Tongue-Tied and Traumatized

by dana ta

Growing up with four different languages was a rollercoaster ride – slight chaos and fun jam-packed in one. I was surrounded by Vietnamese, Mandarin, Cantonese, and English ever since I was a kid. From hearing my parents speak to each other in Vietnamese to texting my mom in Mandarin but talking to them in Cantonese. It was an experience that allowed me to be immersed in the culture I always adored growing up with.

As I grew older from being the 妹妹 (mèi mei)¹ of the family to being the 姐姐 (jiĕ jie)², I noticed a common theme: my younger family members could not speak to my grandparents the same way the older family members could. I was stuck between these two generations, being the last one on my mom’s side that could still speak and understand Cantonese well enough to communicate with my aunts and uncles. Slowly, however, I found myself losing my ability to remember certain words in Cantonese I knew when I was younger, and before I realized it, my Cantonese fizzled into scattered bits and pieces within my brain.

The struggles of going through Chinese school for more years than needed just to come out with a bare-bones understanding of Mandarin got to my head. In a way, I believed that I needed to be “proficient” in order to truly feel connected to my culture. By not knowing my mother tongue, I didn’t feel “Asian enough" for my own standards.

The pressure to know how to speak your mother tongue is intense. It makes you feel like you aren't good enough if you can’t speak it well– as if you’ve disappointed your family more than you already have. You could be making improvements, yet you would still get remarks about how your American accent is so strong instead of the praise you might have been looking for. It doesn’t help that you’re cornered with the need to know English because of school and just everyday life. No matter where you go, there will always be judgment brought upon you because of the language you speak.

Seeing those who could speak fluently in their mother tongue created feelings of jealousy for me. I wish I wouldn’t have to throw in English words while I’m speaking. I wish tones would come to me more naturally. I wish I could tell my parents how I truly feel in their language so they could actually understand me.

The other day, a customer came in and spoke Viet to my coworker. He told her that his Vietnamese wasn’t the best, but the customer didn’t mind. She mentioned that because we are in America now, you don’t need to know much Vietnamese anymore. After hearing that, I could feel a pain hit my heart. It didn’t feel right, but I understood what she meant. How can you pass down the culture you grew up with when you aren’t even fully immersed in it yourself? Are you obligated to?

As time passes, hopefully, we can see a change in the next generation of Asian American kids. I hope that they can learn their mother tongue without the shame that comes with it like it’s a “buy one, get one free” deal. I hope that they won’t have to go through that suffocating feeling of inadequacy, of not feeling “Asian enough.” I hope that this pressure of proficiency will lessen without the need to dim the flames of our own culture.