Voting day

Last week, I voted for the first time in Hong Kong. As a permanent resident (something akin to a green card holder), I’m entitled to vote and I registered as a voter promptly.

Hong Kong holds democratic elections to the district councils, which like the municipal corporations except that they are more advisory than executive (since it is the government bureaus that actually executive the work as far as I know), and the Legislative Council, but not to the highest office, the Chief Executive, who is elected by a cherry-picked electoral college.

Last year’s Umbrella Movement was triggered by the demand for universal suffrage for the Chief Executive election. While that demand was stonewalled by the powers that be in Beijing, the result is that Hong Kong society has become more politically aware and this election was seen as a test case. The voter turn-out was expected to be high, and it hit a record 47% (1,468,000 registered electors). Honestly, I thought more people in a city with 100% literacy would vote. 47% seems pretty poor to me, and this is only of registered voters, who do not comprise the total population. For example, V was eligible but did not register.

I, however, am an enthu cutlet about elections. I registered to vote in India almost as soon as I turned 18, without anyone nagging me to do so. To get me to get my driver’s licence, however, required some cajoling on my mother’s part. I guess I’ve always been politically inclined, and when I moved to Hong Kong, I got into Hong Kong politics. It’s a very interesting time to be in Hong Kong if you, like me, have somewhere to run if it all goes bad (which means if Hong Kong becomes just another Chinese city under the CCPs thumb); if you have nowhere to run, the impending reality is scary and thus, last year’s protests. I admire Hongkongers, particularly the youth, for their desperate bids to retain their city’s independence and identity with whatever tools they can device from the box. The protests last year were creative and inspiring, even if the wealthy grumbled about the disruptions to their regular commute.

I had four candidates to choose from for the district council election, one of whom never bothered to campaign much and so I have no idea who he was. One guy stood at the entrance to the MTR station every morning and evening, waving at commuters, which did make me feel that at least he cared to put in that time and effort. Another guy did the same, but for just one day. He was affiliated to a pro-democracy party and would have had my vote if he had made more of an effort. In the end, I voted for our building committee chairman, who although didn’t seem to do face-to-face campaigning bothered to send an email in English with his manifesto, which included everything I could have thought of for improvement of the district. Since we moved here, the district has really improved – we now have a beautiful waterfront promenade/cycling track and a public library and sport facility. I know the building committee lobbied for some of these things, and our estate itself is excellently run.

On the day of the election, V started giving me gyan on who I should vote for, which I thought was rich coming from a guy who declares himself cycnical about the democratic process enough to have not registered to vote. I pointed that out and he shut up. A couple of days before he had thrown my polling card into the rubbish by mistake, thinking it was just more bureaucratic mail and got a earful for that.

The election was held in a local college. I went early, and trailed in with the grandmas and grandpas. I presented my ID card, my name was checked off a list and I was handed a form with the four canditates name and a stamp with a tick mark which I had to put against one name before folding my ballot and placing it inside a box. The whole thing took two minites. Quite similar to India, actually, except that in India the voting room is more secretive (here there were just a series of partitioned spaces.

Outside, a girl with an iPad asked me to participate in an exit poll. Honestly, she wasn’t very aggressive at approaching people and only came to me because I caught her eye. Most of these polls are conducted by pro-government parties, who I do not support, but I’m a sucker for polls. That done, I sat outside and watched for a bit. Noone else agreed to do the poll. Heh.

After voting, I felt this smug glow of satisfaction that I had done something, participated in something bigger than myself that could influence events bigger than me, albeit in a small way. I am aware that democracy doesn’t solve everything – India is a prime example, but India is also a prime example of the power of democracy. Stuart Hall has an essay on how people vote based on parameters that are not necessarily intelligent, and while I take his point, when one has so little power, however, you take what you get. Especially when it isn’t too much effort.

In the end, my guy won. That made me feel happy too.

 

 

 

Five questions

[Update: Since my dear Curly actually awoke from her blog slumber to take up this tag, I’m keeping the questions the same and tagging her restrospectively, and basically the peeps who commented: Perspectives and Prejudices, Made to Misfit, and Brown Girl in the Wring. My Era, if you want to take on the extra questions, please do.]

A long overdue tag from Boiling to participate in the Sisterhood of the World Q&A. She blogs about gender issues (which is how I found her blog, I think), random issues in her head, the environment, and stuff she gets riled up about.

In true Boiling style she trimmed the question list to a succinct five, which suits me because these days I don’t have time to write a coherent long post. (Note to readers: If you notice my posts are filled with more than the usual amount of typos these days, please forgive. I literally write them up in 10 minutes, with no time even for a read through. See it as a peek into my online notebook rather than a polished blog per se).

Now on to the questions:

1. One beauty product you would recommend to your girlfriends

Knowing Boiling, I feel I should be recommending something eco-friendly here. In fact, one of my aims is to only use cosmetics that do not test on animals. However, I am sad to report that I have not achieved this, though if I do notice that a product that works for me is not tested on animals, then I will stick with it. I really like Bath and Body Works body lotion, particularly the Shea Butter one, and the company’s policy states that it does not test on animals except when required to by law. (Unfortunately, since I live in the China region, many brands that do not perform animal testing in other markets, do so for this region because the law requires it. However, I am buying Baths and Body Works directly from the US or through parallel traders since the brand isn’t retailed here officially. So I’m getting the animal testing free ones).

OMG, I could have skipped all this and recommended Himalaya kajal. It is my make-up must have. Yes, it smudges off but I like that.

Of the top of my head, I also like Revlon’s lip stain range. There, you got three for the price of one, which just goes to show that once I get started, I cannot stop blabbing.

2. Three books everyone must read.

Ok, if I couldn’t cut myself off on the beauty question, when I’m hardly a beauty expert, you can imagine how this one is going to go down. Honestly, I can’t say this is my final word on the matter, but for the moment, I’d say:

a) Bridget Jones’s Diary: What? It’s a my Bible a contemporary classic. I’m doing a PhD on chick lit, whadja expect? But honestly, the more I think about it, it’s a suberbly clever book. If I were to intellectualize it, I’d call it an inter-textual bildungsroman in the grand romantic tradition.

b) But first read Pride and Prejudice. It is now officially literature so you can feel smug.

c) Mary McCarthy’s The Group. I am surprising myself by putting this out there but I love how this novel about women coming of age covers a lot of themes of the early feminist novel without being laborious about it.

To include the last one, I had to knock off Midnight’s Children by Salman Rushdie, a personal favourite (though right this minute, I think The Moor’s Last Sigh might edge out Midnight’s Children, which is a surprise to even me). But I kind of like having an all-woman list so I’m going with those three.

Frankly, I’m not sure I think everyone must read anything. To specific people, yes, I’ve been known to go, “You must read this (and then talk to me for two hours about it).” But when people generally ask me to recommend a book, V has told me I kind of freeze, and when I think about it, it’s because I cannot suggest a book without knowing the person.

3. Favourite online shopping site

Flipkart. It was the first one I tried, and I primarily still use it for its original purpose, which was buying books. It’s heartwarming in a weird way that the whole thing started with books. Which goes to show that books can be a business model. Maybe. Also, though I’ve heard some negative stories, I’ve never had a bad experience (except for the annoying thing where the delivery comes staggered and my mum has to keep answering the door). Maybe because I mainly order books, and who would want to steal those

I barely shop online though because with clothes and even shoes I can never remember my own size and then I still feel I need to try. With cosmetics, I used to use Strawberry.net until I realized some local retails stores are cheaper. Generally, I now shop very little and am currently typing this is an old T-shirt of V’s that has multiple holes in it. Operation Budget is succeeding y’all.

4. Favourite phone app

Facebook? Mundane I know, but I use it a lot. If you’re looking for recommendations, I also use Wally to track expenses, PeriodTracker to track, well, the obvious, and I found XE Currency Converter very useful on holiday

5. One dish you are really good at making and its recipe

Errrrr.

 

 

Paris

1. I am saddened by the news of what happened in Paris. I cannot help but feel empathy for the victims and families of the victims. The attacks reminded me of the ones in Mumbai. Paris is not the only tragedy I have been upset by, nor will it be the last one. 
2. I learnt about the attack when my sister posted on our whatsapp group asking if our cousin who lives there is okay. I checked Facebook soon after. It is a reflection of the people I am friends with, or the ones that are show up on my newsfeed anyway, that my wall was flooded with people reminding us that refugees are not to blame, that the state should not crack down indiscriminately, that neoliberal US policies are ultimately to blame. I had not even seen anyone suggesting that refugees were to blame at that time, though I’m sure someone would/did eventually. However, I have come to feel uneasy about these standard intellectual responses: a) The timing and how they immediately truncate the assimilation of shock with the reminder that we have to intellectualize. b) The unimaginative nature of them – how they repeat the same counter-discourse every single time. Part of being in academia is thinking up something new. But the articulation, down to the repeated use of neoliberal, is the same every time. c) The whataboutery. (but what about this and that?). Many of these people who are asking what about Beirut or Lebanon, never publicized Beirut or Lebanon themselves, so they too are not that far off from the empathizing only with Paris because they remembered Beirut only in relation to Paris. I hope not, but that’s how it looks when I never see Beirut on your timeline but suddenly Paris happens and it’s all about Beirut. Someone termed this “tragedy hipsters” and while I agree the motivation for this response is rooted in the good intention to critique, it increasingly seems to be to be the other side of those that selectively mourn deaths in first world countries.
3. I am impatient with those changing their profile pictures into a tricolor. V said to me: “This is not about Paris. It is about terrorism.” If Facebook wanted an icon, it could have a more general one, even if it had to choose Paris as its launching point. People could also show sensitivity to those they did not mourn by not going overboard in their selective mourning. On the other hand, academics can also be sensitive in their critique. 
4. I am sad to see Muslims yet again have to do #notinmyname posts or risk getting called out as terriers themselves. Can it not be taken for granted that people don’t support terrorist attacks unless they say they do? 
5. I think there needs to be a complex assessment of why people mourn some deaths and not others. Maybe it is not to do with life but with place. That certain places stand for ideals such as the ability to speak freely and when these citadels are threatened they threaten even those in places where these freedoms are not enjoyed because they are aspirational. That when death in certain places or regions become routine people cannot mourn them with the same intensity because then they might be able to even get out of bed in the morning.
6. This article uses Judith Butler’s concept of “precariousness”. To recognize precariousness is to recognize the  vulnerability of each life and the value of protecting it, but we have different recognitions for different people, what she calls “precarity”. How to combat it? She suggests shifting our frames of reference. The thing is, the lives perceived as more precarious (French) are probably in reality less at risk than the ones that are perceived as less so (those in the Middle East). I think this is a clue. When people’s lives are constantly at risk, other people do not have the energy to track them, they suppress the knowledge and only express shock when a life that is relatively secure is threatened. This is shitty, but it doesn’t necessarily mean one actually values other lives less. Maybe.
7.  I am not sure I am right here, but I think labelling everyone who mourns Paris a fool in love with the first world is not very imaginative.

Turbulence

Tags

parenting

I’m feeling crappy today. For the past few weeks, Mimi has been angsty about going to school. It would start with her not wanting to put some item of clothing on, or the correct uniform (they have a separate uniform for PE and regular days, which is subject for another rant which I may engage in if this rant doesn’t get too long.

It doesn’t help that the whole month of October has been unstable because we’ve had visitors, and then a Mid-Autumn break. The latter seems to have given her the idea that school is not inevitable. I was surprised that she went fairly peacefully the first couple of days, but after that it started degenerating. One of the mums on the whatsapp group for her class told me that she heard Mimi saying she didn’t want to go to school, and later, my helper also told me she had made a bit of a fuss. I hoped it was a one off, but a couple of days later she did a full fledged meltdown in school, clinging to the helper and refusing to go in.

The school’s suggestion was that the helper drop her off and leave quickly, which is such a standard school suggestion, it annoys me. Yes, this solves the problem for the school, but it does not address why a kid who has been peacefully going in and is doing well in school, is suddenly not wanting to go in. We had wanted to wait a week or so and see if the behaviour resolved itself, but I decided to have a chat with her teacher.

One of my suspicions is that Mimi doesn’t like school when she doesn’t have friends. From Nene’s experience, I know that friends make a world of difference. Which is why I was delighted when Mimi made a friend in school last year, and then frustrated when she appeared to be pushing him away. This has come back to bite her in the ass, just as I anticipated, because the little boy formed another gang and started rejecting her. And she couldn’t seem to break into any other circles because most of the kids in class prefer to interact in Cantonese.

I spoke to D’s mother and she was nice enough to restart the playdates. Mimi however after a couple started saying she didn’t really want to play with D and from my helpers’ reports it does seem that D and Nene seem to spend more time playing. It is so incredibly frustrating. While V’s suggestion is to just let her learn, the fact is that a little kid does not make the connection between her rejection of D and her having no friends, and instead I have to deal with the fallout in terms of tantrums.

Anyway, when I spoke to the teacher, she also confirmed that Mimi doesn’t seem to play with anyone in particular. Moreover, from her description it seems like the class time has a lot of “free play” which is all fine if you have a friend or two to hang out with while the teacher is working with other groups. But if you’re alone, like Mimi, I can see how it would get pretty sad. Mimi loves academic stuff, like homework, or doing craft and I can see how ‘free play’ would bore her and worse if she was not part of a group. The teacher has been kind enough to encourage friendships between her and other kids, but I know this easier said and done.

This morning again Mimi said she didn’t want to go. She refused to put on her PE uniform.* I said fine wear the other uniform and wrote a note to a teacher. Still, she continued to fuss. I told her that I could drop her. Instead she wanted me to pick her up. So I said fine. She instructed me “not to wear silly things” but to wear a dress. Seriously. It’s like I’ve raised the fashion police.

Unfortunately, I cannot go pick her up because I really cannot afford to spend the day at home and not work. And so I have essentially lied to her, and while there is a good chance she won’t even remember, there is a teeny chance she will. And I feel shitty. I wavered like crazy before coming in to work but because I anticipate more drama tomorrow as Nene needs to take a day off for an interview and it will be Mimi going alone, I want to save the staying at home for tomorrow.

The problem with flexible working hours is that you have to decide yourself how flexible to be. And your kids sense this. If I was working a regular job, I don’t think I would feel this bad, because I simply wouldn’t have a choice. And I wonder if Mimi would have raised possibilities that she knows are not going to happen. Today, a mom on a Facebook group asked: “How to deal with the mommy guilt?” It’s a familiar question, and the answers are familiar to. You just suck it up, remind yourself you’re doing your best, but at the heart of mommy guilt is really the question: Are you?

*

Now, the PE uniform is particular annoyance because Mimi has taken it into her head that girls don’t wear shorts. Even though clearly all the girls in the school are wearing shorts. First of all, I have a problem with co-ed schools having girls wear skirts and boys shorts. However, maybe that’s a blessing in our case because Mimi might throw a tantrum everyday if she had to wear shorts to school. Then, they have a separate PE uniform when they barely do any PE that requires a separate uniform. It seems like an unnecessary expense, not to mention that the PE t-shirt is white and gets stained easily. They also have a bag that we never use because it is boxy and large and I know my kids would fuss about carrying it halfway on the way home and the adult escorting them would be lumped with two kids bag and her own bag. Instead, we just leave the bag in school because there is really nothing of significance in it that needs to be carted home that cannot be transferred to one adult bag. Once I got raised eyebrows from the teacher about this but I held my ground. Bag-carrying is not a skill I am interested in enforcing at this particular moment.

Hair raising adventures

V claims that as far back as he can remember I’ve been moaning about my hair. This is not strictly true. When I moved to Hong Kong, I adopted a do-as-the-Romans approach and straightened my hair. That way, I could walk into any local hairdresser and get a decent and reasonably priced haircut, regardless of the English-speaking skills of the staff.

However, once I got pregnant, I decided to stop straightening. I was a bit tired of the lank look anyway. Unfortunately, I realised that my suspicion that Hong Kong hairdressers really don’t know how to cut hair that isn’t thin and poker straight was founded. They would tend to gaze in amazement at the mass of my hair (which frankly is not that voluminous) and try to thin it. Another thing they do that gets my goat is they don’t  use  a straight edged razor, but the thinning scissor because they are frightened of the volume of my hair but also because they feel the need to make the edges shaggy. Which is all very well but it is a bitch when it grows out.

I briefly identified a Pakistani hairdresser who understood hair that was not poker straight. It was great because we really got along and would chat away, except that the last two times I noticed that she kept snipping as we chatted and my hair ended up way too short. Also she’s based in Tsim Sha Tsui which is not exactly in my neighbourhood.

My neighbourhood hair salon is very trendy, but they don’t understand my hair. And the clincher for me was that they raised their rates, again. A few months ago, I tried a new shop that opened and landed up with a bob, that was very trendy … if I had straight hair. After growing it out for ages, I went back to the first salon and asked them to basically do anything but not a bob. The receptionist translated my instructions to the hairdresser. I walked out of the shop with, wait for it, a bub. Facepalm.

And a bob that was not even well done. At least the second shop had done a class act on the cut. This one, even I could see stray long hairs here and there right after the cut, so you can imagine after a wash. That ended up relationship with the salon.

But I still had a problem. My hair. In desperation, I tried calling the Pakistani lady, but it appears she’s changed her number. Then, I had a brainwave. There’s another old salon on the other side of our local shopping mall. I’ve never been there because it looks a tad grungy but not cheap enough for me to put up with the grunge. And I was pretty sure none of the stylists spoke English, so I didn’t want to risk the communication error.

However, my the grown-out edges of my hair was irritating me too much and I didn’t have the time to traipse across town. So I went in and I was quickly shown a seat, which is a refreshing change for the fancy salon where one is kept waiting even though I can see stylists just lounging about.

In the corner of the waiting area, a mother was pacifying a baby who clearly had a fever (she was wearing the strip to bring the fever down on her head). The lady at the reception was hovering and I figured they were family. Just as I went to get my hair shampooed, the mother started to give the kid medicine and she began howling the place down. I could hear it at the other end of the room, as I was getting my hair washed. Noone batted an eyelid.

When I came back to my seat, the mother ploked the kid down in the seat next to me and set her up with cartoons on the phone. Then she came up to me and asked me what style I wanted. Turns out she was going to be my hairdresser. She had almost no English and the receptionist mediated. I ended up having my hair cut with Mother Goose Club in the background. At points, another stylist came over and checked on the kid, but mostly it was her and the telenanny while her mother snipped two feet away. Occasionally, the kid and I snuck glanced at each other.

There was probably a time when all this would have been annoying to me. But now I appreciate it. For one, I can tune out kid noises. For another, I appreciate that there are spaces where kids can be kids and mothers can mother then, while working. When I told this story to V, he felt bad for the mom, that she had to work when her kid was sick. I agree. But in the absence of unlimited sick days – and in this case, I think it’s a family business – a tolerance for bringing kids in from proprietors and customers is refreshing.

And I got a really good haircut too. She used a straight-edged razor and did what I wanted – which was trim to perfection. I may have found a keeper.