文化

I’ve been reading this book on the Mi’kmaw people from Nova Scotia (“First Nations, Identity, and Reserve Life” by Simone Poliandri, for those curious). As I read this work, which focused on aspects of identity and culture, I found myself questioning of where I stood when it came to matters of what I see as my own identity and culture. This has certainly been a growing topic of interest for me for a while (and quite likely one of the reasons I was drawn to this book in the first place).

Quite obviously I’m ethnically Chinese. But, in terms of culture, that’s much more questionable. What is it of my day-to-day that is an expression of “Chinese”. Truth be told, the only overt examples I can think of include my ability (though perhaps “inability” would be a more realistic description) to speak Cantonese as well as my daily consumption of Chinese food. Well, I guess also how pretty much all my friends are Chinese (and pretty much only naturalized, English-speaking ones).

But, truth be told, I don’t know much about “Chinese” culture, and I refer specifically to HK culture since I see myself relating to that more than I ever would with that of mainland China. And so, from the get-go, it’s not even that I can say definitely that such and such aspect is or is not “Chinese”. Nevertheless, the more I reflect on my life, the more I realize the nature of my own cultural ambiguity. And it’s not so much something that I want to be “Chinese” as much as it is just the realization that there can be real and tangible discontinuities between myself and others of my ethnicity.

So, back to the book, language was something that occasionally came up as a measure of cultural identity. Some of those interviewed by the author had outrightly said that to be Mi’kmaq means to speak the language. Furthermore, the unfortunate population that had been subjected to residential schooling would often refer to their loss of lingual fluency as a primary indicator of cultural loss.

And, on that note, I can relate to that line of thinking, in that I do view my inability to speak fluent Cantonese somewhat ruefully. Certainly not because it prevents me from watching TVB shows or listening to Cantonese pop (the latter, in fact, might be for the better). The primary source is probably my inability to communicate meaningfully with my grandparents. I am, and most probably will be, their only grandchild. And whenever I do think on this topic, I can’t help but feel a little remorse that I am willingly letting all that wisdom and cultural wealth acquired over the span of their lives simply end with them, all because I couldn’t be bothered to learn a few extra words and grammatical rules.

And I think it goes further than that. Language also influences the way one thinks. I’m not sure of the specifics but surely words can serve as a constraint upon our understanding of certain ideas. As I reflect on some poorer examples of communication with my mom, I can’t help but begin to wonder how much of it was due to a concept simply lost in translation or due to a perceived implication that was there only because of a literal translation between languages. Although, I guess this is more about language itself, rather than anything to do with culture.

Anyway, those are just a few musings on what is certainly a far-reaching topic. The rabbit hole of cultural limbo surely goes far deeper.