"it's dying to be freed, see I can't live the rest of my life so guarded"
Item #1, On Speaking Too Soon
Lately, thanks to my mom, I realize I've just been speaking for people without their permission:
1. telling people our coach would write them schedules for summer training if they were unable to make it to practice
2. telling Shawty we could carpool and my mom would be cool with taking the pick up cause that would be easier for her parents
3. volunteering the house for a meeting point for jazz band shenanigans in the woods
She didn't trip too hard about the having people over thing but I totally didn't realize I'd done that until she brought it up with the carpool thing. Which I mean wouldn't have been that big of a deal BUT she's been under a lot of stress with work and me forcing her to drive with me every day which, as I've said before, freaks her out, and making the mom feel used/ignored/resentful is not a goal. So I apologized a lot and she got on the phone with Shawty's dad and it alled work out, but the #1 thing I'm still kind of confused and almost thinking about dropping. I should've never said that in the first place, but I also have really mixed feelings about the whole summer practice thing that I won't go into detail here cuz I'll just ramble so I'll leave it at that.
The point being, don't do that. It never ends up well. The (maybe?) good thing is this seems to be part of a new me that's coming out, someone that takes initiative and tries to be affable and sociable and hopefully won't be trying to talk for people without first talking with them in the future.
Item #2, the Question of Language.
I'm thinking of doing this for my personal narrative in Social Living next year (if the system let me in there, ugh) cuz it's lightweight controversial and more interesting than "running changed my life" and is still a personal issue I will probably always struggle with (yes, I have given this much thought to a project I will not have to do, if I'm even in the class, for another 3-6 months).
I am full blood Chinese, if you really want to get into it Seiyup, both my parents' families are from little near-by rural villages in a little province in Southern China. I'm third generation, meaning my grandparents were immigrants, and even though of the third generation Asians I've met none of them speak their family's "native tongue," we still always get the question: "Do you speak Chinese/Vietnamese/Korean/Japanese/Cambodian/Mien/Insert Asian Language Here?" Actually scratch that, the only third-generation Asians I know are Hapa so I'm not sure if that counts. It's usually from fellow Asians who speak the language they are trying to find out you speak, and when you say "No" then the question is "Do you understand it?" and then a kind of look (or in my mother's generation or older, something like "Are you dumb?") that connotes "what's wrong with you?"
If we could, we'd go into a whole history, a diatribe.
In my mother's case, her parents never really talked to her, period. English or Seiyup. Her father himself was second generation (his family, for some reason, settled in Ohio, where he was born, but they did a lot of back and forth to the village especially during the Depression, and that's when his mother decided he ought to get married..the family history also involves a green bean business and an uncle who had the idea of frozen Chinese meals) and with many second generation people, they already end up speaking more English than "native tongues". So my granddad already didn't speak much Chinese. My mom's grandmother, however, didn't speak English, and by having to communicate with her my mom picked up a pretty basic vocabulary revolving around food. My grandparents never sent her to Chinese school, and without having anyone really to conversate in Chinese with, how are you expected to learn?
In my dad's case, his parents spoke to him and his brothers in Chinese...and then they went to school. Although he went to afterschool Chinese school, I think probably the desire/need to talk to English-speaking classmates and make friends in the '50s was the reason they let it go. Like my mom, their vocabulary and comprehension, without further schooling (he eventually stopped going to Chinese school) was elementary ("Are you hungry? Are you sick? Are you dumb? Is there something wrong with you?"). My dad went on to learn Mandarin in college and become pretty literate (which, after years of not practicing, he is now trying to pick up again), but the home language he nearly forgot; he could communicate with his parents and follow conversations a little better than my mom (although it depends on the situation) but it's difficult without practice.
The question came up when I was born. My parents tell me that for a while they considered trying to speak Seiyup to each other in front of me, but it just felt too forced, didn't make sense; neither of them spoke it in their every day life, and it was hard to remember (my mom apparently tried for a week but it was too weird). They considered sending me to a submersive Chinese school but decided against it.
So here we are. And it's no one's "fault," it's merely the history of our family, the history of immigration in this country. (This also used to come with the question of being "white-washed," which has a lot to do with where I've grown up but I've accepted that better - not that I'm "white-washed" but that people are different because of their economic background.) The fact that I don't speak Chinese doesn't make me any less Chinese - or does it? If we're speaking flesh and blood it can't get any more Cantonese, if we're talking culture, I'm at a loss. I'm so fucking American, as are the rest of my cousins (I just recently, for some reason, realized that none of my first cousins, on either side of the family, speak Chinese), and part of me embraces this - I feel like there are aspects of my life that I would not have access to or appreciation of if I had been raised any other way. At the same time, I still get sad when I go to Chinatown; I am surrounded by yellow skin (in a totally not jaundice way, ahaha), by people from the same country my family came from, but I can't understand what they're saying, I can't talk to them without fearing being judged by my language, and I am ignorant of any cultural attitudes or manners I "should" have. I don't want to be back in the village, I don't wish to have grown up with the oppressive and abusive culture towards women that followed my mother's family and many other immigrants to America, but I wish I could comprehend the other part of that. I hope my writing (in English) will take me places, I want to learn Mandarin in college, and I would not sacrifice my upbringing for the world - but there's still a part of me that yearns to connect with what people tell me is my heritage. (The fact that I don't speak is my heritage, but you know what I mean...)
Oh and while I'm ranting about being Chinese? Those coloring books and projects they make you do in elementary school about your "culture" are never really about your culture, I'm positive that 99% of Asians you meet here did not come from families that wore silk robes and sipped tea in jade palaces and played instruments (and sorry I don't really remember how those books portrayed the "cultures" of Anglo-, Afro-, or Latino-Americans, but I doubt it was accurate either - the history of elites, what we have left of ancient civilizations, is not, usually, the history of immigrants), that was a far away culture that none of them knew, and maybe we should celebrate harsh agricultural work, ghost stories, and pig feet instead. And still there are a lot of new immigrants coming from the big urban cities, but I guess what I'm trying to say is I hadn't realized until a few years ago why those things were so strange to me.
Item #3, On Funny Feelings
Speaking of which, while I was talking with my mom she said she was kind of glad I was starting to invite people over, something she never did as her parents were kind of "antisocial" and she always felt bad about never teaching me. Well I have never been that into having people in my/our house, even at family gatherings after a certain number of hours I would pause from having fun and get this sinking, almost claustrophobic feeling of something being wrong and I would suddenly want everyone to get out of there as soon as possible to restore the feeling of "normal". I'm not sure why. I'd forgotten about this feeling, and also that it happened a lot, according to my mom, when we went to the movies (which, unlike inviting people to my house, I go to and enjoy a lot now), when we went on planes, and when we'd drive home at night from family gatherings or eating out (which I also think I got that feeling at, which might explain why I didn't use to like eating out). And I remember feeling it, in the dark on empty streets, and my dad would have the radio tuned to smooth jazz and every time I heard it at night I'd remember that feeling and maybe that's why I hate smooth jazz!
But I haven't felt that feeling in many years, even when I've wanted to, but I am still weird about having people over and it's nothing against anyone, I just...don't like it. I feel this will change when I move out the house, maybe even in the next year. I just forgot that I ever felt that way, and even if I don't know the explanation for that, it explains a lot for the present day.
That was waaay longer than anything I've ever blogged before. Wow. Well, as with Item #1 I am still feeling anxious and uncertain and at the same time excited about this captain thing, we'll see throughout the year how it goes. In the meanwhile, cheers for now and ohh the weather's finally looking like summer, although this is worse for running, but oh so much more seasonal.
p.s. I fell in love with an Asian guy on a bike today. Not really, but I realize I've been crushing on guys with just the wrong personalities. I mean I didn't know this Asian guy but he had the style and swagger and bike of my imaginary dream boy. Yes. Ok I'm out.