Oh man, this is the one rant that I've meaning to pen. Thanks to Heather, y'all gotta read this:

The consequences of bad English

Before I go on and on about MY angst with the English language, let's start with my history:

Linda's mommy and daddy decided to move to Chinatown when she was about 3-4 years old. Linda's family speaks a minority dialect in Chinese (Fukienese) while everyone else in Chinatown speaks Cantonese. Hmmm...

So, the madness begins. Linda goes to kindergarten on a half day basis, learning only to socialize with other kids. Unfortunately, Linda was never properly taught how to read, write or do math. So, Linda goes to the first grade at another public school was utterly lost. Couldn't follow directions and didn't have any grasp of the English language because only her Chinese dialect is spoken at home. Only exposure to the English language comes mostly from watching Flintstones, Bugs Bunny and Woody Woodpecker cartoons.

Technically, that makes Linda a prime candidate for ESL. However, because Linda's 1st grade teacher is Cantonese, she tries to mitigate the situation by speaking to her in Chinese. BUT Linda remains befuddled because Linda doesn't know any Cantonese.

Well, somehow Linda miraculously did well in 1st grade and moved on to the 2nd grade.

Elementary school was great because all of my teachers really cared about their kids. However, by the time I made it to junior high school, all shit broke loose. Here, you'll find tenured 'professionals' and who were primarily interested with getting their paycheck and catching up on their Soaps with their handy dandy handheld Watchman TVs. It mattered not if the kids they taught moved on to the next grade, but those lunch breaks and paid holidays.

One of the problems growing up in a Chinese community is the god-awful-fricking-bwoken English. For myself and many of my friends, we grew up assuming dual roles in life. At school/work, we would behave and act 'American' (or 'white' as some would describe it); and at at home, we had to be completely Chinese. No if's, but's or why's. This is how we all lived. Our parents either spoke little or no English and we were forced at a very young age to become their responsible translators/facilitators/guardians for our younger siblings. My mom would drag me halfway across town to file a passport application when I was probably about 8-9 years old. Having to step up to a role that most kids usually don't have to assume becomes a norm; therefore, most of us had to grow up rather quickly.

There are moments where alternating between these roles would cause us much despair and anguish. We HATED being Chinese 'cuz it wasn't very cool or hip, and having parents who didn't act 'American' was humiliating. Our parents abhorred our anti-Chinese behavior and would disciplined us to the fullest extent (Yeowch!!! C'mon dad, what side of the planet are we on now?).

EDIT: Just so you know...NYC Chinatown is the only place where you'll see signs that says, "NO SPITTING".

Oftentimes, we rebelled at home to rightfully claim our identities, but in reality, we fit neither of the two profiles. Hence, Asian-American identity crisis - to abandon culture or not? To incorporate, how much or how little?

The worst part is that my friends and I spoke simple English. Why? We couldn't help but to switch back and forth between English and Chinese during our conversations. With our minds constantly flipping, we are also translating a lot of the content at the most basic level. Although our conversational Chinese is considered better than Asian-American standards, but our English? Um, uh, not too cool. Sadly, our poor grammar was never corrected nor were we taught how to speak English properly. Heck, we don't even read or write Chinese.

Meanwhile, we had to take Spanish and French as a foreign language. If you can't get your own native tongue right, how on earth can you do well in other branches of the Romance languages? So, we'll just get on by...


By the time I reached high school, mayhem multiplied exponentially. Not only did I have pervert for an English teacher (I had buttface Weiner for 3 semesters), he only cared about the C/D cups in the classroom. It was just my luck that I sat in the front row, dead center where Weiner had a penchant to scratch his balls right in front of me. Gotta love that. My girlfriend, Liza, (who sat on the right side of the classroom) would double over in laughter each time I made my scrunchy face. So with yahoos like that, you can bet on your pretty head that education didn't take me far from this point.

I graduated in HS and somehow ranked top 8%. I probably would've moved up higher up if I could do math. Hah! I can't do math and I'm Chinese!!!!!

Finally made it to college where evolved forms of fecal matter hit the fan. The fan spun around and I was right in the middle of it.

College of New Rochelle placed me in Honors and gave me a partial scholarship. I attended the retarded all-women's college because they made me feel warm and fuzzy, unlike the usual dismissive behavior oozed by the teachers in high school. This is what happens when you're simply an average kid and not very popular...then again, I really didn't care 'cuz I only wanted to be acknowledged academically. It was hard for me, especially because my bro made it to Harvard without a blink of an eye.

Well lo and behold, I went to CNR for a rude awakening...

On my entrace exams, I scored high enough to opt-out of the mandatory freshman writing class. According to my professors and advisors, my essay about linguistics was ingenious and well written, but needed a bit of organization. The only way to get out of the writing class was to deliver them a term paper.

A paper?? WTF was that? OMG - In all of my years of education, I NEVER wrote a term paper. What the heck was a Works Cited page? Footnotes?

So...I opted to take the class since I didn't believe in taking shortcuts. When I finally took Writing Honors, the course took off on the wrong foot. Because I did not add fluff and preferred the bland, nondescript, and drab style of writing shouldn't discredit my ability at all. The professor thought I was hopeless case and wanted me OUT of the class and take, get this - ESL writing.

I was VERYoffended and angry. It was as though I had been slapped right in the face - and then some. The Honors Chairperson didn't want to take such drastic measures (to save my face and possibly meeting some minority quota) recommended tutoring by an ESL specialist and have me continue with the class. I met my tutor, Ellen, with an icy stare. I finally warmed up realizing that she was only there to do her job and had nothing to do my prof's discrimination of my abilities. Ellen gave me a bunch of exercises to be more consistent and learn to organize my thoughts properly. By the end of semester, I kicked ass.

So much so, I was later accused of plagiarism. Aiyah. For my final paper, I had sought guidance with one of my mentors on the unknown issues related to Chinese American identity crisis. The schmuck firmly believed that I copied the material because my draft form and my final paper were two entirely different documents. What an ass. Ellen had to go up to the review committee to defend my position 'cuz she saw my work from beginning to end. I was devastated upon hearing the news, but Ellen had a deft way of cheering me up: "Call it a compliment," she said. "It was so good that they had to question it."

I left CNR because of my father's terminal condition and attended Baruch College during my sophomore year. What a horrid waste of my time. When I took their writing exam, I scored a 10 which was the 2nd highest score you could achieve (12 being the highest). In actuality, my essay was rated 11 and the review board probably played heads and tails and gave me the lower grade. All totals must be divisible by 2 and the paper should be graded identically.

In order for me to take Microeconomics 101, it was a mandate to pass the writing exam. Thanks to the bureaucratic system overrun by oxymorons, I still hadn't received my results yet. So I rang up the department to unearth what the final outcome was -

Me: "Yes, I'd like to know what my writing test results are. Registar will not allow me to register without them."

Girl: "Oh yes, ok. Your name?"

Me: "Linda Mah. Last name spelled M-A-H. "

Girl: "Ok. Wait a minute, please."

Me: "Great, thanks."

Girl: "You got a 10. Wow! THAT'S GREAT! And YOU'RE Chinese?"

Me: "Uh, why yes. I am. Why?"

Girl: "Most of 'em fail the exam. None of 'em ever score this high."

Now what does that say about the NYC education system? Keep in mind the majority of ABC's are also in the mix, not necessarily the folks who came to the States recently or during their pre-teens. My friend Billy, who arrived to the States when he was 3, can't write if his life depended upon it. Furthermore, he's been here so long that he can't even get away with saying that he wasn't born here. Unfortunately, he has taken remedial writing courses at least 6 times, consecutively. Don't ask me how he managed to obtain his Associate's degree.

But the education system isn't completely at fault, the mere fact that we're always being reeled back and reminded of our so-called roots on the other side of the hemisphere. Then we go off and hang out with folks who speak grammatically incorrect English or who condemn the mainstream culture we currently live in. Plus, most of them don't even care to improve themselves and choose to live this way.

Because of the semi-traumatic events that took place during my academic career, I've developed an unnecessary anxiety over writing. Either it's too much or not enough, too direct or too fluffy, too blunt or too choppy, etc. I would struggle for HOURS trying to write a simple email, in fact, I've even cried and suffered from convulsions at my desk for not being able to come up with a response.

Lisa helps me by correcting my composition for political correctedness, clarity, and GRAMMAR. This is one of the reasons why I LOVE HER SO!

After years of not having to write substantial compositions, I get my head slammed at work. Why? I never had to explain to anyone what my job was about, why I processed my loans or how I negotiated my bank rates. My new role (shit happens when you go on leave for too long) forced me to explain the in's and out's of the processes in a concise and SIMPLE fashion for dummies. No one outside of brokerage operations held this knowledge and putting it to laymen's terms is like to talking to classroom filled with 4 year olds with ADD. Some people can write and convey these functions with ease, while for me, it was not.

My problem was further exacerbated because I took an extended maternity leave and was stuck in Chinatown for NINE unholy months (bedrest is NOT fun). Both my Cantonese and Fukienese dialects had improved while, my English seriously went to the pits. I returned to work sputtering and spewing retarded verbal whatnots. I couldn't speak properly and my thoughts were completely scattered about (post-partum attribute, yuck). My brain would speed off at 399mph, but my fingers and lips couldn't even catch up. Most people would complete my thoughts or help me put them together. Thankfully people liked me enough not to conclude that it was some kind of verbal disability or that I was a complete idiot (which I can be, most times!).

Indeed, I always spoke in a very choppy manner AND with a thick NY accent. Not exactly eloquent. This was in part due to my Chinese upbringing - the language is very concise, and get this: NO VERB CONJUGATION. Yep, that's why my grammar stinks, as there's no such thing as grammar in Chinese! If you wanted to described something in the past, present, or future, then there would details that followed the verb describing the actual timing of the events. The written form in Chinese is iconic, so there is no room for conjugation.

Over the last 4 years, I did away with the chunka munka dialogue and added a more 'mature' vernacular to my everyday vocabulary. Now how did I get up to this point? I guess it was an innate ability but never quite utilized it for its worth. But the folks I've hung out with over the last 4 years made quite an impact. Being with Type A personality folks who are extremely intelligent, highly eloquent and most of all, inspirational, has changed my life completely. It allowed me to reach those rungs on the writing/speaking ladder with newfound confidence.

I have a tendency to lean against the American culture 'cuz it's befitting of me and I've learned to let go many traditions, one by one. That's because they don't apply in this country. On the other hand, I've tightened my grip on certain customs, like Chinese New Year & Ching Ming, because kids need to learn respect and responsibility of the culture. A few generations from now, it'll probably be all gone. I certainly hope that the model minority puts a spin on things a few decades from now.