Taiwanese American.org / Blogworthy

Time Zone

2008-11-09T17:53:00.013-06:00

Celebrating birthdays is like congratulating yourself that you've defied death a little longer. Cynical, silly, and almost blasphemous. Despite that, it is kind of nice to receive presents and eat cake (where did these traditions come from?).

Birthday celebrations in my family aren't a big deal. I think that stems from Taiwanese culture but I'm not quite sure. The anniversary of my birth has never been celebrated in Taiwan as I have never happened to have been in the correct time zone to properly celebrate my birth.

I believe that the development of my family's birthday celebration culture was due to an assimilation attempt in the early years. All the other little girls were having birthday parties, so my sisters and I should get them too, right? But that's fizzled out over the years: we've happily reverted back to the "Hey, look at the date. You were born so many years ago. Now eat your breakfast and go to work."

The lack of partying and such suits me. In fact, I have an exclusive, one-human celebration when I actually turn one year older. It comes a few hours (six hours and twenty minutes) before my birthday here, which is nice. I get time to think "Hey, it's my birthday" and "I'm going to die eventually" before I get to go through the endless "happy birthday-thank yous" the next day - which isn't even really the anniversary of my birth.

Jessica won't refuse presents (bamboo charcoal peanuts, bamboo/hemp/soy fiber clothing, bubble tea, a real-live Charizard) but is content with a cup of High Mountain Oolong tea, which she finds in the comfort of home. But with a Charizard, she could fly to Taiwan whenever she wants... hint... hint...

To The Naturalized Citizen of the United States of America:

2008-11-05T21:55:00.002-06:00

You are one of many. You are special. You have claims to two nations and there's a good chance that two nations love you. They want you. But you are special and have exercised a certain power. You have decided.

In any new home country, you can decide whether to apply for citizenship. In this country, you can decide anything you want. You are that special.

Remember that your new nation, one you now identify with, has roots in your history too. Maybe not in South Africa or Cote d'Ivoire or Uruguay or Sicily or wherever you come from, but the United States of America was once that small. It has drawn people from all over, from your country, to become citizens of the United States of America.

You have made a choice to become a Citizen of the United States of America. Through this, you have to accept the burden that Americans carry. You are now part of the "tasteless American" breed. Part of the nation with the most rebellious past in modern history. A superpower. A faltering economy, a penchant for rebounding back and better than ever. America is a place that declares freedom, independence, opportunity for all. The Jeffersonian Ideal, which America has been built around calls for "Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for all." Keep in mind that you are a special person as entitled to the same as a natural born citizen. Your conscious choices make you liable for your actions.

This is not a manifesto, a decree. This is a saying that you are an NC of the USA. Embrace the glory and the responsibility.

Jessica eeks out thoughts from the deepest recesses of her brain and lets them ferment. Vintage thoughts are sometimes riper and sometimes even more like moldy grapes.

Proud to be an American. Ashamed to be a Californian. Confused as a Taiwanese-American.

2008-11-05T20:45:00.004-06:00

In the wake of the U.S. election, I’ve realized what a big generation gap there is in my family. My brother came home about a week ago, indignant that my mom would support Proposition 8 (banning gay marriage) in California even after a long, heated debate in the car. I, however, was not surprised by the revelation, as my parents have been conservative Republican supporters for a long time. It’s one of those things you can sense from a long way coming—everything from the tax bracket, traditional values, conservative action, to, of course, the Republicans’ friendlier stance toward Taiwan has made them two sparks of red in a predominantly blue state. I’ve never been one to argue politics, but even I can see this is a new era ahead, one I’m not sure my parents will readily adopt.

I know this is the last election that I can sit and watch the country pass by. This time next year, I will be eighteen and casting my first ballot, whether it’s at a polling station or an absentee ballot by mail. But I can’t help but feel that it comes one year too late. As I sat in front of the TV yesterday, I watched civil rights take one step forward but two steps back, in an era where we supposedly have made progress for equal rights. I stared unbelievingly as Washington passed a proposition allowing doctor-assisted suicide and deeply questioned whether it was indeed 2008. But with my dad shouting “yes!” every time I shouted “no!” I wondered how it was that we got to be so diametrically different.

My friends tell me it’s the area we live in, because of Saratoga’s proximity to San Francisco and Berkeley and the prevalence of liberal thinking around here. We also note the indifference toward religion and the way we are taught to think critically in school. Meanwhile, my parents claim Prop 8 concerns such as “I worry about what my grandchildren will be taught!” before I remind them that it will be me and my brother raising those grandchildren in question. They make vast generalizations by speculating that gay people will marry just to gain economic benefits, which they need because “they don’t work!” Just like Obama said poor whites cling to guns and religion, I think my parents cling to something too—the traditional Taiwanese values they were raised with before immigrating to the United States. And although they have in turn tried to impart their traditional values upon on my brother and me, for some reason the community environment has just been so much stronger.

This election, I’m proud to be an American, yet ashamed to be a Californian. Still, I don’t know where that puts me as a Taiwanese-American. I’m caught between a confluence of generations, between a conflicting loyalty about respecting my parents’ every word and for once, telling them that what they’re doing isn’t right. But this is the last year where that happens. Next year, I’ll be making the decisions that count.

Lisa is 17 years old, which is unfortunately too young to vote.

Traditional Family

2008-09-16T21:13:00.003-05:00

I drink oolong tea and eat a squishy black cake thing. I've just forgotten how to say the name of the squishy black cake thing. My brain goes in overdrive circumlocuting in Mandarin.

looks like it is black cake. sweet sweet. with tea eat. we cut in small piece and eat with tea. not round. looks like it is... [indicates rectangle]. is sticky. is not hard. could be with tea and ... fragrant things made. there are many types. i was small when we ate a lot because we would buy them there/bring them here. this [that i am eating] is I-Mei brand.

This is, essentially, my thought process. I imagined returning to Taiwan and stumblingly trying to name/locate this mysterious food. I realize that maybe I'd never find it. I figured since that's how my family eats them that's how other Taiwanese families eat them. I could be right, but I could also be wrong. My isolation from Taiwanese culture is imperfect. I really only know Taiwanese culture as it happens in my family -- who knows how that compares to the real, every-day deal?

An imaginary squishy black cake thing to the first person to correctly name that food.

Jessica finds it strange to think in Mandarin and type in English simultaneously.

taiwanese and/or american

2008-08-21T14:08:00.003-05:00

A few weeks ago, I had a Taiwanese parent confide to me, “At thirty [years old], my son came up to me one day and said, ‘Mom, I’ve finally realized that I’m really Taiwanese.’” For years, he had considered himself American, born and raised on this side of the Pacific Ocean, and separate from the heritage that could have been part of his identity. She was decidedly glowing with pride that her son had finally embraced the culture she had long tried to impart, and that he had become the “proper” son she had raised. But all I could think was: what was the difference?

I’ve always been told that I’m Taiwanese American, but I never thought that I had to choose one or the other. Granted, Taiwanese precedes American in the phrase, but that’s the same as with every other ethnicity- African American, Arab American, and obviously, Asian American. The great part about being American is that you can be a part of both cultures, and you don’t necessarily feel a pull to identify solely with one. Even to this day, people are able to hold dual citizenship in American and Taiwan, can live in communities where they interact with both American-born and Taiwanese-born people, and go about their everyday lives speaking both English and Chinese and/or Taiwanese. That’s America for you, the land of opportunity.

I’ve got to admit, having the Taiwanese part of my identity comes with a lot of perks. I’ve long taken for granted the rich culture that I am able to enjoy, from the delicious food to some of the music and the opportunity to call somewhere a “homeland.” Sometimes, I’ve acted aloof to all of it, turning down what I deem “Asian clothes,” or refusing things because they seem “too fobby,” but I do realize how fortunate I am. Life might otherwise be rather mundane if I was condemned to minor variations on sandwiches for my lunches, or if I had to have cereal for breakfast every day. It’s a lot better to have Taiwanese alternatives, but not be forced to pick them.

Some people take the dual identity to extremes, and in teenage lingo, we classify them as “fobby” or “whitewashed,” the former indicating excessive Asian-ness and the latter indicating excessive American-ness. On the same token, we have also used food analogies to indicate the difference between the true ethnicity (what is in the middle) and the actual behavior (what is on the outside), as in the case of “twinkies”/”bananas” or “eggs.” For me, the distinction isn’t that clear, with no clear line separating the “yellow” Asian me from the “white” American me. I’ve always wanted a little bit of everything, and I hate when people try to stereotype or categorize me.

But I suppose if you have to label me, my color would be a pale yellow- equal parts Taiwanese and American. Though if you’ve ever seen my actual skin color, you’d realize that it’s actually dark brown.

Lisa has returned from her travels to Saratoga, California, where she will soon start her senior year of high school. She is happy to report that on her college applications, the words "Asian American" are always together in a phrase, never apart.

For Your Eyes Only

2008-08-07T10:34:00.000-05:00

Jessica loves Taiwanese food. She particularly enjoys tsua bing, fresh summer fruits, and half-sugar green tea with boba.

The Fundamentals for Expression

2008-08-06T19:40:00.000-05:00

Imagine that a best friend has a contradiction to your friendship on his/her sleeve. That a favorite shirt is suddenly revealed to have an obscenity worked into the design. That your tattoo artist secretly slipped in a joke onto your lower back. The alphabet that I use most frequently is suddenly mocking me. I might have identified myself by this alphabet eariler by using it so extensively but now this new identity it imposes on me is disturbing.

The English alphabet is something all that read this should know. It goes like this:

a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z

The mockery is in the beginning. A. B. C. Also known as "American-Born Chinese." All around me, people I think that are just like me -- Taiwanese-Americans -- are suddenly describing themselves with this phrase. A street vendor gives a friend a funny look and asks in accented English: "A-B-C?" and she nods. I stand by, unsure of how to respond.

The irony is amazing. Despite being Taiwanese-born, the only language I am fluent in is English. I've never been to England and off the top of my head I can't even say "I was born in Taiwan but grew up in America" in Mandarin. (Even more bizarrely I think I can only communicate that message in English and Spanish.) When locals apply the acronym to me, I pull a face that might be able to pass for acquiescence or might just look grotesque. To me, calling me A.B.C. is nearly an insult -- it is almost completely erroneous. The only word that accurately applies is "born." I was born and neither "American" or "Chinese" speaks truth about me. Because I know single labels won't properly define me, I'll let the alphabet mockery slip by. With or without the phrase, strangers will continue to be strangers to me. The only thing they will know is that the English alphabet starts with a, b, c...

Jessica spent most of July in Taiwan, traveling, exploring, shopping, eating, and meeting new friends. This trip was her first introduction to the phrase "ABC."

How Do You Say "Taiwan" in French?

2008-07-27T17:36:00.004-05:00

“Je suis américanne,” I insist, but the question always follows. I’ve arrived as an American in France, but each French teenager I meet insists on asking about my heritage and where my parents came from. I guess it’s reasonable to wonder, since I don’t resemble the white Caucasians that make up a majority of the country’s population, though it gets tiring to say over and over again, that yes, I was born in the United States and I am American. On one hand, I’m glad they don’t identify me with the rude tourists that usually come from our country; but on the other hand, the question puts me in a bit of a quandary. I don’t even know how to explain my heritage in English or Chinese, much less in French. It’s a long, complex history- never meant for simple introductions, unless I wanted to incite a political debate. And so, I opt for the simple.

I’ve known from day one that I am Taiwanese American, something that has been long entrenched in my identity and my family. I’ve grown up on the sidelines of protest rallies and in the tents of cultural festivals, participating in a Taiwanese community where my parents are the instigators, the leaders, and the most fervent supporters. But although this is my background, it’s not something easily shared. I hate telling someone I’m Taiwanese American, then having to follow up with a geographical lesson about the location of Taiwan when they have no idea where it is. And even more, I hate being pulled into a totally unnecessary political discussion about China’s territorial claims over the island, when all I want to do is meet the person first. They say politics is a bad topic for a first date, but what about a first introduction? A first conversation?

It was easier back when I was in London, speaking my fluent English and surrounded my some of the brightest minds in the world. There I could say that I was from Taiwan, and there would be no puzzled looks or double takes. At The Economist, we would even discuss upcoming stories about Taiwanese and Chinese relations, pointing out they were signs of a détente between the countries. But since then, I’ve completely changed worlds. These French teenagers are simply relaxing on the beach, playing some rugby, and hanging out with their friends, without a care in the world. They’ve been nice enough to come over and attempt to understand my slow American-style French. And I really want to make a smooth introduction. So I tell them my parents are from China.

Something tells me that my parents, across the world right now, would be disappointed in those words. They’ve spent their entire lives trying to make me understand what it means to be Taiwanese American. And in a sense, I’ve betrayed that, though I’ve justified it any every way possible. I know my ancestors came from China, that they migrated across the Taiwan Strait less than a century ago, so they technically were from China. And the French, who love to discuss politics, have not recognized the independence of Taiwan. Finally, we'd only learned how to say that we were Chinese in French class, but never how to identify ourselves as Taiwanese. Still, I know all those excuses are moot because what has always been most important is that we, as Taiwanese Americans, promote our own country, even if no one else will.

I’ve since learned the French name for Taiwan, and as you would guess, it’s the same word. If it helps, the article for the country is feminine, as in “la Taiwan.” And though I’m still learning to say it, still readying myself to make such a leap of faith across cultural distinctions- both across the Atlantic and the Taiwan Strait- I know the words in my heart, “Mes parents viennent de la Taiwan.” I know it, my family knows it; but whether the world needs to know it- that’s what I’m trying to decide.

Lisa is still toughing it out in Europe, language barriers and all. After spending two weeks interning at The Economist office in London, Lisa is currently enrolled in a study abroad program in Arcachon, France. She will return from her travels in the fall for her senior year at Saratoga High School.

Sorry, what ethnicity did you say you were again?

2008-07-24T22:34:00.007-05:00

I have been told countless times that studying abroad is an opportunity that every college student must experience. So like any advice-adhering undergrad, I decided to study abroad this summer. After poring over dozens of study abroad websites, I had narrowed down to two places: Sydney, Australia or Shanghai, China. In the end I chose Shanghai because I prized learning about my cultural roots and improving my mandarin skills over broadening my experience in journalism. I felt confident in my choice and secure based on the generally comforting thought that I would fit in more easily and avoid any racial issues in China as opposed to Australia. Now that I am back from my study abroad experience, I realize that I shouldn’t have been so quick to make such generalized assumptions.

Don’t get me wrong, I had the most amazing time in China. Not only did I study at Fudan University in Shanghai for seven weeks, one of the top universities in the country, I also managed to squeeze in weekend visits to amazing places such as the West Lake of Hangzhou and Hainan, also known as the Hawaii of the orient. The last week of our program was devoted purely for travel to Beijing and Xian. It was truly fantastic to go from sipping cocktails on the bund in Shanghai to climbing the Great Wall in Beijing.

The traveling and amazingly fun parts of my study abroad experience were exactly what I had imagined previous to my departure. What I hadn’t considered were the ethical issues that would arise when I told people in China that I was Taiwanese. For someone who knew about the issues between Taiwan and China since I was young, it was surprising that I had forgotten my Taiwanese background would elicit a negative response from various Chinese people.

Many a conversation with the Chinese locals would go something like this: the local would ask where I was from, after watching me speak English with the friends on my program. I would inform the person that I was from America to which they would reply, “But you don’t look American.”

This simple, unknowing question unpleasantly surprised me to the fact that some people still think “Americans” are all blonde haired and blue eyed. The conversation continues to go downward when I explain to the local that I am Taiwanese American, and that my parents immigrated from Taiwan to America when they were young, thus explaining my looks. Wrong move.

First, most Chinese locals did not like the fact that I referred to myself as Taiwanese. A bus driver even told my Taiwanese American friend to remember that he is in fact, Chinese. This is because they feel that Taiwanese people are Chinese, and by declaring ourselves as Taiwanese, we are implying that there is a difference. Secondly, the Chinese locals seemed to regard Caucasian Americans as a cause for a scene, and quickly shoved my black haired, brown eyed self to the side whenever I was with my other friends.

To be honest, I was considerably offended by this attitude during the first two weeks of my stay in China. However, I figured that my ethnicity was not a bad thing, and the fact that there was been an ongoing controversy between China and Taiwan was not something that I was single-handedly capable of solving. Therefore, whenever I was asked what ethnicity I was, I would continue to look people in the eye and say, I am Taiwanese American, and brace myself for whatever reaction they decided to give me. Fortunately, not all of them were negative, and some people accepted it without a second thought. As for me, I had a clear conscience because I was proud of my ethnicity. I didn’t want to lie about it to avoid any unnecessary ridicule.

My friends and I were sitting at Starbucks when we overheard a couple explaining to their friend about where they were from. “Well, we’re American but we tend to tell people we’re Canadian when we’re traveling just because Canadians have a better reputation at the moment.”

One of my friends turned to us and said, “Those people are cowards. Julienne always tells people that she’s Taiwanese.”

Julienne is back in California for the rest of the summer working on her travel blog of China. Her personal work can be found on issuu.com/julienne in a few weeks.

Taiwan Blog II

2008-07-22T16:03:00.005-05:00

I definitely didn't follow up on my promise to update consistently. The good news is that when you're working in Taipei, despite how fun it is, the weekdays are pretty uneventful because you're so tired when you come home. I am already in America now so I'll scrap the date format postings and just give recollection of some of my thoughts on main locations.

Ximending- I worked here during my first week at a candy store. This is basically the consensus hangout place for most teenagers and college students. It's also known as the "harajuku of Taiwan." I was not particularly impressed with the food (I opted to eat at McDonald's almost every day for my lunch break), but this place packed killer bubble tea and Taiwan snacks everywhere I visited. Ximending is flooded with people especially in the evenings and weekends. The shopping is great with very cheap stuff, but still just as fashionable. The kids here have a distinct fashion taste that is very Japanese pop culture. This shopping district is home to a few gangs and some shady people so I believe that one should travel with a friend especially in the evenings. Don't let this keep you from visiting such an energy-packed place though.

I-Lan - I visited here with my aunt, uncle and cousins. Taiwan is a mix of beautiful nature and efficient cities. The mountains of Taiwan are home to many aboriginal tribes and hot springs. We climbed up the mountain (they have stairs!) and from near the top I could see the wispy clouds hovering near the ledges. My description doesn't do justice. You have to see it to believe it.

Sun Moon Lake- Another wonder of nature. Sun Moon Lake is a huge lake in Taiwan with many little islands in it. My grandparents and I stayed at a hotel with rooms facing the lake. This lake is home to many fishermen and is a hotspot tourist attraction for the Taiwanese. The hotels are mostly classy 5-stars and the vendors on the streets sel some delicious seafood. We took a tour of 3 islands with their tourboat and saw some temples and hiking attractions. I was surprised at the completeness of this tour. It lasted for 1.5 hours and we were allowed to stop at each island and explore for 15-30 minutes. In America, whenever I take these kinds of tours, they finish in 30 minutes and I leave feeling like I didn't learn much.

My next and final post will be a reflection of various small things I've noticed at my stay.

Justin hails from the Midwest, but looks forward to his yearly visits to Taiwan because he oftentimes crosses paths with his Taiwanese American friends on the MRT. It's a small world after all.

Yes We Can

2008-07-07T03:55:00.027-05:00

The One China Policy. The Taiwan Relations Act. Arms sales. WHO. TIFA. High-level visits. I can already imagine a collective, good-humored groan from the Class of 2008 Ambassadors.

As part of the Formosa Foundation's Ambassador Program, I had an amazing time in Washington D.C. learning the nuances of U.S. foreign policy in regards to Taiwan and bonding with people from so many different walks of life! The program helps to break down the wall that exists between elected officials and ordinary citizens and encourages dialogue and mutual understanding among its student participants. It was a thrill for me to be able to speak to members of Congress about current Taiwan-related issues and to have the opportunity to voice my own opinions. But most importantly, the program helped me learn about myself and why I as an individual matter in the grand scheme of things. This is where it gets personal.

I now understand that the Taiwanese American identity of the second generation is a narrative influenced by, yet still distinctly different from that of first generation Taiwanese. As Americans we don’t live under the constant fear and tension of martial law. Instead, our narrative includes stinky tofu, boba pearl milk tea, TASA, and Jay Chou. But it’s also much more than that. To me, being Taiwanese American means understanding the history and culture of Taiwan and being proud of how far Taiwan has come.

Essentially, you don’t have to be pro-active about Taiwanese politics, but it’s necessary to be pro-active about being Taiwanese American. Nowadays we enjoy freedoms unfathomable to those in Taiwan who were silenced by fear during the White Terror. We have the power to talk about our history, how far we’ve come, and what the generations before us went through. Thus we cannot continue the silence of our parents and grandparents. Our narrative is a unique mixture of Taiwan’s history, Taiwanese and American culture, and the values of both countries. It is a continuation of the first generation, but it’s also an identity in which we as a community need to embrace and fulfill. Talking about Taiwan or identifying yourself as Taiwanese American transcends politics and shouldn’t be considered taboo or controversial. A vital aspect of our narrative is to be proud of our heritage, forget individual political affiliation, and celebrate and spread awareness of Taiwan’s history and success.

During the 1960’s, the Taiwanese in America were effective in bringing attention to issues that were important to their community: the struggle for democracy in Taiwan. Now in 2008, as second generation Taiwanese Americans, we have just as much power to tell the story of Taiwan and to make it a part of our own narrative.

Formosa Foundation Ambassador Program
Visit the Formosa Foundation website at: http://formosafoundation.org

Erica is back in Los Angeles after two hectic, fun-filled weeks in Washington D.C. She misses all the friends she made through the Ambassador Program and encourages anyone who is interested in politics, Taiwan, and making rap videos about current issues to apply next year!

Taiwan Blog I

2008-06-28T02:51:00.003-05:00

I am going to be in Taiwan for the next 3-4 weeks serving an internship for a Taiwanese business. At the same time, I'll be trying to savor my experience here. This is my first time in Taiwan since 3-4 years ago. The following are short postings of daily experiences, posted every few days.

6/25/08:
The flight was 18 hours from Detroit to Taipei. I had to stop at Osaka, Japan to connect on to Taipei. At Osaka, I decided to speak to a girl that I saw in Detroit who I believed to be American and traveling alone like I was. She turned out to be 1)Taiwanese-American and 2) a friend of a friend I know from the Taiwanese American Foundation. This is exhibit A of a reason I love TAF: building connections with people, creating a smaller world for people to know each other. When I finally touched down in Taiwan I was greeted by my uncle and my grandparents. Seeing my relatives again when I arrive at the airport is one of those experiences I love repeating.

6/26/08
The jet lag is awful. Taiwan time is a perfect 12 hour differential from the East Coast US time. I find myself nodding away when I am eating my afternoon snack. I explored Tien Mu today by myself. I bought a cheap 25 NT milk tea (less than a dollar US) and wove in and out of the towering department store near my grandparents' home. When I tell my friends that Taipei is a lot like New York, they don't really believe it. To me, the city of Taipei is progress, commerce, and culture. A daily stroll yields ruthless motorists (who rarely get into accidents!), extremely unique "mom and pop" shops, and opportunities for window shopping. I also met up with my other grandparents today. They own and operate a bead and sequin store and I used to love hanging out in that store and watching the shoppers go in and out.

6/27/08
A Millet art exhibit debuted today at the Museum of National History. I've never seen lines so long for an exhibit! The throbbing heat is unbearable, but I think the people are accustomed and the 1-2 hour wait is perfectly fine with them. We got to cut in line because my grandparents are senior citizens. Sometimes being old is a blessing! The area of the exhibit was too small for proper viewing. Schoolchildren on field trips packed the halls and hundreds of people crammed in to view the beautiful oil paintings of the French agricultural era. I was quite impressed with not only the paintings, but the people's appreciation for art.

After returning home, I arranged to meet up with a TAFer and explore the night market. However, the rain came pouring down right after I stepped out of Chiang Kai Shek Memorial metro station. Coincidentally, another TAFer was at the same station and our party of two soon became three. We ended up going to Shimending (I compare it to Times Square) and we hopped from store to store checking out bootleg fashion items, arcades, and restaurants. Taiwan is much more fun with friends.

More updates coming soon! Feel free to ask questions or let me know of any interesting places to visit.

Justin is a senior in high school who is visiting Taiwan on an internship. He will be updating his log on a consistent basis as his trip progresses.

Beijing Welcomes You

2008-06-16T19:47:00.004-05:00

There's been a lot written about the Beijing Olympics. Accusations of an only worsening human rights situation in China, punctuated by the Tibet riots not too long ago, are the most prevalent. In response, leaders worldwide have considered boycotting the opening ceremonies. Protesters hindered the torch as the Chinese and the International Olympic Committee tried, often in vain, to assure an unbroken light all the way to Beijing. Editorials cropped up around the country, urging more pressure on the Chinese government to live up to its promises of clean air and more.

Where do I stand?

I don't know.

It's so easy to stand on the American pedestal. Go through the litany of wrongs the Chinese government is guilty of, and may have no intention of correcting. Point the finger and say their human rights are atrocious.

It's not so easy to be Taiwanese American.

As I'm writing this, I'm watching the “Bejing Huan Ying Ni,” or Beijing Welcomes You, video on YouTube. I read somewhere 100 artists were involved in this video; I didn't take the time to count, nor does it really matter. It's a higher-budget, well-planned version of all those haphazardly created togetherness songs and music videos created after every disaster.

Artists I've never seen before and ones that I love are together in this video; Chinese artists, I'm pretty sure, are the ones I don't recognize. I know a lot of the Taiwanese ones: Jolin, FIR, Richie Ren, and more. I know the ones that got their starts in Taiwan, though they're from islands or other countries: JJ Lin, Yanzi, Wong Lee Hom. I recognize many from Hong Kong: Gigi Leung, Karen Mok.

It's not a bad song. It's not as cheesy as you'd expect, and surprisingly not as monotonous either, given the nearly 7-minute running time.

I can see a lot of reasons to like this video. Many scenes it shows are breathtaking. But it just made me uncomfortable.

The Taiwanese government, not too long ago, refused to let the Olympic torch pass through Taiwan during the Chinese portion of its run. And here these artists are, welcoming the world to Beijing? Acting as if Beijing is part of their country too? Can they welcome the world into a city that hosts the most immediate threats to their own country?

My dad told me not to look at it that way. They're businessmen. They need every opportunity to present themselves in the largest market they have.

But the song is so personal.

“The front door of my house is open, awaiting you,” they sing.

Their house? Really?

It's so disconcerting. We're not all the same. Not in my mind. I can't welcome anyone to Beijing. I have no connection.

I want to be proud of the 2008 Olympics. I want to show China and its landmarks to the world-- because it's my history too. Where do our histories stop being the same? Was it when my ancestors stepped on those boats and left the mainland? Was it when the revolution overthrew the dynastic cycle? Was it when the communists imposed their new traditions over the ones that had reigned?

There's still so much left I want to claim as mine. I'm Taiwanese, but I know where my roots are, and go back several hundred years-- we're all the same people.

So do I base my judgments on the politics of today? Because if I do that, I can't in good conscience support anything to do with pouring money and attention into an oppressive country that threatens my own little island and the lives of many of its billions of people.

Or do I base it on our shared history? I should be proud of what my people created so many thousands and hundreds of years ago. I should want the world to come and learn what it means to be Chinese.

Is there enough history to cancel out the evils of the current regime?

I don't know.

You can view the video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QFQ1JDw-d70

Karen is still listening to the damn song, because it's catchy anyway. And it's fun to guess the artist signing at the moment. She still prefers the Winter Olympics over the Summer Olympics, because who doesn't love to see grown men run and push a sled along, then fail at jumping in? She can be reached at kshih33 at gmail dot com.

Understandable

2008-04-11T17:22:00.006-05:00

You might want to sit down for this.

The word "American" has many connotations. Myself – I think of democracy, black and white portrait photographs of dead presidents, freedom, and the Gilded Age. Immigrants come to "America," half-expecting golden streets and flowing cash. They assimilate into "American" culture, looking for liberty and opportunity. “American” isn’t alone in being a multi-flavored word. I think of “Taiwanese” people as cheerful, open, technologically advanced, forward-thinking people. Like many people, I tend to dwell on the best of my heritage. “TAF” (or "Taiwanese American Foundation" the summer camp) too, has a connotation truly my own. I associate “TAF” campers and counselors with “generous”, “sincere”, “loving,” and “pro-Taiwan.” After a week of lauding the distinct flavors of Taiwanese food, nightmarkets, clothing styles, music, and culture in general, I can't imagine one of my friends supporting unification with China - a culture we have decided as different from ours. They are, in my mind, linked to two nations.

All that said: it is mathematically proven that a “Taiwanese-American” is friendly, democratic, and technologically advanced, with high hopes for a bright future. Throw a TAF participant into the mix, and an all-around cultured and lovable person is the result.

Pop.

It was sudden. I was writing about the heated Frank Hsieh-Ma Ying Jeou race when I realized the possibility of any audience member having different opinions than myself. I had just assumed that my audience – you - would lean the same way I did.

The inklings of truth have been cropping up everywhere. Some members of The TAF Blogring on Xanga are pro-unification, others aren't. Some support Ma Ying Jeou, or else Frank Hsieh. Some are Republican, Democrat, Undecided. In Facebook groups, I see the idea of Taiwanese pride displayed differently. CNN, Time, Newsweek, Associated Press, the local newspapers – they interview declared “Taiwanese-Americans” with views that vary from person to person.

Every person is different. This is not an idea new to me, and I am dumbstruck by my own naïveté. I had assumed that if you actively engaged in Taiwanese-American organizations, spread Taiwanese culture and politics, or knew that boba originated in Taiwan, then you would be friendly, democratic, technologically advanced, and have high hopes for a bright future.

My epiphany has shown me that “Taiwanese American” has a meaning I’d often ignored. It simply means you have at least a drop of Taiwanese blood and you live/lived in America. This phrase says nothing about your political affiliations, favorite ethnic food, or whether you kick sleeping puppies. So, I know nothing of your personality or opinions but you may stand for whatever doesn’t make you want to sit.

Jessica posts posts at http://www.xanga.com/skiazoura. The writing there is not her own, but she encourages readers to guess if she’s a puppy kicker herself.

Handy Experience

2008-03-21T10:06:00.003-05:00

I don't know if I have ever touched as many people as I did that day. The day was a light gray Sunday in March. Thousands upon thousands of people were walking down the street, and I was high fiving like crazy.

While quite unfamiliar with American political campaigns, I am sure that parades like those in Taiwan don't happen. On March 16, thousands of people walked down busy streets, side by side with lenient traffic. The motorcycle cops driving along were more for show than for necessity but the real eyecatcher was all the people. The people turned out in droves to show their support for Frank Hsieh or Mah Ying Jeou. The last weekend for political rallies is not to be sneezed at, so there I was on Jeng Tiao Road near a loud, excited woman who would intermittently start up the chant.

The chant is a Frank Hsieh chant that basically means "let's turn things around." It is a short, sweet phrase that's easy to pick up but it is hard to get into a chant when the language is unfamiliar. But there is a universal language and a political language that these people would understand: a smile and then a thumbs up and an open hand for high-fiving.

So there I was, smiling my face off, directing thumbs up toward passing cars and holding out my hand for hundreds of people marching by to high-five. I was touching hands of people I would probably never touch - but who can deny a raucously happy old man with one tooth who is walking several miles for a politician? There was more meaning and importance in just high-fiving these action-minded people than worrying whether or not someone had just sneezed into their hand. Several people even grasped my hand instead of simply high-fiving it and said it was good that young people were getting involved. I was touching people who I had never seen before and will never see again.

Campaigns in Taiwan are different than that in the United States of America by the fact that one doesn't see people of all ages walking down the street together rallying for a cause. Miniature parades of cars blasting slogans, drummers to disrupt the peace of a giant tree, people letting off small firecrackers are seen all over, as well as quieter but effective groups of people waving flags and holding out upward turned thumbs. The overall atmosphere is one of action, movement, and change - much better than ugly plastic signs in front yards.

Jessica likes the color green for many reasons. Plants are usually green, including cherimoyas, unripe avocados, and leaves of most trees,. Green stands for the environment/ecology and makes an excellent tea which she much prefers over black/red. She is wearing her green "I wear bubble tees" shirt today. Buy one!

City

2008-03-13T18:44:00.004-05:00

I had only been in Taipei city for two hours - and half of that was spent in the airport claiming baggage and marveling at the shiny, brightly lit marble floors. From the airport, we loaded our suitcases and boxes into a friend's car and started the drive home, through the city.

The city is a gorgeous place. Despite the cloudiness that is expected to stick around for the duration of my stay and the darkness of night, the streets and stores were lit up in a delicate kind of "look at me" gorgeousness (which is more than New York, or even Chicago can say. They say "feast in my glory.") This is home, even though I haven't been here for five years, and before that, I don't know how long. Conscious memory tells me I can only recall once, but memory is a fickle thing.

We drive down the road between highways, and the highway, and then the streets lined with stores bedecked with neon signs. Leaving the airport area, the walls along the streets are lined with flashing red lights. In America, this only ever happens at Christmas time. We pass a river, along which are lines of streetlamps hovering over the sidewalks that run along the river. It reminds me of the lights on a bridge in Washington, D.C., one that I crossed along time ago to dine at a fantastic Lebanese restaurant, or else of The Bourne Supremacy, when Bourne gets shot in the shoulder in Berlin - no, he was in Moscow. There's an archway of circles that reminds me of downtown St. Louis. These roads with roads criss-crossing over each other that make me smile a little because in the darkness it reminds me of Wacker Street. The way that the cars turn in the road and the movement of the buses reminds me of Chicago's Michigan Avenue. I haven't even gotten to the big name stores yet, and Taipei has all the glory everywhere. Then at a busy intersection, there's a complex pedestrian bridge that crosses every which way a pedestrian would want to go. The huge contraption reminds me of a mall in Providence. Everywhere I look in the lively night, there are lit signs. It is unlike New York - less flamboyant and eye-searing - and the closest I can equate is Chinatown, but even that's not right.

I look out at the road over which I am staying today, and the thick tree-lined medians set against high rise buildings seems so much like Central Park, set admist the big city. I can hear buses and that to me is the real sound of big cities, not taxis honking at each other. I remember seeing a forked street last night, with a building jutting out to split the roads. This reminds me simulatiously of Tainan and New York City. Two entirely different places. I am sitting at someone else's computer and there is literally a world between myself and the home I've been living in for the past years.

This one city, seems like a mix of all the little things of cities all over that I have encountered. The roar, the movement, the ever present clouds even. Maybe it doesn't matter what city I just came from, Los Angeles or St. Louis or anywhere. I haven't been getting my cities mixed up - this is everywhere.

Jessica can be immediately pegged as a "tourist" or "American" merely by the fact that her tshirt's sleeves end about a foot before her wrists. She is in Taiwan from March 13 to March 24 and welcomes non-creepy blogworthy readers in Taiwan to buy her copious amounts of delicious Taiwanese food while she's here.

Get your act together, fools

2008-03-11T09:56:00.005-05:00

On PBS the other day, I saw part of a documentary on the creation of the state of Israel. I didn't know this, but apparently, the success of the creation of the Jewish State was helped largely by Jewish Americans holding fund raisers, raising awareness, and even going to Israel against British law to prepare for what they felt was an impending war with the neighboring Arab Nations.

Taiwan is not in quite the same situation. Yes, there are plenty of successful and influential Taiwanese Americans that are quite concerned about Taiwanese recognition as an independent nation on the world stage. However, the Taiwanese living in Taiwan are divided on the issue. Some believe they are Chinese, even though they've lived in Taiwan all their lives. Others believe they are Taiwanese, a separate nation already independent due to a functioning government.

In addition, the Taiwanese in Taiwan often are dismissive to the Taiwanese in America saying, "What do you know? You don't live here anymore." In turn, the Taiwanese in America find that the Taiwanese in Taiwan have a skewed view due to the government controlled media.

From personal anecdotes from friends that go back for the summer or for a stint to live, many Taiwanese youth don't care much about the issue either, unlike the Taiwanese American youth, who are very well aware of the political issues facing Taiwan. The exception is when I meet them outside of Taiwan when traveling. Since they're comparatively rare in the world, I'm always surprised when I meet one, and they always seem somewhat relieved. It seems that many Taiwanese people don't really have a sense of being Taiwanese until they leave Taiwan and see the discrepancy between how they view themselves and how the world views them. If Taiwanese American youth have had to struggle with their identity between being Taiwanese and American, the youth in Taiwan still don't have much sense of their identity in Taiwan and might not even be aware that there's an issue.

American politics in the last eight years has been fairly divisive between Democrats and the Republicans, but I have no doubt that every American, regardless of party, unites together against
a common cause. I'm not so sure about the Taiwanese in Taiwan. They don't seem to have a sense of themselves, nor a sense of urgency. On the odd chance that China invades, I'm not so sure a Taiwanese neighbor will not stand idly by to watch another get hauled away.

Not every democratic citizen has to be heavily involved in politics. But they should at least be aware of the issues. Taiwanese people in Taiwan need to get their act together and start working with each other and expatriates towards common goals and develop their culture, instead of bickering along party lines outside of election time. There's no easier victory than where your opponent defeats themselves.

But what do I know. I live in America.

Wil Chung is a programmer that is working at a startup. He likes writing on blank cards and the smell of cedar at night. Recently, he wrote a program to find all 27x word score words in the TWL scrabble dictionary.

Pet Peeve of the Day

2008-01-27T18:58:00.000-06:00

Every person is entitled to the right to call holidays as they see fit. Yet in this time, they should try to be politically correct and not to stomp all over other people's rights. They can refer to December holidays as Christmakwanzaka, the holiday season, etc, etc. In schools, Easter is some times cleverly incorporated in "Spring break" or "April break."

What bothers me is when people call my second New Year of the year "Chinese New Year." For awhile, I used to correct people: Lunar New Year, please. Then someone corrected me – some religions also use lunar calendars and lunar years.

After first realizing that my personal campaign was vague and confusing, I realized that I too was imposing my own views on others. Insisting on “Lunar New Year” stomps all over people’s rights to say “Chinese New Year,” no matter how irritating to me. It is one thing to say it yourself, but to interrupt a person by interjecting your own personal opinion? It is a situation much like certain awkward moments in the winter holidays. If one says “Merry Christmas” to a Jewish person, the best thing for the Jew to do may be merely to smile and wave and wish them happy holidays. There is no need to kill the celebratory buzz - they were, after all, just trying to be nice.

Since being nice doesn’t always get you where you want to go, I might suggest that everyone be aware of political correctness and say "happy lunar new year as celebrated like the Chinese persons or similar cultures." But adjusting for only one holiday is unacceptable; you'd then have to say "happy days falling around the widely celebrated day of the birth of Jesus." The problem with going one hundred percent P.C. is you end up making people even more uncomfortable. In the end, I strive for an attitude of indifference, while secretly seething, smiling, not paying attention to a word you’re saying, or thinking about what to eat for dinner.

So while you say whatever you want, I say "I’m celebrating the New Year - I’m going to a New Year party!" I get to say it twice a year - it's up to you and your calendar savvy to know whether or not I’m trying not to offend myself.

Jessica wonders why "peeve" is hardly ever used without a "pet." She suspects that the mysterious April Break on her school calendar only happens once every four years - to get rid of that pesky 366th day of the year. She likes penguins.

Better Than Soy Crayons

2007-12-24T21:07:00.000-06:00

Watching my mom cook dinner was sometimes a boring task. With no deadlines to meet in my younger days, I would ask my mom if I could play with the rice, or the mung beans, before she cooked them. She would let me, since she would wash the rice and the mung beans before cooking anyway.

I loved the cool feeling of plunging my hand into a pot full of stubby white grains of rice or of not quite spherical green mung beans. I was delighted by the way the pieces crowded around my immerse hands as though trying to fill the void that was already filled by my little hands. Then my mom would whisk away the pot, and the next I would see my playthings would be in my bowl, cooked.

I wonder what the other kids played with. Wooden spoons on upturned saucepans no doubt. One can’t exactly toss a kid a bowl full of uncooked spaghetti and say “I’ll need that back, but you can play with it for now.” And that’s just the Italian kids. What do you give the French kids? Escargot? Irish? "Here, have a potato… or not." Andean? "Have fun with this guinea pig, but don’t name him."

Those kids sure miss out.

Jessica loves stuffed animals and colors. She owns a much coveted 96-color Crayola Crayon set but prefers the clean lines of colored pencils.

Music to Fight For

2007-11-24T12:08:00.000-06:00

People who know me know that I love to listen to hiphop/rap music. I'm one of the rare people that know the history of the music and the underlying themes. I can hear the pulse of the beat and feel the words from the underground. My experience evolved from the days of after school specials...but on the radio. The DJ cutting and mixing the track for the people stuck in a traffic jam. I lived that and after two years of indulging myself in the "sins" of popular radio hits that demoralized women, glorified senseless violence, I found a new niche. They like to call it "conscious" hip hop.

The picture to your right is one of the legendary Soulquarians, its members including Talib Kweli, Mos Def, ?uestlove of the Roots, and Common. The woman in the center with the hair decoration is Erykah Badu. She is Neo-soul. Afrocentric. Another fighter for love, peace, and unity. This is the kind of music I listen and read about on a consistent basis. One that highlights the black struggle in America and educates about the roots of Africa.

Hip hop has wronged my culture many times. Notoriously, the west coast rappers that called out the Asian minority in California whose apparent success in the small business industry was enough to frustrate the struggling black community. They called for violence against the shopkeepers. All it took was some police brutality, and then when the Riots sparked, Asian Americans found themselves on the rooftops of their stores shooting at looters to protect the product of their hard work.

But I feel for the black struggle as much as I feel for the struggle of my own background. Common's father once mentioned "the ingredients of acknowledgment, apology, amendment, and atonement" in a track off Common's "Finding Forever." At the very least America tries to accomplish these things for the people that they've wronged. Slavery, segregation are gone. Mr. Obama could be our next president. But where is the atonement for the Exclusion Acts, the brutality of building transportation we never got to use, and the internment camps bred by fear and ignorance? Where is our spokesperson? As these China-US tensions tighten, I can feel the strange sentiment in the air that inevitably will affect me only because I am misunderstood.

Whenever someone does not recognize their identity as an Asian American, a Taiwanese American...whenever someone does not fight back with protest when others hurt their friends and family, I feel ashamed. Because that's the Perfect Immigrant. That's why I'm hoping for another form of the Soulquarians to arrive. Hope that they'll speak to me, educate me, recognize the struggle. Keep on.

Justin is a firm believer in hip hop's ability to teach. He hopes that one day he'll see Taiwanese hip hoppers address the issues, and steer away from the money making schemes that have plagued the music.

Chopstick ingenuity

2007-11-22T11:32:00.000-06:00

Ingenuity comes in all different forms. Current innovation has mostly been in information and computational technology in the last 30 years or so. We're starting to see the same in bioengineering, material engineering, and energy engineering. As an engineer, I'm pretty excited about the prospects of the future.

But what we usually don't see are innovations in household items. That was done far back in the industrial revolution. It's hard to imagine that zippers, coat hangers, and washing machines as being innovations in the 21st century. In fact, when washing machines first came out, there were no wall sockets. People use to plug them into light bulb sockets. Even though things have improved since then, I'm still waiting for the washer/dryer combo in one, so I don't have to transfer clothes from one machine to another when I'm doing laundry. Even better if someone freakin' figured out how to automatically fold clothes. While we're at it, my clothes should be able to match clothes to create outfits for me so I don't have to think about that in the morning.

So imagine my surprise when my parents went to Taiwan and came back with a gift from my cousin: retractable chopsticks. Innovation! But why would someone need something like this?

Apparently, there's a trend (perhaps an old trend, I don't know) going on in Taiwan where the hygiene of disposable chopsticks were questionable. So people started bringing their own chopsticks to restaurants--just in case. Salmonella probably isn't on their list of "things to experience at least once in my life". But regardless of how true the fear of the disposable chopsticks are, it's socially acceptable for people to bring their own utensils.

My parents suggested I take my new retractable chopsticks out for a spin. I imagined that it would be a good conversation piece, but on the downside, it would attract more attention than I'd like when I'm eating and I certainly can't eat pasta and steak with it.

But I have used it at home. I find that it's generally functions as well as a normal pair of chopsticks, but you can't really split food with it. In addition, I had a nasty surprise when I ate a bowl of ramen with it. Hot metal chopsticks don't go well with unsuspecting lips.

Well, if anything, since I can carry them anywhere now, I find that I can eat anywhere, like while watching TV.

Especially Pringles. Innovation at its best.

Wil Chung is a programmer working at a startup, 3cglabs. He fries turkeys for thanksgiving and is currently reading about pose estimation. When he's underwater, he can blow bubbles out of his left eye.

It's All Meat To Me

2007-11-06T21:45:00.001-06:00

When I was in elementary school, I used to read those novels for young readers. In them, the main character would often be in third grade, not far from my own age at the time, and the plotline would follow his or her elementary school woes. He or she would usually face problems with baby teeth or bad math teachers or the awful things siblings did. These problems would often be exacerbated by the day’s dinner. The mother would uncover a casserole dish of meatloaf and the character would wrinkle his/her nose and respond with a hearty “yleck!”

I had never eaten meatloaf. I assumed it was one of those gross things like Sloppy Joe's (one glance at one epitomizes elementary school cafeterias) and was nasty. My parents didn't make meatloaf. We had beef with noodles, pork with vegetables, chicken with soup – off the top of my head, nothing with vague names like “meatloaf.” This had roasted duck in it, this had ox tails.

The word appeared in several stories, each time met with the same revulsion. Such repeated reactions gave me visions of lumps of something gray and suspicious looking. It even reached a point where I thought that meatloaf had nothing to do with meat and that the characters' disgust with the food was because it was called by a name it wasn’t. I had no idea what it really was.

It turns out that meatloaf is just as it sounds: a loaf of meat. Thinking back, I don’t understand how these children I read about could have been disgusted by such a thing. It is delicious, savory protein with a succulent mix of seasonings just waiting to be digested. And sixteen years after my family moved to America, I finally know what meatloaf is.

Jessica was properly introduced to the notorious meatloaf sometime in the past year or so. She enjoys meat and other protein-rich foods, such as peanut butter and tofu, but doesn’t like seeing whole roasted ducks hanging by their necks in shops.

When in Spain...

2007-10-15T10:28:00.000-05:00

Sometimes in the United States it’s easy to forget that I’m Taiwanese, that I actually look different from a majority of the population.

The United States has its fair share of racism, as I’ve seen in incidents that I’ve covered in the past two years for our Asian-interest campus newspaper, ranging from the “Chinks in Jack’s Armor” article concerning the show “24” to the media coverage of the Virginia Tech massacre, but ultimately, particularly where I live, it’s so easy to just fit in.

I look in the mirror everyday and see myself: my tan skin, my black hair, my black eyes, my little nose and my lack of noticeable cheekbones. I see it, it’s me, but that’s not how I intend to portray myself to the public. To the public I want them to see Karen as an aspiring journalist, just another roommate, another student, not just another person, but certainly not somebody to point out for how I look.

I’m aware that I’m Taiwanese and I take pride in it, but it wasn’t until I planned to and left the country that I realized how lucky we are to be in the United States, where in many places, color genuinely doesn’t matter.

When I started planning for my semester in Spain, I read all the advice for students going abroad: how to dress, how to act, how to talk to fit in. I took it all to heart, intending to do it all.

Then my friend gave me a friendly little warning about the racism he encountered in Barcelona during his post-graduation trip. This jolted me in awareness of the fact that when I went abroad, I wouldn’t just be another American student going abroad.

It was strange to contemplate being not just American, but Asian-American, Taiwanese-American, since it seemed it would matter abroad. I’d been going about my preparation much as anyone else would, but in that moment I realized no matter how well I spoke, how well I dressed, how I carried myself, I’d still be recognizable as a foreigner, and perhaps one that people would target.

I’m different. And maybe in this moment it’s not an asset. But it’s something I carry with me, and now I’m more cognizant of than ever.

I’m happy to say that in the six weeks I’ve been here, I’ve encountered little racism. It’s happened, for sure, more times than I’ve ever had to deal with it in my life in the D.C. suburbs, but it’s been minimal. There was a guy who came up behind me, muttering “Sayonara!” and some gibberish that was supposed to be Japanese, I suppose, and I’ve heard yells of “La china!”

Italy was a little more blatantly racist, with older men yelling racial slurs and staring. It's disconcerting, really. In Granada, who makes these comments? Younger guys, who in general I'd say in any society are just looking for some sort of female attention, no matter how it's gotten.

All of this makes me thankful for our great U.S. melting pot. It’s allowed me to be proud of my heritage but not place undue emphasis on it, so that I can view my culture as an asset and a positive part of my life, not something to cause me problems.

Karen is currently studying in Granada, Spain, for the fall semester. She's rapidly confusing Chinese and English and Spanish as she speaks more and more Spanish and less and less Chinese. Going to Taiwan this winter will be an adventure, she thinks. Feel free to contact her at kshih33(at)gmail.com!

Hemispherical Discomfort

2007-10-14T20:04:00.000-05:00

I’ve answered telephone calls with a broad array of people. I’ve encountered many an American telemarketer, a business client, a car maintenance worker, a friend, a political campaigner, and yes, a Chinese-speaking telemarketer calling from who knows where. Though those telemarketers can be irritating to get rid of, it is those family friends that I have the most trouble with. I can’t hang up on them, and when half of them are actually calling from Taiwan, I feel obligated to speak Mandarin. Obligated I may feel, but I balk.

When I answer the phone, I automatically say hello in English – it is the language I am most comfortable with and, as it is the language of the country of the telephone line, it is most likely that the caller will speak English. And if the caller greets me in Mandarin, I relentlessly plow on in English. Sometimes the caller will hesitate for a moment before asking me a question in Mandarin. Usually I’ll answer briefly in English. If I recognize the voice as that of this one man who doesn’t speak English, is friends with my dad, and I have no idea who he actually is, I either hand off the phone or automatically say that my dad isn’t home in Mandarin. I think that that is the only sentence I feel comfortable ripping off. It is short (three words) and requires no potentially confusing accent or inflection.

When I picked up the phone tonight and said my hello, I suppose I subconsciously recognized the voice of my aunt. She lives in Tainan, near a stationary store I love. I couldn’t immediately place her voice however, and began conversing in English. She replied, in Mandarin, that I had to speak Mandarin because she couldn’t understand me. Naturally I had to switch over.

But it was particularly difficult to do so tonight. I was having trouble digging up the right words. She asked me how old I was but I couldn’t remember at all how to say my birthday was next month and I had to quickly count from 1 to find my own age. It was all on the tip of my tongue… in any language not Mandarin. I couldn’t remember how to say “work,” “business,” or anything semi-related to the concept, and had to resort to saying that my sister was in “New York.” How are my parents? What are they doing? They’re in “Colorado.” Proper nouns that don’t have translations are always safe bet.

Tonight was just one isolated incident of the event that often plagues me. It is not usual for me to be searching for a certain word, phrase, or idea that I can express in another language. Once, when writing a draft of a major Spanish paper, I substituted a Spanish word that I didn’t know with one in Latin. My Spanish teacher and my Latin teacher both got a kick out of that. There is a word in Spanish whose meaning I could never remember until I realized it meant the same thing as a favorite Latin word. More than once, I’ve suddenly fallen silent in the middle of a conversation in Spanish because my brain has suddenly switched to Mandarin. And there are all those Mandarin sayings that my parents have trouble translating for me. All these isolated incidents combine to create a linguistic mush, like an unorganized filing cabinet in a corner of my mind.

I take pride in my skill at languages. However, most of my skill extends only toward Indo-European languages. I can only imagine how much it might sadden my parents that I can read and write Spanish, but can only read about ten Chinese characters excluding numbers. That only my oldest sister graduated from Chinese School, while their two youngest daughters quit just a few years from graduation. That I never immersed myself in Chinese School, though I specifically devoted time to dabble in Ancient Greek. I can only imagine their wonderment of what their grandchildren will speak. The generation gap in our family has certainly been increased by moving to a whole other nation.

There is some question on how to define a nationality. Some say it is defined by region, or language, or culture. I am nationality challenged. In terms of language, I speak only English fluently but have some experience in a fistful of others. Regionally, I’ve lived in one place nearly my entire life, but was born on the other side of the planet. As to culture, I grew up in a Taiwanese home in the American Midwest. But I know what I am. My nationality is what I associate myself most with, after taking into account the lifestyle in and to which I’ve grown up. So ask me: what are you?

Taiwanese American.

It might be a fragment, but I consider my mind fragmented anyway. Plus, it's a proper noun.

Jessica needs to work on her Spanish project that is due tomorrow.

Just a snippet of familarity

2007-10-01T10:29:00.000-05:00

I was going to pick up my parents from the airport, and as usual I found out that I botched things up. I read the departure time as the arrive time on the flight information sheet posted on the refrigerator door. I blame it on bad coffee. So I had about three hours to kill, so I figured I'd head over to the nearby Japanese market to get some food.

Despite all the time it took to figure out where it was, I found it where it stood, and was excited for some nice warm food. I looked over the different shops in the food court. Miso ramen. Yakisoba. Good stuff. The shop I decided on had a relatively young cashier in his late 20's. He looked mixed, but presumably comfortable enough with japanese to run a noodle shop in a japanese market food court. I went up to on shop and ordered tempura soba, which ended up to be decidedly salty. He took my order in english. It was the safe bet. When you don't know what the other party might speak, you just default to english. Besides, I hadn't ordered in japanese in a long time, so I probably wouldn't have been comfortable.

Since I was there at the beginning of the day, the cash register doesn't have any change yet. The male cashier told me to wait while he wen to get some. While standing there, waiting for some change, a female cashier came out and tried to take my order. In english, of course, because it was the safe bet. However, she didn't speak english very well, so it was kinda hard to get across the idea that I had already ordered. At the end, I just let her take my order. It was easier. Also at the end, she asked me the usual question. "Where are you from?"

I replied Taiwan, and she simply said, "Oh." When the male cashier came back, there was some confusing as to what had occured. I explained that I had ordered twice, and we both tried for a bit to explain to her, when I just took a stab in the dark and explained in chinese. To her surprise, she understood what was coming out of my mouth. It ends up that she was a chinese immigrate that had just come over to start work. She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief by the mere fact we spoke the same language, despite that we were essentially strangers. I ended up translating between the two co-workers, and settling out the confusion.

When I think of my peers who think of them as American first and Asian second in the term Asian American, I imagine the lot of them might be offended, if not merely allergic to someone asking them where they were from. In this case, however, I can see that when you're a stranger in a strange land, it's always a comfort to find some snippet of familiarity. In a way, I sort of wished I had talked to her more, asked her about how her time as been so far, and a small word of encouragement. But then again, in a land where the idea of nationality ebbs and flows, the experiences of being a minority in America that gets mistaken for a foreigner at times makes me balk. It's a strange dynamic, and I wish her the best, as she trends over the hard terrain charted by so many others in the last 200 years.

Wil Chung is a programmer that is currently working on a way to expand your world. He likes eating miso ramen the most and enjoys eating the tempura before it gets soggy in udons. Maybe one day, he'll 'invent' miso tempera udon.