I was born with two names — an English name familiar to others around me in America and another three-character Mandarin name. This Mandarin name was handpicked with love by my grandparents, who decided on it after visiting a fortune teller in Malaysia.
When I was younger and attending Chinese school, writing my Mandarin name was an instinct. I quickly scribbled these three characters on top of every piece of paper like a machine. However, for a long time, that was all the name was to me: just three characters. I never saw it as my name or a connection to my identity, never thought about the essence of it. As far as I was concerned, it was simply a scribble I used when I was interacting with other Chinese people, equivalent to a bunch of numbers to identify myself.
Once, my first grade Chinese teacher changed a character, saying she didn’t recognize it and thought I had miswritten it. The subtraction of three small dots was the equivalent of changing my name altogether, giving it a whole new meaning. However, I did not care then since the name barely resonated with me. What was it to me if a few lines from the characters disappeared anyway?
I wasn’t connected with my Chinese name because I wasn’t quite connected with my cultural identity. I used to want to sprint away from this connection; growing up in America made me wish to assimilate amongst my classmates, fearing anything that set me apart from the people around me. Hearing my parents speak Mandarin in public made me want to hide away, cringing from the shame of being different. I didn’t see attending Chinese after school as a place of cultural exploration — rather, it was my place of dread. It was a building filled with Mandarin lessons and math practice and the barrier standing between me and the fun “American” after schools where people played hopscotch and colored with chalk.
It wasn’t until I took Chinese as my language requirement in high school that my mindset shifted. I went in thinking it would just be an easy class where I relearned the language that once embarrassed me. However, this course also incorporates Chinese culture into the curriculum — I was exposed to Chinese traditions through assignments. Engrossing myself in the history behind different traditions drew me in, and I found fascination when completing the assignments. My culture finally interested me once I actually learned about it — I wasn’t just an observer of the traditions anymore, just following along with what my parents told me we should do. I was an active participant, because I knew why the tradition was celebrated, and how unique these stories were. My teacher became a key person at my school who connected me to my heritage; I finally didn’t want to assimilate amongst my classmates because of her encouragement of the culture.
I began digging for more beyond class, consuming Chinese music and TV shows, and actively practicing the traditions. Last year was the first time I truly celebrated the mooncake festival. Turns out it wasn’t just a random day where people ate flaky treats; Chinese people celebrate because of a cherished story, and knowing this excited me to celebrate it.
The name, which was once a meaningless cluster of words, has now gained meaning because it represents my identity as a Chinese-Malaysian. When I wasn’t connected to my culture, the significance behind my name also didn’t exist. Now, however, it does. The girl behind these characters is the one who celebrates her culture, the one who enjoys the traditions, and speaks and reads Mandarin. She is someone wearing the badge of her cultural identity proudly.
Annabel Chia is a senior at Carlmont High School in Belmont. Student News appears in the weekend edition. You can email Student News at news@smdailyjournal.com.
(4) comments
Annabel - thank you for such an enlightening story. Just remember though that Churchill once said that the beauty of the US population is that they came here and dumped all of their restrictive cultural traditions but kept those that are of value. His mother was an American. I believe you may have it just right although I always stretched in our immigrant household that our children are Americans first.
Good morning, Annabel, and thanks for writing a column about how your study of the Chinese language at Carlmont HS has enriched your life.
After I retired from full time teaching, I subbed at Carlmont until the pandemic shut down regular classroom instruction. I was fortunate to sub several times in Mindy Chiang's classroom. She worked wonders with how she incorporated Chinese culture into her lesson plans. Carlmont students are very lucky to have such a caring teacher. Good luck next year at college.
Thanks for this column Annabel! I'm left wondering what three characters your grandparents chose and what difference those three dots ended up making in that one character... and, if your grandparents are still with you, did they agree with the change? I remember the day, around a month into our one year Korean language training, my teacher gave me a Korean name. Three characters which meant "One Star Lee." He later told me that he recognized my being an introvert and that I shone like a star and that if a Korean closed his or her eyes and heard me speak they would think I was Korean, so, he gave me one of the most common family names in the country, Lee. That name still makes me feel special. Cherish yours!!!!
Annabel, I will tag on because I wondered how the three dots changed your name and meaning also.
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