Cloudy in Beijing Blogging about my time in China

China here I come

My name is Michael. And right now I'm at the airport, ready to start a new chapter in my life. This blog is intended to be a chronicle of it. Long story short, I'm heading off to China.

There's lots to say about why I'm going there. But I'm not entirely sure how this trip to China cemented itself as being a life-long goal of mine.

Some might say I'm just rediscovering my roots. Though I was born and raised in America, I'm Chinese by descent, my parents having come from Taiwan. Yet I don't really think of China as "the motherland." In fact, I don't really know how I feel about it. It seems like I should have some sort of connection or bond to it. Culturally, my life sort of does fit that typical Chinese-American archetype. During my youth, my parents would speak to me in Chinese, while I often replied back to them in my English (Speaking English is just so much easier). Also, for over a decade I would spend my Sunday afternoons learning Mandarin at the local Chinese school (God, I hated going to school on Sundays). And yes, I was a top student at my high school (I did get one B though. 'My life was over' as I recall).

I too have also had those moments, where I've felt confused about my so-called "Chinese-American identity." Not so much confused, but just burdened by it. In my youth I had this feeling that I had to learn the Chinese language or I wouldn't be Chinese. Mainlanders in China have a term for it. It's called "being a banana'-- Yellow on the outside but white on the inside. Makes it sound so disgraceful. But for me, the disgrace would have just come from not being able to communicate with my grandparents. None of them can hardly speak any English.

Those feelings, however, have pretty much passed. I feel free to do what I want despite what anyone should think. Yet still, I feel driven to master the Chinese language.

I remember maybe about four years ago I returned back to my Chinese Sunday school to give a little lecture about the importance of studying Chinese. I hesistated. My Chinese at the time was rusty. It seemed almost hypocritcal for me to do give such a speech. Yet the worst part was I could hardly could give a good reason at all. I was flustered, gropping around for reasons as I nervously spoke in front of the high school students. "It's good for your career," I said. "You can talk to your grandparents." My parents afterward mildly complained that I was playing with my hands too much as I talked.

Now that I think of it, really, there's no point in convincing someone why they should learn Chinese. If you don't want to learn it, then don't learn it, stop wasting your time. But as for me, I can now say why I want to learn Chinese, without the feeling of being burdened by it. I just really enjoy learning it. It's fun. (Though not fluent, I can read, write and speak, but I still have a ways to go.) Most of all, learning the language, opens doors to the Chinese culture, its people, and my own roots. As I write, nearby I have a bundle of papers written by my grandfather, his autobiography of his life, all written in Chinese.

And it can be good for my career too. Being a foreign correspondent would be a dream job. After college, for two years I worked at a newspaper as a journalist. Then in April I quit. Heading off to China was the next priority.

So by going to China I hope to achieve all of this, or at least attempt to. Plus I've always wanted an adventure. I'm 24, with nothing to lose. This is perfect timing.