Jane Leung: Tired of not being 'Chinese enough'

This was not the welcome I expected from family friends when I arrived in Hong Kong from Canada. I had grown up as the token Asian, but now I had become the token white girl, a.k.a. the “gwai mui.”

I am Chinese. I look Chinese. I was born in Hong Kong.

I have had Confucian principles bred into me from birth. I put career and good grades above life itself and believe that whatever I can’t achieve through talent I can make happen through hard work and self-discipline.

Yet, if I listen to friends and family here in Hong Kong, I am no more Chinese than lemon chicken.

I was raised in a Western community in Canada and speak basic Cantonese, but can’t read or write it, which apparently means I am a sell-out, a banana (yellow on the outside, white on the inside) with no right to associate with locals or their higher Chinese values.

It is apparent to me that some Chinese feel “more Chinese,” thus superior to those who aren’t fluent in the language.

But from Liverpool to Melbourne, Paris to San Francisco, don’t you ever wonder why there are so many Chinatowns all over the world? It’s because more than 18 million Chinese have left China since the 1970s.

That number represents just half of the approximately 35 million Chinese who live outside of China, making the Chinese the most visible diaspora on Earth, according to professor Peter Kwong in Yale Magazine.

Global Chinese migrations have created hyphenated nationalities such as Chinese-Canadian or Chinese-Indonesian. In order to socially and economically survive in new societies, first generation immigrants often adapt to their new countries' languages, at the expense of mastering the character strokes or the native tongue of Chinese.

Embarassing hyphens

So why are they put to shame for not being fluent in the language of a country where they didn’t grow up? I wasn’t raised in a Chinese community such as Richmond or Burnaby, British Columbia. I grew up in a “white community” next to a pig farm in the small town of Port Coquitlam, B.C.

What makes me Chinese? Never doubting that I am one.

My single working mother didn’t have time to teach me or my brother how to read or write Chinese, and by necessity I was more concerned with excelling in school and dealing with regular teen problems such as fitting in with the cool white kids.

This is not unusual. Everyone has issues growing up that prevent them from being the best they can be.

Despite my illiteracy in Cantonese, I made the move to Hong Kong equipped with hardcore “Chinese” values that I believed everyone would appreciate. I would no longer be the “token Asian.” For the first time, I would finally be one of "them."

When I arrived, it was the complete opposite. During my first internship in Hong Kong, a Chinese guy passed me a note written in Chinese characters. I said to him, “I can’t read this.” He cackled, “That’s the point! You’re illiterate!”

A few weeks later, my father introduced me to one of his co-workers, who ended the conversation with, “You know, it embarrasses your father that little children can speak better Cantonese than you. You’re not really Chinese.”

These are just two of many Hong Kong incidents that irked me. Nonetheless, I am not ashamed. The reason other “bananas” shouldn’t feel ashamed is because the charge doesn’t fit the crime.

Ching-chong is Chinese

Being raised in Chinese-speaking places such as Hong Kong (or Richmond) doesn’t make you Chinese. If you’re proud to call yourself Chinese and were brought up with Chinese values, then you’re Chinese.

As for the older Chinese generation who pick on us, their superiority complex is actually a cover-up for their own insecurity in their ability to remain competitive members of a rapidly changing workforce.

Back when the British ruled Hong Kong, there was more segregation between whites and Chinese. Now, the economic boom in China is attracting expats who need to work alongside locals, often speaking fluent Chinese, resulting in more of a melting pot.

Not everyone is ready to adapt. On the other hand, I stepped out of my comfort zone to relocate my entire life to better understand where my family came from and practice my Canto.

I made my first monoglot Cantonese friends here, I watch Chinese movies, I chill with grandma to force myself to practice and I’m not ashamed to say I bought a children’s Chinese textbook.

For locals who can’t adapt to multiculturalism accepted in other countries, the only way they think they can tangibly confront this issue is by picking on what they believe is the living embodiment of something they fear: Westernized Chinese kids.

Being a hyphenated Chinese is often hard because traditionalists have so much pride in what they are that they will bluntly remind others to be more Chinese.

Oddly enough, that’s one of the things I’ve come to unconditionally love about my culture.

So what makes me Chinese? Never doubting that I am one.