I was screaming fucks in my head non-stop for the full-hour-and-a-bit-more bus ride from UBC to Richmond. Even the gentle sounds of Dirty Three and all that snow could not cool me down.

Through the hours, days and months the frustration finally crystallises into utter hatred. I struggle to reason myself that this is the acts of individuals, but to the ends of my hairs I failed to convince myself that this is so. Days and days and days, with all failed explanations but one, there must be something wrong with the nation, or the culture of the Chinese.

It is not a rare sight seeing people line up to several feet forming a huge U waiting for the 480 to arrive. People do line up. But when the bus does arrive, and opens all doors, hell breaks loose. A blur of refugees and cockroaches swarm into the bus in a manner even George Carlin would adore. The purpose of lining up is completely ignored; it is only a shape before the buses arrive.
People pick up number tags in Sweden's post offices to remain ordered; people line up in post offices in Canada, Taiwan, and the United States. You only pray that China works in the same way. I tried mailing my mum a postcard during my trip to China few years ago, but standing in the crowded hall of a Chinese post office I was lost and confused. Every second the line up changes, if the line that I thought was a line was a line. People pushed and toe stepping was the vulgar game that they played. I refused to join, so I finally mailed the postcard once I arrived at the previously British-owned Hong Kong.

Now that I am in the bus, staring at the yellow faces that cut the line. They looked away. I am doubtful they are ashamed; they probably just think that because they don't see me, I'd go away.
Kerrisdale: an old lady walked onto the cockroach infested bus.
Students sitting in the courtesy seats were looking down, hoping the lady would just disappear like they'd wished of me. Twenty pregnant-seconds gone by for the lady and the only naturally-blonde girl (me thinks) stood up and offered the seat. Hey, one in nine, that's better than 649.

Heading south: some people got on, more people got off, and today, it was snowy white outside. 'Move to the back! Move to the back!', familiar sounds on the 480. Who are the troublemakers? Looking around, and without surprise, balls of people clung to the exits like magnets in fear that they'll never get off the bus if they were to let go.
'Fuck the people trying to get onto the bus, fuck the people trying to get off the bus, fuck the people we are blocking. We'll be the first people to get off at Richmond Centre, so fuck y'll'.

It was actually a relief arriving at the China Town. Any more seconds in that concentrated Chinese box the fucks might no longer be in my head but to spill out of my mouth like a sewage outfall.
What is it with you people? Two million years old and some still unable to become civilised? I use the word civilised for lack of a better word. Why can't people just be gentle and have respect for one another?
Some people think that my current political stance about Taiwan and China has to do with my ethnicity. Yes, it does, but only partly. I came here when I was twelve; my parents are not as pro-independence as I am; I did not hate you.
You stole my bike; you betrayed me; you cut in lines; you street raced and endangered my life; you didn't greet in the elevators; you wanted to bomb Taiwan; you were loud in the libraries; you were noisy at night; you washed your cars near midnight; you were rude in internet fora; you didn't turn off your cell phones during lectures; you walked in the middle of the sidewalks; you didn't hold the doors; you didn't wipe your shoes going into buildings; you coughed and yawned without covering your mouths...
All these little things pile up, and in my head doing tiny little calculations, they become statically significant.
You shaped me, and I don't appreciate that.
As for the admirable few, thank you.


By Eric
arrow
arrow
    全站熱搜

    地球逍笑客 發表在 痞客邦 留言(0) 人氣()