Asian Down Under

When eating in an Asian restaurant, I'm always plagued with the same question and everlasting internal battle – should I just use the chopsticks or ask for a fork? Naturally, everyone assumes I'm more comfortable using the chopsticks since I am half Chinese and half Filipino. However, once I open my mouth and a fluent Aussie accent comes pouring out, one would definitely question my natural instincts. Being brought up by an Asian family in a Western, albeit proudly multicultural society like Australia has been in a word: challenging. The differences between the cultures are so prominent, they punch me in the face almost every day. Instead of comparing apples with oranges, I'm comparing dumplings with VB. Others in similar situations would attest that the struggles usually come from their persistent parent/s. In my case, it's my dad, my mum and her parents (my Kung Kung and Popo) who regularly make me feel like I'm disappointing them for not upholding the Chinese ways, traditions, superstitions and philosophies. My mum is still somewhat mortified when ordering food in a Chinese restaurant, all I want are the “gweilo” (a.k.a. ghost man – meaning white people) dishes like special fried rice, and sweet and sour pork. I have been living in Australia since I was 3 years old so my palate definitely prefers dishes like that over chicken feet, animal organs like livers, tongues, and any others not for the feint of heart (or stomach).

Growing up in Australia and being raised by the Asian ways made things like sleep overs and staying out past midnight nearly impossible. My dad was always too afraid to let me sleep over at my friends’ houses in fear that their parents would, in his words, “rape” me. His paranoia and overprotective parenting style definitely backfired on him during my teenage years. The teenage rebellion ruined our relationship for the good part of a decade. Nevertheless, in my earlier years, I had to do the quintessentially Asian after-school activities like tutoring and piano lessons. My mum would always and still usually speaks to me in Cantonese and my replies are in English. My dad, who let's be clear, doesn't speak Cantonese as he is Filipino and only speaks Tagalog or English, would yell at me when I was a kid for not using my native tongue (even though he couldn't understand most of the conversations which occurred between my mum, my sister and me). You would think that a brother would want to be in the know but apparently, he was quite happy just sitting there pretending that he understood.

I can't speak for Western families but I'm of the opinion that Asian parents tend to be the most strict. When it comes to children's behaviour, my dad's ultimate requirement and demand is respect. Thou shalt show thy father respect at all times, even when he's wrong (especially when he's wrong) or suffer the wrath of the ego bruised Filipino man. Trust me, it isn't pretty. It's like arguing with an infuriated, irrational and deaf gorilla. When living with my dad as a kid, next to respect, he also valued saving 'face'. We were required to answer the phone like we were running a hotel, “Good morning, thanks for calling. This is Cat speaking”. He also made us fold the toilet paper into a point like Housekeeping just on the off chance a guest (one of his mates that he was trying to schmooze) came to the house and needed to use the loo.

At school, most of my friends were Australians. I only had a few Asian mates but I still found I had more in common with my Aussie friends. I wasn't focused on my studies. I just wanted to chat, gossip and party. Being one of the only Asians in my close circle of friends was interesting to say the least. I remember on my learner's driving licence, under skin colour my mum told me to write 'yellow'. What am I, Lisa Simpson? Still to this day I find it baffling that Chinese people can be so intelligent yet so clueless in as many ways. The literal translation for my family's nickname for me was ‘fat pig bread’. Chinese people won't blink an eye if one of their friends told them they are fat or look like they've gained weight. You do that to an Australian and you may be sporting dark eye shadow on one eye by the end of the conversation.

And don't get me started on the bad driving! My husband and I have an ongoing joke that nine times out of ten a bad driver that we see on the road will usually be Asian. It's like our genes were too focused on ensuring that we all master the abilities of studying and reading that they ran out of juice in the coordination department. Perhaps we shouldn't handle heavy machinery because if I had a dollar for every time I witnessed an Asian lady reversing out of a parking space at a pace slower than the ice caps melting, I'd be able to purchase the Richmond AFL team twice over.

I've also noticed that many Asians are clean freaks and I am a self professed clean freak myself. Germs, dust and outside dirt are not our friends. Many Chinese families in Hong Kong will not only ask you to remove your shoes before entering their houses but also provide you with their own guest slippers so that your bare feet or potentially dirty socks don't soil their clean homes. I'm guilty of owning a few pairs of boot covers but I have yet to find the courage to ask a tradie to use them as the thought of the sheer embarrassment of requesting that they slip on my blue, swan print bootie protectors has overridden my fear of their shoe dirt thus far. My husband has had the toughest time having to compromise or succumb to my non-negotiable cleaning standards. The poor man worked as a gardener for some years and I'd make him undress outside to prevent getting grass and dirt inside the house. If any neighbours looked over at that time, they probably would have been mentally scarred from the sight of his white, hairy legs. Upon reflection, my OCD cleanliness could just be my individual personality trait instead of an Asian thing but I definitely have the nagging Asian wife bit down pat. My mum has taught me well for sure. It's known to some that the language of Cantonese naturally sounds more 'naggy' than Mandarin due to the elongated sounds we make after a statement. Nevertheless, all the nagging does come from a good place. Chinese people can be quite negative and adopt the ‘glass is half empty’ attitude but it all still does come from a good place.