Reflective Essay

My formal Chinese studies began in college, but my Asian studies informally began when I first realized differences in appearance and treatment between myself and my peers. I grew up with my adoptive Chinese sister and my two caucasian parents in Minnesota. When my parents adopted me at the age of two, they believed that I had struggles with English and other adaptations. It also was no surprise that I struggled to bond with people after living in an orphanage. For two years, I frequently coddled myself to sleep. Once in the states, I had to learn to make adjustments such as trusting my family. I used to scream at the sight of them. Not to worry, we all now joke about my long-term abandonment issues. Dark humor bonds us all, not blood. Seeing that my parents were far from being well-versed in Chinese culture, they had unwavering beliefs that I held onto my culture, so I took Chinese lessons and attended culture camps when I was young. I learned a generous 15 words in Chinese and received a lucky red envelope every Chinese New Year. I did not find it pleasurable to say the very least. The red envelopes I received, red hair accessories, and the qipaos I wore for culture camp were the extent of my Chinese culture exposure. I suppose I could include my orientalist-inspired childhood home as another instance of my mother’s attempt to culture keep, but none of this inspired me to hold onto my Chineseness. The childhood materialistic glimpses of Chinese culture, in addition to world history courses, were the bulk of my Chinese exposure until my first self-motivated effort to study Mandarin.

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My K-12 schooling taught me French, Latin, and Spanish, all of which I lacked a personal motivation for. Language learning requires a lot of discipline that I did not have at the time. I could pass weekly quizzes, but I lost the knowledge after the fact. It was not until the most recent time that I took up Chinese did any of it stick. I realized that I wanted to learn for myself, not because it was what I had to do for school, but because I was ready to engage in personal growth. During my senior year of high school, I began my Chinese language studies through the post-secondary education option (PSEO) at Normandale Community College. Chinese motivated me and I caught on to it faster than I did to any other language. It was a milestone of self-motivation. The few previous attempts to study Chinese came to a halt quickly, but the last attempt brought me to this day. For the first time, I chose this study for myself; It was not my parents’ or anyone else’s effort to keep me Chinese. Eventually, this discipline taught me that I did not need to study Chinese to validate my heritage. However, whenever asked, I always said my motivation for majoring in Chinese is because of my lack of Chineseness. World history was too generic for me to feel personal benefit or growth. So, further study in college is exactly what I needed.

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St. Olaf immediately drew me in because Chinese studies were essential to my higher education plan. It was a fitting academic path that has and will continue to help me grow. By no means was it a smooth transition though. The first Chinese class was a jump and an intimidating challenge for me. Part of it was likely the freshman's nerves and not knowing anyone. I vividly remember the anxiety I felt coming in and feeling less capable than my level two peers. I struggled to reiterate, speak, and comprehend most Chinese on the first day. Despite those feelings, the Asian Studies class environment quickly helped me get over those nerves. I learned to easily partake and devote my time to my Asian Studies and Chinese courses. The areas of Chinese studies I could dedicate myself to was more than I ever had the opportunity to in K-12. Knowing and acknowledging how little I knew truly was the first step of progress in my Chinese and Asian Studies journey.

Repeatedly, I learned about Asia throughout my schooling, but how did years of studies teach me less than two semesters and an interim in college? It was the most intensive study of Asia I had ever gone through. In my first year, I took a couple of level two Chinese language courses, Asian Calligraphy, and Modern Chinese and Literature and Society. Who knew I could get so much enrichment? Certainly not baby freshman me. Great peers and classroom engagement exponentially improved my language skills if you compare my level one skills to my level two skills at St. Olaf. Not only that, I was lifting myself out of oblivion by reading Taiwanese literature, as opposed to a world history textbook. Shih Laoshi’s Modern Chinese and Literature and Society course challenged me on multiple levels. From reading novellas, creating multifaceted timelines, and studying Taiwanese history, everything was fresh to me. My history courses often left out Taiwan or they gave only a brief overview. Shih Laoshi taught Taiwan’s history through non-textbook literature which was not my traditional experience. When they challenged me to connect characters’ life timelines from a novella to the historical timeline, I got creative with my analytical skills. This required readjustment of my perspective as a learner because I have never focused so exclusively on a group of people. It was my first notable experience shifting away from an American-centric perspective when learning about Asia. I got a taste of the significance of cultural lenses and my limits as an American learner.

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Come my sophomore year, I felt more adjusted and ready to take on the world (more like China and Japan) with a flexible perspective. I enrolled in the year-long Asian Conversations program that allowed me to spend two weeks in China, then two in Japan. To prepare for the trip, the fall course covered topics of language, translation, culture, nationalism, and comparison. We visited MIA and wrote a photo essay to reflect on and critique the representation and presentation of Asia in a museum setting. When it comes to representation, I learned how crucial a layout or presentation can be. A museum is capable of forming an illusionary connection or barriers, but more often than not, I found myself feeling distant from the pieces on display. This is because of our habit to look at Asia as the “other” or exotic and different from ourselves. I hope my acknowledgment of this habit continues to help me realize my own tendency to evaluate with a western standard or closed perspective. It is a lesson that has become useful many times in my personal life this past year.

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I expanded on this lesson of representation during my experiences in Asia. Before arriving, I had my preconceived notions just like anyone else. This was key in understanding our formulation of stereotypes and narrow narratives. What I see in books and the media is all that I know about Asia. Neither are full representations or understandings, but that means I will always have opportunities to discover the numerous narratives and cultural dialogues apart from my own. In China, my outward appearance did not scream foreigner to everyone, but my personal life and experiences are what separated me from locals. Even if it were possible to sightsee all of China or speak fluently, I still do not have the experience of a local; My roots and experiences are American. It is a meaningful realization I accept knowing that I lost a whole cultural experience as an adoptee. I will never fully grasp what it feels like to be a local or native. It is a common consciousness some American-Chinese adoptees come to terms with.

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The people I have connected with and the education I acquired through Asian Studies challenged me academically and revealed dramatic, personal, and a slight cliche identity crises. I have gained practice in discussing the perceptions and misconceptions of China and Asia as a country, culture, and identity. As a result, I think it forced me to face my anxieties about how strangers and the people closest to me perceived me. I have been insecure about not being “Asian enough” because I am not a second-generation immigrant or lower class. Previously, I did not feel qualified to discuss and validate my anxieties, but my college studies helped me overcome that; I learned that it is not my education that should permit me to speak. I am grateful to the Asian Studies department for teaching me how to discuss the nuances of identity preservation and formulation. Recently, it is the most applicable and rewarding learning experience. While I am not immediately going into a Chinese Studies field post-college, every day, I am utilizing the lessons I obtained for major personal growth.