Hyperawareness and Asianness: Part I

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.