Traumatic Events, Part 3: Bonus Round

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:

Ugh, SMH

Traumatic Events in the Life of an ESL Learner, Part 2

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: 

Traumatic Events in the Life of an ESL Learner, Part 1

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.

I'm Back! (...?)

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...

My first (and likely only) experience with a Northeastern Chinese restaurant in Portland

So I discovered after moving to PNW that Portland apparently has a restaurant that purports to serve Northeastern Chinese food. Won't lie, I got really excited upon finding out. I bookmarked it in my mind to try it out, and on the occasion of my wife's birthday, I decided to order for pickup.

Now, I had already found a truly authentic restaurant not too far away that takes care of all of the basics. We don't order Chinese food (or any other food, for that matter) too often, but when we do, it's usually to avoid the mess/cleanup/lingering smell at home, not because we don't know how to cook it ourselves. What can I say, cuisine-wise we're not that open to experimentation anymore.

As soon as I unpacked the bag at home, I realized that I made a horrible mistake. Here is the Google Maps review that I felt compelled to write (after the break):

Thoughts on the 20th Anniversary of 9/11

I visited the dentist for the first time since the pandemic began yesterday, and as I stared at the x-ray screen, especially the date stamp, I said, “Tomorrow’s 9/11”. And we both exchanged our stories from that day. She was a 7th grader then. I was in my sophomore year of high school.

My morning routine during high school years was: wash up, head down to the kitchen for a bite, and watch a few minutes of GMA/ABC News before walking to the school bus stop. When I turned on the TV, the special report was already underway, and started with the replay of the North Tower first. Ignoring the voice over from Peter Jennings (to this day, my favorite news anchor of all time) I reached the same conclusion as most others: what a horrific accident. That conclusion was short-lived, as it cut straight to the South Tower crash. On the bus, our driver who usually had the dial set to KISS Country, had the news feed on. We listened in horror and astonishment as one of the towers collapsed.

A Long Overdue Post

Hello, dear reader. It has now been nearly two years since my last post, so please accept my now standard apology for the very long lapse. Since I last posted, a few big things have happened in my life, not least of which is that I'm now married. But as much as I'd love to write all about my lovely wife in this overdue post, I'd like to write about something that's even more overdue.

For 11 days now, this country has been rocked from coast to coast, on account of the latest wrongful death of a Black American, George Floyd. I hesitate to use "death" in the singular, because there is some regular cadence to news like this in America. In fact, this country had not even finished processing the deaths of Amaud Arbery and Breonna Taylor before the profoundly disturbing video footage of George Floyd's arrest, choking, and death flooded the airwaves. What a horrific scene.

While my wife and I are both immigrants in America, we differ in that she didn't grow up in this country, while I (largely) did. Even before the latest news, I've frequently found myself talking to her and frankly struggling to gather some semblance of an answer to questions like:

• Why are so many encounters with law enforcement in America lethal?
• Why is there such a quick escalation to the use of (lethal) force?
• Why are Black Americans disproportionately affected?

Throughout all these questions, a terrifying thought emerged. As the more recent immigrant, my wife was viewing the issues of racial injustice taken to the extreme through a "fresher" lens, but what about me? In my adult life in this country, I witness racial tension in one form or another every day. But did I see injustice? Or did I just assume that it's a part of life, and carry on about my business? Had I become numb? Did I turn a blind eye? Am I a part of the problem?