The Space Between

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They call us ABC’s – American-born Chinese. And as an ABC, I’ve spent my life awkwardly straddling both cultures. My phenotype is evidence of my Asian descent, but my spoken English is almost impeccable and bleeds a thick Californian accent as I utter “ni hao”. During this past summer as an intern with the China Academy of Urban Planning and Design I’ve come to learn one lesson: to many Beijing locals, I’m not Chinese enough because I cannot speak Mandarin.

Ok. So I can speak a little Mandarin from glancing through a few books and watching online video lessons, but my comprehension still wavers at 10%. It’s a little confusing for people in China to approach me and discover that I’m not what they thought. And I tend to shock people (in a bad way) with every attempt blend in and speak the language. During my first month of living in Beijing, I received a variety of reactions to my handicap. Sometimes I receive genuinely confused looks followed by an uneasy laugh. Other times I’m confronted with a bolt of disgust or a scoff of ridicule, as if it were my responsibility to know the local language before coming to work in China. This is especially embarrassing since most Chinese have this sixth sense that somehow enables them to determine that I’m ethnically one of them.

In these awkward moments, it’s as if my true colors have been revealed. A stint of regret begins to seep from my marrow as I recall arguing with my parents to take me out of Chinese school, inconveniently scheduled on Saturday mornings. At an age no older than ten, I fought back with tiger-parent audacity, demanding to know why I was learning a language that was not even “relevant” because we lived in America. Their reasoning was clouded in pseudo-mystical Asian ambiguity:

Because you are Chinese and you have to know how to speak it…

I saw my parents’ persistence for me to learn Mandarin as traditional nonsense, extra baggage that was intended to be left behind before getting on the boat to mei guo. I responded with an attitude that could only be found in a rebel nation like the US. Having no Chinese friends growing up, I was indifferent to the culture and its imperial-inspired educational system that lauded repetitive writing and memorizing oral presentation. Whereas my normal school teachers praised my creative thinking and ability to read between the lines, my teachers at Chinese school criticized my unbridled behavior as signs of a delinquent who lacked self-discipline. When I first stopped attending Chinese school, it was only under the condition that I would resume learning during the summer. That deal did not follow through; after about two dreadful summers, it was clear that my parents couldn’t force me to learn something that I really did not enjoy. Finally, they got tired of my complaining and allowed me to quit Chinese school… for good.

Though I’d acted proud that I had chosen the path of the modern man, in retrospect, I was really trying to exude differentness as an act of defiance to my biological fate. I refused to be among the quiet and shy Asian-Americans in my class and made a notable effort to speak without an accent. In high school, I took four years of Spanish and justified its “relevance” by bringing up the fact that our family lived in southern California - where the Spanish-speaking population arguably outnumbers the English-speaking.

Looking back, I realize that my logic had been immature, flawed, and essentially self-degrading. I’m not sure when this reversal occurred - but it seemed like the world had been talking about China’s rise long before the aftershock dawned on me. Perhaps the paradigm shift happened during lectures in college when I witnessed business professors, many of whom I held with high esteem, openly exalt the China model. Or perhaps it was last year, when China overtook Japan as the world’s second largest economy, that I realized that I had made a mistake of quitting Chinese school at an age when my learning curve was still inclined for maximal absorption. Strangely, I didn’t feel any shame for my mistake. That is, until coming here and experiencing the odd looks and scowled frustrations.

Aside from the external issues, there were deeper questions that had to be answered as I began to revisit and reflect on my dual-cultured childhood. Like the hyphen in ‘Chinese-American’, I represent a sort of bridge dangling over a chasm that connects polar ideologies. It’s really an uncomfortable situation to be in at times, especially in the midst of political conversations regarding US-China relations. But then I take the subway from SanLiTun on the east side, traveling back to my hotel by the subway stop at National Library on the city’s west side, and am reminded that the city is undergoing a similar struggle between promoting modernization and preserving heritage. With its architectural identity crisis and yawning generation gap, I see that Beijing too is straddling dual cultures. I can’t help but think to myself, Perhaps this is why I feel so comfortable living here.

For an aspiring city planner, there is so much opportunity in Beijing. But I was once told that, to understand how cities work, you must first understand how people work. And for the life of me, I could not understand much Mandarin. After chewing on the profundity of this thought, I finally humbled myself to the point where I realized the ironic depravity of my situation: a Chinese guy working in China who couldn’t speak Chinese. Learning Mandarin was no longer a wishful desire, it became a necessity.

Though we’ve heard it time and time again, it’s really true that China’s population is urbanizing at an unprecedented rate. The country’s former rural residents desperately need adequate housing, education, and social services. But before that, they need city planners who will listen to their stories to understand their exodus. And in order to exchange ideas with the next generation of Chinese urban dwellers, I must first be skilled at communicating in Mandarin in a way that’s authentic and not patronizing.

Learning Mandarin is only a small step in my professional career, but it represents much larger leap as I embark on my mission to reconcile my existence as an ABC. “It’s never too late” is something I often hear from encouraging colleagues. And I know they are absolutely right.

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Comments

[Kevin]

So true. you\'re still very young. I am a chinese living in the US, and I have two kids (age 6 and 8), they speak English all day long and don\'t want to learn chinese. Now I hope your story will teach them something.

[jkhau]

thank you for the comment!
I hope you're kids will learn from my story and decide that learning Chinese will be a great benefit to them, and their lives. I think the best approach is to convince them that it's not just about the fact that Chinese people are "supposed" to know how to speak Mandarin. It's more preparing for the future of the globalized planet we live in... how the western and eastern cultures are colliding and how those caught in the middle will thrive from the impact.

[Maggie]

You can understand how people work by also observing them, yes knowing the language is a bonus but if you observe and take in their way of living without using words you can learn a lot. As you said in your blog, it's never too late to learn a new language or to brush up on your skills. The fact that you acknowledge it shows that you have the strength to achieve in anything you put your mind to.