Freedom and Exuberance: The Emancipation of TiGi

I got some shit to tell you. Some deep shit. Some shit you ain’t gon’ believe. Some “call yo’ crew type shit, what you gon’ do type shit.” You ready for this shit?

I am so happy in Hong Kong. Like, for real.

There you have you have it. Your disgruntled Travel Guide is going on hiatus. It’s time for the Emancipation of TiGi (But, please, don’t call me TiGi. I don’t believe in nicknames, well, except for the sweet and endearing ones like Tar Baby and Porch Monkey.)

I don’t think I’ve ever been happy with my physical location. From birth to 18 years old I lived in the ghetto and, really, who’s happy to be in the ghetto? Except, that is, for a few stupid ass rappers who rhapsodize, “I wonder if heaven got a ghetto?” (Note: If heaven does have a ghetto, Lord, you can feel free to send me to hell.)

 

I want to be wherever he's not. If that's hell, then so be it.

After that I was in a suburb of Boston–a melanin-free suburb—at a far right business college where students celebrated with champagne and cigars outside of the library when Bush “won” a second term. I, of course, wasn’t too smitten there either.

And then I went to Dalian, a small city in mainland China and I just hated it. Hated it, hated it, hated it. Without going into too much detail, it was just the antithesis of most everything I value and hope that the world can become one day become. That’s not to say it’s not for anyone, just not for me. In the words of that old negro spiritual: Now, the world don’t move to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you, may not be right for some. It takes different strokes. It takes, different strokes. It takes different strokes to move the world. Yes, it does. It takes, different strokes to move the world!

Hmmmmmmm.

Well, Dalian definitely didn’t stroke me the way I like to be stroked but I was in really deep denial when I was there. I knew I didn’t like it but I didn’t let myself realize to what extent because even if I went on long tirades about it, I would’ve still had to stay until my contract was up only then completing my sentence would’ve been that much more grueling. But if I pretended that it was tolerable then I’d be able to tolerate it. As Assata Shakur said, “The less you think about your oppression, the more your tolerance for it grows. After a while, people just think oppression is the normal state of things. But to become free you have to be acutely aware of being a slave.”

Well, get the shackles off my feet so I can dance, cause at long last “I’s Free!”

 

Right after receiving the news that they too would be leaving Dalian

But now that I’m in Hong Kong, I can honestly say that there is nowhere that else I’d rather be than where I am at this moment—not even Brooklyn, B.

*cue Mary J. Blige’s “Just Fine”*

I’ve finally moved into my apartment and though it’s tiny it’s really grown on me. I live in a trendy part of town, just blocks away from the most bustling area in Hong Kong. But, as I found out after I moved, my neighborhood is currently undergoing gentrification so there’s a pretty even mix of locals and expats. (You know I’m not too keen on displacing locals but I figure since I’ve been gentrified I am allowed to gentrify. I have to do my part to keep the wheels of oppression churning. We need all hands onboard. Are you doing your part?)

But anyway, on the corner of my block is this really swanky gym that I joined. Granted, joining a nice gym is not joyous occasion if you’re reading this from the comfort of, well, most developed parts of the world, but in China I literally had to climb a mountain everyday for exercise, so being able to take a spinning class is a nice change of pace (Not that there were no gyms in China. I actually joined one but soon found that whenever I would work out everyone would stop and encircle me to watch “The Fantastic Physical Feats of the Brazen Black Buck.” And thus, I discontinued my membership.)

And the most surprising discovery yet is that I actually think I may like my job. From the very beginning I just knew I was going to hate it, even from the first interview (That would, of course, beg the question, “Why did you apply for it if you knew you were going to hate it?” And to that I respond, “Fuck you. Why don’t you mind your motherfucking business?”)

But anyway, I started work last week and I actually think I might like it. I finally figured out what group I’m in—Equity Derivatives. But it’s cool because the Hong Kong office is trying to expand to India, Malaysia and South Korea so a few months ago it put together a team of experts from different fields to help them do that, and that’s the team I’m on. Initially, I was intimidated that everyone was so much more senior but now that I’ve started work I think it’s going to be for the best.

First, and most importantly, because everyone is senior my team doesn’t do long hours so I only work from 9-7PM! None of that leaving work at 3AM shit.

Second, everyone seems really helpful. Because it’s very clear that I’m the lowest on the totem pole there’s not that weird cut-throat atmosphere that characterizes most analysts’ experience.

And finally, normally when people explain anything that involves math I almost immediately become uninterested so instead of listening I become overly concerned with appearing like I’m listening—wondering if my face reflects how mindfuckingly bored I am, if I should smile now or look concerned, if I’m blinking too much, if my lips are chapped, etc. But this time, when they were explaining things to me and what I’d be doing I didn’t even have to fake the funk, I actually found myself interested in what they were saying. Weird, huh?

So it seems that I won’t have to pull any of my old stunts to get through the workday. Those stunts include but are not limited to: taking naps in the bathroom stall, fabricating “off-site” client meetings on my calendar and then using that time to do hoodrat stuff with my friends, and waiting for my boss to take lunch before I took mine, that way she wouldn’t know what time I left and thus what time I should be back.

Anyway, I have to get out of here but just know that for the first time in a long time I’m happy to be exactly where I am exactly when I am. 

Welcome to the Slave Quarters

Where the roaches reign...

I’m writing you from the stankest, nastiest, most infested hostel on earth—The Slave Quarters. I don’t know what the hell the real name is but I’ve christened it The Slave Quarters because it’s suffocatingly small. Right now I’m curled up in the fetal position and yet I’m touching the walls on both ends of the room. There’s no window in here, which means no sun comes in which means I never know if I’ve overslept so every couple of hours throughout the night I have to walk down the hall to the nearest window and see if the sun has come up.

“Why don’t you just look at your clock, TG?”

Good fucking question. I would if they didn’t turn off all electricity at 9PM. And even when there is electricity there’s only one outlet in the room that the TV is plugged into so all day I’m busy charging shit for the night’s hibernation. We only have access to hot water for 2 hours a day, and even then it’s monitored. This shit really is prison. But I guess that’s what you get when you pay $24.99 a night.

         

This is a picture of "The Deluxe" double room in The Slave Quarters. (I'm not joking.) I'm staying in "The Basic" single room. My left nut I would have given to dwell in the decadence pictured above.

But today the clouds have opened and the sun has shined down on me. I found a place, signed a lease and I’m moving in tomorrow.  The place is small, real small, but everything is in Hong Kong, especially the area that I’m living in. I’m a 10 minute walk from work and all the clubs. The place isn’t the bomb but it’s clean, in a good area and at least I won’t have to be in this shit hole anymore.

My roommate is coming in a couple days. Because I got here before him I chose the place for us to live. That was pressure but I hope he’s satisfied. But if not, he can bring his ass to The Slave Quarters for a night and he’ll be happy as hell to call anyplace home.

…

So I went to my job yesterday and had a pre-start date meeting with my managers. I’m in way over my head, yo. I thought that I was going to have a right-out-of-college entry level position. Nope. Everyone on my team has a JD or MBA, has been in the work force for over 10 years and is at least a vice president in the company. When I was talking to them they all seemed to be under the impression that I had just completed my MBA and had work experience as well. I was too stunned and overwhelmed to interject so I’m not sure of how to break the news to them. They were explaining what my job would be and I understood maybe 5% of the words they used. They were speaking in that weird business/finance lexicon.  All I could do was smile and nod. The whole time they were talking I would look around at the office: it was so quiet, everyone was looking at spreadsheets or dry Powerpoint presentations (it ain’t have no clipart on it or nothin’!). It was undoubtedly where my spirit would come to die. 

I started daydreaming that I would stop them during their spiel, jump outta of my seat and  and scream, “Hol’ up, Hol’ up, HOLLLLLLUP! Y’all got me fucked up. I don’t belong here. I belong in a place with bohemian hipsters, where people plot the revolution over bean pie and sweet tea. Why ain’t nobody in here got dreads? Where’s the music at? Where’s the man selling loose cigarettes? Why is everybody named Mike, Bob or Steve? Where the all the RaShaun’s and Yassir’s at?  And you—yo’ name ain’t no mothafuckin’ Tom; yo’ mama named you Wang Lin and I’m going to call you Wang motherfucking Lin.  Enough with this assimilation bullshit, as a matter of fact, enough with all this bullshit. You think I’m going work to maintain the capitalistic system that oppresses my disenfranchised brothers and sisters worldwide? You must be out yo’ monkey-ass mind. So listen up–all you motherfuckers–KISS MY BLACK ASS!”

But then I came back to reality and in my most dead-on Uncle Tom impersonation, flashed a winning grin and kowtowed, “I’m psyched to join the team. This will be an awesome year.” I tipped my hat, did a little jig, and tap-danced all the back to The Slave Quarters.

Gotta pay bills, yo…

TG