In-Between Speak

As an English major, I know that I have a tendency to put a disproportionate amount of importance on the role of words in our lives. However, I feel that very few people will dispute the fact that language plays a crucial part of how we learn, interact and form relationships with others. Whole communities are built based on the power of words.

But this only works if we all speak the same language. And even then, the way the language is presented is also a factor in assimilation.

America is unique in that we have no official national language; we are a country of immigrants, and the diverse number of languages spoken in America reflects that heritage. And yet, the language of the first Europeans to cross over is still the dominant form of communication. Non-native speakers of English face greater challenges than do English-speakers when it comes to assimilation into the American social network. As we gradually become a more global community, it has become increasingly important to be multi-lingual. Nowadays, multi-lingualism is admired and strived for. But for a while, it was the trend for immigrants to abandon their native tongue and to only teach their children the language of America: English. But because language is so tied to community, these second-generation children find themselves in-between communities: they do not look like mainstream Americans, but sound like Americans; they look like immigrants, but cannot speak the language of their parents.

For me, growing up Taiwanese-American definitely presented itself as a balancing act between speaking English at school and Mandarin at home. Like many other second generation kids, I can write tomes about my assimilation experience: trying to figure out the English language; being mistaken for exchange student; having people compliment me on how well I spoke English. No matter how fluent I am in English, there are people who will hear an accent because the language is being issued from a foreign face. Even though I sound American, I still feel like there is a sense of not belonging to American society because my parents are, as Takaki is fond of saying, "from a different shore."

Interestingly enough, when I go visit my relatives in Taiwan, they shoot deploring looks at my mother because I've become a "foreigner" to them--to them, I don't belong to the Taiwanese community because my Mandarin is probably around the same level of as a 5-year-old's. I cannot read or write Chinese characters. I look Taiwanese, but I don't sound like them. This augments the sense of being in-between, of not quite belonging to either community. Being a hyphenated American forces us to look closely at our identities on a daily basis because "community," for us, is a transient sense of belonging that we are still seeking to establish.