I haven’t seen the married woman for more than a week now. She was calling me up to 12 times a night, including a few times after I’d told her I was going to sleep. Recently I’ve been not answering her calls and they seem to have dried up. There are a few other problems with her too – she’s rich and spoiled and treats waitresses with what looks to me like contempt. She’s “racist” too, but Chinese “racism” is a different beast to its western counterpart and not quite so offensive. They literally just haven’t ever seen a black person. Even the television programmes are almost all Chinese-made. In such a homogeneous society there is no difference between talking about race and talking about whether you like to have a tan or not. The Chinese idea of beauty is to be as white as possible – if you have dark skin it means you have a low status outdoor job. In England the plebs work in data entry (as I did) and having a tan means you’ve spent two weeks in Minorca, so the aesthetic prejudice is reversed.
None of this excuses Wen Wen from saying that she didn’t like Samantha because “her skin is too dark,” but it does go some way toward explaining why I wasn’t that shocked.
Meanwhile, tomorrow sees my possibly cack-handed attempts to assess and move things on with the alternative options I should have been pursuing in the first place.
First, though – two more classes, football, long long sleep.