18 May 2008 3:30:00 pm

hahahahaha.
interesting read. xD

Meet the real China homies
By Colin Goh
Growing up in a half-Peranakan household that spoke mostly English and just as much Malay as Hokkien or Teochew, and being educated in a mission school (then) famed for churning out bananas, I never really pondered the fact of my Chinese ethnicity to any great extent.
Sure, we observed the usual traditions, but mainly around the time of festivals. Being Chinese in Singapore for me was just like, oh, having a mole or something. It's there. So what?

I started to think much more about being Chinese after I moved to New York. But it wasn't some fit of 'Joy Luck Club' angst from suddenly finding myself in an ethnic minority or being inundated by the dominant Western culture.

Ironically, it began when I found myself being surrounded by other Chinese - 'real' Chinese at that.

A few months ago, the Wife and I moved to Flushing in New York's borough of Queens (video gaming fans will know it as 'Dukes' in Grand Theft Auto IV), the biggest Chinatown on the United States' East Coast. Here, many stores don't bother with English signs; aunties and uncles share their phlegm freely with the general public and at night, itinerant carts selling chuanr (skewers of barbecued meat, essentially Chinese satay) emerge on the sidewalks, just like in Beijing.

But Flushing is also Chinese in a quintessentially New York way. Every weekend, in front of the steps of the Flushing Library, young mainlanders sell Olympic 'One China, One Dream' T-shirts and shout, 'Support China!' while right next to them is a stand operated by the Falungong, displaying gory pictures of alleged torture suffered by their devotees in the motherland.

My supermarket distributes free copies of the propagandist China Daily, the possibly just as propagandist Epoch Times and even the Manchu Monthly.

The Chinese here come from all over China, not just the cosmopolitan cities, and the diaspora is also amply represented: there are Hong Kongers, Taiwanese, Malaysians and even a smattering of us Singaporeans. Immersed in the sheer variety of Chinese-ness, one can't help but ponder one's position along the spectrum.

I was forced to contemplate this recently when the Wife and I were trying out a new Northern Chinese restaurant, a small and cramped joint packed with all-Chinese diners. The manageress was trying to recommend the deep-fried songshu yu (squirrel fish), while we were nervously trying to figure out a polite way to inquire whether there was actually any squirrel in it.

Just then a diner at another table piped up and asked: 'Hey, anybody here knows a good travel agent?' Instantly, recommendations came from the other tables. She added her two cents: 'Better buy your ticket early, while the US dollar is low!' Everyone laughed. She didn't stop there.

'Better buy property too!' she continued. 'Property prices in Flushing have tripled since 2000.'

'I'll wait for the dollar to drop some more,' moaned another diner. 'It's too expensive for me now.'

'Ask your friends,' ventured a fellow from a table in the back. 'They might cut you good deals.'

This brought an immediate rebuke from yet another customer. Dropping his chopsticks with a clatter, he barked: 'No! Always buy from strangers, especially laowai, because you can negotiate without awkwardness. If you buy from friends, it'll cost you 20 per cent more.' A low murmur of 'you daoli, you daoli' (that makes sense) reverberated through the restaurant.

Being there in that small room, conversing in differently accented Mandarin, sharing insider knowledge for personal profit, labelling Westerners 'laowai' (foreigners) even in a Western country - there was a

cosy, conspiratorial air that made me feel a heightened sense of Chinese community - perhaps for the first time in my life.

It was, however, short-lived. When another diner said he was confused by the distinction in New York real estate between condominiums and co-operatives, the Wife decided to offer a brief explanation. I tried to simplify it further by saying, 'Condos are easier to rent out, unlike co-ops, where you need permission from the board.'

At this, the manageress smiled. 'Not in Flushing. You just bribe the building superintendent $1,000, and no problem.'

Everyone else guffawed, nodding away. I blinked, wondering why this possibility never even entered my mind. Then someone smiled pointedly at us: 'You aren't from China, are you?'

'We're Singaporean,' I replied, sheepishly. And I never felt more so.