It all changed for me when I found myself irritated and frustrated, fixated on nothing else but the dovetail where the two pieces of dark oak wood joined together on the dining table. For the first time, I noticed the wood scratches on the table, each one looking distinctly different, and telling their own stories. I slowly glanced up at my grandma, then focused my eyes on my grandpa as they were patiently waiting for my response to their question, “What sports are you playing at school?” It was a question that I get asked frequently, however each time, I was able to confidently respond in English. This time was different, I had to answer in Mandarin. Not knowing the technical terms of each sport, I attempted to describe field hockey, ice hockey, and rowing in broken Mandarin. Of course, it didn’t go far before I once again stumbled upon a loss of words.

There was a tight feeling across my chest. Similar to the exact feeling I felt experiencing my first heartbreak. Helpless and regretful. All the emotions were too raw and new. I felt hollow inside, with pain flowing through my bloodstream. The same question circulated in my brain over and over again. How could you let it get this bad? As my grandma opened her mouth to speak again, I shot up from the chair, noticing the loud squeak it made rubbing against the floor, and ran into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Diving into my bed, I buried my face, allowing the duvet to catch my tears. 

The knocking on the bedroom door woke me up. Looking at the duvet that’s no longer as neatly folded as it was in the morning, I realized I had fallen asleep. I scanned every corner of the room and noticed my mom standing in front of my door. She had a gentle smile across her face; however, studying her eyes, I could see her concern hiding underneath. Mom slowly walked towards me, and sat down on the edge of my bed. Extending her arm, she began running her hand down my back.

The two of us sat in silence. Finally, I had enough courage to ask my mom a question I’ve always wanted to ask her. I opened my mouth, and quietly but quickly let out, “Am I shameful?” My mom’s frown became more visible. She reached for my hand, and answered, “No dear.”

“How can my Mandarin be this bad?”

The truth is, I knew exactly how it got to this point. Born in Singapore, I grew up in Hong
Kong my entire life, and was raised by Shanghainese parents. My mother tongue was Mandarin, but we also spoke some Shanghainese at home. It was only in elementary school that I finally learned English. My primary language was changed from Mandarin to English. Slowly, English also became the primary language I spoke at home. My parents would always speak to me in Mandarin; however, without a doubt, each time I would respond back in English. From then onwards, the language dynamics at home changed.

As middle school was starting, all students had to elect a language course. I still recall making that decision on the dining table with my parents. Arguing back and forth, my parents were convincing me to take Mandarin. However, I wanted to take Spanish. I reasoned to them that “learning a new language is always helpful.” But I knew that wasn’t my only reason to take Spanish. It was because I wanted to avoid taking Mandarin because it’s embarrassing for me, a Chinese girl, to take a lower-level Mandarin class. Being Chinese, bringing shame to not only oneself but also one family is a sin. Just like that, I took four years of Spanish. 

I’ve never lived in Singapore. I often get looked down upon by local Hong Kong people because I attend an international school. I don’t speak fluent Mandarin. Whenever someone asks the small-talk question “Where are you from?” I have to explain all three places and their significance because they all collectively play a part in my identity. However, being from all three places, and experiencing their distinctive cultures, I also feel a sense of loneliness. It felt like I didn’t belong anywhere, and no one understood what it was like to feel the need to live up to all the cultural standards in each of the places. Throughout the recent few years, I’ve struggled with the concept of belonging.

I found it more difficult to sleep than ever that night. I tossed and turned in bed until my body felt like it could no longer move physically. Reaching for my phone, I searched for my texting chat with my mom. Underneath her last message that said “I love you for you”, I began texting, “我想学中文，你能教我吗？ (Translation: I want to learn Chinese, will you teach me?)”. Taking a deep breath, I lay back down and fell back asleep knowing that I still had opportunities to relearn and practice my native language.