To all the Chinese Americans and 2nd gens of the past, present, and future
“He who knows the labors of those who built the well will drink its water most gratefully.”
How many times have we, Chinese Americans, and 2nd generations—children of immigrants, heard something similar from our parents? We are not exclusive to our parents’ sermons, yet they seem to be amplified due to cultural differences. They are desperate for us to inherit their native language and culture, hoping that we will know where we came from and the sacrifices made by others along the way.
Despite their hopes and well intentions, there is a generation gap, and something is lost along the way. Growing up, we might code-switch between English and Chinese, swapping our American-selves at school to our Chinese-selves at home and vice versa. We follow our mom and dad to Chinatown to do weekly grocery shopping and visit their friends whom we call “ayi” and “shu-shu” (auntie and uncle). At the dinner table, we only ate home cooked Chinese food and if we complained that we wanted American food, our parents would simply reply that American food wasn’t healthy and had no flavor. As we become adults and move away from home, we start to speak more English than Chinese and gravitate towards events and cuisine that interest us rather than our parents. We become more educated, gain new experiences, meet new people and become aware of the world in ways that our parents couldn’t teach us. We don’t want to be tied down to our cultural heritage that seems to define us. We begin to listen to a new mantra:
“You owe nothing to the previous generation.”
We are not our parents. We grew up in a different time period and in a different country. We do not share the same past. Why should we always be looking behind us, worrying if we meet their expectations? As a 2nd generation American, the pull of family and cultural inheritance is strong.
This inheritance is fueled by both love and fear. As immigrants, a part of my parents will always be foreign in America despite the decades that pass. They will never achieve full assimilation. I became a bridge for my parents: I learned Cantonese so that they can express themselves easily and wholly. What can be a greater comfort than to hear your children speak to you in your native language?
I was also taught the etiquettes of being a filial daughter. When I was a kid, I called my mother everyday afterschool to let her know that I was okay. Actually, I still call her everyday. Additionally, I made mandatory house calls and dinners to ALL of my relatives when visiting Hong Kong and other states in America. As my aunt puts it, “When you come, you say 'Hi!' to everyone. When you leave, you say 'Bye!' Family connection is important. It should never be broken."
Part of me doesn’t mind paying my respects and being obedient, but there is a part of me that feels weighed down. The American world that I live in now doesn’t have all these rules. Why should I keep following them if they are no longer relevant? When I voice my concerns, the conservatives in my family are quick to attack: “You are ungrateful! This is how it has been for several generations. Without me, how can there be you?” From this, I hear fear and loneliness. Afraid of being alone, they become angry with my generation for being so frivolous and ungrateful for their American luxuries. They are dismayed when their children don’t realize the physical, mental, and logistical hardships they had to undergo when moving to America. But why would we? We do not have the same experiences they did.
What can we do to make our parents understand? We don’t want to be like them. We want to take risks and do our own thing. Where do we fit in? We are here and there—we live in the American world and our parents’ world. We are also nowhere—we do not fit perfectly into either one. When does the confusion end?
I have met Chinese Americans and 2nd generation Americans, with similar experiences to mine. Some of us continue pivoting back and forth. Some of us break away gradually—either totally or almost losing our ethnic language, habits, and etiquettes. Nevertheless, for all of us, there is a presence—memories—around us, within us, that won’t quite go away. It stays with us for our entire lives and trickles into the following generations until it melts away, unrecognizable and forgotten.
