Gweilo is a Cantonese word used to describe white Westerners who live in China. I have read that it can translate to “ghost person,” for the obvious reason that we are pale, but also because, like ghosts, Gweilos appear suddenly and then vanish. In the spirit of reclaiming epithets, I think this expression makes sense. Like a ghost, I don’t belong in the space I occupy. I am often not noticed, and when I am, it is usually a surprise to the person who noticed me. I am a novelty, and, if I’m honest, kind of in the way.
Gweilo also translates as “foreign devil.” I like that less…but I get it too. The mid-levels, where we live, can be a mess of Americans, Australians, and Europeans after work — getting drunk, getting loud, getting awful. It’s easy to not be your best self here all the time and I think alcohol just makes things 100% worse. I’d rather be a ghost than a devil.
Our sea shipment has finally arrived from Massachusetts. As I write this, a crew is removing the furniture we have been renting for the past six weeks. Barring any last minute excitement at the Port of Hong Kong, our actual furniture (along with our books, photographs, and fancy hangers) has completed its long and arduous journey around the world and will be delivered to us tomorrow.
I know I’m prone to navel-gazing. It’s really my least favorite personality quirk. But standing here (again) in a temporarily unfurnished apartment in Central Hong Kong just seems like a strange place to find a small-town girl from Pensacola, Florida. And even though I know being here is a tremendous gift, and even though I know it’s not about me anyway, and even though I know this is where all transformation happens, occupying liminal space is really fucking weird sometimes. So, today, I’m a ghost. An actual gweilo. And that’s just going to be ok.
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