Queer Asian Identities in Contemporary Aotearoa New Zealand
ISBN 9781915271501

Highlights

Notes

  

Prologue

We were at the Taoist temple. My parents attended the services every Sunday. My brother and I were passing time in the library. We were waiting until the service was over.

“Do you know the story of The Vinegar Tasters?” an older auntie once asked me. She was a volunteer at the temple.

I cocked my head in confusion. I was still incredibly young at the time. The older auntie laughed at me. She gestured me towards her. She pointed to the painting of three old men crouching over a large earthenware pot and she began narrating her story.

***

Long ago, there were three old men wandering through a forest. Suddenly, a large earthenware pot appeared on the road.

The three old men peered into the pot. Inside was a thick, black liquid.

“What’s this?” asked the first old man. “It might be sauce. Why would someone leave this in the middle of a forest?”

The first old man who was the most daring. He figured the only way to uncover this mystery sauce was to taste it. He dipped his finger into the mystery liquid and placed it in his mouth.

“Ugh! This sauce is spoilt!” the first old man cried. He puckered his lips, and his face was scrunched up like a pickled plum. “How disgustingly sour!”

Not believing the first old man, the second old man also dipped his finger in the pot to taste the mystery sauce.

“Ugh! You’re right!” cried the second old man. “The sauce is disgusting. The sauce is rancid! It’s unbelievably bitter!”

After observing the reaction of the first two old men, the third old man pondered for a moment, and then dipped his finger in the pot to taste it.

The first two old men watched him eagerly.

The third old man swished the mystery sauce in his mouth. Left. Right. Left again.

“I see,” the third old man whispered under his breath. He stroked his white beard while deep in thought.

“You’re both wrong, and you’re both right. It’s not sour or bitter. This sauce is sweet.” “How could this be?” the second old man protested.

“It’s because you’re both fools! This sauce isn’t spoilt or rancid. It’s vinegar!” the third old man stated with a childish grin. “You must learn to appreciate it in its natural state.”

The third old man chuckled, and all three old men continued wandering through the forest.

***

“Do you understand the moral of the story, Sidney?” the auntie asked me.

I shook my head vigorously. The older auntie smiled and explained.

“The vinegar represents life. The first old man represents our Confucian values. Our life is like a wine, but without discipline it will spoil and turn into vinegar.”

“The second old man represents our Buddhist beliefs. Life isn’t bitter or sweet. We need to learn how to displace ourselves from this world of suffering.”

“The third man represents our Taoist principles. Life is perfect in its natural state. You cannot know what is sweet without equally understand what it is bitter or sour.”

“But remember, Sidney. Our values, beliefs, and principles are all important. One cannot exist without the others. Our three teachings are one.”

The first time I was bit,

I knew my life was never going to be the same.

What I knew was history.

His fangs breached my skin.

Blood was drawn,

and I wanted more.

The fear was knowing I could never turn back.