Personal Narrative: My Transition From Chinese To American Culture

The schools I went to before third grade had a strong Asian population. Asians were the majority; there were rarely any non-Asians in those schools. During that time, I was allowed to stay innocent and uncaring of what others thought of me. It was a pity those golden days couldn’t last longer. The school I transferred to for the remainder of my elementary education had an extremely low Asian rate. In fact, you could have listed all the Asians in the school with only one hand. With little to none Eastern Asians, my parents pushed me to work harder. Unbeknownst to them, they were trying to mold me into the stereotypical smart Asian. The changes were subtle at first since they

To be young and Asian in America is a special brand of torture. There is an unspoken dictum of silence that grips Asian youth, a denial of our place in popular culture. Asian youth walk in America not quite sure where we fit in-black children have a particular brotherhood, Hispanic children have a particular brotherhood, white children own everything else. We cannot lay claim to jazz or salsa or swing; we cannot say our ancestors fought for equality against an oppressive government or roamed the great hallways of power across the globe. We do not have a music, a common hero, a lexicon of slang. Asian youth experience personal diasporas every day.

There was a time she didn’t know how to describe a “white board marker” in Chinese, so she asked her class how to say it. “One girl, who went by the name of Tracy, eagerly told [Stephanie the word], and had a huge smile on her face” (Lam). Even though the language barrier was difficult, she and her students overcame it together with pointing and various other universal gestures and facial expressions. This way, the students were encouraged to understand English better to communicate with their teacher, and my cousin refined her own oral Chinese skills. The students “were kind and willing to help despite [her] poor Chinese, and didn’t judge [her] either” (Lam). The students were happy enough that she came all the way to Taiwan to teach them English. They respected this, and were eager to help her discover a new culture and improve on her Chinese abilities. The barrier was still tough for Stephanie, but thanks to the kindness of her students, it was much easier to bear through and succeed. It was a new and unknown world for my cousin, but she still made the most of her experience and discovered so much more about East Asian culture.

I am an Asian-American woman living and working in the global city of New York. Growing up in an international city allowed me to become a multicultural individual and develop into a young woman different from my counterparts in Asia and here in the United States as well. I was taught by my parents not only the values of a Chinese culture but also to strive to enhance my strengths and to go forth and establish a successful career in business while always relating back to my Chinese roots. These values of diligence, perseverance and selflessness influence my everyday work and personal life.

     The focus of our group project is on Chinese Americans. We studied various aspects of their lives and the preservation of their culture in America. The Chinese American population is continually growing. In fact, in 1990, they were the largest group of Asians in the United States (Min 58). But living in America and adjusting to a new way of life is not easy. Many Chinese Americans have faced and continue to face much conflict between their Chinese and American identities. But many times, as they adapt to this new life, they are also able to preserve their Chinese culture and identity through various ways. We studied these things through the viewing of a movie called Joy Luck Club,

As I looked outside the dirty window of my Chinese classroom, I began to sit and think. Why are they so nice to me? Why do they want to talk to me? Why do the treat I like a celebrity? I’m a normal kid from America. As my thoughts raced around the room my day came to an end at a joyous 10 PM in Foshan, Guangdong, China. Everything was different, the people, and although my nose burned at times because of pollution, I still felt the lucidness of the city. When the bell rang for class, I ran to my dorm, stopping for pictures, and the occasional hug. Everyone stood and stared, we all wore the same clothing. We all had the same rules and regulations, but I was different. They knew, but still treated me as a friend. Once I arrived in my dorm, Lulu, 5’6, fair skin, dark brown eyes, and short cut black hair barged through my paparazzi and shut the door behind her, and said, “My parents are ready! Let’s

I was a sophomore at Galileo High in San Francisco, and all my Caucasian friends agreed: I was about as Chinese as they were. ” (.) Because June never felt truly connected to her Chinese heritage, it caused a separation between her mother and herself. June talked about how she didn’t understand her mother’s Chinese references. June said, “These kinds of explanations made me feel my mother and I spoke two different languages...

I was born and raised in Tijuana, Mexico. But when I was eight years old, my life transformed completely. I was no longer the smart little girl sitting in front of the class, but the English learner in the back of the classroom. My transition to the United States was not easy. For the first months, I have no friends, no one to sit with at lunch, and most importantly no idea what was going on in class. Even though I had years to learn the language, reaching that goal seem unreachable. However, I slowly improved and each year I had new accomplishments. Even though I have now spent more than half of my life in this country, I will never forget those days in the beginning. The confusion I brought along everywhere I went as I was introduced to a

As of today, the most important aspects of my intersectionalities are my age and race. When I was a child, my mother would often specifically say a Chinese word and show the object itself. The one I can recall most clearly is “Li”, which means pear. Furthermore, she would exhibit various things that are from Chinese culture, such as a Chinese New Year festival and dragon dances on television, the Chinese dragon my brother made in preschool, or Chinese music. Also, I was addicted to fried rice at a young age and I often consumed at Asian restaurants, persuading me to accept my background. As a result, I perceived that my Chinese heritage was an idiosyncratic aspect of myself, making it a foremost aspect of my identity. Furthermore, I was born

It took me years before I was able to fit in to this society completely; however, unlike other young first generation immigrants, I still held on to my Chinese background. I spoke Chinese at home and stayed in contact with families and friends from China. I was like any other Chinese teenagers. I listened to Chinese music, read Chinese books, and watched Chinese movies. I also enjoyed eating home cooked Chinese dishes. I was also like any other American teenagers. I listened to western music, read English books, and watched American movies. At school, I ate hamburgers and fries and at restaurants, I ordered pastas and

Growing up surrounded by idealized American values and my mother’s traditional Chinese-Vietnamese principles challenged my identity as a first-generation Asian American. I excelled in school. I pushed myself to join programs such as Paideia, an English course integrated with history to attain higher levels of critical thinking. Despite being academically independent, my good grades and interest in English demonstrated how well I understood the language. Cantonese, the language I used to communicate with my mom, was an entirely different story. Because my mother would work night shifts and then sleep during the day, we could barely spend any time together, creating a lack of communication. I eventually lost my fluency in Cantonese. During Christmas,

With my dad being Caucasian, and my mom Chinese, I was fortunate enough to experience two completely different cultures at a young age. Even though I reside in California, where diversity is a natural occurrence, I still believed that some people sought to place counterfeit stereotypes on ethnic groups. Many of the stereotypes placed on Chinese people has to do with the fact that we are strict, especially parents. In spite of that impression, I wasn’t raised with strict parents. They both wanted me to choose my own path in life, and explore my different interests. However, a lot of my classmates, who are of asian descent, were not given the same kind of opportunities that I had. For an English presentation that we had to do about the meaning

When I transferred to the international school, everyone has their peculiar nationality. Once I discovered a guy who is saying he is Canadian doesn’t actually have any Canadian blood, I felt terrible. Why am I still pretending like a pure Japanese? Why am I always putting the emphasis on the similarities but not differences with others? This was the real shame, much more embarrassed than anything. Since then, I became proud of my identity. I started to appreciate my difference with everyone else because it would make me feel I’m the original myself in this world. Besides, this has given me an enormous comfort and confidence to share my own cultures with my classmates and I realized this was the point of being

When I traveled to Italy with my school, I was paired with two other Asian roommates. We spent late nights in strange hotel rooms talking about growing up as first generation Asian Americans, our different cultures, and even our weird Asian traditions. We had conversations about our families, and laughed together about our favorite Asian supermarket together. I was thrilled, finally to speak to others like me about our shared heritage. Throughout the year I looked back and pondered the conversations we had. I realized that I was no longer

One of my lifelong challenges has been navigating my cultural identity. Growing up in Southern California in an Indian-American household, I was more “Westernized” than my other similarly situated Indian friends. At the same time, my upbringing as a child of immigrant parents made me different than other Americans.