“No man can know where he is going unless he knows exactly where he has been and exactly how he arrived at his present place.” —Maya Angelou
I closed the thick photo album gently, afraid any sudden movements would jar the poses of the frozen images within. My fingers traced the plain, checkered pattern on the cover while I mused over the nebulous memories that my virtual visit to the past had evoked. On days of emotional height, I can always seek solace from these pictures; the candidly jovial faces and the immutable optimism of their owners encourage me to remember hope and faith; the droll images of my younger self never fail to stir my humor. However, time and distance have constructed in my mind a barrier of emotional-amnesia, for though these patches of reminiscences form my past, they seem more to be from a forgotten dream.
I am ashamed to have let an emotional abyss form between my mother country and me; it is inconsiderate of me to know only of my present governess, and not of the one that had once weaned me. The truth is, though, no matter how much more attached I feel to the United States now, deep down, I remain the Chinese girl.
Nine years ago, my family and I left China for Sweden with the intention of returning home shortly. Under this impression, I refused to abdicate the Chinese customs, which I knew so well and were all I knew of. For instance, whether it was because of my puerile ignorance of other cultures or my unconscious will to remain outright Chinese, I insisted others to call me by my last name first, first name last – the Chinese way. Rather than putting up with the knife and fork during lunchtime, I would bring chopsticks to school. After all, why occupy two hands when one is needed; besides, I was very proud of my ability to use them, especially when the other kids did not – symptoms of Chinese pride? I attended the international classes of a Swedish elementary school where I learned English; I first mastered the essential “My name is”, then it was “I come from China.” And as I continued to be introduced to the Swedish culture, though it was all wondrously novel to me, I became more entrenched in my own.
However, my will to remain Chinese was undermined by my simultaneous adaptation to the English language and loss of the written Chinese one. My parents, fearing that their daughter would struggle in academics if they returned to China, selflessly decided to ‘remain abroad’ for the sake of her future.
From that point on, we would travel many times; the latest stop is Rochester, New York. It seems that my Chinese identity resigned its pertinacious will to stay intact, and every time I moved, it would diffuse to accommodate for another more diverse one. Though I still speak Chinese and eat Chinese food at home, I have been ‘Americanized’ in many aspects. I have accustomed to the American customs, understood the norms, and respect attitudes such as tolerance. A teenage life in China would have had much differ from the one I have now.
For countless times, I have meditated on the life I might have now if I had returned to China right after Sweden, or if I had not left her at all. It seems such a farfetched notion that it tempts the psyche only during times of fervent anger, guilt, or nostalgia. When under extreme pressure from school, life, or myself, the frustration vents the way of “if only” scenarios. When witnessing ones parents endure through avoidable hardships, where else can one tack the blame but on the cause? When relatives back home speak of innovations or grievances of the dear old country, one cannot help but feel the rousing of dormant homesickness.
Nevertheless, it is merely a wistful idea – me, living in China; for the past is indelibly etched in stone. If I were to go back now, I would stick out under every circumstance like a miserably sore thumb! Not only am I basically illiterate, it would seem like I am permeated in an aura of foreignness, which supercedes my superficial appearance of olive hair and Asian features. I have also become a stranger to many of the same Chinese customs that I once had tenaciously attempted to clutch.
Am I truly a renegade of my past, my heritage? I admit to trying to extricate myself from long-distance calls to China, fearing my inarticulate use of the mother tongue would dub me a failure of her upbringing. My feeble attempt to retain the remnants of my written Chinese failed in resignation. At Chinese gatherings, even those filled with strangers, I feel like a disguised intruder in a happy family. Yet clues from my subliminal such as unconscious actions defend my case. Most of my more intimate friends are Chinese; a part of me clings earnestly to the strip of the spoken language that I still possess; most of all, the filial obligations, many moral standards, and other metaphysical values that have been instilled in me, I shall always hark to. One does not have to receive a gold medal to feel like a winner, and I do not have to be purely Chinese to feel like I am one.
It would be such a shame to lose a characteristic that would add to one’s uniqueness in a world of deindividualization. The United States has made pivotal contributions to help my transition from childhood to teenagedom be a smooth one; I am eternally grateful to her for teaching me compassion, honor, and pride. I also owe China for her having nurtured the rudimentary core of my person.
When perusing the pictures of the past with my little sister, who has no natal connection with China, a strange urge would induce me to explain to her that although she is Swedish on paper and American in personality, she is truly Chinese at heart. There is no question then, on the design of my future: a photo album of an American life infused with the prologue of images from a Chinese heritage.
Rebuttal
“You can never plan the future by the past” —Edmund Burke
- If we live the present as we would the past, then it is highly improbable that civilization would advance. Technological, medical, and social progress would be stunted and we would be living in a suspended time.
- While it is wise to learn from the past's failures and triumphs, constructing the future and basing it solely on the past would be imprudent. For the future is an idea, something that has not yet happened, which makes it impossible to be analyzed like the past.
- Because there are so many variables that can alter the ultimate future, planning for it would be futile. After all, unless there is truly such a thing as fate (which is uncontrollable anyway), the future, as volatile as it is, would be out of the bonds of human management.
- If one becomes consumed in achieving a premeditated future, not only would one miss out on the spontaneity of the present one might also be frustrated if the future unfolds unlike its intended blueprint.
- To focus too avidly on the past would narrow ones vision for the future, which can prevent salutary innovations from rising. Hyperopia is beneficial, in this case, whereas myopia can be detrimental.