"Do you speak English?”
I asked full of trepidation and desperation.
The response was
laughter. Loud laughter all around me
from the woman at the hotel concierge, my close buddy, and the tour guide
driver. This question was not meant to
be a joke. This was a dead serious
question. The woman said, “Of
course I speak English! This is America—we
have to speak English!” Guess again. Here I was in Hawaii. Mind you, a U.S.A. state. The 50 state. Everyone who has been to Hawaii has raved and
showered the state with happy sighs and verbal accolades as “Paradise,” “Heaven
on Earth,” “Beautiful,” and “Gorgeous.” 4
months in advance of planning and booking.
10 hour flight of where I gorged on airplane food to keep my overactive
mind at bay with a full belly. I expected a sweet
scented circle of flowers placed around my neck as the typical Hawaiian
greeting breathed with the lilting word of “Aloha.” Instead, the tour guide driver in a light
green and white-flowered Hawaiian shirt greeted me speaking only in Chinese, “This
is a Chinese-speaking only tour. Do you
speak Chinese?” My English response, “Are
you kidding me? You do not speak ANY English? You only speak Chinese?” Apparently, he
understood English as much as I understood Chinese—Barely. Before I knew it, he was on the cell phone
telling his supervisor that a major mistake had been made that my friend and I
had been inadvertently placed on a Chinese-speaking only tour. He ended
the conversation with saying in Chinese: “Her and her friend are
foreigners. She is Chinese, but she
doesn’t speak Chinese. She is ABC-American-Born Chinese. She is a
foreigner.” My face suddenly got
very, very hot. Waves of anger, humor, humiliation,
and stupidity washed over me. I felt
like I was a kid all over again when my father and his relatives would speak
Cantonese and I was left so bored out of my skull that I would observe carpet
patterns as my entertainment. I thought
about my many failed attempts to learn Chinese, chalking it up to me lacking
complete talent in linguistics. I
reasoned that I learned hospital and healthcare language before Chinese because
my exposure was that healthcare world over my Chinese roots. I felt like I was in school where I was the
unpopular weird nerd buried with my head in the book, not belonging
anywhere. I felt like I was in China. I was a stranger in a strange land. I was a foreigner. Have you ever felt like that? Not belonging anywhere even with people who appear
and seem just like you on the surface, yet never feeling so different in the
very core of you? My Stepmom knew how I
felt about being left out from my Dad and his relatives who spoke Cantonese
because she spoke Mandarin and did not know any Cantonese. She said, “Well, you have to try to accommodate
by learning their language.” I sputtered, “Why do
I have to learn their language when we are in America and speak English?” Her response: “You
are just putting yourself in a position where you are going to feel left out
and not belong.” My response, “Well, I
hate to break to you, but I do not really belong anywhere.” Growing up in a
household of family members speaking Cantonese and Mandarin and then only
English at school, I understood that hearing, languages, and communication
could be the greatest barriers or the greatest bridges. Throughout my life, I
felt like I never belonged anywhere. I’ve
been called an “Abnormal Asian” and more “American” than “Chinese” because I am
loud, inquisitive, and bold rather than the stereotypical timid, reserved, and
quiet. My father has labeled us the “Weird
Wus.” Growing up, I craved that sense of
belonging. Somewhere. Someone.
Some group. Somewhere along the
way in life when I sought out places to belong to and people to belong with, I understood
that humans craved connections and would unknowingly undergo shifts in demeanor
for the sake of just belonging and connecting with others. I also slowly concluded that you can’t care
and you just have to be you to adjust and acclimate with different people and
situations as they arise. Identity, belonging, and connecting with others go beyond and deeper than my Asian features. My identity is NOT ONLY about and determined by my exterior surface features of Female, Asian-American, short stature, for these are all outer that change so much easier than the interior. For me, my identity is about my interior of substance, life experiences, personality, and character. There is so much more to each and every one of us on the inside more than the outside. I suppose I am the foreigner—outside observer
looking inside, just creating and loving my own little world full of versatility and varieties, not identifying with
anything or anyone and just being me. Hail
the foreigner! Have you ever felt
like you do not belong anywhere? Did you
then seek outlets and people to belong? Did
you ever think that belonging in one group can actually cause divisions with
others? Have you ever lost your sense of
who you actually are just for that euphoric and comforting feeling to belong
somewhere and to connect with others? For those who
identify themselves as weird and not belonging anywhere end up creating their
own world that is full of the unexpected, unforeseen, and most intriguing. Weird is Good. Normal is Boring. Keep smilin’ until we
meet again, Mary ;-) |
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