'You have been in China 25 years. Tell me, are you able to eat Chinese food?' I can't help smirking; I've been asked that question hundreds of times. Every Chinese journalist who comes to interview me asks this question. You might think somebody in China would deduce that, if I couldn't eat Chinese food, I wouldn't have survived all these years. 'Yes,' I respond in a soft, patient voice, adding: 'I can use chopsticks, too!' This amazes the young journalist. 'Really? You can use chopsticks!' Then, like every other journalist, she says: 'As a foreigner, it must have taken you a long time to learn. Tell me, was it difficult?' Here's the dilemma: if I tell her it's dead simple and that almost every foreigner in the world can use chopsticks because there are Chinese, Korean, Japanese and Thai restaurants everywhere these days, she might be offended. I'd be puncturing the artificial sense of mystery behind the bamboo curtain. So I tell her what she wants to hear: 'Yes, learning to use chopsticks was very difficult. I had to practise a long time, with a private tutor. But after a while I finally got the knack.' 'Oh, that is so good!' she exclaims, taking copious notes. 'I am very impressed. Actually, then, you like Chinese food, too?' 'It's delicious,' I respond, adding that 'vanilla ice cream is one of the great inventions of Chinese culture'. But she isn't listening. 'Yes,' she smiles, 'we Chinese have invented many things. Do you know what the four great inventions of ancient China are?' This question again! They always harp on about the four great inventions that were made centuries ago, as if nothing has happened since then, or anywhere else in the world. 'My Chinese history is not very good,' I concede. 'But let me take a guess - mahjong and corruption are probably two of the four; chopsticks of course; and manufacturing fake products might be the other one? What do you think?' But this doesn't seem to register. Perhaps she doesn't know her own history, either. 'What do you think about the Olympics?' she asks. 'Is the whole world coming to China to welcome our successful Olympics and to wish that we win all the gold medals?' Another dilemma: do I tell her that there will be massive protests worldwide against China for everything from faulty products that kill children to Darfur, not to mention human rights? Or do I tell her what she wants to hear? My experience of living in China tells me to choose the latter. Always. 'Yes, everyone will be cheering China's coming of age,' I say. 'I think the world will wish China great prosperity in 2008.' She asks: 'And will the world wish that we win all the gold medals, too?' I wonder to myself what might happen if, say, the Japanese team thrashes China at table tennis. I close my eyes for a moment, imagining massive street rioting and Japanese-made cars being set on fire. When Japan's soccer team won the Asian Cup in Beijing a few years ago, it ignited such fury. I grimace inwardly at the thought. But living in China for over two decades has taught me to keep a totally straight face when saying something I could never imagine myself saying because I don't believe it. 'I think the world will be cheering on China,' I say, 'because people of the world like Chinese food, think the market here is so big, and the Chinese people so friendly.' The young journalist scribbles this down. 'And should we give more publicity and propaganda to disseminating the 2008 Olympics to the world?' she asks, indicating the answer she was looking for: 'Our leaders think we are not doing enough to promote the Olympics.' I reply: 'All the people of the whole world will unite in doing nothing except waiting for the Beijing 2008 Olympics to begin. Everyone is counting the days.' Then, laughing to myself, I add: 'In 2008, your leaders should not expect any surprises whatsoever.' And she takes more notes. Laurence Brahm is a political economist, author, filmmaker and founder of Shambhala Foundation