Among the memories that haunt me, Part 1 and Part 2 did a good job of capturing most of the linguistically-based incidents. Other similar incidents abound, however. While these were not (strictly speaking) due to the fact that I was a non-native English speaker, the cultural disconnect certainly didn't help.
So as a bonus, here are some more tiny random nuggets of embarrassment from childhood, curated and ranked:
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| Ugh, SMH |
Did you enjoy my last post? I used to hate Ben Stiller movies like There's Something About Mary and Meet the Parents because it was just non-stop cringe at the characters' long trail of misfortunes. But clearly they connected with some audience, so presumably at least some of you like reading that sort of story. So here are some more:
Preface: Over the last few years, I've often found myself mentioning to friends the various insights that beset me since becoming a father. Chiefly, that children are magically, simultaneous reminders of our mortality and immortality. I spend a good part of every day thinking about a concept that I previously detested: legacy. What do I want to share? What do I want to teach? What do I want them to know about me? And like clockwork, I'll revisit some topics within the sea of my own memories that I'd want to bookmark and write about. One such topic, pervading throughout my life, is multilingualism.
Is your primary language today the same language that you first acquired and grew up using? For me, it's complicated but I'd have to answer no. Outside of what I use for my family, my primary language is now English. But it's not my first language. That would be Northeastern Mandarin. My mother was an English Language professor when I was born, and made it a personal project to train me to speak English. To what extent upon arriving in the US at age 6, I have no recollection, but apparently enough that after starting school stateside, I was swiftly kicked out of the ESL program and was reinserted into "general population", to borrow prison-inspired terminology.
I'm a firm believer that the "stickiest" memories are the traumatic ones. Events that seem no big deal to an adult may easily seem like the end of the world to kids. So, I've picked out some of the most traumatic memories stemming (mostly) from being a non-native speaker of English.
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| Me, typing away at the library. |
So, back in 2020 I wrote a post called, "A Long Overdue Post", in which I wrote a bit about the then (and now, and as always) pressing issue of racial injustice in this country. From the title, I also indirectly called myself out for ostensibly being absent from blogging for nearly two years, as is noted from the date stamps — markers upon which I have come to rely, since clearly I haven't been keeping very good track of time...
