The Martlet

When I was a child, my questions were always considered cute. As an adult, they’re thought of as just plain weird.

“What would you wish for if you were given three wishes?” Rob asked me the other day.

“I’d wish for never-ending wishes,” I answered.

“No, you can’t say that. Three wishes only,” Rob replied.

“Yes. And one of my wishes would be to have never ending wishes for the rest of my life.”

“Amy, it’s three wishes and you can’t say never ending wishes,” Rob said, irritated.

“You’d make a lousy genie,” I complained.

“Wouldn’t you wish to win the lotto? A lifetime of never having to worry about money?” Rob suggested.

“Well, I dunno. What if I wished to win the lotto and I win $10 million and there were 10 million winners and I ended up with only $1, would that count as one of my wishes?” I asked.

“Only you would think of that,” Rob answered.

Somehow, I didn’t think so, but over the years I’ve grown accustomed to people raising an eyebrow, looking bewildered, or simply telling me that I ask the strangest questions.

I had hoped that perhaps it was just our culture that thought my questions odd. But, no, I found out I was just as strange in Taiwan as I am at home.

When I did a lesson on festivals for my adult advance-level class, I found out that during the seventh lunar month, the gates of Hell open up and ghosts are allowed to run around on earth for the entire month.

The Chinese call it Ghost Month and there are certain rituals and rules one must follow. For example, an array of food is offered to appease angry, hungry ghosts and one should not be out late at night or go swimming.

“Why can’t you go swimming?” I was curious.

Andy, my class team leader, had an answer.

“Because there are ghosts in the water and they will try to drown you,” he said.

“Can you swim indoors? Do ghosts like heated pools?” I asked.

“No. No swimming at all. But, if you go south to Kaohsiung city, you will see a lot of foreigners on the beach at this time of year,” Andy said.

“That’s awful! It would be a feast for the ghosts. Are there a lot of dead foreigners in July?” I asked.

I was horrified.

“Uh… no,” Andy said, looking confused.

“So the ghosts only attack Chinese people? I’m half Chinese — will I be safe or sorry if I go swimming?” I asked.

This question was met with perplexed glances. After about a minute of silence, Andy gave me my much-anticipated answer.

“That’s a very strange question, Amy,” he said with the class nodding in agreement.

And so, I left Taiwan as a weirdo and returned to Canada only to bewilder my friends.

At UVic, in my Chinese language class, our teacher told us about the Mid-Autumn Festival. It’s celebrated on the eighth lunar month and it’s a time when Chinese people gather together with friends and family to eat and stare at the moon.

The moon, she explained, is at its fullest and roundest. It will look like it is very near and many people will go outside to see it.

“Do Chinese people believe in werewolves?” I asked, concerned over all the lives lost as unsuspecting families gather outdoors in the dark to stare at a full moon.

The minute I blurted out the question, I wished I could take it back. After all, I was not among close friends. I was in an institution of higher learning and elevated thoughts.

As I looked around the classroom, I noticed that this question wasn’t met with the usual looks. In fact, it didn’t look as if anybody thought it to be strange at all. People weren’t staring at me with looks of confusion.

They were looking at the teacher — they were all awaiting an answer.

Ah, academia. At last: a place where my weirdness can thrive; where questions are accepted and even encouraged. Here, there is no such thing as a stupid question, right? Right?