Once You Go Black, You Can't Ever Go Back (Home)

Growing up in the United States, I have constantly been taught to be tolerant of other cultures and ethnicities. In fact, I have been constantly taught to not only be tolerant but even to be respectful and even embrace other cultures and ethnicities. That said, all this teaching of tolerance and respect mainly came from public school.

At home, it was a different story. Now, I'm not saying my parents are racists or bigots by any means, but there were certain... "ideas" that I noticed was different from what I was taught in school.

I've learned from the time I was young that the Asian community was a very tight and closed clique. My parents are immigrants from China, and that meant they mostly kept to the Chinese community in the community of  the University of Chicago. Because it was Chicago, Chinese families were far and few in between. But my parents eventually found themselves befriending a group of other Chinese immigrant families. I found myself surrounded with Chinese family friends. Christmases, Chinese New Years, birthdays, Thanksgivings, every possible holiday I found myself in the midst of a party hosted by a different Chinese family.

Figure 1: A typical birthday party

And all the Chinese family had similar ideals and ideologies. The same beliefs, traditions, what have you. But the one thing that has always been in the back of my mind was this: we were very exclusive of other cultures. I understand why. There was a language barrier and Chinese customs are not easily understood.

But this exclusivity was carried on through the years, after my parents and I moved to California. The Chinese community in Los Angeles was mind-boggling... but they were still quite an exclusive group. Which brings me to what I really wanted to discuss in this blog post: Why I Can't Date Black People. Or Hispanic people.

In my family, we just never talked about dating. It rarely came up in conversation, and if it did, it was fleeting and I was usually very embarrassed. But the one implied issue that I grew up with was: do not bring home a guy who is not Asian or White.

As much as I love my mother, she has been more vocal in her opposition of me dating someone of another culture. And I think the reason is just the stereotypes of non-Caucasians that unfortunately circulate within the Asian community. You can be as disgusted at my mother as you want. but keep this in mind: every culture is racist to some degree. Does my mother want me to end up with a gangster? No. Does she want me to end up with a street cleaner/gardener? No. And I understand why. It just happens that these specific jobs are stereotypically assigned to certain cultures that instead of saying "I don't want you to date a gangster", it comes out as "I don't want you to date a black guy".

Although this is all speculation on my part, I still think of the day I have to bring home a boy to meet my parents. And honestly, that day (if it ever comes), is probably going to be the scariest day of his life.

I apologize to this boy in advance.

Chinese Laundry

I recently watched a talk, given by Hans Rosling at TED, about the luxury of laundry machines in countries outside of the United States. He recounts his first experience with a washing machine and how his parents saved for years before they could afford this luxury and how his grandmother was incredibly fascinated with it. And although his talk mainly focused on the environment and social issues, like poverty and politics, I was able to understand the anecdote he tells in the beginning of the talk about his mother and grandmother. Washing machines, I have learned, are indeed a luxury in countries outside of the United States.

One of the main things my mother warned me about China before I left for the summer was the fact that there will be more times than not I had to hand-wash my clothes.

"Make sure you NEVER leave a big pile of laundry like you do at home! You're going to have to hand-wash your clothes, or at least give them time to line dry outside!" my mother would bellow at me, one point in a list of points she kept on telling me about China.

When I was in Shanghai, I lived with my aunt. I lived in her modest 3-bedroom 2-bathroom apartment in Downtown Puxi, along with 2 cousins and uncle. In the apartment, there was one very modest and small washing machine that was located in the biggest bathroom. It held half the load of the laundry machines I was used to having, and I had to share it with 4 other people. And there was no dryer. The travesty! The feeling of warm and soft clothes fresh out of the dryer had become a luxury to me.

Wet clothes were hung outside on a clothes line, and throughout the city, in almost every apartment building, you were able to see the distinctive line of shirts, pants, underwear, and lingerie all hanging outside for the world to see, billowing in the wind. And what was worse was that in the humidity of Shanghai, clothes did not dry for days. DAYS! And let's not mention the crunchiness of your laundry after they're dry... some clothes miraculously retain the shape of its hanger because the cloth had become stiff while drying.

In Beijing, I stayed with my friend Ella, who lived in a luxurious apartment by Tiananmen Square. Luxurious and also ridiculously expensive. And she had both a washing machine and a dryer in her apartment. Both a luxury in a luxurious apartment--but the instructions to the dryer were in Italian, not Chinese. Although hilarity ensued, this was indicative of the obscurity of something as simple as a dryer was in China. I say "simple" very relatively; to me, it was interesting how something I thought was very basic to life such as a dryer would be such a luxurious. It was also impossible to find dryer sheets. According to Ella, the store owner gave her a really strange look and had to go all the way back into the store room to get dryer sheets.

To sum this all up, one of the lessons I learned in my experience is that the "magical washing machine" is just that. To what seems as something so simple and basic to everyday life in the United states is a magical device that is a luxury in another country.

How about that, huh?

Commentary

"I’d just like to say that your site is absolutely amazing. As an Asian American, I never really thought about any of these things until recently, as I’m writing a blog about Asian American identity for my writing class, I stumble upon a LOT of blogs concerning Asian American issues. I am leaving a comment on this post, but I read your education for the masses posts, and it has shed light on so many things and really opened my eyes. Bravo on a great great blog, I am kicking myself for not discovering this earlier!"
Link to my comment

"I've been aware that this has been happening, too. It actually reminds me of the issue that I've heard about designer handbags. Apparently designer handbags are assembled in China, but they're sold for so much more after they're exported and re-imported to China, but what happens is sometimes the manufacturing factories produce more than they're required to, and sell the extras for much cheaper, so what ends up happening is people “in-the-know” can buy designer bags that are a lot cheaper than retail from these factories. I don’t personally know how it works exactly, but I feel like maybe Apple assembly factories can start doing something like that? I suspect the parts for Apple products are also from China, so wouldn’t it make sense for them to have some overstock without telling Apple and sneaking some extras to be sold at a discounted price? Maybe I’m thinking about this wrong, but I think it’s ridiculous that the iPad 2 is more expensive in the country it actually is manufactured in."
Link to my comment

"After reading your post... I feel like my experience at the Expo could have been significantly improved if I wasn't so jaded and had high hopes of actually going to see nicer Pavilions. Maybe if I adopted your attitude, I would have been pleasantly surprised instead of being extremely irritated and annoyed. I wanted to visit the US Pavilion most of all, but I think the reason so many people wanted to visit it because it was the all mighty US... many people told me that the US Pavilion in fact wasn't really that great. And I actually heard that you could get into the China Pavilion by showing your US Passports! So had you guys had your passports, you could have gotten in. I can't be sure if it's true, but that's what I was told when I came back to the US and talked to other people who visited the Expo."
Link to my comment

"Awesome letter. I don't think expulsion would have made her learn anything, either. I also don't agree with the way that people are dealing with her racism through hate--death threats are a bit much considering that's what we're trying to combat. It makes us look bad when we deal with hate with more hate. Although personally, I do not agree with (and am extremely offended by) the way Alexandra describes the "hordes of Asians" and the fact that they need to use "American manners", I have to say that I do understand her frustration at people who talk on cellphones in the library... I also am annoyed when I am trying to study and people are loudly chatting on their cellphone, but they are not always Asian and they DO NOT ever say "ching chong ling long ting tong" and they are NOT calling every person in their phonebook about the tsunamis, which is a completely different matter. This girl... if I were her parents, I would be deeply ashamed that my parenting has led to such ignorance."

Link to my comment

Royal Treatment

When I first arrived in Beijing in the summer of 2010, I had nowhere to stay other than a hotel. My mother, being the very over-protective and concerned parent she was, decided to call some of her connections and got me a place at the Xinjiang Hotel, which to my knowledge is a 4-star hotel. Usually I am very apprehensive about my mother's suggestions (she believes that lime green colored sweaters are fashionable), but when I did some research about this hotel, I felt more at ease. After I had my share of experiences in sketchier hotels, I believed that Xinjiang Hotel was going to be a breath of fresh air--finally a passable clean hotel to stay in where I did not constantly worry about cleanliness of the sheets on the bed and the toilet in the bathroom. One of the previous hotels I stayed at in Hang Zhou had a pack of condoms displayed on the nightstand (which I figured was because that place was a very popular place for prostitution and sketchy night clubs).

Before I arrived in Beijing, my mother told me to personally contact her friend in order for me to set up my reservation at this hotel. This was the hotel my mother always stays in when she is in Beijing. When I called Mr. Chen and he said to me "just call when you arrive and I will arrange it for you." Naturally, to me, this meant that I would be meeting him when I got to the hotel so he can arrange a reservation for me.

I traveled to Beijing from Shanghai by train. During the 11 hour trip, all the while sitting straight up, I listened to the same 100 songs saved onto my Blackberry on repeat and read a book. Once I finally got to Beijing, I was picked up by another one of my mother's friends (my mother has many friends). It was raining and the cab ride to the hotel was dreary. When I stepped out of the cab, however, and looked at the Xinjiang Hotel in all its glory, I felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. This, I could definitely get used to.

Figure 1: The lobby

I was infinitely more excited because, call me spoiled, but I was more used to staying in a place like this versus a hole-in-the-wall, dirty hostel or motel. And to add the cherry on top, I was going to be able to stay at this hotel for free because of my mother's friend, Mr. Chen.

As I step into the lobby, I immediately go to the front desk and ask for Mr. Chen. The young girl behind the counter was confused and did not know what I was talking about, but after I made a call to Mr. Chen, I was told to go out the back door of the lobby and go to the building behind the hotel. At this point, I was fairly confused but did what I was told and trekked out into the pouring rain towards the shoddy little building hidden behind the bigger building of the hotel.

Once I arrived inside the smaller building, I saw a reception desk and a designated waiting area. The girl at the reception desk was helping someone else, and I noticed it was a Uyghur person. Uyghurs are an ethnic minority in China, and reside mostly in the Xinjiang Province. Once the Uyghur person left to his room, I went to the desk and asked about my room. I was then given the key to a room on the 3rd floor of this shoddy building. Once I got into the room, I was shocked. This was a low-grade Motel 6 type of hotel and the internet connection cost 30RMB an hour. My mother's friend who picked me up from the train station told me  "be careful. The Uyghur people are sometimes notorious for their drunken debauchery, and may be rowdy at night. Don't open the door if someone knocks."

This scared the living daylights out of me. I could not understand why I was forced to stay in this shoddy building when, about 100 yards away, was a 4-star hotel. I could not help but go back to the reception area to ask the question burning in my mind.

Me: "Why do I have to stay here? Why can't I stay in the other hotel?"

Receptionist: "Oh, that building is for foreigners. Only native Chinese people can stay in this building."

Wait, what? Was this lady seriously trying to tell me that the 4-star hotel is reserved for foreigners and this shoddy little poor-man's Motel 6 was for native Chinese? I was even more confused than ever.

After I returned the room (there was no way I was going to stay there another minute), I decided to call a cab and crash with my friend who had an amazing apartment by Tiananmen Square.

And the new question that was burned into my mind was: Why is it that Chinese people treat foreigners better than they treat each other? What is it about foreigners that they are not allowed to stay in the shoddy back building of the 4-star hotel?

BOY am I lucky to be alive!

One of my majors in college is East Asian Languages and Cultures. My focus area is, funnily enough, China. I mostly study Chinese civilization, culture, literature and language. I have been taking Chinese language classes ever since my second year in school. It is amazing the people you meet in college classrooms. I have heard stories of people meeting their future wife in a college classroom.

Unfortunately for me, I have yet to meet my future husband in any of my classes. The people that I have met, though, are very interesting. Some I become friends with, and some I just... stand back and go "huh..." and try not to probe any further.

This story begins very innocently. We had a test in my Advanced Chinese III class. This class was not to be taken lightly; the professor's tests were very hard. Our class was very small, around 6 people, one of the smallest classes I have ever been in. Being in close proximity inside the classroom provided us a great opportunity to get to know each other extremely well. That night, 4 of us decided to study together.

It was around dinner time and we were still studying so we decided to order some delivery Thai food. When the food arrived, one of my study buddies went to get the food while the other went to buy some coffee. That left me alone with another study buddy.

This study buddy, the one I was left alone with, was very opinionated. His views on politics and religion were the complete opposite of my views and discussions about such matters in class made me an expert in self-control not to lash out and tell him how wrong he was. However, we were still friendly because I saw past our differences and respected his opinions.

He began the conversation by saying: "I'm writing a report on the One-Child Policy in China right now for my International Relations class"

Me: "Oh, really? That's really interesting! I'm actually a child of the One-Child Policy I think, because I was born in China and I'm an only child."

Him: "Wow, you are really lucky your parents kept you!"

Uh... what? Excuse me? Huh?!  I was completely taken aback and speechless. This is what it feels like when you get hit by a ton of bricks. All I could muster up was a huge laugh, because that was completely offensive and ridiculous at the same time to the point of hilarity. So this is what it feels like to have a stereotype applied to you. Or a generalization, at that.

Because you see, the Chinese are a mostly patrilineal society, meaning that the descent follows the males in a family. Heirs are males, and boys were once considered more precious than girls. Boys were called "big happiness" while girls were called "small happiness". The One-Child Policy in China states that every Han Chinese family is only allowed to give birth to one child; because of the bias towards boys, many people abandoned, aborted, or killed baby girls while the policy is in effect. This practice, however, has faded for the most part, although it is not too uncommon to hear about it once in a while. But what my study buddy said that night really had me thinking--is this what happens when you are seen as a generalization or stereotype? Just because I am a girl and my parents are Chinese does not mean that I was lucky that my parents kept me.

Just because I am Chinese does not mean that all Chinese people kill their daughters. I really did not know if I was supposed to laugh or punch my study buddy... because holy insensitive.

To this day, I still chuckle whenever I think about this story, but the big underlying problem worries me--do Americans think the same way my study buddy does? I would not know.

But regardless of what he says, I am actually very lucky to be alive. Anyways.

Hey! That's out of line!

Last summer, my travels in China started in Shanghai. And unless you lived under a rock last year, you would know that the World Expo was held in Shanghai at the time. Things like the World Expo were like a once-in-a-lifetime experience to me, because when will I ever have an opportunity to ever browse the World Expo again? Take a few days and just browse, with no work-related stresses, or kids to take care of. Needless to say, I was extremely excited. On top of that, I really missed home and the closest I could get to being back in the United States was to go to its pavilion. Pathetic, I know.

Figure 1: The closest I came to being back home in China

I had put off going because of the weather. Summers in Shanghai are absolutely brutal. The humidity feels like you're breathing underwater and combined with the heat, it really is a deadly combination. My phone literally broke because it got "wet" when I left it out for too long. It is just that humid.

In addition, the issue that scared me the most was the amount of people that were going to be there. Although I understand that it was inevitable that I would have to wait more than 2 hours in line for each pavilion, the thought that all these native Chinese people, mixed with foreigners and ambiguous Chinese-Americans terrified me. I have already seen what the subways in China were like, I could not imagine what it would be like to wait in line with people who absolutely have no sense of "lining up". This came from personal experience, as people would shamelessly cut me in line while while I waited to replenish my subway card.

When I could no longer put off going, I trekked to the World Expo with my cousin.

The first time I went, it was at night and the World Expo was just about closing. We managed, however, to get into the Hong Kong pavilion, which was not that long of a wait.

Figure 2: Cousin and I playing around in the Hong Kong Pavilion

Things did not look so bad and I was quickly regaining confidence. Maybe the World Expo was not as bad as I thought.

The next day, we arrived at the World Expo bright and early. The morning commute was relatively easy. Everything seemed nice and dandy until I saw the line to the Saudi Arabia Pavilion. Words were taken out of my mouth. I was absolutely dumbfounded. Speechless. I have never seen THIS MANY PEOPLE IN ONE PLACE before. It was, excuse my language, a clusterfuck of people, ALL pushing their way forward, squeezing into every tiny little space. No sense of personal space was present, although I understand how personal space was not peoples' main concern in the present situation. Organized being relative, of course, as there were barricades, but that was about it.

Figure 3: Clusterfuck of people. The lady in the funny hat has her serious face on and her fist ready to punch her way to the front of the line.

Deciding not to go see the Saudi Arabia Pavilion, cousin and I decided to press forward and visit the Japan Pavilion. the Japan Pavilion was supposed to be a 4 hour wait. So cousin and I prepared for the long haul.

Figure 4: "It requires around 6 hours to wait in line"

Waiting in line, something I've been familiar with all my life, was an entirely different and new experience when I was in China. The more experienced line-waiters had fold up stools, stockpile of food, sun umbrellas, and fans. All I had was my purse and a water bottle. And thus begins our story.

I am sure you all have experienced the role of spot-holder, where one stands in line to hold a spot for your friends. Like on Black Friday, I usually switch with my mom as spot-holder, I wait in the long line while she goes to try on clothes, and vice versa. The spot-holders in the Japan Pavilion were on steroids. One person would hold the spot of an entire group of people, it was ridiculous. It was a wonder the wait was 4 hours, based on the sheer amount of people who would "cut in line", meeting their spot-holders.

And the fact that mortified me the most? The waiting foreigners, arms folded, glaring at these Chinese people cutting in line, shaking their heads.

It was incredibly embarrassing for me--I wanted to so bad go up to those people and just tell them to not judge all Chinese people because we are not all like that. And to not group me with them because I would never do something that rude. I grew up in the US, after all.

And all this really just begs the question: what kinds of examples are Chinese setting towards the view of Chinese people by foreigners? And how do I fit myself within this classification?

6 hours later... tired, hungry, hot, sweaty, and extremely annoyed, we finally saw the Japan Pavilion. And it wasn't that great.

Spitting Image

I remember the incident like it happened yesterday. Although try as I might to forget.

It was the end of my first month of my two month summer trip to China, and I was in Beijing. My cousin and I were walking through the underground tunnel that connected Line 5 to Line 10 of the Beijing Subway at Huxinxijie Nankou station. It was only a matter of time before I was “home”—in Beijing, “home” was the spare bedroom in a family friend’s apartment. I was going over the events of the day in my head: I hung out with my friend Ella (who I knew from school and was coincidentally also in Beijing for the summer) and we had hot-pot for lunch at our favorite spot inside a mall geared towards foreign tourists. The tunnel was a bit dark and dank, and there were a lot of people bustling to and fro; the subways in Beijing were always extremely crowded. Elbowing through masses of Chinese people, who without regard of exiting passengers, shove their way into the subway car was a daily challenge for me.

As these thoughts were shooting through my head, I felt something wet hit my leg. Weird, because I thought the cap of my cousin’s water bottle was closed? Regardless, I decided not to dwell and kept on walking (stopping the natural flow of the to-and-fro of the tunnel would have resulted in mass chaos). But being the germ-a-phobe that I am and the fact that I was extremely curious as to why the wetness on my leg from my cousin’s water bottle was not… trickling down as water does with its liquid properties, I nonchalantly reached behind my leg and grabbed the wet spot without looking. Lo and behold—there was definitely something wet there, but it was not water from my cousin’s water bottle. As the cold and piercing realization hit me, I did not know what to do, vomit or cry. Or both, for that matter… because you see, in the dark and dank tunnel, some very inconsiderate Chinese person had spit a loogey on my leg. Not on purpose, of course. I happened to be the casualty of a phenomenon known as: more legs occupying space than actual space on the ground. The probability of the loogey hitting the floor was less than the probability of it hitting my leg (or anyone else’s leg for that matter).

This brings me to the main point of this whole recollection: Chinese people and spitting. The all too familiar “hhhhhhaaaagggghhhhkkk” sound that plagues people’s ears when someone tries to gather phlegm from the throat can be heard from far and near. I could not fathom or understand how this was socially acceptable, and how people could behave this way without being embarrassed. Naturally, I was the first to denounce this practice. Interestingly enough, my cousin (who is native Chinese) first took my side and cursed at the man who spit on me, but later that day, she and I were at odds because she felt that she had to protect the image of native Chinese people as I kept on complaining about spitting and Chinese people. My father was on the same boat. As I called him via Skype later that night, furious at both my cousin and hating the Chinese people as a whole, he told me “Not everyone does it, you just got unlucky”, matching the sentiments of my cousin.

Now I understand that I should not judge Chinese people as a whole, especially when there are about 1.6billion of them. But walking down the street, I cannot understand the mindset of many native Chinese people. Try as I might, this is the type of thing that confuses me. What is it about hacking a particularly loud and epic loogey seems appropriate? And not caring about where one spits it?

And you know the saddest thing? Despite the great times and beautiful sites I visited in my 2 month trip to China, one of the first things I tell people when I came back to the United States was the fact that I got spit on at the subway.

Represent!

Jennifer Fang and Her Unoriginal Username

Jennifer Fang’s username on the popular social bookmarking site diigo.com is unoriginal. Her profile is mostly blank and she has no picture. Hers is the kind of profile I would not take a second look at—on diigo.com, she is a n00b. She is user jenniferf (minus 10 points for originality) and she only has 12 social bookmarks, ranging from June 11, 2009 to June 22, 2009, with one to two sentence succinct descriptions. Despite these shortcomings, through her bookmarks and tags, Jennifer paints a picture of who she is and what interests her.

Jennifer Fang is most likely a Chinese American graduate student working on her dissertation. This is noticeable from her tag cloud on diigo.com, which displays both “dissertation” and “Chinese American” as the largest words in the list of tags, indicating that they are the most often used tags. Her tags also focus on Delaware, where I believe she is doing her research. There are also many education and teaching tags as well as culture and China tags. Through her own specific and detailed tagging system, Jennifer Fang produces a mini-profile describing herself and her interests. Although I cannot be completely sure of who she is, based off her tagging practices, I am able to at least deduce that Jennifer Fang should be a Chinese American graduate student in Delaware writing her dissertation on the subject of education of Chinese culture in America to other Chinese Americans, detailing the history of Chinese Americans in the United States.

I first bonded with Jennifer Fang through her “Chinese American” tag. It was love at first tag—in the sea of usernames that diigo.com provided for me, user jenniferf jumped out at me. She had bookmarked publicly an article in the New York Times called “Adopted in China, Seeking Identity in America” from March 23, 2006, and for some reason, the fact that she was unoriginal in her username choice hooked me in. At first it was a quick glance over her page, and then I was sold. What makes Jennifer Fang stand out is the fact that she uses her diigo.com account to focus on a particular subject, versus the diigo.com users whose bookmarks come from a variety of subjects. It was clear what her interests were—granted, it was not very hard to figure out.

I am most thankful to Jennifer Fang for introducing me to a website called Asian Nation, dedicated to Asian American history, demographics, and issues. Through Jennifer’s tags of “asian american”, “immigration”, “statistics”, “settlement pattern”, I came across this site that helped me understand the historical background of Asian Americans in the United States. It highlights on the ethnic communities and enclaves, which sheds light on the effort of assimilation and integration into American society.

Jennifer Fang is my social bookmarking soul mate not only because her bookmarks are few and her tags are direct. She is my social bookmarking soul mate because her interests encompasses many of the things this blog is about—Asian Americans in the United States and how we fit into society. Through her bookmarks, I was able to not only learn about the historical context of Asian American communities and their efforts in assimilation and integration into American society, but also a personal article of someone who is going through the same identity problem highlighted by the New York Times. Jennifer bookmarks both the big picture ideas as well as smaller relatable recounts of such ideas.

Trilogy

Hello, World

Fitting in is hard. It requires some sort of conformity and a sense of understanding shared between people in a specific group. It is not uncommon for people to find it hard to fit into a group, whether it is social circles in school or colleagues at work. Now imagine the “social circle in school” as an entire culture. This is the story of my personal journey towards self-discovery and self-identity. This is the story of how I am trying to fit in.

The topic of “culture” is somewhat foreign to Americans in the United States because the United States is a potpourri of cultures built from a foundation of immigrants. In its basic anthropological essence, the word “culture” describes a way of living built by a group of human beings that is passed down through generations. The truth of the matter is that American culture is built upon a hodgepodge of the customs and cultures of its members—diverse immigrant populations. And it is uniquely this feature that makes American culture so different from any other culture in the world; American culture is, in itself, the absence of an absolute culture. In contrast, civilizations like China demonstrate a society whose cultural background spans thousands of years. Through its two-thousand year old history, China has created a national cultural identity, due in part by behaviors and customs passed down generations. It can be argued that Chinese culture, in some ways, is a stark contrast to American culture. Whereas Chinese people have traditions firmly grounded from ancient tradition such as the concept of Yin and Yang, Americans have traditions that are American versions of another culture’s tradition, such as the concept of Santa Claus.

That said, this blog is about me. I am a Chinese girl who grew up in the United States. While others spend their college years searching for what they are going to do after graduation, I spend my college years not only searching for my destiny, but also my cultural identity and where I fit in. Torn between two worlds, I grew up eating rice for lunch in an American elementary school in the sea of bologna sandwiches.

Figure 1: I took this picture in a shop Shanghai. Classic case of East meets West.

I am well aware of the books found in the “Self-Help” section of bookstores that deal with the subject of “finding one’s self” and “knowing one’s self”, but the journey in finding my own cultural identity is far less cliché. As a matter of fact, I am still struggling to find my place between the two cultures. Essentially, people in the United States would consider me to be Chinese American. But to me, those two words carry a heavy meaning upon my shoulders. From this identification, one could deduce that I was both Chinese and American. But in reality, I felt neither Chinese nor American. Throughout my travels in China, however, I was considered purely Chinese. Until I opened my mouth. And even still, after enduring my broken Mandarin, Chinese people assumed that I was Korean, Japanese… but never American. This is my problem exactly: I am not Chinese nor am I American, regardless of what color my passport is.

I dream of a day when I tell people that I grew up in Chicago, the look of genuine surprise would not flit across their faces. I dream of a day when follow-up questions do not consist of “But what ethnicity are you? Chinese, Korean, Japanese?”

Through all this adversity, I struggle to find which society I identify with the most. Or if I identify with any at all. I struggle to find which culture shapes who I am as a person, whether be at home with my “super Asian” parents, or at school where I have to explain what “shumai” was to a friend (which, if you were wondering, is a shrimp dumpling), making me the “cultured one”.
This is a blog about my experiences of being a Chinese American, stuck between two cultures and their customs. I am just a girl, being pulled apart in this tug-of-war of two very different cultures.

Profile

Figure 2: Elena and Frankie

Elena Garcia is your average American. Blonde hair, green eyes and living in San Francisco with her husband Garrett and her dog Frankie. In any other respect, she and I do not have much in common. I do not know who her favorite singer is or what her mother’s maiden name is, but despite my lack of knowledge about her, I feel like she and I are already close friends. 

Elena Garcia’s blog, “An American Girl in China”, details Elena’s personal one year “Adventure in Shanghai”. She started her journey on November 2008, where she begins by packing away her life San Francisco to move to Shanghai for an entire year, and ended her journey on January 2010, where she is back in the United States with lots of experiences in Chinese society under her belt. Elena’s initial perspective of China was naïve, and it is her initial naivety that made me read her blog. She, like me, was both excited and optimistic about traveling in China. In her blog, Elena not only talks about her experiences with Chinese people and Chinese society but also about her travels. She posts just as much about her own life as she does about her experiences with Chinese people—the post about rock climbing in the Shanghai Indoor Stadium is followed by her rant about slow walkers in the morning.

Much like Elena, I went on a journey to China this past summer. And like Elena, I went to Shanghai. I was a “foreigner”, although I did not entirely look the part. The luxury Elena had in China was that she had an excuse for being different, clumsy, and overall lost and confused (she looked Caucasian), as I did not (I looked Chinese). This did not stop us, however, from having similar experiences and sharing the same feelings towards those experiences. One thing in particular stood out to me, in her post “No Autographs Please!” dated June 10, 2009.

“People in China stare… they stare at us, they stare at each other, they stare at random objects, they just stare. It’s not rude, it’s not polite, and it’s not anything, they just stare! … But for some reason it really got under my skin. I’ve settled so much already during my stay here. I mean I put up with the spitting, the staring, the pushing and shoving, I feel like I have reached my limit. Any more unwarranted attention, disrespect or cultural nuances and I might lose it.”

Figure 3: Posing for the camera as bystanders (off camera) stare

Had I read this over the summer, I may have cried. This, what she colloquially describes in her post, was exactly what I felt during my travels in the same city of Suzhou. In this one post, Elena pinpoints one of the main reasons I picked my blog topic—how can I be Chinese, yet not understand why Chinese people do certain things? How can I be Chinese, but through my American upbringing, I feel angry and offended by Chinese people? By feeling angry at Chinese people, does that mean I am angry at myself and secretly self-loathing?

In “All Sorts of Goodness”, Elena writes

“People squat on the floor to pee, they make magnificent noises when they are hocking up a loogie, and they flick their boogers onto the shoes of passer bys.”

Figure 4: Butt-less pants for children; very common in China

Elena’s relativity makes her blog like an older sister to my blog. As referenced in the previous quote, Elena’s experience with the habits of Chinese people makes it very easy to relate to, as someone who went through the same thing.

Unfortunately, it has been more than a year since Elena has posted on the blog. She returned to the United States in January 2010, thus ending her “Adventures in Shanghai”. Elena’s blog was purely for personal use, and therefore never gained much attention from the public. For her, this blog was a way of documenting her experience of being a foreigner in a foreign country, to share with family and friends. Although we have similar topics, my blog will feature an Asian American view of the same experiences—because believe me, Chinese Americans and Caucasians are treated very differently in Chinese society (even though this blog post details our similarities) . My blog will not be something I will share with family and friends to update them about my life, but rather an evaluation of who I am, and how I will try finding my identity, when I do not fit into a particular society at all.

Voice Critique

Asian Mothers: the epidemic sweeping households everywhere by storm... but in internet sensation form.

In light of a recent controversy involving a certain Yale professor and her “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother”, there have been many criticisms about stereotypical Asian mothers and their parenting ways. One such criticism comes from an “Angry Asian Man”. Not only does he clearly convey his opinion about the Wall Street Journal article written by Amy Chua, a professor at Yale, but he does this in typical “Angry Asian Man” style.

Figure 5: Angry Asian Man blog

 

“Angry Asian Man” is a very sarcastic, witty, and satirical blog, because this blog is in fact not written by a constantly angry Asian man. By calling himself an “Angry Asian Man”, the author of this blog evokes a certain personality even before the audience reads his content. His style, which is demonstrated through one particular post “your permissive western parenting is inferior”, is very indicative of his particular style of voice. This blog post explains the author’s opinion on the recent Wall Street Journal article of an Asian “tiger mother” who defends her extreme parenting style. The post starts with

“Yes, I have read Amy Chua's Wall Street Journal piece, "Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior," and yes, I think the author is crazy.”

Figure 6: Fearless Tiger Mother Amy Chua

Through this clever technique linking to the original article that Angry Asian Man is commenting on, the author clearly states the source of the topic as well as inserts his own beliefs and opinions in the very beginning of the blog post. The author answers questions that were not asked by the audience, which demonstrates a sense of exasperation, and sets the tone for the whole post.

“To be honest, at first I thought it was satire, until I was hit with the sickening, sinking realization that Chua is dead serious. She's completely embraced the model minority myth, and is the living embodiment of the Hardass Asian Mom... on friggin' steroids.”

Through this example, the author combines both a serious tone and a colloquial tone. The serious tone is evoked through his use of alliteration and negative adjectives, such as “sickening, sinking” and “dead serious”. Instead of just saying “serious” and “realization”, the author uses very emotionally heavy adjectives to describe his initial reaction. He goes on to say that Amy Chua is “the living embodiment of the Hardass Asian Mom… on friggin’ steroids.” This sentence is quintessential “Angry Asian Man” style. He capitalizes “Hardass Asian Mom” as a reference to a common stereotype that he assumes his readers understand—after all, his target audience is the Asian American community. Not only does he reference “Asian Mom”, which in itself contains certain stereotypical qualities, but he also inserts “Hardass” and “… on friggin’ steroids”. By doing so, the overall effect is that it reminds his readers of his writing personality. But furthermore, the use of the “…” is very effective—while the audience is mulling over the idea of “Hardass Asian Mother”, he uses the “…” as a pause into the next statement, which is extremely casual and colloquial, and it achieves the effect that makes him a very humorous person.

“A lot of Wall Street Journal readers are probably going to read this smug, bull$#!t piece and feel like they got some lightning bolt understanding of Asian behavior, as if they've now been made privy to some Ancient Chinese Secrets. Oh, I get it now. I understand why all the Asian kids are soulless, unfun automatons. Thanks, Professor Chua.”

This is a classic example of the “Angry Asian Man” style. His voice is very sarcastic and ironic, which is obvious through the very last sentences. The irony kicks in when he says “Oh I get it now” because it clearly is a mockery of the actual issue. The sarcasm in this example is especially evident when he ends the post with “Thanks, Professor Chua”. Through these two techniques, this reinforces the type of voice that “Angry Asian Man” has throughout his blog—both sarcastic and ironic in order to convey his serious opinion.'

In another blog post featuring things that are demeaning to (and also stereotypes) Asians, “Angry Asian Man” comments on a tumblr page dedicated to “Asians Sleeping in the Library”.

Figure 7: An Asian person. Sleeping in the library. Go figure.

“Fellow Asians, are you with me? I mean, on one level, I can appreciate this. I certainly wouldn't have called myself the most disciplined college student, but I do recall more than a few snoozes with my head perched on top of a textbook. At the library. “

At first, through the use of “Fellow Asians”, the author clearly connects and relates with the audience. He then uses colloquial language to express his opinion, ending the statement with a very short sentence fragment, as if trying to point out something relatable. By doing this, he is able to talk about his own opinions with a level of understanding and relativity from the audience.

To further demonstrate Angry Asian Man’s tone in this particular blog post, this example comes towards the end:

“Oh, brother. I don't think the intent is malicious, but this guy could learn a thing or two about extolling the model minority myth, even in jest.”

Figure 8: Asian person passed out. Out the street. Go figure. (In reference to this blog)

The tone of exasperation again is evident, through the use of “Oh, brother”. Much like the article by Amy Chua, “Angry Asian Man” emits a very exasperated tone of voice through his usual colloquial and casual style, by expressing his serious and personal beliefs through many instances of sarcasm and irony to achieve his specific voice. The tone of exasperation is evident, and there is a sense of a “*facepalm*, *headdesk*, smh” moment (all internet memes), which are used to show when someone “finds something so stupid, no words can do it justice”, like Angry Asian Man and these websites demeaning Asians.

Angry Asian Man’s voice is a tango between colloquialism and seriousness, and he achieves both beautifully with his ability to create a personal and easy-to-relate relationship to his readers, and at the same time demonstrates his personality through his actual commentary and his sarcasm.

Inferior Western Parenting

In light of a recent controversy involving a certain Yale professor and her “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother”, there have been many criticisms about stereotypical Asian mothers and their parenting ways. One such criticism comes from an “Angry Asian Man". Not only does he clearly convey his opinion about the Wall Street Journal article written by Amy Chua, a professor at Yale, but he does this in typical “Angry Asian Man” style. “Angry Asian Man” is a very sarcastic, witty, and satirical blog, because this blog is in fact not written by a constantly angry Asian man. By calling himself an “Angry Asian Man”, the author of this blog evokes a certain type of personality even before the audience reads his content. His style, which is demonstrated through one particular post “your permissive western parenting is inferior, is very indicative of his particular style of voice. This blog post explains the author’s opinion on the recent Wall Street Journal article of an Asian “tiger mother” who defends her extreme parenting style. The post starts with

"Yes, I have read Amy Chua's Wall Street Journal piece,"Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior,"and yes, I think the author is crazy."

Through this very clever use of linking to the original article, the author clearly states the source of the topic as well as inserts his own beliefs and opinions in the very beginning of the blog post. The author answers questions that were not asked by the audience, which demonstrates a sense of exasperation, and sets the tone for the whole post.

To be honest, at first I thought it was satire, until I was hit with the sickening, sinking realization that Chua is dead serious. She's completely embraced the model minority myth, and is the living embodiment of the Hardass Asian Mom... on friggin' steroids.

Through this example, the author combines both a serious tone and a very casual tone. The serious tone is evoked through his use of alliteration and negative adjectives, such as “sickening, sinking” and “dead serious”. Instead of just saying “serious” and “realization”, the author uses very emotionally heavy adjectives to describe his initial reaction. He goes on to say that Amy Chua is “the living embodiment of the Hardass Asian Mom… on friggin’ steroids.” This sentence is quintessential “Angry Asian Man” style. He capitalizes “Hardass Asian Mom” as a reference to a common stereotype that he assumes his readers understand—after all, his target audience is the Asian American community (as his blog is about Asian Americans). Not only does he reference “Asian Mom”, which in itself evokes certain stereotypical qualities, but he also inserts “Hardass” and “… on friggin’ steroids”. By doing so, the overall effect is that it reminds his readers of his writing personality. But furthermore, the use of the “…” is very effective—while the audience is mulling over the idea of “Hardass Asian Mother”, he uses the “…” as a pause into the next statement, which is extremely casual and colloquial, and it achieves the effect that makes him a very humorous person.

"Wall Street Journal readers are probably going to read this smug, bull$#!t piece and feel like they got some lightning bolt understanding of Asian behavior, as if they've now been made privy to some Ancient Chinese Secrets. Oh, I get it now. I understand why all the Asian kids are soulless, unfun automatons. Thanks, Professor Chua."

This is a classic example of the “Angry Asian Man” style. His voice is very sarcastic and ironic, which is obvious through the very last sentences. The irony kicks in when he says “Oh I get it now” because it clearly is a mockery of the actual issue. The sarcasm in this example is especially evident when he ends the post with “Thanks, Professor Chua”. Through these two techniques, this reinforces the type of voice that “Angry Asian Man” has throughout his blog—both sarcastic and ironic in order to convey his serious opinion.

In another blog post featuring things that are demeaning to (and stereotypes) Asians, “Angry Asian Man” comments on a tumblr page dedicated to “Asians Sleeping in the Library".

"Fellow Asians, are you with me? I mean, on one level, I can appreciate this. I certainly wouldn't have called myself the most disciplined college student, but I do recall more than a few snoozes with my head perched on top of a textbook. At the library."

At first, through the use of “Fellow Asians”, the author clearly connects and relates with the audience. By doing this, he is able to talk about his own opinions with a level of relativity from the audience. In another example, “Oh, brother. I don't think the intent is malicious, but this guy could learn a thing or two about extolling the model minority myth, even in jest.

The tone of exasperation again is evident, through the use of “Oh, brother”. Much like the article by Amy Chua, “Angry Asian Man” emits a very exasperated tone of voice through his usual colloquial and casual style, by expressing his serious and personal beliefs through many instances of sarcasm and irony to achieve his specific voice.

The Sister (Blogger) I Never Had: Elena Garcia

Elena Garcia is an average American, blonde hair green eyed, from San Francisco, living with her significant other Garrett and her dog Frankie. In any other aspect, she and I do not have much in common. I do not know who her favorite singer is or what her mother’s maiden name is, but despite my lack of knowledge about her, I feel like she and I are already very close friends.

Elena Garcia’s blog, “An American Girl in China”, details Elena’s personal one year “Adventure in Shanghai”.  She started her journey on November 2008, where she begins by packing away her life San Francisco to move to Shanghai, China for an entire year, and ended her journey on January 2010, where she is back in the United States and lots of experience in Chinese society under her belt. Elena’s initial perspective of China was naïve, and it is her initial naivety that made me read her blog. At the same time, however, Elena not only talks about her experiences with Chinese people and Chinese society but also about her travels. She posts just as much about her own life as she does about her experiences with Chinese people—the post about rock climbing in the Shanghai Indoor Stadium is preceded by her ranting about people who walk slowly with a newspaper or cell phone in the morning.

Much like Elena, I went on a journey to China this past summer. And like Elena, I went to Shanghai. I was a “foreigner”, although I did not entirely look the part. The luxury Elena had in China was that she had an excuse for being different (she was Caucasian), as I did not (I am Chinese). This did not stop us, however, from having similar experiences and sharing the same feelings towards those experiences. One thing in particular stood out to me, in her post “No Autographs Please!” dated June 10, 2009.

"People in China stare… they stare at us, they stare at each other, they stare at random objects, they just stare. It’s not rude, it’s not polite, and it’s not anything, they just stare! …  But for some reason it really got under my skin. I’ve settled so much already during my stay here. I mean I put up with the spitting, the staring, the pushing and shoving, I feel like I have reached my limit. Any more unwarranted attention, disrespect or cultural nuances and I might lose it.”

Had I read this over the summer, I may have cried. This, what she colloquially describes, was exactly what I felt during my travels in the same city of Suzhou. In this one post, Elena pinpoints one of the main reasons I picked my blog topic—how can I be Chinese, yet not understand why Chinese people do certain things? How can I be Chinese, but through my American upbringing, I feel angry and offended by Chinese people?

Another I identified with very much was “All Sorts of Goodness”. Elena writes:

"People squat on the floor to pee, they make magnificent noises when they are hocking up a loogie, and they flick their boogers onto the shoes of passer bys."

Elena’s relativity makes her blog like an older sister to my blog.

                        Unfortunately, it has been more than a year since Elena has posted on the blog. She returned to the United States in January 2010, and so her “Adventures in Shanghai” is over. Elena’s blog was purely for personal use, and therefore never gained too much attention. For her, this blog was a way of documenting her experience of being a foreigner in a foreign country, to share with family and friends, who are probably very curious as to her well-being. Although we have similar topics, my blog will feature an Asian American view of the same experiences—because believe me, Chinese Americans and Caucasians are treated very differently in Chinese society. My blog will not be something I will share with family and friends to update them about my life, but rather an evaluation of who I am, and how I will try finding my identity, when I do not identify with any particular society at all.

Hello, World. 你好，世界。

Hello, World. These two words seem appropriate at the present moment, because it explains what this blog is going to be about—a search for one’s personal identity, a journey of self-discovery. At one point in our lives, we have asked ourselves “Who am I? What makes me who I am?”, but it is only through personal experience that one can answer these baffling questions.

The topic of “culture” is somewhat foreign to Americans in the United States, mainly because the United States is a potpourri of cultures built from a foundation of immigrants. In its basic anthropological essence, the word “culture” describes a way of living built up by a group of human beings that is passed down through generations. It also, however, describes something that almost every society has, sans the United States. The truth of the matter is that American “culture” (if we can even call it that) is built upon borrowing ideas from others. It is highly unlikely, if we embrace the anthropological view of “culture”, that America has built its own unique “culture” in its short period of history. In contrast, civilizations like China demonstrate a society whose cultural background spans thousands of years. Therefore, keeping with the argument offered by the anthropological definition of the word “culture”, China has a national cultural identity, due in part by behaviors and customs passed down generations.

That said, this blog is about a Chinese girl growing up in the United States. Whereas others spend their college years searching for what they want to do in the big picture of life, this Chinese girl spends her college years not only searching for her destiny, but also her identity. Torn between two worlds, this Chinese girl grew up eating rice for lunch in an American elementary school in the sea of bologna sandwiches. This Chinese girl translated for her mother at supermarkets, while the child in the cereal aisle carries a conversation with his mother in perfect English.

This Chinese girl is me.

I am well aware of the books found in the “Self-Help” section of bookstores that deal with the subject of “finding one’s self” and “knowing one’s self”, but my journey in finding my cultural identity is far less cliché. As a matter of fact, I am still struggling to find my place between the two “cultures”. Essentially, others would consider me a Chinese American. But to me, those two words carry a heavy meaning upon my shoulders. From this identification, one could deduce that I was both Chinese and American. But in reality, I felt neither Chinese nor American. Before going on, I would like to clarify that when I say “Chinese”, I mean someone who grew up in China and was immersed in Chinese culture, while I say “American”, I mean someone who grew up in the United States and was immersed in American society. I dream of a day when I tell people that I grew up in Chicago, the look of genuine surprise would not flit across their face. I dream of a day when people do not go on and say “But what ethnicity are you? Chinese, Korean, Japanese?”, to which my answer of “Chinese” would be confronted with their “Chinese knowledge”, consisting of badly spoken broken bits of Chinese words with a stupid smile on their face. But I digress. Through all this adversity, I still struggle to find which society I identify with and shapes who I am as a person, whether be at home with my parents who are die-hard Chinese-to-the-core type of people, or at school where I had to explain what “shumai” was to a friend (which, if you were wondering, is a shrimp dumpling).

This is a blog about my experiences of being a Chinese American. I am just a girl, whose family is very culturally Chinese, growing up in an American society