I came to Los Angels from P.R.C about 8 years ago. I have never felt I am "different" in this ethnic melting pot until I joined the bureau.
One time I was chatting with a US attorney. I told her my mother never used any pain killer for her three kids. She delivered me at home in a small village in China. I never even had a birth certificate. The attorney looked at me, "A village in China? How did you end up becoming a special agent for the FBI?". I laughed, "well, I am sure the bureau was wondering about the same question."
Another time my squad mate, a Chinese-American, asked me if it was true that Chinese people sleep in the same room with pigs. He had that I-got-you smile on his face as he was waiting for my response. I answered his question with all seriousness. "Yes, " I said, " when I was living in the village, we did have the pigsti in the same room, right behind the bed. However, I don't believe it is common anymore." I was not offended. Why should I? It was not my fault that I had to live like that. Other than chicken eggs, those pigs were all we had to sell for food.
My son Michael was an ABC (American Born Chinese) too. He is very lucky to come home from a great hospital to his own well-decorated room. However, I feel the need to tell Michael how his mother, his grandparents lived their lives in a very different country. I hope he, or his children, would never talk to anybody, no matter where the person comes from, in a condescending way.
Yes, I am an American citizen now, and this country has my one hundred percent allegiance, however, I am still a Chinese in many ways. It was the Chinese history, culture and literature that shaped my personality. My life principal is heavily marked with a mix of confucius and daoism.
One time I was chatting with a US attorney. I told her my mother never used any pain killer for her three kids. She delivered me at home in a small village in China. I never even had a birth certificate. The attorney looked at me, "A village in China? How did you end up becoming a special agent for the FBI?". I laughed, "well, I am sure the bureau was wondering about the same question."
Another time my squad mate, a Chinese-American, asked me if it was true that Chinese people sleep in the same room with pigs. He had that I-got-you smile on his face as he was waiting for my response. I answered his question with all seriousness. "Yes, " I said, " when I was living in the village, we did have the pigsti in the same room, right behind the bed. However, I don't believe it is common anymore." I was not offended. Why should I? It was not my fault that I had to live like that. Other than chicken eggs, those pigs were all we had to sell for food.
My son Michael was an ABC (American Born Chinese) too. He is very lucky to come home from a great hospital to his own well-decorated room. However, I feel the need to tell Michael how his mother, his grandparents lived their lives in a very different country. I hope he, or his children, would never talk to anybody, no matter where the person comes from, in a condescending way.
Yes, I am an American citizen now, and this country has my one hundred percent allegiance, however, I am still a Chinese in many ways. It was the Chinese history, culture and literature that shaped my personality. My life principal is heavily marked with a mix of confucius and daoism.
This blog is about me, my generation, my parents and above all, about China.
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