Culture As One

My parents raised me and my brother in a very traditional Taiwanese environment, teaching us to speak and write Chinese at a young age. We grew up in Los Angeles surrounded by a Chinese community. In Los Angeles, I attended a Chinese church and a school academy consisting of mostly Asians. One of the things I remember looking forward to was the KFC chicken the academy had for lunch because it was one of the rare occasions I got to eat American fast-food. Even when we moved to Washington, where there were fewer Asians, we managed to quickly connect with the small Asian community and was immersed in the Chinese environment. 

However, there was a period when I hated being Taiwanese-American. When my grandmother died, I witnessed the fight for inheritance between my dad and his two brothers. All my relatives had believed that because we lived in America, we automatically were living a more luxurious and successful life than them. My grandfather and my uncles refused to give a single part of the inheritance, and instead wanted us to give them money, when in reality, they were much wealthier than us. Every visit with my relative always ended up in an argument about money. My brother's and I were taught to be careful with our words and to respond wisely in conversations and to politely refuse certain invitations with our own grandfather, uncles and cousins. As a child, I wanted to enjoy my vacation with my parents in Taiwan. I wanted to visit Taipei 101, go to night markets, and eat the street food with my family. Instead, my parents would drop me and my brother off at Long Shan elementary school, where my mom used to teach, and we would spend our days in school while my parents dealt with financial and legal issues. 

Both my parents immigrated to America as students, looking to get their master's degree at the University of Oregon. My dad rarely speaks positively of his educational experiences in America. He had labeled those years as a waste of time, often talking about how famous and wealthy he would have been if he had gone back to Taiwan after getting his degree. It wasn't until recently did he finally secure a steady job as a music professor. Although my mom remains positive day to day, her life is not much better than it was in Taiwan. She has never stopped teaching piano as a self-employed piano teacher since she was nineteen years old. In Taiwan she was a piano teacher. In America she was yet still a piano teacher. I have always wondered why they chose to stay in America, abandoning all connections they had with their families, living a life not much better than the one they could have had if they had went back to Taiwan. 

As I continued to question my parents' decision, I began to draw closer to my Taiwanese background. From first grade, I was constantly with the same group of Taiwanese friends. We always ate lunch together, took the same classes, and competed with each other academically. Every time we spoke Chinese to each other, we secretly took pride knowing that others could not understand us. We often talked about our experiences in Taiwan. We talked about the lively night markets, the low living cost, and the convenient transportation systems. My conversations with them made me realize just how little I knew about Taiwan. I began to pick up Chinese and would copy Chinese textbooks, watch Taiwanese dramas and listen to Chinese music. When we went back to Taiwan and spent time with my relatives, I began to pay attention to their conversations and began to pick up Taiwanese. I found myself looking forward to the trips back to Taiwan, and recently, I have even begun to think of Taiwan as my home.

I consider myself more Taiwanese than I am American. When people ask where I'm from, sometimes I wish I could say Taiwan and not Vancouver, Washington. I hold desperately on to my Taiwanese lineage, knowing that if I lose it one day, I will not have a place to call home.