Lee Ang's Pushing Hands not only evoked a strange sense of warmth and familiarity, it also left me deeply touched, with the memory of the film still vivid and fresh in my head even after many days of watching it. It probably has something to do with the third-generation child who's born to Chinese and American parents, which resonates with me naturally because of my daughter. An innocent scene of the child-actor refusing to use chopsticks and requesting for his usual American food instead of eating his Chinese meal touches a raw nerve with me.
Sometimes a tinge of sadness wells up inside me at the thought that my little girl will probably not get to know the culture which her mother grew up in. Ancient Chinese tales and folklores such as 花木兰 (Hua Mulan), 屈原 (Qu Yuan), 后羿射日 (Hou Yi She Ri), 司马光 (Si Ma Guang) would seem as alien to her, as would stories of Roman gods and goddesses to me. While she speaks and understands the Chinese language, it does not necessarily lead to culture identification on her part. Her increasing pondering lately on why she has to speak a different language with me is a sign that she is beginning to question her identity, at the tender age of 3 years old. Her refusal to speak the language at times and her insistence that she is German when told she is also half Singaporean both alarmed and worried me.
Efforts can be made to keep her in touch with her other heritage through traditional stories, poems, songs and food. But without the additional influence of school, television, cinema and radio, I fear it's going to be an uphill battle.
With her recent keen interest in the English language, I can only hope that she would eventually adopt an open mind towards mommy's culture and the Chinese language and could flick the linguistic switch wherever she is and whenever she wants.
"If you’re an immigrant family and your kids aren’t as interested in their roots as you’d hoped, don’t despair till they’re at least thirty." - Vampire Weekend mom
There is hope.
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