Monthly Archives: November 2015

It seems that just as I’ve started to get a hang of this whole blogging thing it is time to wrap things up. Looking back now, my first few posts seem removed and impersonal. At the beginning I focussed too much on validation. I felt that if something I wanted to discuss hasn’t already been mentioned elsewhere, then it probably isn’t worth discussing.

Part of what I wanted to accomplish with this blog is to open up the discussion on a rarely discussed subject, but I had a lot of trouble with that at the beginning. It was especially difficult to talk about my own experiences. I would sit in front of the computer screen not really sure how to start, and once I did, it was this never ending cycle of typing and deleting to try and find the right words. And once I finished a piece it would sit unpublished for days before I could finally bring myself to post it. Partly it was just the insecurity of sharing a piece of my own writing, but mainly it was the fear that no one else feels the same way. It was the fear that maybe I’ve just been oversensitive and over-analyzing my experiences. What if all the judgements I make about myself just stem from my own insecurities. And worst of all, what if the judgements I make about other people of Asian heritage is just because I’m a terrible person.

After many conversations with others about their experiences with internalized racism, it gave me the courage to write about my own experiences and doing so became easier. Although this blogging process was difficult, I am thankful for it. It made me reflect upon my life in a critical manner and helped me unpack the ways that I have internalized racism.

As I write this concluding post and reflect upon how difficult it was to write about my personal experiences, I realize how utterly lonely and alienating internalized racism can be. The reason why it was so difficult to write about is because people don’t talk about it, and the reason why people don’t talk about it…is because people don’t talk about it…and so goes the never-ending cycle. Like many others who have internalized racism, I felt like I must be the only one who feels this way, and that what I’m feeling is ridiculous. For a long time, I didn’t want to validate those feelings. It was a relief to finally address the issue and to receive positive feedback.

And I think to address the issue is a big step towards unlearning internalized racism and to lessen the impact it has.

The issue of hyperawareness is so vast, that I felt I couldn’t give it the space it deserves in just one single post (two doesn’t even seem to suffice…but I’ll settle). Part I dealt mainly with the issue of language, but there are many many other ways that I (and many other individuals of Asian descent) feel hyperaware of Asianness in public spaces. Some of these feelings arise so regularly that they have become almost unconscious. I really had to dissect my feelings to get to the root causes, and perhaps, that’s what’s most vicious about internalized racism – it’s like a virus that has embedded itself into your DNA; slowly it becomes a part of you and occupies every bit of you.

Canadians are known as being overly-nice, welcoming and generous. Chinese people on the other hand, are known as being rude and stingy. As someone of Chinese descent who has grown up in Canada, I often feel the need to act extra stereotypically-Canadian in order to avoid being seen as the Rude Asian. Worse of all, I have turned this stereotype of Chinese people (or just Asian people in general) onto others.

Just the other day, I was driving around Granville Island on a busy Sunday looking for a vacant parking spot when I finally spotted one. It was at the worst possible angle (parking spots on Granville Island are very free spirited and seems to grow however they wish) but it was empty and all mine. Exuberant, I turned my blinkers on and was ready to somehow magically jam my car in there in when out of nowhere a white expensive-looking car squeezes itself into the spot from the opposite direction. I looked into the car – three Chinese people around my age. Figures, I thought, it’s a bunch of spoiled rich Chinese kids. They got out of the car, completely oblivious to fact that I WAS SITTING IN MY CAR SILENTLY  SCREAMING OBSCENITIES AT THEM I was sitting patiently in the car waiting for them to realize their mistake. They were joined by an older Chinese couple, who also popped out of nowhere (I SWEAR THIS FAMILY MUST HAVE CRAZY NINJA SKILLS), and then the most amazing thing of all happened: they spoke fluent English. I heard them. They talked about how lucky it was that they just happened upon this (MY) spot, and walked away. They sounded like nice people and like they genuinely didn’t see me waiting for the spot, so I let it go. But still the incident gnawed at me…not about the parking spot but the fact that despite me being Chinese as well and speak fluent English, somehow I did not expect them to. And worst of all, I simply attributed their (perceived) rudeness to their Asianness and vice versa.

I think back to working as a cashier at a supermarket a few years back. Whenever we had some kind of charity event and an Asian-looking person didn’t donate, a small voice inside would tell me it’s because they’re Asian. And whenever an Asian-looking person would donate more than the average person would, the same small voice inside would tell me that they’re an exception.

In a funny way, I feel the need to be extra courteous in public because I want to distance myself from Asian-stereotypes, but also to prove those stereotypes wrong. And in some small part, I feel the need to make up for all those Asians who fall into those stereotypes.

I don’t yet know how to reconcile with this, but it’s something I work on at chipping away every day.

This week I want to explore hyperawareness in relation to “Asianness” through some of my own experiences.

I find that in public spaces, I am often hyperaware of my “Asianness” and try my hardest to distance myself as far away as possible from Asian stereotypes and being “that Asian”.

The other day I happened to take the same bus as a family friend whom I’m not very close with. We exchanged pleasantries, talked about school and work, and all was going well until she switched to speaking in Mandarin.

Immediately, I felt uncomfortable. Some of that discomfort most likely arose from my Mandarin skills not being all that great, but I can’t delude myself and believe that’s all it was. I was uncomfortable because I didn’t want to reply in Mandarin looking the way I do – Chinese. That, in my view, would out me as a “foreigner”, which would be… bad (?). Actually I have no idea what that would be, but I just know it has to be avoided. It reminded me of Amy Sun’s piece when she speaks about being an ‘undercover Asian’ and erasing the Asian parts of herself.

I replied in English and the conversation carried on with her speaking Mandarin, and me replying in English for the rest of the bus ride.

During this whole exchange, I had all sorts of mixed feelings. I was confused why she switched languages in the first place. I was annoyed at her speaking Mandarin and putting me in the awkward position of deciding what to speak. I felt awkward because I didn’t want to be hearing or speaking Mandarin in public spaces. But mainly, I felt ashamed for feelings all these emotions in the first place.

It made me think about the reasons why I grew up with such an aversion to speaking Mandarin in public places.

It could be due to going to elementary school where we distanced ourselves from the ESL students who only spoke Mandarin or Cantonese and who didn’t want anything to do with us either. It could have stemmed from watching movies and comedy acts where the only representation of Chinese persons spoke with exaggerated accents.

And inevitably, it got me thinking about my years at Chinese School.

I thought about how much I hated going to Chinese School every Saturday. As an aside, this was not always the case. Before grade four, I went to an after-school Chinese program offered at my elementary school. The teachers there were kind, and I remember making lots of crafts, listening to stories, and just generally enjoying myself. Then we moved, and my parents sent me to “legitimate Chinese School”, complete with levels and report cards and everything. Looking back now, I hated going there every week because I was ashamed. I was ashamed to be in a class where most of the kids were a good two to three grades below me and still be struggling with pinyin quizzes when they were effortlessly composing beautifully flawless prose (it seemed this way to my grade-school self). I was so ashamed that I chose to find a way to be superior instead. I bet those kids are doing awfully in REAL school I would think to myself whenever the teacher showcased some kid’s work that was riddled with words I’ve never even heard of. (Yes, I was easily already in Grade six and I was being petty with kids in Grade three.) This at least made my shame easier to swallow. I put twice as much effort into convincing myself that Mandarin was stupid as I did into my Chinese School homework. And for a while it worked. For a while I was proud that I only spoke Mandarin when I absolutely had to. I was proud that it is much easier for me to speak and think in English than in Mandarin. I was proud that I couldn’t read in Chinese anymore.

As I got older however, my perspectives changed. Not completely, but at least when it came to learning Mandarin. I realized when my grandparents came to live with us, that I could no longer communicate with them. The only conversations, or rather sentences I could say to them were about whether or not school is going well, whether or not I’m hungry, and whether or not I’m warm enough. I couldn’t talk to them about what I’m studying, things I’m interested in, and ideas I’m exploring. I couldn’t ask them about their childhoods, their passions and disappointments, or even just how their day went beyond the superficial.

It made me think about how much the “English-only” rule at school helped me learn English and how much it hurt me in more ways a language should.

The next time I run into the same family friend again, I’m not going to feel uncomfortable if she chooses to speak in Mandarin, because it’s not my place to decide what language another person should speak or feel most comfortable in. Instead, I will take it as a learning, and unlearning, experience: learning to reacquaint myself with the first language I learned and the language of my ancestors, and unlearning the negativity I’ve collected over the years towards the language.