China’s UN Ambassador Asks the US to Shut Up

China’s Ambassador to the UN Sha Zukang admonished Washington yesterday of interfering in Beijing’s domestic affairs, particularly in its military program. Asked by a BBC reporter about China’s growing military budget, Sha Zukang did not contain himself and shouted out: “The population of China is six times as much as that of the United States. So, it’s time for Americans to shut up and keep quiet. They will be better off like this.”

“The United States have the right to settle domestic problems on its own, so let them not pry into China’s internal affairs,” the Chinese diplomat said. Sha Zukang also warned that if Taiwan declares independency and any country recognizes it, China will apply military force. “It is not a question of how big Taiwan is. Each centimeter of Chinese land is more important to us than lives of our soldiers,” the Chinese ambassador to UN stated openly.

China has not spoken so harsh on the Taiwan issue for a couple of years. These blunt words may cost Sha Zukang his post and career but the speech of China’s ambassador to the UN shows the hardening of the Chinese leadership’s stance on the Taiwan issue and possible conflict with the United States.

Fuck, I swore I’d be good this weekend. I must stop going home at five in the morning.

One of my favourite movie characters is what I call the Long Wu (Dragon Five to non-Chinese speakers) character.

The original Long Wu was played by Heung Wah-Keung (an alleged triad boss — ALLEGED, I say, pok gai!!! No home visits, please.) in God of Gamblers. The God of Gamblers always has his Long Wu, the right-hand man who has sworn an oath of loyalty and will die for him no matter what.

Isn’t that so fucking thrilling? What really got to me was when Long Wu found the God of Gamblers again after thinking that he was dead and the relief and restrained happiness (because Long Wu is too tough to do girly things like smile, diew!) on his face…it still makes tears come to my eyes.

However, my favourite Long Wu is still Jordan Chan Siu-Chun. I’ve written about this before, but I’ll write about it again because it’s one of my fondest memories: the sight of Jordan as Long Wu fighting naked in God of Gamblers: The Early Stage.

Jordan, I’ll fight you naked, too. Promise!

Jordan also plays a Long Wu-type character in Young and Dangerous called Chicken. Most people drool over Chan Ho Nam, the pretty-boy hero played by Chen Ekin, but I think he looks like My Melody. Fuck him, I couldn’t take my eyes off Chicken — that’s the guy I want!

Jordan looking like a bad motherfucker on the right.

What can I say, I’m a sucker for fast-talking, smart-ass, cynical Cantonese men who don’t mind the occasional casual murder.

Random pictures:

I love this building; I wish I could live here. I’d wear long white gowns all the time and stare out the windows. I took this picture at three in the morning before I remembered that it was Ghost Month, and that I’m not supposed to be outside past midnight.

I love eating at Lo Dei Fong, the waiters there spoil me with extra helpings of soup and dessert.

The chilli sauce:

Which I liberally added onto my haam yu gai faan (salty fish and chicken rice).

Sometimes, I forget just how big my cats really are until I take pictures with them. They are fucking huge.

That’s the alpha CBC (Canadian-born cat) of the house right there on my stomach.

Warning! A picture of myself will be coming up — this might lower your IQ by several points!

Zai Jian!

maloy: i blame this on xavier
maloy: your school conditioned me to go for “wholesome” boys
j8888: ano ka ba
j8888: they all weird over there at that joint
maloy: is that why? so i’m conditioned to look for someone normal on the outside but comic book-reading freaks on the inside
j8888: maybe
j8888: and you did hang out with the boys that were there to try to get into your pants
j8888: phrase of the day: getting into your pants!
j8888: the really nice ones did not hang out in church
j8888: or at least in mary the queen

[FYI, Mary the Queen is the church between my convent school and the neighbouring all-boys school. A lot of naughtiness is rumoured to have occurred there. I certainly did not witness any, and I was there all the time. J denies even ever stepping foot in that area.]

maloy: haha
maloy: JM was nice!
j8888: he’s gay!
j8888: trying to over compensate
maloy: haha! look at this pickup line: “Is it hot in here or is it just you?”
maloy: hm…maybe i’m too conservative, but if a guy hits on me on the street, even if he’s super hot…i would feel weird
maloy: for some reason, if i were in the grocery or bookstore, i would find it okay naman
maloy: dunno why
maloy: i guess street is too hookerish
j8888: so you’d rather that he stalked you to a grocery and bookstore and hit on you there instead of the 5 steps outside on the street?
j8888: lol
maloy: at least i know he made the effort!!

maloy: i’m thinking that when i get another man, i’ll stop writing this blog na
j8888: what’s the relation?
maloy: um…wala naman
j8888: shouldn’t the man inspire you?
maloy: haha, well, the men i’ve dated did inspire me to greater heights of loathing for asian north americans
j8888: well, there ya go
maloy: pero i dunno
maloy: one day, i’ll just post “bye”
maloy: and that’s it
maloy: plus i think i’m getting too much attention now
j8888: that is the nature of the beast
j8888: blog that no one reads and thus care about
j8888: or blog that gets (in)famous and risk the effects
maloy: it’s just weird
maloy: i mean, i only really wrote the blog for like a few friends like you
maloy: and then next thing you know…i write 2 critical entries about abcs and suddenly…
maloy: fucking narcissists
j8888: i think the pics don’t help your cause of anonymity either
j8888: but it does make it less fulfilling if you hold back
j8888: nature of the beast
maloy: yeah, that’s another thing
j8888: (i love that phrase)
maloy: i used to get letters like “right on, sister!”
maloy: then i put my pics up and then suddenly the letters were
maloy: “OMG!!!111!!!! U FUCKING BITCH, WHY R U HATIN ON AZNS!!!!! U R A RACIST!”
maloy: i think my pics lower people’s IQs

I honestly don’t understand why people bother writing to me just to complain about what I write. If you don’t like it, stop reading it. Do you really think whining about it will make me change my fucking mind?

It’s like you people were in love with me and I hurt you or something.

j8888: if one was to ho oneself
j8888: should one hope for men who are well endowed enough and last long enough to maybe make it pleasurable or someone who is neither thus ensuring that it will always be a bad lay?
maloy: i’d rather have a really small one
maloy: at least i can pretend it’s not happening
j8888: but it is happening and it’s bad kung ganon
maloy: no, it’s better like that
maloy: just close my eyes and think of fendi

ps. What the fuck, Koizumi visits the fucking Yasukuni shrine more often than I go to the fucking toilet.

1) Yes, I know I have fabulous hair. Yes, it is my natural hair colour. Look, don’t touch.

2) No, I don’t use skin whiteners. No, I can’t recommend any because I don’t know anything about them. No, I’m not wearing white stockings. Are you fucking kidding me? It’s fucking 34 degrees Celcius. Look, don’t touch. Especially my legs.

3) Yes, I know I have freckles. I do look in the fucking mirror once in a while.

4) No, I am not fucking interested in your cheebye dorky gweilo boyfriend. I can’t help it if you feel insecure around me. Why don’t you just fucking go and lose weight and get fucking plastic surgery, and stop turning around to give me nasty looks because your boyfriend is fucking ogling me.

5) I speak Tagalog. I can understand you. Please, please, please for cheebye’s sake, keep your voice down when you’re discussing the infected abcess on your foot and what it looks like.

6) Mormon tsai, I was not joking when I asked if you were an albino when you tried to recruit me into your cult. I really thought you were…aren’t you? Because if you’re not…someone done fucked up in your gene pool.

7) Gweilos and gweipos: I would like to inform you that this particular sign means “NO SMOKING.”

I realize that they don’t apparently exist in your primitive fucking countries, but when you see them, please fucking put out that diew lo mo cigarette. And that means YOU, you gweipok gai!

Gweipok gai: Why did you take my picture?
Me: Why were you smoking in a non-smoking zone?

Motherfucking gweilos write fucking letters all the time to the newspapers complaining about the lack of manners in Asia, maybe you all should fucking take a look in the fucking mirror, first.

I just know some Asian American is going to write to me telling me that I was too mean to the gweipo and that she was cute, anyway. Yes, I already know some of you like manimals.
Pursing your lips and making kissing sounds at me is not going to make me throw myself at you. Has that ever fucking worked on anyone at all? Why do so many fucking idiots do that?

9) I said before to J that the reason I don’t meet straight men is that I spend too much time with chicks and fags and that I should stop. Well, I take it back: gay men really know how to set you up, and to think it’s just the beginning…!

Thank you. It is much appreciated.

Spent the past couple of days whimpering over my arm. I’d been busy setting stones, and it aggravated an old goldsmithing injury. By yesterday evening, I couldn’t curl my hand into a fist and I had this sharp pain along my arm and down my back. You know it’s bad when someone as pain tolerant as I am can feel it.

Unfortunately, there’s no real remedy for this except for the one trick that I was taught by my goldsmithing teachers: red wine and good company.

So Friday night, I went out with the gays again, and we ended up at someone’s flat drinking a lot of red wine. It’s too bad I had to crop people out of the picture for privacy’s sake because it’s one of the few pictures of myself surrounded by a bunch of really hot (albeit gay) guys.

Last night, the pain was even more intense, and I couldn’t sleep. I did get quite happily drunk on wine again, though. Today isn’t so bad.

Anyway, I was really pleased and surprised to get so many thoughtful responses about the entry I wrote on accents and the use of English as a weapon in Asia. X told me that a lot of Asian Americans come to Asia with such a poor command of the local language that they’re forced to resort to English. However, they get so accustomed to the privileges of fluent English and choose to only hang out with other English-speakers that they never bother learning the local language. X, to be honest, I thought it was a bit amusing that you were so understanding of your brethren, considering how much you seem to dislike so many of them.

I also got quite a few people asking me to put up pictures of my mom. Wah, you send me your lo mo’s picture first, okay?

Kev and Eric had war games at this warehouse instead of the jungle today.

Me: Can I put your pictures on my blog?
Kev: Oh, alright, but make sure you cover up our faces.

This ABCunt and gweipo were making out in front me while I was queueing up at the convenience store this afternoon. They then went to sit in this open-concept restaurant which everyone on the street could look into.

I was taking pictures hoping to get some really nasty PDA ones, but I swear, Buddha must either really love me or really hate ABCunts, because He provided me with these instead.

I swear, you guys are your own worst enemies, you know that?

Tsk tsk. How can you live with yourself?

So last night, my mom and I were discussing how old, fat and unmarriageable I’ve become. Yes, we’re a very tactful family, can’t you tell?

My Mom: You’re so old now lah, how much longer will your father have to support you?
Me: Um…
My Mom: Tsk! How come don’t got men after you?
Me: Well, there’s Adrian…?
My Mom: Aiyah, that’s no good! Do you remember that friend of yours in nursery school, we went to her birthday party and everyone said you were cuter than her?
Me: Er…
My Mom: Tsk! I saw her mother the other day, and she asked, “How is your daughter? Got married or not?” I said no, and she made me lose face lah, bragging her daughter now got two kids and a Benz, and not even half as pale as you, she is dark like the bottom of shoes.

My mom brought up this one guy she’d mentioned a year before, but I’d been too busy putting up with Anonymous ABC’s meanness to consider it. He’s a rich, forty-plus-year old widower who, according to my mom, is “acceptable-looking.” No kids, my dad doesn’t mind him so he must be nice enough, and he had been really good to his wife when she was still alive. Or so my mom says.

It doesn’t seem so bad. I’ve been pretty half-hearted about the gold digging, even though I had this golden opportunity the other day at Harvey Nichols with a PRC ah pek. He was wearing the ah pek uniform of Burberry polo shirt, Armani jeans, gigantic gold-and-diamond Rolex, Bally leather shoes and a leather clutch under his arm. I think he was there with his wife, but he was following me around and smiling at me.

C once told me that she could marry a guy as long as he wasn’t too disgusting and treated her really well. Now I’m wondering if I could do the same.

I was thinking a while ago about how difficult it must be for my mom to understand because she’s always been beautiful. By the time she was twelve, grown men were already proposing to her. For as long as I can remember, men have always hit on my mother, even with me or my siblings around. Even the fucking priest attending my confirmation macked on her, diew lo mo pervert.

Once, Kev and I were having tea with her at a hotel lobby, and a group of men stood up on their chairs to get a better look at her.

Kev: What the fuck…
My Mom: It happens sometimes. Why, don’t people do that to my daughter?
Kev: HELL NO!
Me: Thanks, Kev.

It’s not that beauty is the only requirement for finding someone, but it certainly makes it a lot easier. My mother has no idea what life is like without men falling all over themselves to accommodate her.

A few years back, we were talking about this party that I’d gotten invited to, but I turned the invitation down.

My Mom: Why don’t you go?
Me: Because the guy who invited me used to make fun of me when I was ugly. Just because I’m better looking now, he’s suddenly going to be nice to me?

My mom was really shocked by this, because she’d never heard of anything like that happening before. She really had no clue what it meant to be unattractive.

Later on, she found the whole thing really funny and would tease me about it at parties, like, “Oh, don’t tell your son to talk to my daughter, she might get mad at him because he didn’t like her when she was ugly.”

I’m not writing this to begrudge her those teasings, because I learned in the end that she was right to joke about it. You can’t really take shit like that seriously. It’s stupid and sad to hold a grudge against some guy who didn’t talk to you when you were ugly — you’re better off taking advantage of his interest in you.

Growing up with a beautiful mother is a really fortifying experience. I used to be proud of her beauty until I hit puberty, and I realized that I’d never be as beautiful. I did feel some adolescent angst over it, which led to me petulantly deciding “Well, if I can’t be beautiful, I’ll be ugly instead!” For a few years, I tried to make myself as directly opposite from beautiful as possible — I collected facial piercings and tattoos, had fucked-up hair that changed colour every week, and wore ill-fitting clothing. Then, I developed some sense and got over it.

This reminds me of an interesting incident. The last tattoo I got was in London, and the tattoo artist was this fairly nice gweilo. During the tattoo, he asked me out of nowhere, “Did you ever have issues with your looks?”

I was really startled by the question, and he said that I seemed to be the kind of girl who turned to tattooing initially to deal with their looks.

Intuitive guy. Gave me a nice tattoo, too.

My hand is so fucking tired from working on that other blog. I’m stuck at Kev’s flat because it’s raining like a drunken ah pek taking a morning piss.

Not feeling that great, had a talk with my mom.

I think I might just give in and agree to an arranged marriage.

I really have no idea why men offer me drugs. I was walking home when I ran across Y, this Egyptian guy, and the first thing he said to me was, “Want some weed? Come with me and we can smoke some.”

I politely declined — I may indulge in risky behaviour occasionally, but I’m not stupid — and he treated me to some mint tea at Sahara instead.

While we were there, a girl he knew showed up. This chick went to an English-language school in Hong Kong and is now studying college in New York. I don’t know…I’m still kind of mulling over the whole situation right now so this entry probably won’t be very coherent.

So this chick, E, is one of those girls whose main goal in life is to be an import model and have a thuggish Vietnamese boyfriend with a nice car. I did find it a bit amusing that she spoke mostly ebonics — her accent reminded me a lot of mine, in the sense that you can hear that we grew up in Asia, but there’s an overlay of a Western country in it.

I suppose this is the new version of the upper-middle/upper class accent in Asia — how “Western” you sound — no matter if you have a Cockney or redneck or ghetto accent, as long as it’s distinctly Western — because it means that your parents could afford to send you to an expensive private or international school (not to mention overseas for college) where you could learn to speak English just like gweilos.

To digress briefly, this is one of the reasons I am so enamoured of Singlish and the Singaporean accent. I absolutely adore how the radio DJs in Singapore speak with distinct Singaporean accents. In Manila, it seems like they hire radio DJs based only on how American they sound. Hehe, now I’m going to piss off my DJ friends, too.

Like other people of my social class, I can change my accent to sound more “Asian” — and it really depends on the situation. It’s hard to explain, but using the right accent is really important because you might want to intimidate someone by showing how rich you are just by saying something or, in other situations, you don’t want to offend people.

This reminds me, once, my brother and I met an architect who was raised in Manila but studied at an international school and went to an American university. When she first introduced herself, she used the typical sing-song, neutral Taglish accent that middle class people use.

My brother was surprised and a bit offended because, knowing her background, he immediately knew that she normally spoke in an accent like ours, but by using the neutral accent, it was as if she was assuming that we were from a different (lower) class.

When she heard me and my brother speak, she then immediately switched to a more American accent, and my brother was placated because he knew that she realized our “matching” social class.

On the other hand, speaking English fluently in an American or English accent is a weapon in Asia. Unless they’re really clueless, everyone instinctively realizes this. When you speak fluent English with a Western accent, it usually provokes a reaction from people. You immediately create an impression of wealth (even if it’s not true and you’re just some broke, random ABC) because English-language schools (and overseas education) are more expensive. In some cases, you make people nervous and uncomfortable because you bring up insecurities in them about their status or education. In some cases, you piss people off because you sound like an annoying Asian American.

Whenever Kev has to face some kind of unnecessary and annoying bureaucratic stuff, he always switches to English, and he’s always berating me for not doing it more often since my Cantonese is so miserable.

Although it’s not to say that I don’t do it — I will admit that I will use English in times of stress like if I miss a flight or if I have to absolutely get my way with someone.

When I was younger, I valued my accent because I felt that it was posh and sophisticated. Going to the University of the Philippines put that foolishness to rest.

Anyway, the reason for all this analysis was while talking to E, she blurted out to me, “Where are you from?”

I went on my usual “Well, I grew up in Manila, and then Taiwan…” when she interrupted me and said, “No, f’realz, what are you?”

Me: Er…Chinese.
E: Cuz you kinda look Japanese or mixed with something.
Me: Uh, I see.
E: Nah, that’s mad coo’ cuz it’s better than just looking Chinese, you feel?

At this point, Y jumped in and said, “What? You’re not proud of being Chinese?”

E: I’m proud to be Azn, but, ew, Chinese? Because Chinese are so…not cool, you feel? I don’t like it when people are like, “Yo, you’re a local.” Cuz I’m not like them, you feel?

As fucked up as that seems, I totally understand what she meant. In Manila, there’s a term “beho” which is applied to the Chinese Filipinos who aren’t as assimilated or as Westernized. We would always distinguish ourselves from the behos because we thought they weren’t cool, dressed really lame or lacked the kind of “sophistication” that we equated to being Westernized.

I think that’s what E was getting at.

That brought up a lot of complicated feelings in me because I would like to be a Hong Kong local, but at the same time, I don’t know how much of that desire comes from being an outsider. It’s like white privilege; I can take the part of locals precisely because I’m not a local, and can never be one, and because my social class allows me to have the privilege of choosing a side. In the end, I’m not going to suffer the same discrimination because I’m cocooned by my pale skin and my fluent English. Pretty shitty, isn’t it?

Please don’t think that I’m feeling sorry for myself or whining — diew lo mo, I’m glad that these are my most major problems. I just felt like a rare moment of self-analysis.

You see, when gweilos and Asian Americunts write and complain to me about how much I hurt your tender cheebye feelings — you all don’t get it you fucking stupid molan idiots. My loathing for you is simply a reflection of my loathing for myself.

I understand what it’s like to be you. Except I’m twice as charming and half as annoying and a million times less retarded.