“When an Australian girl wants to come to Vancouver for Exchange, she’s assuming that she’ll get a Canadian experience. I’m not saying you’re not Canadian or anything, but how would you ensure that your Exchange receives a truly Canadian experience?” asked my interviewer, as I sat nervously in the chair preparing to kiss my high school wish—to go on Exchange—goodbye.
What does it mean to be truly Canadian? Does it mean eating Hickory Sticks and going to Timmies? Does it mean skiing and watching hockey games? Does it mean saying “sorry” to inanimate objects and adding “eh” to the end of sentences?
To me, being Canadian means savouring the squeaky cheese curds in poutine while sipping the piping hot soup in xiao long bao. It means dancing with rainbow beads at Pride Parades while wrapping dumplings for Chinese New Year. It means jamming out to Shawn Mendes while crying to everyone’s favourite Chinese ballad, Tonghua (童话).
Growing up in Richmond, the “Chinatown of North America,” I was fortunate to have been part of a community of immigrants. I wasn’t ashamed to eat chicken feet at school, nor did I feel like an outsider for speaking Chinese at home. But despite growing up pining for red pocket money, eating stir-fry tomato and egg, and practicing Chinese calligraphy, I have always thought of myself as Canadian before Chinese. My relatives in China have heard more than enough stories about everything I love about my country.
But when I was asked during my Exchange interview how I would provide a truly Canadian experience, it was a wake-up call from the illusion I had grown up living: a false sense of universal acceptance and inclusion. It made me wonder: Am I Canadian enough?
Yet despite the pressure to reject my cultural background, I’m not going to dismiss my Chinese heritage. It’s such a defining characteristic of my identity, and trying to erase it would not only be a betrayal of my values but also a betrayal to my family. My mom has always emphasized the importance of staying connected to my cultural heritage and roots, so whether it was going to Chinese school every Saturday or participating in a China Root-Seeking Summer Camp, I was always immersing myself in Chinese culture, traditions, and history.
I may not have realized it during the interview, but that moment served as an opportunity for me to reconcile my Chinese and Canadian identities. While I may look different, I am every ounce as Canadian as the next person, and through this experience I have learned to advocate for my right to be treated as a citizen of this country. Canada prides itself on being a “cultural mosaic,” so by embracing the duality of my cultural identities, I am in fact embodying the multiculturalist Canadian values. Thus when my grandpas are beaten up, my grandmas set on fire, my people called “bat-eaters,” and I’m called an “uncivilized chink” on the Skytrain (you’d think that amidst a pandemic people would be nicer, eh?), I will stand up and advocate for myself, my family, and my heritage. But I will not do so with blind devotion: I will also continue to educate my communities on our own issues—whether that be anti-blackness
sentiment in the Asian community or Canada’s oppressive policies towards Indigenous Peoples. I want to serve all communities, all races, and all people by elevating the voices of those who can’t stand up against bigotry and injustice. At the end of the day, that is the epitome of what it means to be Canadian: someone who wants more than just tolerance and acceptance, but actual understanding and diversity—the amalgamation of cultures, ideas, and people.
And clearly I conveyed my “Canadianness” well enough during the interview because Exchange was the highlight of my high school years; it not only inspired me to be a better global citizen, but the only thing I kissed goodbye to was my wonderful Exchange family.
Description
This piece grapples with what it means to be a Chinese-Canadian and how I reconcile the two identities in a time of global tension.
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