Pretzel Logic

About a decade and a half ago, I saw a man doing yoga on some cardboard just outside the Tainan City Culture Center. At least, that’s what the homemade sign on a similar piece of cardboard said, just above the request for donations. At that time, the only thing I knew about yoga was the lotus position, which made sitting like a Native American seem a lot easier than sitting like an Indian. This guy in Tainan must have been a part-time contortionist. He could scratch his left ear with his right big toe after swinging his leg around the back of his head. He assumed positions that made me cringe in intestinal discomfort.

A few years later, my wife was able to get a teacher to come up to Chiayi once a week to give a class at our home. Along with a half dozen friends, we would follow the instructions of a master whose title was Dada. No, it was not an avant-garde painting class, but actual yoga exercises as proffered by Dada’s group, which is a polite, apolitical way of saying religion (sect? cult?). He gave me a book about some of their practices, from which the only thing I remember now was the prohibition of cutting the hair in the pubic region. He also give me some regulation underwear sanctioned by his group, which I tied the wrong way and brought back terrible memories of junior high gym classes.

The exercises were great and I was really proud that I was able to perform most of them with a relatively high degree of proficiency. Dada also showed a few difficult postures that were designed to increase strength, a concept that seemed in direct contrast to what I had always thought yoga was all about. For me, yoga was just a series of different positions used to enhance meditation, with the ultimate goal of calming the mind and thus the body. Dada showed us various exercises that developed the body so that the mind could better control it and find serenity.

Our class disbanded after about a year and I did not stick with the regimen. I was (and still am) too competitive, too Western, too much into organized sports. However, yoga has grown in popularity throughout Taiwan. There is a 24-hour channel that just runs yoga shows, usually with lean, straight-backed artisans leading a small “class” through various routines. A number of centers have opened around Chiayi and apparently flourish. At the front of one of them is a huge advert with a skinny Indian assuming a position that only a man with double jointed knees and lacking muscle mass could possibly hold. The soles of his feet are almost on his chest, with his toes just inches below his chin. This alone shouts “masochist” to me, but this feeling is reinforced by his eyes, which pop out to the size cue balls. His face screams “I know I’m supposed to be loving it, but…”

Which brings me back to the yogic shape shifter back in Tainan. I actually saw him again on a visit to the Culture Center earlier this year. He was still performing on cardboard, wearing only a pair of dark blue pants like last time, and still asking for tips. His hair had flecks of gray, but he was still squirming about assuming different postures that made his small physique appear both fluid and rock hard. I now wonder if he would be a good candidate for the Taiwanese yoga asana, or posture yoga, team when it becomes an Olympic sport. I imagine a woman, her waist twisted like a cleaning rag so that the back of her toned shoulders are facing the front of an uplifted leg, the foot pointing upward like a sword, while her other leg curls underneath and seemingly wraps around her buttocks. She slowly turns her face to the camera and while exhaling slowly whispers, “Just do it.”

Fashionable Poetry

Speakers of English are constantly harping about “Chinglish”, random, ridiculous writings found all over Taiwan and China, usually created by businessmen and government officials as attempts to appease, entice or instruct foreigners. Obviously, such abuse of the English language is not restricted to East Asia. I am certain that similar examples of inappropriate word usage or incorrect grammar can found in other non-English-speaking countries. However, it is taken to a whole new level in East Asia. Signs on walkways tell pedestrians to “Slip and Fall Down Carefully” or provide the direction “To the Boat(s) for Ticket-holding Fits”. There are scrumptious foods like “grilled chicken ass” in the frozen food section of a supermarket, “selected fresh crapmeats” on the menu of a seafood restaurant or “bottled water” in a can available at a convenience store. A “Don’t Disurb” sign at a hospital makes to plea not to leave any over-populated Chinese cities. My all-time favorite is the grocer with the sign “Spread to Fuck the Fruit”. Apparently, when looking up the translation of the Chinese word for “dry”, he inserted the wrong tone and came up with his own version of strawberries and cream.

Perhaps what irks most English speakers about these incoherent messages is that one would think that whoever came up with them would have a relative in the States, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, England or even Scotland with whom they could get a spell check. I could imagine government officials being reluctant due to nationalistic feelings (“Of coulse, we knows what we doing!”) or the knowledge that their superior’s English sucks worse than theirs, but the businessman must realize how such mistakes would hamper their enterprise.

However, the fashion world seems to be immune to any ill-effects of Chinglish. In fact, sayings that appear on various pieces of attire verge on poetry, their meanings clouded in double entendre and multiple layers of understanding approaching the levels of classical poets. The following are examples gleaned from some of my students with my humble attempts at interpreting them.

“Rob a Dub Dub”

Obviously, it is an advocacy of one of China’s important industries, the pirating of western films onto which a new soundtrack can be applied. The repetition of the final two words illustrate one the obstacles many of these entrepreneurs face, that of dubbing and overdubbing a dialogue into not only Mandarin, but also one of the two dozen dialects spoken in the country, thus creating that much beloved theatrical nuance of a voice emanating slightly later than when the actors’ mouths actually move.

LOVE of beauty

Is TASTE

THE

creation of

BEAUTY

is art

This e.e.cummingsesque selection reflects the Oriental passion for culinary delights. Coming from America, where portion size dominates the presentation of any dish, be it a T-bone steak or a submarine sandwich, I have always been struck by the Taiwanese knack for combining outrageously incongruent foodstuffs to appeal to the eye of the diner. Perfect examples include colorful ice cream sprinkles being placed on pale potato salad, while corn flakes are used as a garnish for an ice cream sundae.

Bouncing

off the

WALLS

Businawreck

MARYLAND

The political message of the passage, an indictment of the American government, would be self-evident if I were able to place the winged red, white and blue shield that appeared between “off the” and “WALLS” on my student’s shirt. However, copyright laws, coupled with my lack of interest to search through Google Images for a reasonable facsimile, make it impossible for me to recreate actual scene. The fervor of the words, though, is still palpable through the next to last line, especially when spoken quickly, as was certainly intended by omitting the spaces between the words.

I hope that the minute selection above has piqued your interest in viewing Chinglish not as an affront to your mother tongue, but as a means of expression, one albeit nonsensical and ridiculous, but also a window into the soul of the inscrutable Asians.

Back to the Future

Last week, two old students visited me at my cram school. They had attended my classes over fifteen years ago and the only way I knew who they were was when I recognized their mother, who, in typical Taiwanese fashion, had not changed much at all. The younger brother was as tall as me and told me how he had already gotten a master’s in computer science and had just finished his military service. At a recent interview, he was asked to have a five-minute conversation in English. He said that it stretched out to almost twenty minutes as they discussed his travels to Japan and the Czech Republic, as well as one of his passions, American sports.

I had actually run into the older sister a few months ago at the Foreign Affairs Office in Chiayi. When I had entered, I first spoke to a young official sitting at the counter nearest the door. Suddenly, I heard my name from the back of the room, but when I looked along the counter and at the rows of empty chairs to the left, all I saw were two female civil servants at their work stations. So, I simply ignored the call, thinking that I must have heard something that sounded like my name.

“You don’t recognize me, do you, Hugo?” asked one of the women. As I walked further into the office, I saw that she looked to be around twenty-five years old, but you know how hard it is to tell with Taiwanese women.

“Sorry, but do I teach one of your children?”

She rolled her eyes and then looked straight at me. “I was one of your students!” She had graduated with an English degree and had been working at the Foreign Affairs Ministry for more than a half dozen years now. Though I must admit that I had no idea who she actually was until I returned home and dug up an old picture of her class, it was great having a conversation with her, hearing how English had helped her at work and boosted her career.

Unlike most English teachers in Taiwan, I often get to see how my teaching has affected my students. Dozens of former students have gone onto study in the US, Canada, the UK, Australia and New Zealand. One former student who had been a liaison between an Italian company and the Taiwan Hi-Speed Rail told me about his new-found appreciation for wine. One day, I ran into another who had attended Wenzao, the premier language university located in Kaohsiung, and we spoke about her semester in Frankfurt mostly in German, her second foreign language at university.

So, to all those teachers out there who look at their job as simply a job, realize that, for better and hopefully not worse, you have a huge impact on individual students that will last their entire lives. What you need to recognize is the atmosphere that you create in your own class goes beyond grammar and proper pronunciation. The one common thread that runs through the successful students I have met over the years is a lack of fear of screwing up coupled with a knack for remembering mistakes and not making them again.

As most of you will be at your current position for a short period of time, realize that you are providing the building blocks, the base on which the next teacher can expand your students’ ability and shape their future, a future that they cannot imagine, but will be upon them in a short time. Hopefully, you will have provided them with advantages that will open the world to them and their dreams.