Over the last year I have been to Thailand several times for work, and every time I am struck by how Thai people seem to be exceptionally respectful and helpful.
In my experience they would generally acknowledge your arrival into a room with a large smile and either a nod or with their hands joined together in front of their face and head slightly bowed, welcoming you with a 'sawadee-ka(p)'.
They would always make you feel like they are at your service, and they will be truly pleased to help you if you ask them any favour.
I am in awe of their patience and their confident humility to 'serve' you as an honoured guest while you are in their country.
I am even aware of an email written in English by a Thai person trying to be very polite and helpful to a customer by finishing their message with something along the lines of 'I am at your service to satisfy your heart's desire'...
I chuckled but I am touched by the innocent spirit of service behind it.
I can't help but contrast this with my experience to-date working in the UK where one tends to resist doing anything too remotely distant from one's job spec.
I am also guilty of this.
I feel that in the western professional world, I often have the need to prove my rank or my expert skills and therefore would feel offended if I were asked to do anything below my perceived worth. ('You will never guess what So-And-So asked me to do the other day, the cheek! Doesn't he know I am a qualified accountant? What does he think I am, his secretary?').
I have been concerned that if I do not 'stand up for myself' I will be taken advantage of, what with being a really nice and helpful person and all that...
I have had to balance my endeavour to be a good team player and volunteer to do thankless jobs to improve my team's performance with the need to assert my position and credibility with my seniors as well as people I managed.
My Thai experience also heavily contrasts with my experience working with some large companies in the UK where the culture is one of antagonism and unspoken battle for power and the upper-hand in all situations. Different departments would struggle for power, trying to push for work to be done by others, trying to prove who is more important, and whose time is more precious...
Don't get me wrong, I am a real advocate of getting the right people with the right skills to do the right jobs that suit their competency. This is the efficient way of getting things done as a team.
I recently talked my boyfriend into getting a cleaner by discussing the 'opportunity cost' of him spending half a day cleaning his flat himself at weekends when he works 70 hours a week. What else could he be doing in his precious free time instead of scrubbing his bathtub? Or another way of looking at it: how much would he pay himself to clean his flat? (this one didn't work: he is clearly too humble to think that his cleaning skills are worth much).
But I digress.
Clearly this power struggle also exists in Thailand, but I am unaware of it in my own experience, owing to the blissful ignorance provided by the language barrier.
I can't say that I understand much about what goes on when I am at work in Thailand, since people seem very busy running around to do things for you that you didn't even know you needed, therefore in the absence of words to assess my environment, I rely on feelings. And those are very warm and welcoming.
I am learning a lesson of patience and tolerance with this experience, and wish I had the confidence to have the humility to be always that helpful.
Who said language barriers were a bad thing!
Tuesday 31 July 2012
Monday 9 July 2012
Holiday reading
Apparently French people read as much on holidays as they do during the rest of the year combined.
I love holiday reading, because you can take your time savouring each word, each sentence, each detail. You can read long chunks of a book in one go, therefore really getting into the atmosphere of the book and think about what you are reading rather than just superficially following the broad lines. The best thing is you don't need to read the same line over and over again because your brain is too tired to focus or because you have inadvertently fallen asleep in the midst of the process.
I really enjoy tackling new subjects on holidays that I have an interest in, but have not had much time to look into in more detail during the rest of the year. Previous subjects have included environmental issues, the banking crisis, the meaning of friendship, relationships, etiquette at work, and Neuro Linguistic Programming. (Yes, I am a fan of self-help books, despite much teasing from my friends; I find that they help me re-assess my beliefs and behave in a way that is truer to myself).
Of course, I always bring my dose of light and inconsequential reading which allows you to sit on the beach and spend time in a frivolously purposeless manner.
This year, during our holiday in France, one of the subjects I will be looking into is chess. My blonde-haired blue-eyed Chinese boyfriend (see post on Love Languages) introduced me to chess after I complained that my strategic thinking was abysmal.
I experienced BBCB's naturally great pedagogical skills there.
After explaining the basic rules and roles to me, we started playing, and of course, at first I could not think of anything else than what my current move should be, often taking a long time to decide, in fear of making the wrong decision.
To help me relax and enjoy the game, BBCB employed a few unusual tactics. First he would ask me questions such as: what happens if you make that move? and we would work out together the sequence of events that this particular move would trigger. It would generally eventually lead to me losing the game. At that point of realisation, he would get back to the original decision point in the game, piece by piece, move by move (How can anyone remember that many moves??!!) and I would have another go at making that original move.
Another tactic BBCB has used to help me think about my adversary's game is to suddenly turn the board around and switch games: I would take his pieces and he would take mine. At the beginning I would often feel like I am starting a new game, having paid no attention whatsoever to his pieces and how advanced he is in his game.
I really enjoy our chess games: we both play for me to win! And I am very grateful that BBCB clearly has the patience of a saint...
Another book I will be reading is The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton. I will always remember that my last philosophy teacher at university (in a business programme) said to me in our last class with her that most students probably won't ever do any more philosophy in their lives. She was probably right for the majority of the time, but holidays give a great opportunity to make an exception to the rule. A little bit of philosophical thinking is good for the soul! And Mr de Botton is good at making philosophy accessible and pleasant to read.
Then I would like to read Watching the English by Kate Fox (subtitled The Hidden Rules of English Behaviour) again. This is a very insightful and funny book about things English people do, which during my first years in the UK used to seem completely alien, illogical, eccentric, quaint... but which I now also do myself unconsciously, having clearly had a cultural transplant! I recently celebrated my 10th year living in the UK, and I would like to think about all the things that I love about the English and that have made me want to stay in this country.
The whole thing will be punctuated by dipping in and out of French learning books, as BBCB is intending to further improve his already very good French. I am planning to give him daily challenges to use a series of expressions and words he has learnt.
Hopefully these challenges will lead us to discover the region's tasty cuisine (we are off to French Catalonia). For any French-Chinese person no holiday is complete without satisfying your tastebuds' hunger and curiosity! For background on how I am French-Chinese, you can refer to this post.
I am already dreaming of 'jamòn jabugo' (exceptional cured ham from very muscled black pigs exclusively fed on acorns), 'sobrasada' (paprika and mince meat spread), tomatoes packed with flavour and of course the local wines, especially the sweet red Banyuls, which I am planning to drink as an accompaniment to whichever fanciful dessert will be on offer.
Now my stomach is growling. I am going to prepare dinner before dreaming about what brasserie dishes I will have during our stopover in Paris: escargots? steak tartare? sole meunière?... (Obsessed? Me??)
I love holiday reading, because you can take your time savouring each word, each sentence, each detail. You can read long chunks of a book in one go, therefore really getting into the atmosphere of the book and think about what you are reading rather than just superficially following the broad lines. The best thing is you don't need to read the same line over and over again because your brain is too tired to focus or because you have inadvertently fallen asleep in the midst of the process.
I really enjoy tackling new subjects on holidays that I have an interest in, but have not had much time to look into in more detail during the rest of the year. Previous subjects have included environmental issues, the banking crisis, the meaning of friendship, relationships, etiquette at work, and Neuro Linguistic Programming. (Yes, I am a fan of self-help books, despite much teasing from my friends; I find that they help me re-assess my beliefs and behave in a way that is truer to myself).
Of course, I always bring my dose of light and inconsequential reading which allows you to sit on the beach and spend time in a frivolously purposeless manner.
This year, during our holiday in France, one of the subjects I will be looking into is chess. My blonde-haired blue-eyed Chinese boyfriend (see post on Love Languages) introduced me to chess after I complained that my strategic thinking was abysmal.
I experienced BBCB's naturally great pedagogical skills there.
After explaining the basic rules and roles to me, we started playing, and of course, at first I could not think of anything else than what my current move should be, often taking a long time to decide, in fear of making the wrong decision.
To help me relax and enjoy the game, BBCB employed a few unusual tactics. First he would ask me questions such as: what happens if you make that move? and we would work out together the sequence of events that this particular move would trigger. It would generally eventually lead to me losing the game. At that point of realisation, he would get back to the original decision point in the game, piece by piece, move by move (How can anyone remember that many moves??!!) and I would have another go at making that original move.
Another tactic BBCB has used to help me think about my adversary's game is to suddenly turn the board around and switch games: I would take his pieces and he would take mine. At the beginning I would often feel like I am starting a new game, having paid no attention whatsoever to his pieces and how advanced he is in his game.
I really enjoy our chess games: we both play for me to win! And I am very grateful that BBCB clearly has the patience of a saint...
Another book I will be reading is The Art of Travel by Alain de Botton. I will always remember that my last philosophy teacher at university (in a business programme) said to me in our last class with her that most students probably won't ever do any more philosophy in their lives. She was probably right for the majority of the time, but holidays give a great opportunity to make an exception to the rule. A little bit of philosophical thinking is good for the soul! And Mr de Botton is good at making philosophy accessible and pleasant to read.
Then I would like to read Watching the English by Kate Fox (subtitled The Hidden Rules of English Behaviour) again. This is a very insightful and funny book about things English people do, which during my first years in the UK used to seem completely alien, illogical, eccentric, quaint... but which I now also do myself unconsciously, having clearly had a cultural transplant! I recently celebrated my 10th year living in the UK, and I would like to think about all the things that I love about the English and that have made me want to stay in this country.
The whole thing will be punctuated by dipping in and out of French learning books, as BBCB is intending to further improve his already very good French. I am planning to give him daily challenges to use a series of expressions and words he has learnt.
Hopefully these challenges will lead us to discover the region's tasty cuisine (we are off to French Catalonia). For any French-Chinese person no holiday is complete without satisfying your tastebuds' hunger and curiosity! For background on how I am French-Chinese, you can refer to this post.
I am already dreaming of 'jamòn jabugo' (exceptional cured ham from very muscled black pigs exclusively fed on acorns), 'sobrasada' (paprika and mince meat spread), tomatoes packed with flavour and of course the local wines, especially the sweet red Banyuls, which I am planning to drink as an accompaniment to whichever fanciful dessert will be on offer.
Now my stomach is growling. I am going to prepare dinner before dreaming about what brasserie dishes I will have during our stopover in Paris: escargots? steak tartare? sole meunière?... (Obsessed? Me??)
Friday 6 July 2012
Friday night and the first sip of beer
I love the French author Philippe Delerm. And I recently found a wonderful English translation of his best-selling collection of short stories 'La Première Gorgée de Bière' entitled 'We Could Almost Sit Outside'. This means I have been able to enjoy the delicious little stories with my non-French speaking friends.
I never understood the pleasure of beer until I started living in the UK.
I used to think it was a wishy washy beverage chosen by red-nosed middle aged men who were in the bars a little too early in the day and a little too often (well, I suppose that's still not entirely false, but it's become kind of an endearing thought for me).
I got into the habit of frequenting the pub next to the office with a couple of (male) colleagues after work in my first year in the UK, and would have a couple of pints of Stella before commuting home.
Maybe I was taking the saying 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do' a little bit too seriously then, but the result is that it opened my eyes to the joys of drinking beer.
In Monsieur Delerm's wonderful (translated) words, 'The first gulp! Its journey is already well advanced by the time it reaches your throat. With a frothy trail of foaming gold around your lips, bitter happiness slowly permeates your palate. [...] The ritual is familiar enough: the right quantity to ensure a perfect prelude; the instant rush of well-being, punctuated by a contented sigh, a smack of the lips, or silence; the giddy sensation of pleasure teetering in the brink of infinity...'
How accurately described! I love this feeling on a Friday night, after a long week at work: as you gulp down that first sip of beer, you feel all the burdens and the worries you have carried during 5 days melt into the golden liquid.
Do I sound like a bloke? Hold on, it gets worse!! I later got introduced to real ales and the world of CAMRA pubs. The surprises in the flavours of different carefully brewed lively ales (caramel, grapefruit, and other unexpected things) makes the experience a real joy - at least until my stomach starts to protest against the overload of yeast!
Once during a work function, as I was caught drinking a pint of lager by the Operations Director, a conservative-minded Englishman, I was told that as a lady, I should be drinking half pints.
What was strange was that by switching to half pints, I still drank the same number of glasses, therefore halving my intake and the cost to my wallet. Genius!!
Nowadays I don't tend to socialise with work colleagues in the pub anymore - partly because I work from home.
But I still drink that Friday night beer fondly, and all the years I have lived in the UK and loved this country rush into my brain.
I never understood the pleasure of beer until I started living in the UK.
I used to think it was a wishy washy beverage chosen by red-nosed middle aged men who were in the bars a little too early in the day and a little too often (well, I suppose that's still not entirely false, but it's become kind of an endearing thought for me).
I got into the habit of frequenting the pub next to the office with a couple of (male) colleagues after work in my first year in the UK, and would have a couple of pints of Stella before commuting home.
Maybe I was taking the saying 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do' a little bit too seriously then, but the result is that it opened my eyes to the joys of drinking beer.
In Monsieur Delerm's wonderful (translated) words, 'The first gulp! Its journey is already well advanced by the time it reaches your throat. With a frothy trail of foaming gold around your lips, bitter happiness slowly permeates your palate. [...] The ritual is familiar enough: the right quantity to ensure a perfect prelude; the instant rush of well-being, punctuated by a contented sigh, a smack of the lips, or silence; the giddy sensation of pleasure teetering in the brink of infinity...'
How accurately described! I love this feeling on a Friday night, after a long week at work: as you gulp down that first sip of beer, you feel all the burdens and the worries you have carried during 5 days melt into the golden liquid.
Do I sound like a bloke? Hold on, it gets worse!! I later got introduced to real ales and the world of CAMRA pubs. The surprises in the flavours of different carefully brewed lively ales (caramel, grapefruit, and other unexpected things) makes the experience a real joy - at least until my stomach starts to protest against the overload of yeast!
Once during a work function, as I was caught drinking a pint of lager by the Operations Director, a conservative-minded Englishman, I was told that as a lady, I should be drinking half pints.
What was strange was that by switching to half pints, I still drank the same number of glasses, therefore halving my intake and the cost to my wallet. Genius!!
Nowadays I don't tend to socialise with work colleagues in the pub anymore - partly because I work from home.
But I still drink that Friday night beer fondly, and all the years I have lived in the UK and loved this country rush into my brain.
The pleasures of dim sum (yum cha)
As I received the visit of a family member last week, I found myself going and returning to London's Chinatown again and again for those dim sum made by expert chefs trained in Hong Kong, and which just don't taste the same in Paris (which can boast great Vietnamese food but not so much proper Chinese food).
Many varieties of dim sum contain prawns and mince pork, a combination made in heaven.
The firm texture and fresh briny taste of prawns, the crumbly melting texture and intensely salty taste of mince pork, underlined by the crunchy and mild flavours of cabbage or Chinese chives, wrapped in a choice of tofu skin, or thin rice paper or eggy pasta sheet.
Each dim sum is a little cocktail of carefully balanced ingredients, each mouthful an alliance of different tastes and textures having an elated party with your tastebuds.
The hint of chilli from the chilli paste that you have dipped your little parcel in is giving you an extra kick, an extra dimension which makes the party extra special, like that special fruity cocktail you made for your party which makes all your guests want to drink a little more, and encourages them to be even more sociable.
And then all the other varieties.
Pan-fried turnip cake, the wonderfully melting texture of the white cake with the soft turnip and its slightly crunchy chestnuts.
Shanghai dumplings (xiaolongbao, literally little dragon dumplings), the juicy parcel skin having started to soak some of the (dangerously) hot stock packed with meaty and veg flavours, bursting in your mouth as you take your first bite into the pretty round creamy white coloured dumpling.
Fried taro cake, the crispy oiliness of the brown hairy-looking batter stuffed with mince pork and taro, the marriage of the salty, melt-in-the-mouth pork and starchy sweetness of the taro.
Marinated chicken feet - I know it sounds awful, and I don't pretend that it's easy to overcome the repulsive idea if you were not brought up with it - the intense garlic, chilli and soya sauce flavours soaked right through the skin. The soft melting texture of the skin. The highly satisfying gnawing action, biting into the piece, separating the skin from the bones in your mouth, and spitting the bones out (I think only Chinese people can really appreciate the pleasure of gnawing through bones).
And then all the "accessories".
Tea, the only beverage that will help your stomach digest all these little parcels - dim sum are quite oily. Tikuanyin is a family favourite, its strong slightly bitter flavour balancing all the salt in the food, the heat of it comforting your stomach and kicking off the digestion process.
The friends and family, if possible a full table of 10 or 12 people you haven't seen for a long time, catching up as you express your love and care for them by putting parcels in their bowls as the waiters bring them to the table, pouring tea into their cups, making sure that their plate and cup are never empty until no more steaming bamboo dishes are brought in and everyone has a full stomach and is drinking their tea to wash everything down before getting ready to carry on with their own Sunday afternoon's programme of fun.
One of the small pleasures in my life. One more reason for me to stay in the UK!
Many varieties of dim sum contain prawns and mince pork, a combination made in heaven.
The firm texture and fresh briny taste of prawns, the crumbly melting texture and intensely salty taste of mince pork, underlined by the crunchy and mild flavours of cabbage or Chinese chives, wrapped in a choice of tofu skin, or thin rice paper or eggy pasta sheet.
Each dim sum is a little cocktail of carefully balanced ingredients, each mouthful an alliance of different tastes and textures having an elated party with your tastebuds.
The hint of chilli from the chilli paste that you have dipped your little parcel in is giving you an extra kick, an extra dimension which makes the party extra special, like that special fruity cocktail you made for your party which makes all your guests want to drink a little more, and encourages them to be even more sociable.
And then all the other varieties.
Pan-fried turnip cake, the wonderfully melting texture of the white cake with the soft turnip and its slightly crunchy chestnuts.
Shanghai dumplings (xiaolongbao, literally little dragon dumplings), the juicy parcel skin having started to soak some of the (dangerously) hot stock packed with meaty and veg flavours, bursting in your mouth as you take your first bite into the pretty round creamy white coloured dumpling.
Fried taro cake, the crispy oiliness of the brown hairy-looking batter stuffed with mince pork and taro, the marriage of the salty, melt-in-the-mouth pork and starchy sweetness of the taro.
Marinated chicken feet - I know it sounds awful, and I don't pretend that it's easy to overcome the repulsive idea if you were not brought up with it - the intense garlic, chilli and soya sauce flavours soaked right through the skin. The soft melting texture of the skin. The highly satisfying gnawing action, biting into the piece, separating the skin from the bones in your mouth, and spitting the bones out (I think only Chinese people can really appreciate the pleasure of gnawing through bones).
And then all the "accessories".
Tea, the only beverage that will help your stomach digest all these little parcels - dim sum are quite oily. Tikuanyin is a family favourite, its strong slightly bitter flavour balancing all the salt in the food, the heat of it comforting your stomach and kicking off the digestion process.
The friends and family, if possible a full table of 10 or 12 people you haven't seen for a long time, catching up as you express your love and care for them by putting parcels in their bowls as the waiters bring them to the table, pouring tea into their cups, making sure that their plate and cup are never empty until no more steaming bamboo dishes are brought in and everyone has a full stomach and is drinking their tea to wash everything down before getting ready to carry on with their own Sunday afternoon's programme of fun.
One of the small pleasures in my life. One more reason for me to stay in the UK!
Love languages
A few months ago, my boyfriend introduced me to a book called The 5 Love Languages.
Since then I have been fascinated by how people's behaviours and words betray their preferred way of expressing or receiving love.
To the risk of generalising and stereotyping, I would say from my observations that Chinese people tend to express love through Acts of Service and Gifts, and definitely not through either Words of Affirmation or Physical Touch, which would be more of a western way of expressing love and affection - see previous post on family and peculiarities.
The fifth love language is Quality Time, and perhaps this could be a common ground between Chinese and western cultures?
My two dominant love languages are Words of Affirmation and Physical Touch. For that reason, my boyfriend says that I am like a little cat, purring and asking to be stroked and cuddled.
To make things really easy, he and I have the same two dominant love languages, which means that without much effort, we both feel emotional safety, reassurance and trust towards each other.
It is quite interesting that we have the same love languages, even if I often joke that I am a black-haired brown slanted-eyed westerner (or "banana": yellow on the outside, white on the inside), and conversely he is a blonde-haired blue-eyed Chinese man, through years spent living and breathing Chinese culture.
He masters the Chinese language incomparably better than I do (yes, I feel ashamed), and his understanding of Chinese cultures is much superior to mine (he actively worked on understanding a foreign culture, whereas I only ever passively tried to cope with a culture gap).
I have come across a few Chinese people who would say, strongly believing that their perception of the world is the one and only truth, that the only proof that you love someone is how much money you have given them (love language of Gifts). They believe that western parents molly-cuddle their children and repeat to them that they love them (Words of Affirmation), but that when it comes to it, they wouldn't part with their money, and therefore their words are empty.
If you have read Battlehymn of a Tiger Mother by Amy Chua, you have come across this dilemma, and it has probably stirred strong emotions in you, making you want to express your opinion loudly, whichever way you lean.
What do I think as a French-born Chinese living in the western world?
I will do what I am often accused of doing, due to my loathing of confrontations: sitting on the fence.
I think that when you love someone enough, you want to have the tolerance to try and understand their point of view, even if it is diametrically opposite to what you believe in. You may never succeed, but you will definitely listen and try.
If you both adopt that mindset, you may still bicker, get frustrated with each other, occasionally feel hurt and often feel misunderstood, but you will know that you are both trying, and accept that the other person just thinks completely differently.
Think of the Buddhist concept of Lovingkindness - wishing everyone well, no matter how similar or different they are (just to throw in some more clashes, as I come from a family of firm believers in Christian Protestant religion).
Easier said than done.
In the meantime, I will relish my easy life with my blue-eyed China man.
Since then I have been fascinated by how people's behaviours and words betray their preferred way of expressing or receiving love.
To the risk of generalising and stereotyping, I would say from my observations that Chinese people tend to express love through Acts of Service and Gifts, and definitely not through either Words of Affirmation or Physical Touch, which would be more of a western way of expressing love and affection - see previous post on family and peculiarities.
The fifth love language is Quality Time, and perhaps this could be a common ground between Chinese and western cultures?
My two dominant love languages are Words of Affirmation and Physical Touch. For that reason, my boyfriend says that I am like a little cat, purring and asking to be stroked and cuddled.
To make things really easy, he and I have the same two dominant love languages, which means that without much effort, we both feel emotional safety, reassurance and trust towards each other.
It is quite interesting that we have the same love languages, even if I often joke that I am a black-haired brown slanted-eyed westerner (or "banana": yellow on the outside, white on the inside), and conversely he is a blonde-haired blue-eyed Chinese man, through years spent living and breathing Chinese culture.
He masters the Chinese language incomparably better than I do (yes, I feel ashamed), and his understanding of Chinese cultures is much superior to mine (he actively worked on understanding a foreign culture, whereas I only ever passively tried to cope with a culture gap).
I have come across a few Chinese people who would say, strongly believing that their perception of the world is the one and only truth, that the only proof that you love someone is how much money you have given them (love language of Gifts). They believe that western parents molly-cuddle their children and repeat to them that they love them (Words of Affirmation), but that when it comes to it, they wouldn't part with their money, and therefore their words are empty.
If you have read Battlehymn of a Tiger Mother by Amy Chua, you have come across this dilemma, and it has probably stirred strong emotions in you, making you want to express your opinion loudly, whichever way you lean.
What do I think as a French-born Chinese living in the western world?
I will do what I am often accused of doing, due to my loathing of confrontations: sitting on the fence.
I think that when you love someone enough, you want to have the tolerance to try and understand their point of view, even if it is diametrically opposite to what you believe in. You may never succeed, but you will definitely listen and try.
If you both adopt that mindset, you may still bicker, get frustrated with each other, occasionally feel hurt and often feel misunderstood, but you will know that you are both trying, and accept that the other person just thinks completely differently.
Think of the Buddhist concept of Lovingkindness - wishing everyone well, no matter how similar or different they are (just to throw in some more clashes, as I come from a family of firm believers in Christian Protestant religion).
Easier said than done.
In the meantime, I will relish my easy life with my blue-eyed China man.
Tuesday 3 July 2012
Family members and their peculiarities
Every family has its own peculiarities. We all have an old aunt who is a bit odd, a great-uncle who has a dubious sense of humour, a brother-in-law who has an unusual personality...
As I had the privilege to receive the visit of a dear elder family member during the past week, I have been collecting a few gems, as I experienced the comical side and the frustration that these peculiarities bring.
Workaholic
Amazingly she has been doing business in English, while she never learnt it, nor ever lived in an English speaking country.
She has been up early every morning to check her business emails.
And every morning without fail, as I walked downstairs to blow dry my hair around 8am (I had lent her my blow-drier and left it in her room), she would start asking me questions:
'How do you say XYZ in English? '
'How do you spell "of course"?'
'How do you reply to a message without starting a new email?'
If I interrupt my blow-drying, at this rate it would take me 3 hours to finish drying my hair.
If I don't interrupt myself, I can't hear anything.
What do I do?
'I am taking advantage of the fact that you are by my side to ask you these questions that I normally struggle with.'
Right. Glad I can be of use from the very first moment I am up!
OCD
And every morning without fail, as I walked downstairs to blow dry my hair around 8am (I had lent her my blow-drier and left it in her room), she would start asking me questions:
'How do you say XYZ in English? '
'How do you spell "of course"?'
'How do you reply to a message without starting a new email?'
If I interrupt my blow-drying, at this rate it would take me 3 hours to finish drying my hair.
If I don't interrupt myself, I can't hear anything.
What do I do?
'I am taking advantage of the fact that you are by my side to ask you these questions that I normally struggle with.'
Right. Glad I can be of use from the very first moment I am up!
OCD
In my family many houses are immaculate and look like show apartments. This comes at a cost. Personally, I have been looking after my own household for 15 years, and I like my house to be clean, but I don't like to sacrifice my lifestyle to upgrade it from very clean to über-clean.
Before she arrived, my cousins were starting to tease:
'You must make sure that you have a different pair of slippers for different parts in the house which have different grades of cleanliness'.
While I was wiping the table clean after dinner:
'You must not use the washing up scourer sponge to clean all the table. You should use it to soap up only little dots on the table, then use the plain sponge to wipe the whole table.'
'You need to wipe the dishes with a dishcloth then let them go extra dry on the work surfaces before you put them away.'
She reorganised all my cupboards.
She wiped my fridge, freezer, microwave.
Free cleaning and tidying services, with tips as well!
Pride and expectations
There is a turn of phrase that sounds particularly accusatory. Why didn't you...?
The assumption is that it's obvious what should have been done, yet you didn't do it.
There are clearly certain standards that should be met when you are part of the family, and I hadn't met them.
'Why didn't you turn the toilet you are not using upstairs into a storage room?'
'Why didn't you have some bespoke kitchen cupboards for more space?' (she knows that I had a very restricted house refurbishment budget).
In the train, sitting next to a very good-looking young girl. 'Why don't you dress like this girl, she looks very classy. You would look better in long trousers, especially because your legs are a bit fat.' (I am a size 8 trousers).
Drama
I was woken up at 6.30am by repetitive sneezes the same number of decibels as a motorbike ridden by a teenager full of testosterone trying to impress his friends. 'Oh, did I wake you up? I think I am allergic to the damp smell on your bedsheets.' I smelled them, and couldn't smell anything. And I have the biggest nostrils in my family! Of course I washed the bedsheets again anyway.
'I don't like bins with a lid'. And with that, she starts to leave her rubbish on top of the lid. (The lid sticks sometimes, and she cannot touch the lid because she would have to wash her hands immediately afterwards).
Stubbornness
We went on a little walk in London. She looks up to a shop front sign.
'Oh, Pret A Manger. Is it a French company?
- No it isn't.
- Then they must do French food at least.
- No they do sandwiches and salads.
- You must be wrong, the name is French, it has to have some kind of French food.'
She kind of has a point. Why don't they do any French food with that name?
When you are an expat you have a lot of autonomy and much less influence from your family. It's wonderful to have family members visiting, and to have quality time bonding with people you just don't have the opportunity to spend much time with anymore. But you know what? After a week, I am mentally exhausted by having to think before every single gesture, just to make sure it is the way she wants it done.
And I am so grateful that I can hold the reins of my household again, and lead my life in exactly the way I like, in peace and quiet.
Before she arrived, my cousins were starting to tease:
'You must make sure that you have a different pair of slippers for different parts in the house which have different grades of cleanliness'.
While I was wiping the table clean after dinner:
'You must not use the washing up scourer sponge to clean all the table. You should use it to soap up only little dots on the table, then use the plain sponge to wipe the whole table.'
'You need to wipe the dishes with a dishcloth then let them go extra dry on the work surfaces before you put them away.'
She reorganised all my cupboards.
She wiped my fridge, freezer, microwave.
Free cleaning and tidying services, with tips as well!
Pride and expectations
There is a turn of phrase that sounds particularly accusatory. Why didn't you...?
The assumption is that it's obvious what should have been done, yet you didn't do it.
There are clearly certain standards that should be met when you are part of the family, and I hadn't met them.
'Why didn't you turn the toilet you are not using upstairs into a storage room?'
'Why didn't you have some bespoke kitchen cupboards for more space?' (she knows that I had a very restricted house refurbishment budget).
In the train, sitting next to a very good-looking young girl. 'Why don't you dress like this girl, she looks very classy. You would look better in long trousers, especially because your legs are a bit fat.' (I am a size 8 trousers).
Drama
I was woken up at 6.30am by repetitive sneezes the same number of decibels as a motorbike ridden by a teenager full of testosterone trying to impress his friends. 'Oh, did I wake you up? I think I am allergic to the damp smell on your bedsheets.' I smelled them, and couldn't smell anything. And I have the biggest nostrils in my family! Of course I washed the bedsheets again anyway.
'I don't like bins with a lid'. And with that, she starts to leave her rubbish on top of the lid. (The lid sticks sometimes, and she cannot touch the lid because she would have to wash her hands immediately afterwards).
Stubbornness
We went on a little walk in London. She looks up to a shop front sign.
'Oh, Pret A Manger. Is it a French company?
- No it isn't.
- Then they must do French food at least.
- No they do sandwiches and salads.
- You must be wrong, the name is French, it has to have some kind of French food.'
She kind of has a point. Why don't they do any French food with that name?
When you are an expat you have a lot of autonomy and much less influence from your family. It's wonderful to have family members visiting, and to have quality time bonding with people you just don't have the opportunity to spend much time with anymore. But you know what? After a week, I am mentally exhausted by having to think before every single gesture, just to make sure it is the way she wants it done.
And I am so grateful that I can hold the reins of my household again, and lead my life in exactly the way I like, in peace and quiet.
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