how to live with a kiwi

So I've been at my new place for a few days now. I rather like my new digs. I'm living in Sai Wan Ho, a district kind of far out from Central (you guessed it: the city center), but the relative peace and quiet are refreshing.

I live above a wet market, which is like the Quentin Tarantino version of a farmer's market. That is, there are carcasses hanging in the stalls and bloody entrails everywhere. Every morning when I leave to go to work, I pass by crowds of people yelling for cuts of meat and fish, and butchers taking out huge knives and hacking at said carcasses. Fortunately my flat is on the sixth floor, so the smell diffuses by the time it reaches that height. There is also fresh produce by the bushel. Almost every type of Asian fruit and vegetable imaginable is right outside my building door. I will never again live so close to so much fresh food.

Also there are lots of street food vendors. They sell steamed bread, fried tofu, scallion pancakes, fried turnip cake, all manner of dumplings and stuffed buns. And Chinese bakeries. Oh. My. God. Why is the smell of bread SO GOOD? I live in gastronomic heaven, I swear.
For my figure's sake, I'm glad I actually don't get to spend that much time at my flat. But then, there are the weekends...

But I digress. This is not a food blog.

I am motivated to write this blog post because of my New Zealand roommate. Flat-mate, if you will. Budget compelled me to contact this kiwi on Gumtree, or HK craigslist; and after I met him and saw the size of this place, common sense compelled me to lock it up. I said "I'll take it!" and signed away my first Hong Kong paycheck.

So...he seemed nice, and normal. And he is. I actually really liked him when I first met him. But then, you never really know somebody until you have lived together.

He's 28 and supposedly has two degrees and taught history and geography. He was teaching in NZ and then took some time off to travel the world, he lived in the UK and America for a bit. Then he decided to settle for a while in Asia, so he got a job teaching at an international high school. The job will start soon. For now he's chilling and settling into our new digs. His new digs? Well, technically I am his tenant.

He's tall, he plays rugby, has hazel eyes, and looks a lot like Mel Gibson (I swear, spitting image). From our one conversation about literature, he seems fairly well-read. He speaks with a marked accent, which I suppose is appealing to some people. He takes pretty good care of himself. See, everything seems good. In fact, I would have to say, many women would probably find him attractive.

He's nice, he really is. When I moved in, he carried my one suitcase for me up the stairs, when he was already tired from moving all day. We had dinner together a few hours later and he paid. He has fixed all the broken things in the flat, and he bought me some furniture for my room. He leaves the toilet seat down.

See, everything seems good. In fact, I would have to say, many women would probably find him attractive.

But after our first long conversation, I began to get an uneasy feeling about him. I couldn't quite pin down what it was, because it seemed there was no reason not to like him. Luckily for you, dear reader, I figured it out.

His attitude toward Asia really bothers me.

He is so cheesy (kind of like JH, the guy who lived in my college dorm for two years who would play guitar at coffeehouse). He'll say things like, "I was thinking maybe I'll learn Tai Chi" while making sweeping motions through the air with his arms. On our walk to introduce me to the neighborhood, he would say, "There's the place a lot of Filipinos gather." We were walking around as he pointed things out to me and he said "I love Asia," with a big grin on his face. That really bothered me. I'm still trying to figure out why.

He asked me if I had a boyfriend, and I said no. To fill the awkward pause, I asked him if he had a girlfriend. He said no, and then remarked, "Maybe I'll meet a nice Hong Kong girl." That bothered me.

I griped to one of my Asian girlfriends about it. "Do you ever get that feeling?" I said. "Yeah...it's like, glorified orientalism," she said. So true! I guess I resent this guy for barging into a country, which is not even really "my" country, and acting like he owns the place. Is it too elitist of me to think that a white expat cannot really know or understand what it is to be chinese or Asian?

Don't worry, I found through our co-habitation other reasons to find him...shall we say...peculiar.

At first the accent was charming, but I realized I cannot understand most things he says. Most of the time I have to ask him to repeat himself. I understand British, Australian, and Singaporean people just fine. But not him.

He is planning to live in Hong Kong for two years, but doesn't know any Chinese, Canto or Mando. I offered to teach him. His response was noncommittal. Don't fucking come to our country and not learn our fucking language, you imperialist fucking fuck!

He talked about how, because he will live in this flat for two years, he intends to try every eatery in the vicinity. He went to some places today and asked if they would translate their menus into English. Don't fucking come to our country and not learn our fucking language, you imperialist fucking fuck! It's Chinese food, the menus are in Chinese!

He left a dirty knife in the sink.

He left a dirty mug on the counter.

He used up the toilet paper and didn't put a new roll onto our makeshift toilet paper holder.

When he moved in, the landlady gave him 2 shoe racks, which we originally placed in the common room. Then without consulting me, he put the 2 shoe racks in his bedroom. For your information, I have zero shoe racks.

Our third roommate hasn't moved in yet. But the kiwi got him a queen-sized bed and mattress, and a queen bed for himself. Meanwhile, I'm still sleeping on a shitty twin-sized mat. Not mattress, mat. Fortunately I'm Chinese and genetically predisposed to sleeping on hard surfaces. Still, WTF?

His ring tone is "99 Problems" by Jay-Z.

He put an empty soft drink plastic bottle in the trash. I thought it would be useful for storing drinking water in the fridge, so I retrieved the bottle, washed it, and refilled it with my office water cooler. I put it in the fridge on the shelf next to my Nalgene water bottle. The next day, it was gone, with no explanation or Post-it note or ex-post-facto apology.

Our first day together, when we walked around to introduce me to the neighborhood, we would pass by several non-English speaking establishments. Sometimes he had a question or wanted to tell the owner something, and seeing as he doesn't know any Chinese, I had to translate.
"Tell her I'll come back to eat here next time," he would say. "Tell him I'll be here often," he would toss over his shoulder at me as we walked through the shops and restaurants. Don't patronize me, you fucking fuck! I speak English AND Chinese better than you, you imperialist ignorant fuck!

You're living in Hong Kong, WITH a Chinese person, and you can't bother to learn any Chinese, you fucking fuck?

I love me some metro men, but he uses Nivea Men everything. It's too much.

He thinks that it's not worth his time or budgetary concerns to learn how to cook. Inveterate bachelor much?

When I am cooking, because I am a competent and savvy adult, and he is passing through the kitchen, even though HE can't cook, he will make a comment every time.
"A little tofu, eh?"
"Smells pretty good in here."
"Some fish, eh?"
What am I supposed to say? I usually just say "Mmph" or utter some kind of verbal but non-word response. Stop commenting on my Chinese cooking, you fucking fuck!

I felt awkward cooking so much in front of him, and it's not polite to eat in front of people without offering them your food. So I offered him some shumai I had steamed, holding out a pair of chopsticks. He said OK and picked one up with his hands.
I held out chopsticks, you blind fuck!

When we went out to eat, we had a meat & vegetable dish and white rice. He asked for soy sauce. Then he poured it all over his white rice. Real Asians never do that. Only white people do that.

He started playing computer games in the common room. He puts on big headphones and attaches an external mouse to his laptop. He gets really into it and will duck or move his torso around as he plays. He makes sucking noises when he is startled and inhales. God, you're 28 years old, you fucking fuck!

This incident might actually be kind of legit. When we were still trying to furnish the apartment, talking about getting a fridge, we were walking outside and happened to see some guys loading used refridgerators onto a truck. "Ask them if they'll sell them, and how much," the kiwi said.
OK but don't boss me around, you fucking fuck!
So it turned out that these guys were willing to sell us a fridge for HK$350, which is not bad. The kiwi was paying for it, so he was trying to haggle them down. He said, "350 if they'll move it to the flat." I explained in Chinese, and they agreed. One of the men, an older Chinese dude, got a hand dolly and put the fridge on the dolly. The kiwi had to go to an ATM to take out more cash to pay the guy, so the fridge guy and I went over to the flat first. We waited outside while the kiwi caught up with us.
So, the guy probably didn't expect that he had to haul up the fridge six flights of stairs (we don't have an elevator. That is partly why our rent is cheap). The kiwi helped him, but left him with holding the bottom, the much heavier part. OK, this Chinese guy was old. He was probably my dad's age or older. I felt kind of angry that he was making this poor man do all the work.
The old guy got kind of angry too. With each passing flight of stairs, he would grumble and I'm pretty sure he was saying, "I didn't bargain for this shit." But the kiwi thought the guy was just making small talk and would just say, "Yeah it's a long ways up!" or "Yeah it's heavy, eh?" No shit, you neo-imperialist fuck!
So finally we got the fridge into the flat, and the old Chinese guy turned to me and demanded more money. I turned to the kiwi and said, "Pay him $50 more, and we should probably tip him too." I'm glad to report that I paid the tip. And I gave him a bottle of cold water. Because I am a decent human being. As the Chinese guy was leaving, the kiwi grinned and slapped him on the back, saying "Good work, mate! Yeah!"
Uh, as if that was a bonding experience and now the two of you are mates? You think this guy likes you because he carried a fridge for you? Fuck that, you imperialist fuck!

Tonight I was bored so I rented a movie, Beowulf. I was watching it when he came back from the gym and started playing computer games. When it ended, to be nice I said he could help himself to the movies I rented. He said thanks and asked if Beowulf was good. I said it was pretty good, but kind of convoluted because it was based on legend. Then I asked if he had ever read the epic in school.
He said no.

For some reason that irritated me too.