A Flat with a View

Introduction

After I left, so many have asked about how I'm adjusting.  Here're some first impressions.

Sad Departure and Strange Hello

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are ready to depart.  Please put away your electronic ..." a female voice said cheerfully.  I looked one last time at San Francisco International Airport.  This was not just one more flight on Cathay Pacific to Asia for yet another book tour; this was permenant.  As the plane pulled away from the runway and left my beloved country behind, I felt this lump in my throat.  I remember that same lump some thirty six years ago when I left Hong Kong Kai Tak Airport (the old airport) to move to this great country called USA, except this time, it felt more like an exile from all my closest friends to a faraway land I left long ago where nothing now resembles my childhood memories.  Even though I went back to Hong Kong the last four years as an invited guest speaker for various functions, I do not any longer feel that cultural affinity for this busy place.  I’ve gone soft; I’ve gone American.  I relate to everything American.  Even people who know me in England consider me the “red-blooded American” (a literal quote).  I truly do not feel Chinese, even though I speak fluently in two dialects. I almost cried, but I didn't.  After all, I'm a 46-year-old mid-career professor.  Men like us don't cry over new jobs and old relationships.

A medium built (they all seem medium built here) gentleman who held up a sign with my name “Dr. Sam Tsang” greeted me.  The seminary had hired a Mercedes Benz van to pick us up.  I found out later that they hired such a van for special functions.  This was at least quite a special occasion to me.  We arrived at our flat to be settled by our staff member and part-time faculty Celia Jurgens.  After the ever helpful Celia left, we were given sufficient goods to last for a few days and far away from our “home” in this spacious flat (by local standards).  What will happen to me in this home away from home?  I feel like a "ronin." (a negative Japanese word for an exiled or homeless warrior)

Faster than a Speeding Bullet (Sometimes)

“Hello, Dr. Tsang, do you need your office cleaned?” the friendly cleaning lady said as I barely sat down in my new chair.  “No, thanks,” I answered half-heartedly in a sleepy voice, without bothering to look up.  “Oh, no, you have dirt,” not to be deterred from her assignment to clean my office.  She touched one shelf and proclaimed victoriously, "Dirty!”  She wiped vigorously.  I laughed.  “Hello, Dr. Tsang, I’m xxx.  Let me brief you on ....” a cheerful female voice chirped as I looked up at the entrance of my office.  This scene of briefing repeated through my whole first day.  We have so many administrative personnel that I lost track of their names.  Just when I finally settled, the IT guy came in to check on whether my chair was ergonomic enough.  I was amazed at how much support this place gives its faculty.  In the US, you better fend for yourself.  Here, everyone fends for you.  The fun had only begun. 

The next day, in one more of my briefings, I casually mentioned that I did not enjoy the sunlight shining so directly at my computer screen.  In no more than a quarter of an hour, the IT guy had returned along with two others to help him figure out how to make the situation better.  Several ingenious solutions were suggested with one final and simple solution winning the day.  In the coming days, I have so many reminding me through countless emails and personal contacts to make sure I make it to chapel, special speaking engagements, and even all campus tea party.  I hardly have to remember anything.  Do Hong Kong people always move like a speeding bullet?  I wondered.

The Postmodern Prankster

If I was nervous about teaching, my mind was soon put at ease as I gave lectures for my first day.  As I approached my classroom for Colossians, I heard some scuttling about followed by whispers, “I think the professor is here.  Run!”  As I entered, some acted surprise as they ran to their seats but most gave me loud enthusiastic applause, followed by raucous laughter.  I looked for the proverbial water bucket above the door, but found none.  Pretending to be serious, I heard one gal remark, “Wow, our professor sure dresses sharp.”  I had my J. Crew pinstripes with white pocket square and my Armani tie on, with leather attaché in hand.  I was ready for business.  I started my class, giving my usual “don’t call me Sam” speech, “Hello, I’m Dr. Sam Tsang.  Some call me Dr. Tsang.  Others call me Rev. Tsang.  Some may even affectionately call me Dr. Sam.  Better no one calls me bad names, at least not to my face.  Definitely NO ONE calls me Sam.  Well, there’s good reason for that.  I’m not as good-looking as Ah-Sam (a local rock star Sam Hui aka Ah-Sam).”  Not to be outdone by my speech, someone shouted, “I think you’re better looking.”  I retorted without missing a beat or looking up, “You get an A.”  Fun is the name of the game in my class.  I decided not to take myself too seriously in my new gig. If you take yourself too seriously, please pause from reading, stand up, and kick your own behind for me ... now, sit back down. Better?

Before anyone got any funny idea about playing a joke on the newbie, I asked in my most snobbish voice, “Whose crazy idea is it to applaud the new guy anyway?  Is this becoming of a seminary class?”  Long silence ... followed by a few nervous giggles.  Finally, a young man at the back stood up, “Sir, it was my idea.”  I inquired, pretending to be quite agitated, “Who might YOU be, young man?  Speak up!”  He murmured, “I’m so-and-so from so-and-so Baptist church.”  Smelling a rat, I demanded, “Are you lying?  I think you’re impersonating your classmate trying to get him in trouble.”  Undergrads! You cannot trust them.  A few louder giggles proved my original suspicion to be right.  He was impersonating his classmate.  The new guy is a prophet.  Respect that!

I was given the unenviable task of teaching Colossians for the entire semester.  How can you spend an entire semester on such a short book?  Well, easy … I shall go verse by verse commentary style on every Greek word.  Wrong!  Our only full professor and a good friend suggested (and I always listened), “Don’t do that.  Dr. so-and-so is already doing that with Galatians and earlier with Romans.  Go through various critical and postmodern methods in your exegesis with them.”  Why for?  He explained, “Because you’re from Sheffield.  You’re the postmodern guy here.  You know that stuff.”  Is that supposed to be good?  He smiled with a glimmer in his eyes, “Of course it’s good.  It is expected.  Go do it.”  What a refreshing change!  If I did that among evangelical students in the US, I’ll get an even split between blank stares and the call to burn me at stake.  Unless I was prepared to call Derrida and Foucault the children of the Evil One, I would receive a large frown at best in some quarters and a severe reprimand among many US evangelicals.  I’m really beginning to appreciate the ability of Hong Kongers to leave their minds open.  I’m in my elements.  I think I’m going to be OK.

My colleague’s wise words soon bore fruit.  I started with the history of interpretation and the formation of text and canon in my NT interpretation class.  When I came to a good stopping point, I left five minutes for every student to share what he or she expected for my class.  Most talked a bit about wanting to learn many methodologies.  One answer proved that I’ve come to the right teaching environment, “Dr. Tsang, I’m pleasantly surprised to find that you are willing to tackle hard issues and to open our eyes to this huge world of criticisms and interpretations.”  To think that some ignorant fundies actually called for my head back in San Jose for less than this, I quietly said a prayer of thanks. I don't miss the intellectual persecution back in San Jose.  Isn't it ironic that I can speak with more freedom in Hong Kong than among Chinese Christians back in the US, the land of free speech? 

After a busy week of teaching and writing, it’s time to kick back and eat some dim sum.  Friday was one of my colleagues’ birthday.  What better way to celebrate a birthday than to eat at our favorite water-front hotel for brunch?  As it turned out, another colleague was also leaving town to go back to Oz.  We could roll a bon voyage meal and a birthday celebration into one.  So we did.  As I listened to my boss’ laughter next to me and as I stared out dreamily at the tranquil morning waterfront, I thought, “It's been a long week, but I’m going to be OK.”

On Being "OK"

I heard the most illuminating conversation behind me as I waited in line at the home furnishing shop today.  A woman said, “What is it these people are buying?”  The man said, “Whatever it is, it is for the rich and young.  Not for me and you.”  The woman said, “Perhaps it’s for holding newspapers.  Maybe the rich use that to hold papers.”  Smiling, I finally couldn’t resist, “We are buying this big dish rack for drying dishes.  It is not for the rich and young.”  With a huge belly laugh, the man said, “Right!  I said it’s for the rich and young and I’m right.  We don’t have the space in our kitchen for that ‘thing’.  Nor do we have enough dishes to use that ‘thing.’  See, it’s for the rich and young.”  I can’t argue with that insight.  As I walked away, I could see the man smiling and shaking his head good-naturely.  You see?  Wealth is relative.  “OK” is relative too.  I feel rich, not because I have so much but because I have more than so many, and definitely more than most in Haiti this week.  And I think I’m going to be OK, not because all my closest friends are nearby (unless you count Facebook as nearby), but because of the endless possibilities for new ones.  As my wife told my son, these (past, present and future) relationships are like gems I carry in my heart wherever I end up.  That makes it all OK.  Yeah, I'm doing good ... real good.  I smiled.

On my wife's take, read http://htrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/