It was last week I entered with Edith (my landlord) the kitchen on the second floor (European standard: first floor) where I met Richard. Richard is really named Cao Zubao.
Like myself I guess you probably agree that it’s a sad fact Chinese people rename themselves with a typical American name to make it fancier and easier for us (western people) to pronounce. But I must say Richard really had a point, let me tell you why: Back in the days when I worked in Shanghai I also had a colleage named Cao. If you would pronounce his name with your voice going down you would basically say: ‘fuck’. I always made that mistake, “sorry CaooO” I would say after doing wrong. Well there you go, Richard doesn’t like us calling him to the weekly (whatever you want) sexual intercourse.
To continue the story: since yesterday Richard is officially my housemate. He’s a very friendly guy.
To me he’s one of the examples why China is doing so well. He goes to study abroad in a top university (NYU) and sleeps together with a friend in a small room to share the expensive rent. His wife and his single child live back in Xi’an (the place that is mostly known for its terra-cotta army). He’s working his ass off to get his degree as quick as possible to come back to China working as a top civil engineer capable of speaking fluent English. Bringing in foreign knowledge is very valuable for Chinese companies.
As I write this post it’s September 11, not only ten years after 9/11 but also (as I realized today) the day before the Moon festival or the mid-autumn festival. A tradition that dates back 3000 years ago and finds its roots in the Shang dynasty.
Family and friends gather together and eat moon cakes (I’m eating one now). After a walk in Prospect park with my super fabulous girlfriend I entered the house and got a beer pushed in my hands. Two friends of Richard handed over forks to eat some baked beans and shrimps. The table was filled with plates with different dishes. About 16 Chinese students, mainly masculin, chuckled when I tried to say “Hello my name is Justus” (Ni hao, wo shi Justus) in my best Mandarin.
Earlier today when I was strolling along the 8th avenue down in Brooklyn (a huge extension of China town), walking in and out of food stores, little cellphone and knick knack shops, I started realizing how immense the Chinese diaspora is.
Not only here in NYC but also when I’m thinking back of my Congo trip with Mingus where Congolese children would be yelling “Ni Hao!” in the suburbs of Kinshasa when they would see us. They thought we were Chinese. These kids never saw a western white-skin man in their lives.
And not to forget my very own Chinese friends back in Delft, eager as they were to become the best students of the university. It all makes me realize that I have to makes sure that I get my Mandarin up and running before I die. Let’s start with saying Richard’s real name properly ;-)
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lilgo posted this
