What I learned growing up Taiwanese in America

I dug into my foxhole, shielding myself from the imminent artillery barrage. The wrath I had to weather was going to be destructive. But instead of artillery shells and bullets as ammunition, it was anger and disappointment. My seventh grade report card just came in the mail.

The absence of the first two letters of the alphabet on that damned sheet of paper was the catalyst to my doom. As my mom unloaded her frustrations in my general direction, I went from fearful to resentful.

“What’s wrong with Cs?” I exclaimed. “I’m still passing my classes!” My puberty-stricken whine was uncontainable. “All the white kids get Cs, so why can’t I?”

My mom’s fiery glare is forever burned into my memory. “Because,” she declared, “you’re not like them.”

Sacrifice

My story begins with sacrifice. Not from me though – I’ve had a pretty cushy life since my conception (shout out to mom and dad for the hookup). No matter how great living in America is, it would be blasphemous to disregard how much my parents had to give up culturally, socially, and financially to make the move.

It was never within my family’s plans to make the US our permanent home. We had a comfortable life in Taiwan. My parents both had great, but strenuous jobs in the tech industry. My sister and I attended bilingual schools behind large gates and security guards. Our family cycled through luxury sedans and modest sports cars. One of my favorite childhood memories is the feeling of wind rushing through my hair as my dad sped through mountain roads on the weekends. Sitting in shotgun, my gaze alternated between the blurred trees along the road and the steering wheel, manipulated effortlessly by my dad.

Mom was accepted into USC’s MBA program just before I hit second grade. We lived modestly in the suburbs of Arcadia, California for a year while my mom went back to school. However, a job opportunity in the Silicon Valley after her graduation was too hard to pass up. The United States was to be our home.

During this transition, my dad made the decision to fully support our family. Coming from a culture where the male adult’s expected contribution is cash flow, my dad contributed something more important: attention. He sold his company to provide us company. Three meals a day were prepared unconditionally. Transportation to piano lessons were given. To baba: no combination of words can adequately describe my appreciation for you.

Also, without your support, I probably would have ended up as some fucked up person, with copious amounts of drugs and immoral values in my system. Thank you.

Values

My first few years were marked by stereotypical immigrant struggles. My accent was unforgiving, my cultural literacy was lacking, and my traditional Taiwanese lunches were stank. Fortunately, with the help of a Bon Jovi-loving mom and a supportive dad, my transition from little, awkward Asian kid to large, still awkward Asian college student was relatively free of drama.

However, a disagreement slowly arose within myself. The battle is between Jack, the American, and Eugene, the Taiwanese.

Jack loves being American. He gave himself that name back when his accent prohibited him from uttering “Eugene” correctly. He cherishes the freedom and individuality the American dream promises. His goal in life is to be happy. Jack would rather live in squalor with a career he’s passionate about than live with more wealth than he could ever desire and work as a cubicle drone for eternity.

Eugene, the other aspect of me, listens to his parents. He especially takes note of his dad’s unquestioned service to Eugene’s grandparents. Baba takes the time to talk with them over Skype every day. He flies back to Taiwan multiple times a year to visit.

Eugene also heeds the words of his extended family, who are all still living in Taiwan. There’s no question that he’s been afforded many more opportunities than his cousins, aunts, and uncles. While none of his relatives are situated in poverty, they definitely have harder lives than his. They constantly remind him of how lucky he is to be in America.

A few summers ago, Eugene’s family took a trip to see some relatives in a more rural part of Taiwan. Fending off mosquitoes, he was taken aback by their living conditions. One of the families resided in an ancient structure surrounded by rice paddies. When he asked for the restroom, they directed him towards an outhouse behind their home. Unkempt canines lunged in his direction, halted only by the rusty chain that bound them to their cage.

How many of his lineage would kill to have the chances he had, but are bound to the realities of their situations?

Responsibility

It wasn’t until the conclusion of high school when that realization dawned on me. There’s a lot more riding on my decisions than I originally thought. If I fail to achieve success, I’m not just letting myself down. I’m also letting down my parents and grandparents. I’m letting down all my relatives that have every right to be where I am.

When my mom told me that I’m not like other American kids, it was a reminder of what others had to do for me to even be here.

It’s not that I never contemplate truancy over responsibility on occasion. But Jack and Eugene are in agreement now. Sacrifice and hard work should hold the same weight as my need for freedom and individuality.

It would be convenient to say that it was a combination of Western and Eastern values that led me to my current state of mind. And that’s true, to an extent. I learned from American education and culture the importance of being an individual and focusing on myself. From Chinese education and culture I learned the importance of family relationships and sacrifice.

I would like to think that my story is the result of role models. Of emulating my parents. My relatives.

Sacrifice and responsibility. I learned those values from the best.