It's a dancing affair

After much twisting and turning, this writer finally
plucked up his courage to sign up for a dance lesson.
As the only "male power" in the class, never in his
wildest dreams thought that he would find himself
tapping to heartwarming encounters with a bunch of
aunties, plus a few beats of courage along the way.

By Jason Tan

"My husband is on the hospital's watch list, being one
of the most severely ill patients," she says
matter-of-factly when asked why she has been skipping
the dance lessons of late.

Her man has to undergo an organ transplant, and it
seems to be proving too much for her to juggle between
hospital beds and dance classes.

He has been bed-ridden for some years, and it's
becoming clear that the witty professor in him is long
gone. For a few times, his life hanged by a thread and
she thought she would lose him for good.

Once, when the acclaimed ballroom dance performance
"Burn the Floor" hit Taipei two years ago, she
couldn't wait to catch the production, as dance has
been her favorite pastime after retirement -- besides
freeing her mind off her husband's routine, long hours
of kidney dialysis.

Fate dealt another blow and it was on the production
day that her husband was rushed to the emergency room,
but he told his daughters to put off telling her the
news.

Her delight turned into despair as soon as she got
home to an empty house. With a heavy and anxious
heart, she tearfully rushed to the hospital to see
him.

"He knows that how much dancing means to me. He
respects what I do, and he just wants me to enjoy the
show," she recalls.

Her husband pulled through that time, and she is
convinced he would again this time.

In the same city, a mother plucked up her courage to
dial for a private detective to check on her husband.

It all began when she suspected something fishy about
his late nights and suspicious calls.

When the detective returned with evidence of his
cheating heart, she confronted him. He responded with
a slap on her face when she pushed for an explanation.

Stunned, she grabbed the car keys, while he shouted
after her: "Where do you think you are going? Who is
going to make dinner?"

It was the first time that she would not be cooking
dinner for the family in her over 10 years as a
dutiful wife and mother.

Both of the women were my fellow classmates when I
took up ballroom dancing in Taipei about three years
ago.

With butterflies in my stomach and weak knees to boot,
I stumbled into the dance studio for the first time,
knowing that the male presence was practically
non-existent.

But it was no turning back. I was desperate to step up
my dancing skills in a more advanced class, even if it
meant having to battle for waltzing space with the
20-over aunties who are mostly in their 40s or 50s.

My worries proved unfounded when these aunties so
tenderly lent their helping hand to help spice up my
moves.

"It is so refreshing to finally see a young guy
picking up the dancing shoes," one aunty remarked.

During lesson breaks, we would share fruits and
snacks, and this sharing even extended outside the
classroom.

Every Friday, they would put on someting sassy to
match their high-heeled dancing shoes and strut their
stuff on the dance floor to the jazzy tunes of jive.
They were really the centre of attention.

"It is the happiest moment of the day when I come to
dance," uttered my another "motherly classmate", who
also picks up Indian dance, yoga and belly dancing.

Last summer, when we were lining up at a water theme
park in Taipei, I teased her if her husband, who works
in China, would have extramarital affairs.

To my surprise, she replied nonchalantly: "He already
did."

With business exchanges firing up between the two
sides, Taiwanese wives these days live in fear of
losing their men to other women living in the
mainland.

But this motherly aunty managed to weather the storm
of her marriage, just as her fellow classmates did.

These women cha cha cha-ed to each other's support
every Friday morning, albeit for a short two hours.

Life is tough, but the music and dancing shoes can
surely help weave some magic, gradually mending a few
broken hearts in the process.



Although the dancing shoes have been lying quiet in
the wardrobe of late, this writer will always remember
the courage of the tender-hearted, motherly aunties
during his seven years of stay in Taipei.

Shanghai, large and loud

JASON TAN recounts the many adventures he experienced while taking Shanghai's public transportation to his workplace.


IT was nearly midnight when my friend and I hailed a cab in Shanghai, trying to escape the freezing winter and waiting to step into our warm apartment as soon as we could.

While the cab was a much-needed reprieve from the frosty weather, little did we know that we were about to be assaulted, in a manner of speaking.

As we chatted in the car, as most passengers are wont to do, we began to realise that our conversation was gradually becoming inaudible against the music from the radio.

We wouldn't have minded some light Chinese tunes in the background to soothe us after a long day. But this was something else! The music could have blasted us out of our seats.
My friend politely asked the Shi Fu (the cabbie greeting in China) to turn down the volume, and he did — but for exactly a minute, and then the volume was cranked up even higher! We gave up reasoning with him;praying we'd reach home soon so this torture would end.

I was in Shanghai recently for three months, and this was just one of the strange dramas that I experienced there.

These days, it seems, cab rides are no longer a privilege for expatriates living in China. It has become affordable for just about anyone to take a ride in a taxi.

"Ten years ago, when I first landed in Suzhou, the rate for a flagged down taxi was 10 yuan (RM4.60). The fare now is still the same," said a French fellow who has been calling the city his home since 1998.

Thanks to the deeper pockets bulging from an economic upturn, more Chinese are opting for taxis instead of subways and buses. These days, it has almost become a physical tussle for residents — both locals and expats — to flag down a taxi.

After some time, I started to come up with the "Three No-s" when taking trains with other fellow commuters.

First No: Avoid taking public transport during rush hours. Second No: Do not carry valuables unless you don't mind it being snatched. Third No: Never ever let your guard down.

Sandwiched though I was between other passengers, those train rides were wonderful as I caught glimpses of Shanghai life.

Often in the compartments, I'd come across sophisticated, career women in their high-heels, toying with their expensive camera phones. Standing next to them would be some middle-aged man wearing a tattered shirt, holding on to two big sacks — probably all of his fortune.

Once, my Shanghai friend was taken aback when a boy suddenly kneeled down before her on a moving subway, showering her with non-stop kowtows.

He was supposed to have been in a primary school classroom; instead he was pestering for money,quite unperturbed by the despicable glares from onlookers.

"What has happened to the parents these days? They do not send their children to school but ask them to solicit money?" my friend flared up when recounting her experience.

More often, travelling during peak hours meant we had to put up with the occasional unpleasant body odour in the train, as personal hygiene is not something Shanghainese take seriously.

And so it was that I had to grit my teeth when I saw the cabbie I had hailed down earlier stop at the traffic light, roll down the window and spit out.

I also had to prepare myself for a blank look every time I greeted the driver upon stepping into a cab. But then, not all of the public transport episodes were distasteful.

I stumbled across an amicable woman Shi Fu, who hails from a smaller mainland city and has been zipping around the bustling Shanghai freeways for years.

Our friendship blossomed when I accidentally spilt my bottle of mineral water all over her back seat. Immediately, I readied myself for an earful but she told me it wasn't a big deal.

Since then I have called for her service a few times.

"I start the day by leaving house at 7am, getting back home after 1am or 2am," she said when we chatted one day in her rental car.

Like her, most cabbies in Shanghai are cramming double shifts in their 15-day work roster every month for survival.

No wonder the cab driver we took had to max out the radio volume, so as not to doze off after a gruelling 10-hour plus shift.

The public transport in the city was an eye-opener, indeed.

Shanghai affair

Lured by fantastic stories coming out of the new Promised Land, this writer forsakes the comfortable and the familiar to try his luck on the Bund.

AFTER seven wonderful years in Taipei, it was not easy to just pack up and leave, which I decided to do several months ago.

However, I was lured by the exciting prospect of a fresh start in Shanghai – the most westernised and cosmopolitan city in China.

I was eager to see for myself the reality behind the hype about China being the rising new economic superpower whose GDP (gross domestic product) has been surging past those of many traditional powerhouses.

My motivation was partly the pull factor – the promise of new prosperity – but there was also a bit of the push since Taiwan’s importance has been overshadowed by China in recent years.

There was a bit of nervousness from the prolonged cross-straits tension that has put the island in a volatile and vulnerable position. At the same time, my job as a journalist in Taipei did not seem to offer much prospect, with no salary increment in sight after two years.

The time was right, I convinced myself, to embark on a new adventure.

So, last October saw me packing up my stuff in Taipei and setting off for Shanghai.

During the first two weeks, I shifted accommodation three times. First, I stayed in a budget hotel, then bunked at a friend’s home and, finally, I found an apartment in the upscale Jinganshi district that was shared with a bunch of French expatriates.

It was only after I moved into the apartment that I realised how international Shanghai had become. The rapid development in recent years has attracted not only a massive influx of capital from abroad but also hordes of foreign talent.

According to Business Week, over 150 multinationals had set up offices in Shanghai in 2006 alone. The city reported 12% economic growth the same year, even higher than the blistering national average of 10.7%.

“I am worried about the future competitiveness of Taiwan,” lamented a Taiwanese friend after her trip to Shanghai.

Don’t get us wrong, we are still deeply in love with Taipei, and we have so many fond memories of the city. Taiwanese are open-minded, they have press freedom and passionate about politics; this is a huge contrast to mainlanders.

From my years staying in Singapore, Kuala Lumpur and Taipei, I felt most at ease among my Taiwanese friends.

But I chose to look for something new and, thus, began my flirtation with Shanghai.

Shortly after landing in Shanghai, I became acquainted with a bewildering variety of foreigners from as far away as France, Russia, Spain and even Malaysia, all seeking their fortunes in this city of opportunity.

Almost immediately, I sensed it was not going to be easy. Shanghai, being the wealthiest city in China, is a magnet for millions of immigrants from smaller mainland cities and rural villages, all trying to make it big.

The number of fresh graduates fighting for a job market is scary. A friend who hails from Guizhou tells me that fresh graduates are happy to secure a job offering 2000 yuan (RM900) a month.

With so many expatriates, myself included, trying our luck in China, it remains a big question mark if local companies would be willing to hire me, let alone pay according to my high expectations.

The last time I checked a recruitment website, there were over 200 people vying for the same vacancy!

Just when I was beginning to wonder if I was losing my edge in the job market, something unexpected happened.

I discovered that one of the fellow students at my ballroom dance classes in Shanghai is from my hometown, Malacca! And, the 30-something lady is in charge of operations at “Three on the Bund”.

Touted as one of the best places to see in the new China by Time magazine in 2005, Three on the Bund is a renovated 1916 building strategically located along the renowned Shanghai bund.

It houses four of the city’s top eateries, an art gallery and a spa that boasts of rivers flowing with Evian, as well as an Armani flagship store.

She extended a warm welcome and even offered me a job in her glamorous firm. Who could have expected to meet someone from the same hometown, and even get a job offer, while taking dance lessons in a strange land?

This, to me, is the charm of the new China – anything is possible, anything can happen. It never ceases to amaze me how much and how quickly it has evolved.

Still, I decided to say goodbye to Shanghai, despite the promise of great possibilities. My three-month sojourn there made me realise that, after all these years, I have become used to the warm and friendly Taiwanese and I missed them so much when away.

But, should wanderlust strike me again, I’m thinking ... Beijing.


The author is a journalist who, after living and working in Taiwan for years, is bedazzled by the beckoning bright lights of China.