Monday, 19 July 2010

Using Cherry Pie to combat being an oddity...

...because that is not an oxymoron [/sarcasm]

So, I have been in China for the last couple of weeks. Hence the lack of posts (I will, ironically enough, probably post about that later).

Due to me being a complete and utter window licker, I was unable to take any photos since I left my camera at home *le sigh* >

I was learning Mandarin (rather badly) and being all studenty for an extra stretch into my summer (because, you know. That’s what cool kids do when the sun is out. Study. “Screw you relaxation! I have my textbooks!” *clutches books, shivering intensely with a feverish glee in her eyes*).

One thing I totally forgot when I applied to go is that I’m quite noticeable.

Of course, everyone within a mile radius of me reminded me of this fact when they kept staring at me.

And pointing at me.

And following me.

And taking bloody pictures and video recordings of me.

I felt kind of sorry for them, like I should dance or something, so they have something a little more than a recording of a very Simple Thing of very little brain whose body happens to produce an extra amount of melanin due to a trait that proved advantageous due to a combination of the process of evolution and the environment her ancestors habituated.

I can’t see what’s so fascinating about it, seeing as there’s an entire continent that shares the same traits *Zahara side-eye*

But it wasn’t just that – there was another black guy in our group. I’m just darker than him. And female. And nearly six foot tall. With an undefeatable desire to wear brightly coloured clothing.

Apparently, quite a formidable combination.

For the first three days, I scowled so viciously, no person was brave enough to ask for a picture with. Then I tried to change my perspective – pretended I was a model, Alek’s or Naomi’s little sister on an excursion, or Venus’ little cousin coming for a little vacation. I was famous. That’s the real reason they were staring and taking pictures.

I know I’m pretty, but really, no need to stare *flutters eyelashes*

*clutches Oscar, crying her purposefully non waterproof mascara everywhere* "I want to thank my mama and my daddy and my sisters and the caddy, and Jimmy the pizza guy - you kept me going with the carbs when I was low!"

I was thinking all sorts of fabulous, glamourous crazy.

Even my legendary level of self-delusion can only keep my going for so long


I got sick of it and started coming up with ways to get people to leave me alone. I think my favourite consisted of sidling up to them and saying in Mandarin “I speak Mandarin. And I know what you just said,” turning to walk away, turning back and declaring “And yo’ mamma’s ugly!” before sprinting for cover.

It’s not just my own paranoia – it’s the weight of knowledge of what the ideal of beauty is in this country:

- Small stature (errrrr…………*stands at nearly 6ft tall*)

- Long silk-like hair (errrrrr……*has a fro...nuff said*)

- Pale skin – for which they even carry around parasols in the sun to prevent tanning (errrrrrrrr……….. x100000)

Really, at this point, all I need is to see a bleaching advert to tip me over the edge and completely lose it, driving me into the street, frothing coriander scented breath, spitting flame roasted sesame seeds and roaring furiously at petrified bicyclists, as I unleash my fury upon this city: A ‘fro haired zilla, raging through the hutongs of China - only to be calmed by excessive amount of a brand-new joy: Warm cherry pie with cold vanilla ice cream.

Mmmm.....cherry pie.... *drools like Homer*

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