Lightning and thunder

Hong Kong is in the middle of a thunderstorm. As tenants of the island's tallest building, Two International Finance Centre, we have to witness the lightning and growling thunder darkening the sky across the harbour. The thunder is so loud you can hear it from my office, which does not have a window. You can't see anything through the grey black fuzz of thick raindrops.

Hong Kong has a very sophisticated system of weather warnings designed to warn the populace about the tropical weather they encounter. This morning, for example, we have had two weather warnings already: an amber rainstorm signal and the thunderstorm signal. Amber rainstorm signals mean that heavy rainfall exceeding 30 millimetres per hour is due to continue. The next level is red rainstorm (rainfall exceeds 50 millimetres per hour), then black rainstorm (rainfall exceeds 70 millimetres per hour). People usually hope for the black rainstorm signal to be up in the mornings because that means they don't have to go to work as it is considered too dangerous to travel in such conditions.

The tropical cyclones that stir up the region between the months of May and November are also dealt with by the warnings. Whereas up until 1937 a typhoon gun was used to notify the scared crowds (imagine seeing a cyclone gear up in the horizon, and then hearing gun shots), these days television and radio broadcasts follow the five step warning signals issued by the Hong Kong Observatory. If a typhoon signal 8 is about to be raised, people leave their offices to travel back home as these signals last quite a while and you wouldn't want to be stuck at work, unable to leave since public transport is stopped or reduced significantly. The Stock Exchange closes. Everything shuts down and people are left to wander about inside shopping centres, cinemas, pubs and dim sum restaurants which offer 'Typhoon specials' of discounted menus.

Naturally, as a lawyer, I have to think about what happens in such events - does a day with a typhoon signal 8 raised count as a 'business day'? What time should we decide events should not go ahead - 9 am? 2 pm? And so on.

Most days, when it's raining, I trudge about the covered walkways of Hong Kong, remembering what my dad used to tell me about Hong Kong when I was a child.
"You can walk about everywhere inside walkways, and not get wet even though it's raining! Don't you remember?" he had said. I didn't remember. This morning, I stood for a minute inside one such covered walkway to watch a huge screen on the opposite building display Amber Valletta in designer clothes walking down a white-lit catwalk.

I need a wig as my head is all shaven and shorn

Chinese Sad Associate has had her hair dyed, permed and cut by a guy who is apparently the hairdresser to the stars in Hong Kong. She had fantastic multicoloured layers of curly hair that she can swoosh around, Pantene model-style, stopping traffic. While I didn't think my hair would look as good after a visit to the hairdresser's, I thought it would benefit from going to see a professional.

So I went to visit another guy who was recommended by Chinese Sad Associate.
"I'd like a trim, please, and maybe some layers to get the weight off the back of my hair," I said. The guy cheerfully nodded and said, "Yes, I can see what needs to be done, you know?" and started cutting away. I was buried deep in the latest issue of InStyle magazine for a while, so I didn't realise what he had done until he asked me to lift my head up for the blowdrying. I gasped when I saw myself in the mirror.

Now, this is the bit I really want to talk about. If someone says they want a trim, does this mean that they are happy to see 6 inches of hair lopped off? Surely that is not what is going on in hair salons around the world? All the girls with bobbed hair would walk around bald if that is the case, right?

The hairstylist noticed I wasn't breathing, and said, "Let me show you the back," and brought along a mirror. I checked again. Yes, I had lost the length of my hair all around. I just said, "Er...OK...", not knowing what to say. The hairstylist said, "You know, you need to try different hairstyle, you know, otherwise you wouldn't know what suits you, you know? And hair grows back, you know?"
Honestly, what is it about my hair that brings out the sheep shearer within for hairdressers?
"Come back and we'll see, you know?" said the hairdresser, smiling as he showed me the door.

I went for a drink after that. My friends were trying to cheer me up.
"You look really stylish," J. said.
"This really suits you," Chinese Sad Associate said.
"It's a sexy style," Chinese Sad Associate's date said.
"No. It is not nice. I am not happy with it. I am going to look for my three children and stationwagon," I said, downing my Chardonnay in one go.
"Oh God, here she goes again," said Chinese Sad Associate, "You always say that after a haircut."
"That's because the hairdressers always turn me into a Connecticut housewife!" I yelled. "I'm meant to be more of a free spirit, not a football mum!"
"Finish your drink, let's go have dinner," said Chinese Sad Associate. So we did, but this morning when I saw myself in the mirror the hair hadn't grown back.

Hong Kong Phooey

A couple of nights ago I was reading my diary from 2002. The last part of it describes my difficulties in choosing to move to Hong Kong for the sake of being closer to my parents. I had built for myself a relatively comfortable life in London and although moving to Hong Kong was the right choice, it was not an easy choice to make.

It's now been a year and almost four months since I've arrived in Hong Kong. The daily drudge of cooking and cleaning has been replaced by takeaways and a cheerful old Filipina lady. My washing is done (with varying results) by a local laundrette. I can take taxis wherever I want without worrying about paying a ridiculous sum. I have the best Chinese food in the world, and the best girl friends around to have it with. Every now and then, I take in the views of Hong Kong from the Peak and mess about in junks. All in all, I think I've succeeded in making myself comfortable here, even if I still haven't got around to hanging my pictures.

The one thing that still bothers me somewhat about Hong Kong is the prevalent racism. I think because of my unique stance here as a non-Caucasian British expat I get to hear more of the attitudes of different groups than others. The attitude that some Caucasian expats have towards the Hong Kong Chinese, for example - Caucasian expats are quite happy to tell me that they think the locals are stupid. If you listen to their reason why they think so, you will see that it is only because some of them can't speak the Queen's English. In return, some Hong Kong Chinese feel that the gwailos (Caucasian expats - but it literally means 'foreign ghost' so it should technically include me, but because I am not Caucasian, the Chinese feel free to talk to me about their complaints!) are rude and arrogant, as nearly none of them bother to learn Cantonese even if they are here long-term, and unhygienic, on account of their habit of wearing shoes inside houses. A majority of Hong Kongers treat their Filipina maids appallingly - I know of maids sleeping on the kitchen floor. Filipinas don't speak to Hong Kongers unless they are spoken to. No one even bothers to remember that there are 18,500-odd Indians and 11,000-odd Pakistanis in Hong Kong (according to the 2001 census). As a result of these attitudes, it is very rare to find a social gathering that really encompasses every element of the Hong Kong population. I have attended gatherings where I was the 'token' non-Caucasian expat, non-Caucasian British expat, non-Indian, non-Chinese participant - all very enjoyable, but puzzling. I know very few people who are not as discriminating.

I suppose this is a characteristic of every society (to a certain extent) to have a negative attitude towards minority groups but I find it really disturbing that I cannot help but be involved in this segregation of social groups. I start wondering about every social encounter - when I find myself not having much interaction with some acquaintances of mine, I wonder whether it is because of our differences in race that we don't meet more often. I invite people to things and find that if they realise they are the only non-Caucasian/non-Indian/non-Chinese/non-Korean person to attend, they don't come along.

Why do things have to be like this?

Save My Soul

Shh.

The Ominous B.I. * might notice I'm in the office now.

I didn't come in until 11 a.m. today, not just because I was in the office til 1 a.m. last night but because I really, really need a break from the Ominous B.I. So I chatted with the staff at Pret A Manger and got a free iced mocha to sip on while I maintain my distance from him.

He left me a voicemail and just sent me an email. I estimate the time of his arrival in my office to be just before 'lunchtime' (his lunchtimes run to bizarre lengths and hours). I figure if I stay here in my office long enough, something - I don't know what exactly, an earthquake? a tornado? - will stop him from approaching me and bathing me with his coffee breath. Or not.

I spent the whole of last night asking myself why I dislike the B.I. so much. Could it be his amazing ignorance of the law? Could it be his halitosis? Could it be that he never realises his mistakes and carries on blithely like a nutter on skates headed towards a railtrack where a train is steaming at full speed towards him (and his clients, and myself, all tied together to him)? Could it be that his incompetence makes me stay late at night to rectify his infantile mistakes? Could it be hell.

Yesterday, the B.I. told me that I should really stop arguing with him all the time. I felt like slapping him**, because if I stop arguing with him, that means I would be letting him carry on being an incompetent ball of lard and risk leading clients down the winding path to disaster. If I argue with him, I have to face his halitosis. Oh heck. Why do I even care? Why can't I just leave everything to go to pot?

I hear his voice coming towards my office. Help.


* My so-called supervisor, the Ominous Bumbling Idiot.
** This was such a 'Chariots of Fire' moment, I cannot believe I forgot to explain this earlier. The B.I. had just finished saying, "J-A, you really must stop arguing with me all the time, you know," and suddenly, my office was filled with the music of the theme song from 'Chariots of Fire'; there was a cheering crowd; the stadium was ready for action; and I could see my left hand moving in slow motion towards the B.I.'s right cheek. I was glorying in the moment of fantastic impact (the imaginary crowd going wild at the satisfying 'Thwack!' ringing out through the stadium) but then the music zapped out and I came to my senses again in the nick of time to stop my hand from actually playing out the fantasy.