Three weeks ago, I hired a Mandarin tutor.
Every Sunday afternoon, he comes to my house, and we do a one-on-one session.
I’m a Chinoy (Chinese-Filipino). Growing up, Hokkien was my mother tongue. Despite studying in a Chinese High School for years, I was never fluent in Mandarin. I guess, when I was young, it was forced on me. Doing it back then was 100% rote learning.
My kids have grown up, and I’m in my 40s now. It has only been three years since I started working again, reinventing myself as a freelance writer.
I’ve rediscovered in the span of those three years how important words are to me. And not just English words. I’m in love with languages.
My rekindled interest in Mandarin is also byproduct of working for a Chinese electronics company. My Chinese boss does not obligate me to learn the language. We communicate in English. But I’m all fired up.
But why am I so keen on it?
It has something to do with redemption.
Eighteen years ago, when I married my husband, I very eagerly casted aside my maiden Chinese surname. And along with it, I casted aside my Chinoy heritage.
At that point in my life, I turned my back on it because being Chinoy was the backdrop of so many negative experiences. As you well know, my childhood was painful, so much so that it resulted in adolescent-onset anorexia nervosa.
Growing up in a Chinese high school and a Chinoy neighborhood, I was marked as different from my peers because of my interests. I loved reading and writing in English. But the Chinoy culture valued earning lots of money. And since writing does not pay as much as entrepreneurship in the Philippines, my father detested my ambition to be a writer.
But the biggest rift between me and culture was the choice of marriage partner. I married a Filipino, which is a no-no for a lot of first and second-generation Chinoys. My father did not approve of my spouse from the very beginning.
So I did what was natural for people who get rejected by a group—I rejected the group back.
And so, the long hiatus.
It’s only been a year since I tentatively went back. I’m re-exploring my roots the best way I know how: through Chinese words and the Chinese language. Some people rediscover their culture with food, but since I’m anorexic, that’s a no-go.
But again, I wonder. Why do I want to reconnect now?
Maybe it’s because my Chinese boss is such a positive influence, and I’m inspired.
Maybe it’s because of natural affinity for languages as a writer.
But then again, maybe it’s because I have a practical side. The logical part of me knows that I have to leverage something other than writing skills these days if I want career growth. The competition is fierce, and there’s AI to worry about.
But there is something more other than these reasons. Something deeper and submerged in my collective unconscious.
The only word that makes sense is “redemption”. We’ll just have to go with that.
These days I have been reflecting more on another Chinese philosophy called the Tao Te Ching (道德經).
The message from deep within me is to go with the flow, as what the philosophy prescribes.
No matter my fears about the future, I will swim with the current.
I have to redeem the younger me who turned her back on her culture and achieve what?
A redefinition of what it is to be Chinoy.
As I sit down every Sunday with my tutor, working on my pronunciation and speech, as I struggle with my memory, I know—
That at the core of my being I will find the right words. And along with the right words, I will find the right feelings and the wisdom to be the Chinoy I want to be.
