The "Other"

In 1993 at the impressionable age of 21 I was sitting in a bar in Lan Kwai Fong thinking about returning to the United States after spending a year in China when I met who appeared to me at the time to be the Obi-Wan Kenobi of expatriates. Mr. Kenobi had spent the better part of 30 years living and working in East Asia and he had a lot of good stories to tell. He even had a British accent like Alec Guinness.

We had a few beers together, he regaled me with his wisdom and I told him about living in Mainland China – a place he had not visited. At the end of our talk, he turned to me and said, “It sounds to me as if you are about to embark on the kind of life that I have had; you are going to have a wonderful adventure. But let me give you a piece of advice…”

Dear readers, I waited with baited breath for this great Jedi Master to impart on me secrets of the Force. What was this one last thing he wanted me to know? And then he said; “One of the most important things you should remember is: never marry a white woman.”

Somewhere across Cyberspace a bunch of guys are laughing if their wives or girlfriends are not in the room while others just called their spouse over to read this. Now, before I lose a certain demographic of readers of this blog, I implore you to please read on as I gallop through the minefield of the topic of interracial dating & marriage.

I’ve always remembered Mr. Kenobi’s advice, mostly because it’s a pretty interesting story to tell. But also because I think I understand where he’s coming from. First, let me interject this: when it comes to love, never say never! In this sense, his advice was really pretty bad.

If you live on the other side of the world for half your adult life it’s pretty hard to avoid dating someone from a different race. I have dated a few Chinese girls, so I’m talking from experience. I also date Western women when they bother to give me the time of day. I have no strong preference either way; if anything I just really like any smart, good-looking woman that happens to also like me. I’m funny that way.

It is only recently that I have come up with a theory on interracial romance. I’m no scientist, but here it goes. What if somewhere in our brains we are hardwired to be attracted to the "other” – someone of a different race, or different hair color and skin tone, or even just someone with a cool foreign accent? The biological argument would be that somehow our bodies know that it’s good to have a deep and rich gene pool.

Early man and woman must have realized that having kids with their siblings and cousins didn’t produce good stock. After all, no one likes a hunchback. So maybe they learned that intermingling with other tribes was a good thing. Unfortunately in early history it was expressed in bouts of raping and pillaging as opposed to speed dating.

I think most everyone can admit the idea of being with someone from a different culture, race, etc. is somewhat attractive. The "other” is mysterious, and that can be titillating, no? I think this is why “gentlemen prefer blondes” and “blondes have more fun”; in North America they are comparatively rare. I bet blondes in Sweden and Switzerland don’t have any more fun than anyone else.

Another argument that suggests we might be somewhat hardwired to be attracted to the "other” is that I notice that people tend to go gaga over kids from a different race. Kids are cute anyway, but in my experience it gets stepped up a notch when people from one race look at kids of another. Of course maybe this is only my perception, but I have discussed this with friends of many colors, and we tend to be in agreement. And, I also think Gary Coleman owes his career to this phenomenon.

But of course there are problems. We are also conditioned by our societies not to trust “the other”; someone who is different than us could be “bad” or “undesirable” for any number of reasons. I mostly chalk all that up to flat out bigotry and jealousy; and I have no time for anyone who thinks like that.

In the end, we can’t help whom we fall in love with, it just happens. But jumping across some imaginary line and being with the "other” can be quite appealing; whether you are a Montague or Capulet, Yankee fan or Red Sox fan, cat person or dog person, or one race or another.

Why I Love Living in China

I can’t count how many times I’ve had someone remark to me “I just can’t understand why you choose to live in China.” It’s interesting to note nearly as many Chinese say this to me as Americans.

For my American friends and family, images of choking pollution and Orwellian totalitarianism immediately come to mind when they think of the PRC; which, if their experience with China is solely via commentary from US cable news outlets or brief visits to the country, is somewhat understandable. My impression of New Jersey based on views from the Garden State Parkway and The Sopranos or the Jersey Shore is not flattering.

I intimately understand why Americans think I’m nuts, we assume everyone in the world wants to live in America. If you prefer a small dose of socialism, binge drinking and the metric system, Canada and Australia are fine alternatives to the Home of the Free and Land of the Brave, but only if you are willing to settle for second or third place.

When the Chinese comment on my choice of country of residence it strikes a chord. They are echoing the sentiments of many Americans; they look across the Pacific, or only as far as pirated DVDs of Sex in the City and Desperate Housewives, and they see the United States as a form of middle-class bliss with the possibility of upper-class Nirvana. And I admit, they have a point. Swimming pools, strip malls, blue skies and uncontaminated milk are indeed nice things. I enjoy them whenever I can.

But then there’s the Siren song of the gritty, vibrant and intoxicating China. In the Jazz Age, when prostitution and opium were till fashionable, Shanghai earned the name the ‘whore of the Orient’. Well, hey, we all have a past.

Nearly a century later, after political and social revolution in many forms, I think China’s status can be upgraded to ‘the MILF of the world’. She’s all grown up now and has her children to look after. With money in the bank and some self-assurance, she’s half respectable; but make no mistake, she’s still a saucy, lustful animal that knows how to show a fellow a good time.

Comparatively speaking, Uncle Sam seems like a wheezing octogenarian high on his own stash of Viagra and cough syrup. But we’ll leave that rant for another time.

Mind you, when I say MILF, I mean it. Every Fortune 1,000 company would like to have her spread eagle and asking for more. But China is no tramp; she can say no, she can play coy, she can even two time you with your closest friend or competitor and still make you buy her dinner later in the week. China plays by her own rules. This, my friends, makes the place really interesting.

Like the sea, or the Wild West, China is a frontier. It’s an incubator for green technology, a battleground for cyber warfare and free speech, it’s one of the last great under-exploited markets for fast moving consumer widgets, and it’s the site of the largest infrastructure projects in world. Whatever you are into, chances are it’s happening in China. And if you don’t know it, look out, because you could get run over.

And that’s what keeps me here. Not only do I have a front row seat to the greatest show on earth, sometimes I even get to participate in a small way. Quality of life is in the eye of the beholder. A four bedroom / three bath in the Rancho de Grassy Knoll subdivision is nice, God bless the American dream. But for a soul that seeks a little adventure, that relishes the prospect of being at the epicenter of momentous changes in human history, one could hardly do better than being in China at the dawn of the 21st Century.

For better or worse, the “interesting times” as mentioned by one famous native of the state of Lu are happening here and now. And being an American adds a certain perspective; awkwardly straddling two great world powers and influential cultures, I am fortunate to see the world through a strange and exciting set of bifocals. I can hardly wait to see what will happen next.

Since I’m rambling, I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m not alone. There are hundreds of thousands of foreigners living in Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou. Sure, many are here because this is where the money is. But if you find a laowai who has been here a few years or more, I bet you that’s not why they stay. Watching a billion people transform a society from Confucianism to Communism and then to something else is more alluring than a gold rush and more tragic than a freeway accident. The world can hardly keep its eyes off.

I suppose I’ll make it home some day, but for nearly twenty years now I can’t shake the feeling I’m in the right place at the right time.