JULY 20 — First, I’ve got nothing against Mainland Chinese. This column’s main gripe is with tourists, like your good self, who come from non-Hong Kong China and who also happen to be a pain in the ass for everyone within ten square kilometres of your holiday.
Second, if you Google "Mainland Chinese tourists, you’ll see that even your government is getting concerned. It’s one thing for you to spit in public on Beijing’s streets — that’s a domestic nuisance. It’s quite another if your kind gets banned from Paris hotels — that’s a national disaster.
Third, as you can tell from my name, I’m Chinese, too. So no worries this article isn’t a racist rant. Because after all is said and done, we had more or less the same great-great-great-
Okay. Let me get straight to something I’ve been meaning to ask all of you: Why do you have to talk so loud everywhere you go?
I was once at a hotel in Kuala Lumpur. Suddenly we all heard a bomb explosion outside. We ducked for cover but, on closer inspection, we saw it was a group of you folks getting off the bus.
The hotel manager later apologised deeply and gave us all free ear-plugs. But guess what? The plugs failed. You all must have been born with some anti-ear plug X-Men mutant gene, for no matter how tight I shut my ears I can still you screaming like a Hokkien banshee.
In fact, I sometimes try to understand what it is you always feel the need to yell so much over. But I confess: I’m utterly confused. I see a horde of you approaching and it seems that you’re shouting about… everything.
It seems like you absolutely must comment LOUDLY on the glare of the lights, the position of the posters, the smoothness of the toilet floor, why the cashier has two pimples on one cheek, why McDonald’s chicken nuggets look more jaundiced than the ones from KFC, why Malaysia is named "Malaysia" and, of course, whether or not the particular buttered prawn you’re eating deserves to win a SUPER-Brand award.
Are you truly so curious about the state of the world? Does every China Chinese studying for a degree in Materials & Society? If someone like me walked up to you and scolded you for your behavior and called you a bunch of lawless monkeys without a care for anyone else, would you be rigorously interested to find out why?
Also, it seems the problem occurs in your beloved land too.
My aunt tells me about a time she went to Xian to visit your late Emperor’s sand-men military, also known as the Terracotta Warriors (which, IMO, must be the fiercest and most disciplined non-functional army in the universe).
Anyway, she told me she was on the bus to the place. When the bus stopped, a mini-tsunami of you people charged UP into the bus without waiting for the passengers to disembark. My aunt, whose face has graced many posters with the phrase “a summer breeze”, turned into a Malaysian Ghost-Rider in a second; she launched into a tirade of sermons on the nature of hellfire which the Devil has reserved for inconsiderate tourists.
See what you did. Your behaviour has the power to corrupt angels.
Other than that, and this is my greatest fear, you seem gifted to be able to single-handedly turn around Boeing 777s.
At least four members of your community, not long ago, turned back a Nanjing-bound flight from Bangkok. Your comrades apparently felt that emailing Air-Asia an official complaint was too troublesome so, hey, let’s skip the foreplay and just chuck the piping hot instant noodle at the stewardess, why don’t we?! Wouldn’t that be fun, eh?!
And I’m still unsure. Has everybody in the Middle Kingdom learnt this lesson of the Fantastically Filthy Four? That if you lose your cool on a plane, you risk disrupting the travel plans of the entire flight manifest? That delaying people’s return to their families or causing them to miss their meetings and events are just a few consequences that can result if we acted like psycho chihuahuas in heat?
Speaking of planes, recently I was on a Cathay Pacific flight to Hong Kong. The racket started all the way from the passenger drop-off just outside the KLIA Departure terminal. A couple had just gotten out of a cab, and was arguing as if the guy had ripped out the lady’s appendix, or vice-versa. One look at their skin colour and one second listening to their vocals confirmed the duo probably originated in a location between Mongolia, Tibet and Korea.
Later, after checking my luggage in, I heard an unholy commotion. This time I thought Genghis Khan had come back from the dead and wanted to steal some airport trolleys to throw at his enemies. But, alas and again, it was a group of you storm-troopers, getting erotically charged up over some number shown on the departure TVs.
Anyway, I boarded the plane. Found my seat, put on my seat-belt and then I noticed it: The guy next to me had his feet on the tray table. Holy Peking Roast Ducks! A grown-up dude way past his teens had taken off his sandals and was massaging his toes against that mini-circle on which the stewardess would later put his green tea.
Am I being overly reactive and conservative to find such behaviour just a tad bit inappropriate? I doubt that kids in Guangzhou are taught to put their socked feet right next to their porridge bowls, so what in the name of Three Gorges Dessert was that fella doing?
Do you think maybe you can think about my questions above? No problem, I understand — feel free to respond after you’re done yelling about the colour of the sky outside China.
Sincerely,
Alwyn
* This is the personal opinion of the columnist.
