“How can you know where you’re going
if you don’t know where you came from?”
In a few weeks’ time, my younger son will move out as he begins his life at university. He will learn to be independent, live on his own, get a job, pay rent, and become an adult. My elder son is already doing that and having the time of his life.
We are proud of them.
I watch my sons navigate their lives in Australia with pride and a quiet concern. They move through this world with an ease I never had when we first arrived. Their English is unmarked by accent (except for the occasional “lah” or “lor” these days), their mannerisms so naturally Australian. Yet sometimes, when I look at them, I see a shadow of what might be lost—fragments of a five-thousand-year heritage fading like old photographs.
The shadow of heritage
“Daddy, why do I have to learn Chinese?
I am Australian, I am not Chinese.” - My Chinese son when he was 8
My sons were little when we left Singapore. We wanted to give them a less “exam-oriented” education. The stress of being a student in Singapore was unhealthy, and we wanted to encourage independent minds.
They enjoyed school and their childhood. Growing up, they certainly had a much more active life than just constant tuition and ECAs. They spent plenty of time in parks, libraries and museums with my wife. They even grew up in an eco-village with plenty of space and friends.
I imagine life would be very different if we stayed in Singapore.
Losing the Chinese language is the most regrettable thing for me. Despite our attempts at home and years of Mandarin classes on Sundays, my sons cannot speak or understand Chinese. They might only count to 10 in Mandarin, and that’s it.
I remember the frustration of our elder son on a particular Sunday as we nagged them to get ready for Mandarin class.
“Daddy, why do I have to learn Chinese? I am Australian, I am not Chinese.”
Although I laughed and brushed it off, it broke my heart.
I know how hard it must be when no one else speaks your language, much less cares about it. The school my boys attended offers Italian and Bahasa Indonesia as “cultural” options. Ironically, my younger son, who, according to his teacher, excelled in Bahasa and topped his class, could not string a sentence together. He said he was the only one who didn’t muck around during lessons. That earned him an A+ for Bahasa.
This linguistic disconnect runs deeper than just communication. It’s a barrier to understanding the nuances of Chinese culture, the wisdom in our idioms, poetry, folklore, and stories. Even our superstitions are more than just…superstitions.
The importance of knowing one’s history
“掌上千秋史, 胸中百万兵”
“With the history of a thousand autumns in the palm of my hand;
I have a million soldiers in my heart.”
This phrase is attributed to Mao Zedong. The literal translation sounds like a poem, but what it means is that if you know your history of a thousand years (a very long time), you will have the confidence of a million soldiers in your heart (so that you can face any difficulty that comes your way).
It is about being rooted. Deeply, deeply rooted in one’s history and heritage. To reach up to the heavens, you need roots that go deep into hell.
It pains me to think of how much is lost to them when the words of our ancestors become strange, unrecognisable sounds and marks, and their meanings are forever lost in a sea of unfamiliarity.
The (unfortunate) shadow of politics
Since about 2016, I’ve noticed another troubling dimension to their cultural disconnect. As the mainstream media’s portrayal of China has grown increasingly negative, there’s a subtle shift in my sons’ attitude toward things “Chinese”. There’s a slight distancing from it because it’s not “cool.”
It’s complex being Asian-Australian amid growing geopolitical tensions. I see them downplaying their heritage from time to time. I understand. I too often tell strangers we’re from Singapore at the start of conversations… just so they know. You can often see a distinctive change in facial expression (of relief) when I say it.
It is unfortunate that our ancestral homeland was often cast as the other, the competitor, the threat.
Dumplings and Wonton Noodles may be the answer
But not all is lost.
Like many children growing up in Australia, my boys love Aussie food: pizzas, fish’ n’ chips, Macca’s, and pasta. Chinese food was something Dad cooked occasionally, accepted but not celebrated.
As they grow older, their palates expand along with their curiosity, and they’re slowly gravitating towards the East. Running a Singapore restaurant with them helped, and our annual trips to Singapore played a role too. They’ve discovered that Singapore food can be surprisingly delicious.
Hawker centres in Singapore become cultural classrooms, and each dish becomes a potential link to their heritage. They appreciate the complexity of laksa, the comfort of Hainanese chicken rice, and the incredible aroma of a good char kway teow.
I remember when we once went to Penang more than a decade ago, and I wanted to eat at some roadside stalls. My boys were extremely uncomfortable. But when we ordered some BBQ chicken wings, they dived in. Even ordered another round. Today, they still remember that experience with fondness.
Food becomes our shared language that bridges their Australian present and their heritage past.
Chinese New Year and Black Jacks
Going back to Singapore for the Chinese New Year is always a challenge. Every 4 years, the Chinese New Year falls near the end of the summer school holidays. Otherwise, it is usually after mid-February or early March.
On those occasions, we can celebrate the most important holiday in the Chinese calendar with our families in Singapore.
Surrounded by extended families, grandparents, cousins, aunties and uncles, these “pilgrimages” have become more than just another vacation. They were, in very essence, coming home.
The first time they experienced a real Chinese New Year celebration was truly priceless. Receiving Hong Bao (Red Packets with money), playing Black Jack with their uncles and cousins, and our boys winning hundreds of dollars in gambling money. It was incredible!
The noise from 20+ cousins gathering around an overly generous “dealer-uncle” who keeps losing money makes these visits absolutely priceless. Endless rounds of soft drinks (even beer) with high-calorie snacks going late into the night.
I see these encounters as threads that weave our collective past into their present. And hopefully, their future as well.
I have previously written an article about Living in an extended family, if you are interested in reading it.
The (future) bridges we build
Although they are now on their own, our job as parents is not quite done. I (and my wife) meet every week with our elder son for dinner and to catch up. I will do the same when our younger son moves in with his brother.
I will share stories, especially the funny ones, on WhatsApp, and keep the communication going in the group. I encourage them to post in the group where family members in Singapore are active and join in the conversation.
I will have less time to cook with them, but more time to share meals and experiences. And share recipes too.
I will plan future trips with them to Singapore, and even China, not as tourists but as sons returning home.
I will discuss current events and show how our heritage gives us unique perspectives on them.
I will continue writing here and sharing my thoughts. And hope that one day, they will make it a habit to read them.
The Wisdom of Letting Go
儿孙自有儿孙福
“Grandchildren will have their own good fortune.”
This is a common Chinese saying, “that children and grandchildren will have their own good fortune.” So don’t worry. Let it be.
Yes, my sons are becoming Aussie. But they’re also becoming themselves in the process, unique individuals who carry within them seeds of both worlds.
Perhaps culture isn’t something we possess, but something we live. It changes and evolves, like a river finding fresh paths to the sea. My sons may not speak Mandarin or yet know all the traditions, but they carry something more important, the yet undiscovered values and wisdom that have sustained us through millennia.