Don't Call Me Chinese American, Pt 1

I can't remember when exactly but it must be over 20 years ago, I was watching a news program on ABC (it would have been Diane Sawyer's Primetime or Barbara Walters' 20/20) whose topic of the week was ostensibly on race relations. An interviewee spoke about her decision not to use the term "African American" to refer to herself. It's been a long time (back when John Stossel was still a credible mainstream journalist) so I'll do my best to paraphrase, but it was to the extent of "I don't have any real connection to Africa. I've never been there. No one I know has ever been there. Just call me Black." It stuck with me in ways that have only multiplied since I first heard it. In the years since, I've decided to take a similar position with respect to the term Asian American, and by extension, Chinese American.

On the In-N-Out Heiress Being the Bigger Person

Knowing that I'm a sucker for any news about In-N-Out Burger, mostly coverage on when locations around Portland are finally going to open, Google News offered me an article that hit me from a different direction: [Fortune] Heiress Lynsi Snyder became President of In-N-Out aged 27. She’s been betrayed by colleagues but refuses to have ’emotional distance’ with her team

The clickbait portion of the article obviously emanates from the word betrayed. That's what caught my eye. After all, scandal remains the most effective dog whistle for readers of "journalism". And the why? Like many others, I've been betrayed at the workplace — it's still pretty fresh for me.

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):