For those who don’t know, I’m a twenty year old student living away from home with her boyfriend. We live a comfortable life, and are quite fortunate to have found an affordable apartment in a quaint suburb that is close enough to the city and where we study. As far as our fiscal situation goes, we’re doing pretty alright! We both work hard at our respective jobs, while balancing our grades, family commitments and extra curricular endeavours. Most of the money we save goes towards travelling, or buying new furniture pieces to jazz up the apartment. We’re pretty indecisive about where to travel next, so we figured that a few new additions to the house would be nice. Anyway, long story short - a trip to IKEA later and we’re home with an assortment of boxes featuring countless stress inducing projects. We finally have a cute little dining table!
This morning I figured I would go out to pick up a small round of groceries, as well as some pre-made breakfast because we were both completely pooped from building furniture the night before. The area we live in is quite multicultural, and there are a fair few ethnic grocery stores and restaurants dotted around the joint. One of the things I’ve always been a little bit sad about is that there isn’t a huge Chinese supermarket within walking distance, but there is a little corner-shop sized one that I’d only been in once or twice. I thought I would give it another chance today, seeing as though I’d only passed in and out quite quickly in the past. As I was picking up a few things, the shopkeeper must have noticed that I was struggling to hold everything because he came over and gave me a hand. He approached me speaking in Chinese, and we ended up having a small conversation. I must admit, my Chinese speaking has undoubtably deteriorated since moving away from home. Really underestimated how big of a difference it has been not speaking it on an everyday basis with my Mum. He asked me if I was from Tianjin, almost immediately. I was quite surprised, and I answered that both of my parents are from Tianjin, but I was born here so I can only speak quite basic Chinese. He laughed and said he knew it as soon as I started speaking, because he could pick up on the accent. He was from Tianjin himself, and there’s a saying in Chinese called “laoxiang” which roughly translates into “fellow villager.” We joked together that we were “laoxiang,” and he said that it’s quite admirable that I’ve picked up Chinese so well despite having grown up in Australia.
I mean, it probably sounds like a completely mundane experience, but it just completely brightened up my day. As an Australian born Chinese, especially now that I’ve moved away from home, I’ve been feeling an uneasy “disconnection” from my cultural identity. I’ve been feeling homesick, particularly for Mum’s cooking and just having long winded conversations in Chinese with her in the car. The other night it dawned on me that by the time I have children of my own, a very possible reality is that the Chinese culture I’ll be able to pass down will be minuscule compared to what my parents taught me. I get a little choked up knowing that I have hardly any connection to my family back in China, I don’t have the strongest relationship with my Dad, and my brother is more “Westernized” than I am. In many ways, my Mum is the sole person who helps affirm and strengthen my own cultural identity. She’s the link that keeps me entwined with my distant relatives, and she’s that sterling reminder of what it was like to grow up “Chinese.” As hard as it always was, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Tears literally well up when I think about the possibility of ever forgetting those sights and smells, you know? Like Mum’s cooking and the endless background noise that streamed from her beloved Chinese dramas.
I never want to lose a sense of connection to my Chinese culture, because I honestly understand now how special it is, and how important it is to protect it. As a PoC, I’ve felt the lowest of lows and I can recall times where I’ve wanted to just, let go, you know? To just abandon everything “Chinese” about me, and to be like everyone else. Only now do I realise just how beautifully precious those things that make me Chinese are, and how much I need to fight to retain them. It would be an absolute disservice to everything my Mum has experienced; giving up her job and family to provide myself and my brother with a better life, the sweat and tears that she has had to fight back just to stay afloat in a new country raising two young children, being treated as a second class citizen by a country that she has given 100 percent to, and the countless times people have mocked her accent or have spoken to her as if she’s too stupid to understand what they’re saying. These are things that are too important to forget, and I’ll do everything I can to keep them close to my heart.