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The childhood memories associated with food always remind me of the significance of my Chinese heritage that is erased because I’m mixed. Even when the world may not perceive me as Chinese, these memories of cooking with family and friends affirm my connection to China.
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I felt like only I could understand exactly what was going on in both languages. So I bore double the burden and experienced double the emotional pain. I was the only thing keeping my parents together, the only person who could get them to communicate.
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Looking back, I wouldn’t trade my semester abroad for anything. But I do realize that as a STEM major, it’s probably simpler not to go abroad at all.
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As is the case with many second-generation students, 12 years of English-centric education has made me fluent in one language at the expense of the other.
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The hardest part of learning another language isn’t memorizing new words for different concepts, but learning the often strange and confusing syntax of a new language
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Like many Taiwanese schoolchildren, my earliest forays into the vast world of Chinese literature began with the recitation of the San Zi Jing (Three-Character Classic) — perhaps best described as catechisms for the budding Confucianist.
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Pull up a map of Beijing. Set your finger down dead center on the city. Draw it slightly up and to the left. It was a Tuesday night in the middle of summer, and I was there, at a small dumpling house in a nondescript part of the city. It’s the part where you wouldn’t go if you were a tourist — an out-of-the-way sort of anyplace you might stumble upon elsewhere.
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