I feel like there are many walls in my life that separate me from others, from where I live to what I study, to my beliefs and general outlook towards life. There are walls that I live comfortably in, using them to help define who I am, and there are walls that I try eagerly to transgress so I can be closer to who I want to be. I’d like to believe that whatever walls in my life, I put there actively, but I’ve realized now that walls grow on its own like blackberry bushes in my parents’ garden, and when you do not actively knock them down, they tend to take over your identity. The growth of one specific wall slipped by unnoticed for many years as I grew up in the United states with my american friends and lifestyle. An now I feel that it has slowly uprooted a part of my identity, forcing me to reexamine my background and redefine who I am.
I was born in China and grew up with my grandparents until I came and joined my parents in the United States at age 6. At that time I knew nothing but the playground I learned to ride my bike in, the park I caught butterflies in, and my grandparents’ house on the eighth floor that over looked the populated city in which I was born. For years, I referred to Taiyuan as my home and China as my homeland. The differences I saw between me and everything and everyone else American, I attributed to the fact that I was born and raised in China, and that made me feel unique among my white classmates that have never left the state. When I went back to visit, I felt like I was returned to my habitat, I could be myself again with my grandparents. However, before long, I turned 12 and realized I had spent equal number of years in both countries, but I didn’t care because I still felt Chinese. Then I was in high school, and talking on the phone with my grandparents became more and more difficult as my Chinese became more and more broken. When I went back to visit again, I became the an american. I can’t name the dates of the important holidays in China or talk about what my people do and eat to celebrate on those events. I don’t understand the teachings of Mao and other great Chinese politicians and philosophers. I don’t know the history of my people and can’t even name the cities bording my hometown. Worst of all, I couldn’t communicate with my grandparents past what I want to eat, no talks of politics, bioengineering, my deepest darkest secrets and no vivid discriptions of my life in the America. I became a tourist in my home town and a guest in my grandparents’ house.
There hasn’t been much change where I grew up, the park remodeled, new buildings went up, but the neighborhood and especially the people are still the same. I feel like everything there was stuck in time, my grandparents still who they were when I left them 15 years ago with maybe a few more wrinkles. Sometimes I feel bad when I visit, realizing that they were probably still looking forward to seeing a little girl with big eyes running around crazily, yelling loudly and talking really fast in their language. Now I speak so slowly, stumble on almost every other word, and spend minutes trying to think of how to express something clearly in a tongue that I no longer knew. I don’t understand why chinese people have to push and shove everywhere they go. I don’t understand why they can be prideful for their country and still throw gargage everywhere. I don’t understand why they act politely to your face and talk behind your back. I’m not used to China anymore, and can’t imagine ever living there long term again.
I guess everyone probably saw this coming, most young people who arrive in America become converted quickly in calling America their home, maybe I just stubbornly held on the belief that I was more Chinese than I will ever been American. And now there is a wall built of cultural differences and language barriers between those who I was closet to and the place I felt was my home for so long. I guess now I consider myself an American, but I’m slowly beginning to avoid defining myself based on my nationality while I continue to build my identity.
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I completely agree with you. I grew up in a very close-knit family. My family was my life and I didn't have much courage to venture outside of that comfort zone. Eventually, though, my views on life diverged enough from my parents' that I stop being able to identify with them. It's becoming increasingly difficult for me to have meaningful conversations with my parents both because we disagree more and more and because of a large and growing language barrier. Part of me is sad to lose that close connection with my family, but on the other hand, I'm glad that I have the freedom to explore life without having someone watch over my back all the time.
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