Reversal of fortune
Grace C. Guiang associates Chinese New Year, observed on Feb. 7 this year, with a celebrated rejection.
In preschool, our teachers taught us the alphabet and numbers in English and Filipino.
However, in my case, when I recited a-b-c and counted 1-2-3, I also learned b, p, m, and f, as well as yi (one in Mandarin), er (two) and san (three).
As my teacher checked my spelling of man, my sian si (teacher) made sure I applied the correct manner of writing it as ren si lang (man). From this point, my love for Chinese developed.
As a five-year-old, I didn’t wonder why my parents sent me to a Chinese school, Timber City Academy (TCA) in Butuan City, where I eventually graduated salutatorian.
I had so much fun singing Chinese songs and reading their stories. Not until I almost graduated from grade school did I know that my stay in TCA was supposed to be only temporary. I was sent there after a school rejected me and prevented my six-year-old self from enrolling in grade one.
Instead of making me stop and wait for a year till I would be ready to re-enter that school as a seven-year-old first grader, Mama and Papa enrolled me in kindergarten classes at TCA. But after graduating from Kinder, I refused to transfer to the school that was my parents’ first choice.
By staying at TCA, I learned a new vocabulary, constructing basic sentences with strange characters and even orating during Chinese Speechfest.
I learned their songs and dances. I was taught to wield the mo pit (Chinese brush) and chopsticks. I learned wu shu (martial arts).
Through my school, I met Chinese icons like Lucio Tan and the ambassadors of China to the Philippines.
To escape boredom, I took Chinese classes during summers in school. I applied for and was accepted for a fully sponsored year of studies at Hua Quiao Da Xue, a school in Xiamen, China.
What was supposed to be a temporary stay became a relationship of 12 years. Studying in Chinese schools made me acquire an almost natural understanding of their language, beliefs and traditions. I grew up surrounded by chinito and chinita (chinky-eyed) classmates, with whom, aside from my sian si (teacher), I spoke in Mandarin or Fookien.
If we have Taglish, which is a mix of Tagalog and English, my classmates and I also spoke in Fookien-mixed-with-Cebuano sentences. We observed the Moon Cake Festival and celebrated Chinese New Year and Confucius’ Day, which became our Teacher’s Day.
We felt lucky to have more holidays and more feasting than non-Chinese schools!
But if we partied during Chinese New Year at school, we did not do this at home. No fireworks, no counting down until the stroke of midnight.
We don’t do this because we are not Chinese. For my family, Chinese New Year is just an ordinary day. Yet for me it is a holiday. No one else in my family was able to study in a Chinese school. With whom can I converse in Mandarin or Fookien at home?
However, I thought that it was not a good reason to stop. It motivated me more to cope with my classmates who had Chinese-speaking families.
My family was also supportive. They listened to me practice my oration, and attended our Recognition Day. I taught Mama goodbye in Chinese; until now, she bids me zai jian when I leave for the University of the Philippines in the Visayas Cebu College, where I am a Mass Communication sophomore.
Mama and Papa never thought that an “accidental” detour would be this influential. Chinese beliefs make me wear red during New Year or check the 12 Chinese zodiac signs of the year.
But I go beyond applying such beliefs only during Chinese holidays. Without rejecting my own Filipino heritage, I’m actually enjoying also my Chinese side.
This whole package has shaped my passion for language and culture.
“Hen hao, hen hao (very good),” sian si remarked when I wrote my Chinese characters correctly or recited the Chinese multiplication table without mistakes. I still use the Chinese multiplication table when I’m solving, thanks to that school that rejected me!