Colin Goh and Woo Yen Yen

The following was published in the Sunday Times on 30th Dec 2007:

Sunday Times 30 Dec 2007
A Kung Fu Casino Christmas
by Colin Goh

So the Wife came home last week from her Shaolin class, and asked if we could host a Christmas party for the monks.

“They’re very poor thing, lah,” she explained. “They’re so young, new to America and far from home, so a bunch of us students thought it would be nice to cheer them up. And since our place is closest to the school…”

“Well, okay,” I said, sucking air through my clenched teeth as I wondered how to fit the 15 or so people into our puny place. “I understand it’s really bad karma to say there’s no room at the inn around this time of the year.”  And you certainly wouldn’t want to upset guys who can fly through the air and kick you into the middle of next week.

“Merry Chris’muh-ssuh!” chimed the monks in their accented English when they arrived on Christmas Eve, the other students behind them, a motley crew of different races and ages.

“You cook really well!” said one of the monks to me in Mandarin, handing me his plate for a second helping of our bee hoon. (We had decided to fall back on our heritage and prepare two out of the three items forming the Singaporean party menu trinity: char bee hoon and chicken curry. There’s some dispute as to what the third item is: fried fishballs on a skewer, or chicken wings?)

“Well,” I replied. “When the Wife is away learning her drunken monkey gong from you, I’m at home practicing my mi fen gong.”  He seemed to find this hysterical.

There were four monks, all in their early 20’s, who’d come to New York with a big performing troupe all the way from the legendary Shaolin Monastery in Songshan in China’s Henan province, and got arrowed to stay behind to form a sort of quasi-diplomatic mission, performing at various cultural events and also teaching locals their moves - a rather shrewd long-term P.R. exercise. (Imagine if the STB sponsored K.F. Seetoh to start a Singaporean food centre in Manhattan.)

They also weren’t strictly monks, despite their bald pates.  As I learned, the Shaolin Monastery operates both a temple for ordained Buddhist monks and martial arts schools for wushu performers, like where Jet Li got his start.  But both arms share the same Master-Disciple mentorship system and (presumably) the same hairstylist.

Their lives were pretty rough. The wushu schools they attended were boarding schools where training began at 4.30 a.m. and which let them out to visit their parents only once a year. And here in their NYC ‘mission’, they weren’t living the diplomatic high life either – apparently, there’s no heating in their shared apartment, a huge incentive to turn up early for work everyday.

I was quite moved by these earnest young men’s story; the golden opportunity they’d been given to experience New York vitiated somewhat by the whiff of exploitation. Despite their hard lives, they were also innocent in many ways – a fact amply demonstrated by how they were now playing ‘Uno’ with some of the students, a game most Singaporeans associate with secondary school.

“They’re working so hard to share their culture,” I told the Wife. “What of our culture do we have to share with them, besides bee hoon?”

She thought for a moment, then asked the monks, “Any of you know how to play blackjack?” The monks immediately turned away from the Uno.

Blackjack? I stared at the Wife. “Singapore wants to be Southeast Asia’s casino hub, mah,” she said, smiling.  And so were the monks. “I wan’tuh to learn,” beamed one, to the others’ enthusiastic concurrence.

And that’s how we wound up spending Christmas Eve teaching a bunch of innocent warrior monks to puak kiao. I felt a little guilty, but frankly, what’s more quintessentially Chinese than gambling, especially on holidays? In some ways, we were merely acquainting them with their own heritage.

The monks were certainly getting into it.  At one point, one of them yelled, Vegas-style, “Hit’tuh me!” and the others took him literally and slapped him, Shaolin-style.

By night’s end, after five straight hours of playing, the monks emerged the main winners.  Or maybe we got hustled. Who knows? Who cares? Nobody was going to begrudge these hardworking guys a few bucks.

“Pee-suh ou’tuh,” said one of the monks, flashing me a hip-hop sign as they took their leave.

I winced. Had I glimpsed the ghost of Christmas yet to come? A jumbled future where Chinese people peddle their ancient ways to the rest of the world using modern marketing, while simultaneously reprocessing their culture? Not to mention gambling in a Singaporean venue?

Peace out indeed.

Colin would like to thank all his readers for their mail and well-wishes this past year. Happy 2008!

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