My Siren Song

My mother is a native Mandarin speaker but is also fluent in English. She can read and understand English, but pronounces her words in a way that people like to refer to as “broken English.” From the moment she arrived in New York 30 years ago, people condescendingly spoke to her in a way that made her seem incapable, when that is probably the furthest you could get from the truth. When I was younger, I was one of those blind people. I began my life authentically Chinese, but growing up in the American education system instilled in me a different culture than what my mother was used to. For years I was under a misunderstanding that my mother couldn’t be there for me because she didn’t know what it was like. I unintentionally hurt her by making her feel like she wasn’t part of my American culture. Even now after I’ve realized my faults, I can see the damage it has done to her. After all the years of reprimanding, her own confidence has faltered. Now, whenever I go out with her, she is afraid to speak to other native English speakers in fear of them misunderstanding her. But I know her capability. I know that she understands every word, but she’s fearful of the judgement she’d receive if she were to mess up. Sometimes I believe she thinks it’s easier to play into the stereotype rather than face it. It breaks my heart. The moment I listened to the English alphabet and took on my American identity, I stopped hearing my Chinese roots. The abc’s were a siren song that pushed my Chinese culture into jagged rocks, and soon it’s untimely death. I dreaded being anything that wasn’t American, or participating in traditions that diverted me from my Caucasian, all-American friends in elementary school. At five years old, I could have never predicted the repercussions to come.