The Hungry Ghost Festival is that time of year when Buddhists, or Taoists, or maybe just Chinese, go back home to pay respects to their ancestors. So all the Chinese in camp were given a few days off. I’ve never cared about the Hungry Ghost Festival before, and I can assure you that I had no intention of praying or doing anything for the sake of my long-gone ancestors. My fellow yellow were puzzled when they heard I was planning to take off with the rest of them.

“You’re going back?”

“Sure, if I can go back I’m going to go back.”

“But,” – cue the frown – “but you’re not Buddhist.”

“I’m Chinese. Teacher said all the Chinese could go back.”

“You can’t speak Chinese, you aren’t Buddhist. You’re not Chinese. You’re Christian.”

I had a bit of a problem explaining the difference between race and religion and, of course, no problem whatsoever explaining simple opportunism.

I was supposed to be back in camp yesterday. I, er, wasn’t completely honest when I signed a paper in which I promised to return to camp yesterday. Many of us Chinese did the same and we’re still not yet back in camp. The plan is to return tomorrow with the excuse that we had to pray for our dead great-grandmother or something. This is a lie of course. I haven’t stooped so low as to do something of the sort. I’ll settle for a white lie: family reunion, relatives coming from all over the country. This is, in part, true.

What have I become?

Damn.