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The Legend of the Perpetual Foreigner

Picture from “The Vide Times” review of the movie Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

Well Shang-Chi came out two weeks ago to boffo box office. It appears from the headlines that it is the best-reviewed, most money-making movie of the summer. Kudos to Marvel for finally giving us a modern-day superhero-wuxia movie.
I follow a YouTube channel called “Accented Cinema”. The YouTuber had a few other comments about Shang-Chi here.
What he said really resonated with me. First, I think he liked the film, but articulated some concerns he had with the narrative (please note: I have not seen the film yet. I will see it when it comes to streaming and may have more to say then. Blame the pandemic).
The author said that Shang-Chi did not look at the Asian-American experience of being “perpetual foreigners” but instead looked at how a Chinese man, who immigrated to the US 10 years ago and has now spent half his life here, returns home and finds himself…home. The Asian-American (and if we’re being fair, Asian-Canadian) experience is that of never feeling at home anywhere. We’re exoticized at home as being “Oriental” and “mysterious” and when we travel to Asia, we don’t feel at home either because of language barriers or actual physical differences that make us stand out.
These experiences are not unique. I can definitely relate. To all of it. As a half-Japanese-Canadian (the other half being Chinese), I have always been taught to fit in. It’s hard to fit in when you’re one of only two kids in your class of 30 students, who isn’t White. And sometimes, as the Japanese saying goes, ‘the nail that sticks out, gets hammered.’ And I got hammered enough, thank you. And I’ve had my fair share of being asked “where are you really from?” even as an adult. What I was not aware was that reconnecting with your culture was also a part of the same experience (which, as you can see, is also what I am trying to do through my writing).
So what the author of Accented Cinema wants is a story that represents the Asian-American experience now, not to take stories from an exotic fantasy past. I am not sure how that would have translated into a Marvel movie, but perhaps they can touch upon these ideas in the next movie – allow Shang-Chi to feel like an outsider in America. Given Marvel’s track record, that might be a great movie.
For representation of the Asian-American experience, I point you to another film that Awkwafina was also in (no, not Crazy Rich Asians): The Farewell. I have gone back to Japan and although have very few close relatives there, was still welcomed with open arms for a few days in Kyoto. But the language barrier still made things a bit awkward at times, much like in The Farewell. And whenever I visit my partner’s extended family, I am reminded repeatedly (but not verbally) about how much of a Canadian born and raised, I really am.
I would also point you to a graphic novel: American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang. Not a movie, but such a great graphic novel about identity issues and what it is like being Chinese when all you have ever known is in North America.

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Wuhan Add Fuel!

(Photo by Kevin Frayer/Getty Images)

Hello World! I’m back after a long hiatus. Things on this site are about to change radically. More soon.

As the novel coronavirus spreads across the world, I was reminded about the city at the centre of this pandemic crisis: Wuhan, Hubei Province, China.

I saw a video on YouTube of people all across Wuhan shouting out their windows “Wuhan Jiayou!”. Literally translated, it meant “Wuhan, add fuel.” When I saw that, I didn’t know what it meant to “add fuel?” So I looked it up.

According to Wikipedia (I know, I know. I take this with a grain of salt), the term “add fuel” originated during the Macau Grand Prix in the 1960’s. Spectators would shout “Ga Yau” (Cantonese for “add fuel”) at their favourite car. The phrase implied that the driver should step harder on the gas pedal and accelerate. It was also a metaphor for injecting fuel into a tank. Over time, the phrase morphed in meaning to “don’t give up!”, “do your best!”, or “persist!”. It is now meant as a form of encouragement and often heard at sporting events.

So Wuhan Jiayou! roughly means “Stay strong, Wuhan.” Don’t give up. Without being able to leave their homes and gather, the people of Wuhan have found a way to support each other despite adversity and to show the world the true spirit of their city.

What does this have to do with writing, you ask? The literal translation of Wuhan Jiayou is a colourful metaphor only those who know the culture and language would immediately understand. Plus, it gives me a perspective on the culture I would not get from the rough translation which, although uplifting and heartwarming, does not give me an intimate understanding that the former does.

And although my Chinese and Japanese ancestry gives me some perspective on the culture seen from afar, the lack of language means I miss out on these colourful nuances to the point that when it is pointed out to me, I feel sheepish, as if I should have known better.

And when I am writing stories with characters from those cultures, their voice will get lost within my own, very western voice. The colourful phrases and idioms that are so common to that language would become non-existent. It means I have to be careful.

As Lian Hearn says in her excellent essay Writing About Other Cultures, “all languages construct and describe the world in a slightly different way: you need to know the idioms and every day speech of your characters, what common symbols mean to them, what their belief system is, and use words that are appropriate.” And when you do write in their voice, “better to try to give the flavour of (the language) through the subtle use of sentence construction and idioms.

My own experience is so different from those who live and breathe in Asia. My cultural understanding is filtered through a Canadian lens and what I understand as Asian custom and culture, is in fact, just family quirks passed down as such. “You should never have an empty rice bowl when eating.” Said one aunt. I can’t find anyone who says this is a Chinese custom. “Spring roll parties are a thing,” said no one outside of my wife’s family. Where do they get these ideas? Is that real Asian culture or just something passed down the family tree? I don’t know and any research I do I come up blank.

So for those in Wuhan, I say “Jiayou.” Stay strong. The world is with you and watching as the novel coronavirus wends its way around the globe. In the meantime, I’ll continue to write my stories and continue to watch and learn the idioms of languages of a people who may look like me, but speak very differently.

And I find that fascinating.