The Worst "A" Student

Bon voyage to a friend of mine, who's off to Paris today to start a four-week European journey—the one I've been forced to postpone indefinitely. I'm not the least bit jealous of her. I told her to have double the fun over there, to make up for all that I'd be missing out on. I'm certain that as a good friend, she'll be frenching my share of Parisian hunks, eating my share of German wursts, drinking my share of Belgium beer and cruising my share of Amsterdam nightclubs. And as proof that she's done all of the above, I'll be getting a postcard from her from each of her stops.

Now that I have no excuse to not be in Hong Kong for Chinese New Year, I'll have to start getting myself ready for the festive season. This includes training my stomach to gradually take in greasier and greasier meals, getting new clothes for the new year, getting new shoes before the new year, and prepping myself for the interrogation by my relatives about my work and when I'd be changing my marital status.

I'm one of four in the generation born in the same year. Since I could remember, it's been a constant competition among my cousins and me, especially in primary school when three of us went to the same school. Who got the highest grades? Who received what awards? Who carried the heaviest schoolbag?

I was an "A" student, but I was the worst "A" student among my competition. Luckily I'd been able to withdraw from the contest for 12 years by hiding in Toronto.

Chinese New Year is the playoffs for our parents' game of Show Hand. By seeing who has the nicest apartment, the best-looking children, whose son turned into a doctor and whose daughter turned out to be a lesbian, the winner is determined.

If and when I have kids of my own, I'd send them to Europe every Chinese New Year just so they can escape from this kind of stressful competition. Maybe I'll even send their cousins along and see who frenches the most Parisians.