The Asian Fail

It is conceivable that the idea of the asian fail was born from an asian fail. Some unfortunate, illiterate asian parent somehow mistranslated the chart of grades such that instead of:

85-100: High Distinction

75-84: Distinction

65-74: Credit

50-64: Pass

0-49: Fail

It looked more like this:

85-100: 很 好 (very good)

75-84: 好 (good)

65-74: 剛好合格? 不可能接受 (just passed? Unacceptable)

50-64: 你說什麼？再說一遍 (what did you say? Say it again...)

0-49: 你知不知道我花了多少錢對你的教育嗎?! 你這樣對待我? 我很失望! 你的頭有問題嗎? *%&^%* 你不是我的兒子!

(do you know how much money I've spent on your education? And you do this to me? I'm very disappointed. Is there something wrong with your head? [Profanities] You are not my son!)

... And as is so often the case, the misinformed asian parent imparted his or her 'knowledge' of grades to other asian parents, and thus the asian fail was born.

Those who are not inclined to accept the 'asian fail' as a true 'fail' in literal terms, have difficulty understanding why it is the case that some asians treat a 'pass' or a 'credit', with such hostility. Here's some personal insight.

My idea of a fail is not so much an exaggerated grades chart, but an indication that I have not achieved what I am capable of achieving. I don't give a fucking rats ass if I performed relatively well. I am self-centred. It's all about me. (What do you expect from a wanker).

"But why take it so personal? Who gives a shit about grades? It's such a superfluous thing."

I take it personal. I give a shit. I give many a shit. Every 'fail' is a slap in the face with cow turd. Consider this: every person would like to think they possess an exceptional quality. We hate to think (though it is often the reality...) that we are yet another human in a cluster of humans; another ant in the colony. Our qualities define our identity. Me; I wasn't born with great physical abilities. Nor was I born with great musical talent. No dashing good looks, no sense of being sociable. What I did get from my genes however, was a slightly oversized head, which I always took to mean that perhaps I had a brain slightly larger than normal. Win. I pride myself on being 'smart'; I work hard to be 'smart', so you bet I take grades personal. It's extra salt in the wound when you discover that someone has succeeded where you have faltered, with so little effort. It's like a white guy running a 100m sprint, pushing so hard that he's about to pee his pants, but in the corner of his eye, he sees some black guy breeze past him with nonchalant strides and a sparkle in his smile (ding).

All of what's been said would have you believe that I'm just some vain little bastard who whines about nerdy shit all day in front of his computer. True. I am a vain little bastard who whines about nerdy shit all day in front of his computer. But cut me some slack. It's all I can whine about.

Needing Someone

It was only recently that I was privileged enough to be requested by a good friend of mine, to act as a tour guide for a group of Japanese students around Sydney. He told me with arched eyebrows that seemed to oscillate up and down around their positions of equilibrium, that if I was lucky, I would be allocated to a group of excited young Japanese women. I would like to clarify two points before I continue. One, I have no particular affinity for young women (and indeed no affinity at all towards… well you know). Two, I would never (never) possess any alternate agenda other than to be a decent tour guide (never). That aside, I was nevertheless slightly disheartened when I learned that I was allocated to a group of excited young… men. Damn. So close. I was only missing the ‘woo’ (phonics people) and indeed I could do no wooing that day. It was only later that I discovered that I was purposely allocated to an all male group. My friend had cunningly allocated all those that were already engaged in a relationship to guide the groups of excited young Japanese women. Needless to say, I was not one of those that were already engaged in a relationship. If only I was in a relationship… oh wait. That would defeat the purpose. Regardless, I puffed out my chest, grimaced a smile and introduced myself warmly (as warmly as I could for it was after all a cold day… in many respects) to these boys and as it turned out, I had a wonderful (if not rather quirky) day.

During the course of the tour, I was approached by one of the boys (giggling, ironically, like a bunch of school girls) who eventually braved whatever consequences he thought might occur subsequent to what he was about to say, and asked “harro Sunny. Do you have a girlfriend?” My initial reaction was to give him a quizzical look. Why is it that he is asking me this question? Is he practicing his English? Is he wondering whether I am proof that men with ‘dashing good looks’ (lol) always have girlfriends? Do I appear homosexual? Is he homosexual? I brushed away all these thoughts and laughed. Funny question. “No. I don’t,” I replied. “Oh…” He murmured. Did I sense a hint of disappointment? The response was followed a short period of silence. “I am sorry,” he says after a while, breaking the silence. And again, I gave him a quizzical look. Sorry that I do not have a girlfriend? Or sorry for asking? If the former, why be apologetic?

As I pondered that question alone in bed, I was reminded of several instances where I was asked similar questions. “Sunny, what’s wrong with you?” my sister would ask from time to time. “Everyone else your age has a girlfriend. Why don’t you?” The same response would ensue each time: a shrug of the shoulders followed by a cheeky “why don’t you have a boyfriend?” End conversation. “So are you in a relationship?” a newly acquired acquaintance would query. “No, not really looking for anyone at the moment,” I would reply. “Not even for the hot hot sex?” No response.

I don’t get it. Is it a crime to be single, or dare I say it; desire to be ‘single’? For so long I have convinced myself that I do not need a ‘partner’ to be happy, and indeed, arguably, I am happy. But as these questions are posed to me, my stubborn stance falters. Hairline cracks begin to form along my stoic, emotionless surface: I begin to doubt myself. Where once I was absolutely certain about my position on this topic, I now wonder whether I have subconsciously created a ficade of immunity to (and I am saying, or rather typing this, with gritted teeth) ‘love’ so realistic that I truly believe I am immune to it. Am I delusional? Have I constructed a concrete veil to shield a plethora of insecurities?

I venture further into the recesses of my memory. Many of my recent conversations revolve around highlighting the fact that my circle of friends (or at least a portion of my circle of friends) is experiencing terrible form in the relationship game. Am I also a culprit of imbuing a sense of doubt into others by asking the very same questions that have been posed to me?

Darwinists would point and ridicule at my sentiments. One must breed to survive. One cannot do so without a partner. Silly human. Perhaps we are all Darwinists; in which case I should be pointing and ridiculing myself… what a loser. Doesn’t even want to survive. Though conversely, if one does indeed adopt a Darwinist approach, one might argue that in order to survive one should aim to be single. I am referring to those who get whipped in relationships (cough Yang).

Whatever. Walls are easily plastered and so I will plaster it for the umpteenth time; the cracks never truly disappear, but I have become a pretty decent DIY guy. You know, I really detest contemplating such things. Truly. Especially when I am in holiday mode, as I should not be using my brain at all! I am happy in my own little bubble and I believe it. Now back to perving on Korean girls on allkpop. God bless Korean idols.

SK III: The Preview

Pitchy? Yes. Terrible? Arguably. What's in stall for SK III? Definitely.