I got me a case of yellow fever

And of course, I don’t mean the actual yellow fever. ‘Yellow Fever’ usually references the way some white boys have a penchant for Asian girls. But I think it can be extended to my current interest in all things Chinese.

My (close to racist) thirteen-year-old self, who had no interest in my Chinese heritage, and in fact found it a source of embarrassment, would laugh at me now. She would be incredulous that I’ve spent the last three weeks living in Beijing only to discover that my limited, meager understanding of Chinese culture, has actually amounted to something.

Unlike many of my international fellow students, I haven’t had any trouble adjusting to the other-worldliness of this place – after all, I’ve grown up visiting the chaos of Asia at least once every two or three years. And this really is another world – with their own food, products, celebrities, pop culture, music, media, rules, values, language, writing system, ways of living on and on, and in many ways so indifferent to what we have and do in the West. I can’t feign to understand or know most of it, but at least I was prepared for how radically different it would be.

And unlike my fellow students, I’m discovering feelings that yes, perhaps, somewhat, this is partly mine.

I say that with hesitance because up till now I’ve always resented the idea that my being “Chinese” amounted to anything. Some explanation is required for this:

You see, when you are part of the Chinese diaspora, you are Chinese before you are anything. It doesn’t matter that you’re born in Malaysia (like my parents), or if you were born in Australia (like me), if your “blood” is Chinese there are certain expectations made of you: you must know how to cook and eat Chinese food, you must speak an Chinese language, you should marry a fellow Chinese, carry-on many of the cultural traditions and most importantly pride yourself on your Chinese-ness.

(Note: Although Australia’s Chinese diaspora is less established than those in other parts of Asia – the first generation born in Australia are only now at the age of having babies – I believe that out of Australia, particularly Sydney, a new Non-Mainland-Chinese ethnic identity is emerging. In the same way that being a Chinese from Hong Kong means something different to being from Taiwan, Malaysia or Singapore.)

Till recently, I’ve always been blase about being Chinese anything. For me, an attachment to any kind of nationalism, patriotism, or ethnic identity was a negative thing. I couldn’t help but see it as narrow-minded, and indicative of unjustified feelings of cultural or racial superiority. In the same way, I’ve never been one of those flag waving Aussies who is unable to look critically at the country and see its many faults.

And for ages, growing up, I resented the way my relatives and other Chinese, tsked, and shook their head, and looked at me with incredulousness, when they realised I didn’t speak a single Chinese language, was so completely inept with “Chinese things”. I would almost point my tongue out at them, and reply defiantly, well I’m Australian, not Chinese, OK? – although in reality, I didn’t really feel overly Australian either. (Perhaps I should replace “Australian” with “hipsterllectual”. It would be more accurate.)

But now I’m living in a country where I’m constantly mistaken for a local. Where I cannot escape Chineseness because it perpetually crowds around me. (I jokingly call this the biggest Chinatown in the world.) And amazingly I’m discovering that I don’t hate it, in fact there’s much that I like. I’m enjoying the food, the language, and I find many aspects of the people, culture and history interesting.

Yes, I’m quite aware that in actual fact for a lot of my time here I am actually living in one of those ‘international zones’. While I’m hanging out with international students and going to ex-pat parties, where conversations usually happen in English, and where the understandings have a comfortably “Western” sensibility, I can’t completely claim to be living the real Chinese life.

But at the same time, I constantly get kicks out of Chinese things. Getting to know other Chinese (be they mainlanders, or from other parts of the world), learning the language, plus shopping and eating where the locals do. Learning the language is such an integral part of this journey, I have no choice but to accept that digging deeper into China’s meaty heart is going to be a long process. But so far, well, three weeks in, things are much better than my low expectations had prepared me for.

Why am I here? I’ve told people a diverse number of reasons. Because I want to work in international development, and China still has many poor people, while at the same time is on the verge of becoming of the world’s most powerful countries. Because it’s such a gigantic, conflicted, strange nation currently experiencing a time of great social and economic change – and of course I always want to be in thick of things. And because, frankly, I was offered a scholarship to study here, and so it was too good an opportunity to miss.

But perhaps there has been another reason. Perhaps I’m tired of my self being such a mismatch from what my appearance seems to so plainly indicate. There’s an element of succumbing to peer pressure. It’s like, alright already! You want me to be Chinese so bad, I’ll finally do it.

But what started out as obligation, I hope is turning into real curiosity. Make no mistake, I don’t think I will ever hold strongly to a Chinese identity, in the same way I am quite casual about being an Australian. It’s more that here, more than anywhere outside of Australia, I have a chance to really feel like a part of things. To leave behind a foreigner status and be one of them (us?).

Because here, they first assume I’m one of them. And the only thing that’s breaking that spell is something that given time, effort and dedication can be rectified. That is, my ignorance.

And who among you would give up an opportunity to become a real local (or as close as possible) in another country?