kid in the West because there is a lot of talk about “Best of both worlds, mixing East and West” and so on. Ironically, it was my “White” friends in the UK, who encouraged me to maintain what little Chinese language skills I had because it was my advantage – both “Eastern” and “Western.”

Well, I get the logic. I look Chinese and speak English like a native. However, at this point of Middle Age, I think talk about being both “East and West,” is more wishful thinking. One is either Eastern or Western. I have to be honest here, I moved back to Singapore because I believed that the action would be in Asia-Pacific rather than in the West. Statistically, I am right. However, culturally, I would have to make a lot of psychological adjustments to operate outside of the Westernised bases of Singapore and Hong Kong (though Kiddo tells me I should learn Vietnamese and spend my final years there).

Incidentally, everything I’ve said here doesn’t make me particularly unique. I’m not the only “Banana” around nor is the Oriental Community the only one with fruit. In the USA, the “Native Americans” have “Apples,” (Red on the outside and white on the inside). The UK recently made history by having its first “Coconut” (Brown on the outside but white on the inside) Prime Minister.

So, like all sorts of fruit around the world, I have certain hang ups about straddling the world of my complexion and the world of my cultural make up. However, its not an impossible task. In fact, its an essential task.

I spent my birthday at the “Cheong Tze Fatt – Blue Mansion,” in Penang Malaysia. The original Mr. Cheong was a giant in this part of the world He was born in China and made his fortune trading commodities, amongst other things in this part of the world. When he died in Batavia and they transported his body back to China via Singapore, Penang and Hong Kong, the Dutch and British Authorities saw to it that flags were flown at half-mast.

 

 How did someone who was known as the “Last Mandarin” and actually served the Imperial Government gain so much respect from the Western Colonial Authorities?

Whilst Mr. Cheong was inevitably as Chinese as you can get (admittedly the rest of us don’t think of the Hakka as such), he was able to straddle and operate in both worlds. He never swayed from his cultural roots (The man had more than one wife, which was perfectly acceptable back then), he saw the good things about the Western world.

Mr. Cheong did a lot of social work and kept a lot of Chinese people employed. Hence, he alleviated suffering, which could easily have been turned on the colonial administrators. He employed the best of Western technologies too. His house is an example of that. It’s built to the best of Fung Shui Principles but at the same time, used metal work from the UK.

 

 So, yes, for fruit like me, you’re inevitably going to feel more than Easter or Western. However, the world is such that you’re going to need to be able to operate in as many worlds as possible. To do that, you need to recognize the best that both worlds offer and use them to your advantage. Don’t be linguistically chauvinistic. Whenever I hear ABC’s tell you “I’m an American,” when you speak an Oriental language, I’m inevitably inclined to ask “Are you too stupid to speak something other than English?” Reality is, knowing Mandarin or anything else is going to be a necessary skill. Yes, emotionally, we might feel a certain way but as fruit, we should never be afraid to operate in as many worlds as we can.