Multiculturalism brings up a vast connotation of cross-cultural doctrines that most societies need to face in the new Century. Unless of course, if you are comfortable resting on the same couch eating the predictable ham and cheese toastie for the rest of your life (not bad for some folks but I'll opt out) then I would caution that ignorance is at one's peril should we turn a cold shoulder to this topic.
If anything, it was one of the more critical titles that I, amongst other students in my pre-University Foundation Studies, had to tackle. Needless to say, I sat stunned and lazy, staring at the blank page flat on my desk, pondering on the quickest way to produce a critically-acclaimed piece regarding the definition of multiculturalism in Australia. Take yourself back to age seventeen on a hot, stuffy Friday afternoon - do you think that would be at the forefront of your imagination?
Absolutely not for me, nonetheless I did sit back and daydreamed a while to buy more time. So I began by asking myself how much did I understand about multiculturalism back in my own native country. Much to my horror, I suspected I may had taken it for a long granted period.
Shame on you Viv.
Before I nail myself up on the crucifix of nationalistic conscience, fastforward to the current day, I catch myself once again, tripping over the tried and tested path of adult conversation in which I am given the opportunity to revisit an old friend once more.
To most, if not all Chinese around the world, irrespective of your dialect clan, I wish firstly, Gong Xi Fa Chai as the bunny year hops sprightly into 2011 for real (finally). And following from my previous entry, yes, the reunion dinner at the cheesily-named Chinese restaurant here went superbly fun and delicious. We feasted on ten dishes between two families and I walked down memory lane indulging in a lion dance performance done by a much enthusiastic crew consisting of both local Australian-born Chinese and Anglo-Saxon kids. Lion dances always brought back heaps of wonderful memories where a time was based on a backdrop of a sleepy town by the port of Elopura, propped up by the waves of money coming from the timber industry when flashy bright lights of dancing girls, illegal casinos, top North Asian chefs flown in to delight the businessmen's insatiable taste for the exotic, sandy white beaches and my own moments of looking down from the hill where my parents took me for my weekly fix of steamboat and watching the lonely ships bellowing their horns across the ebony horizon, their lights onboard twinkling sadly betraying only a hint of homesickness that my heart could relate yet not put a word to describe at that age.
This year, we celebrated it here in Australia. It continued a series of observations that I had been doing eversince we moved away from the bossoms of Elopura. Our initial big move was to the sister town, an "up the ladder" version of the comforting town we grew up in, then known as Jesselton. You still could enjoy the vices of home-cooked delicacies, grandmother recipes that held a single purpose in life to spoil us kids with all the sugar and spice, lion dances (oh, yes) and more red packet ang pow that were collected from house visits. We still kept the traditions of properly wishing our elders and right etiquette of receiving the ang pow, and as we got older, we joined the group of cousins that kept up late to midnight on the eve to signify the ushering of longevity for our parents. For a twelve year-old going thirteen, it felt like I had been inducted into a hall of secretive practices and codes.
A single phonecall came one day a few years later and our family found ourselves packing again to move down to the national capital, Kuala Lumpur. That was a true cultural shock. No home visits. Restaurant-type reunion dinners where three generations hardly talked (those who did were akin to boasting about their latest conquest, be it of a human species, a gambling windfall, some real estate in some invested postcodes, some poor kid's report card) and flashy show of rich cheongsam fabric, gold bangles, an assortment of ang pow design and television programmes. It was, in truth, much more shallow in substance but we hung on to our little comfort circle defined by phonecalls back to Sabah and home-made meals. On this note, mum, thanks for slaving over the stove making those yummy soups back those years!
Perhaps I had, in between spending some reunion dinner years away in a foreign land due to studies and later, work, become slightly more nonchalant about the traditions, tricking my heart into repeating the mantra that time was the worst enemy when you allowed it to be one.
Somehow, Life as predictable as always, threw a curveball to freshen things up and I caught myself, blissfully married to a non-Chinese, set to revive the traditions that had defined my childhood and brought me so many special, irreplacable memories.
Which is the reason that I found myself almost yearning for a loss, not for myself but for the other Chinese that had relocated to Australia. Many carelessly wiped away the event with a firm resolution that cemented their conviction of consistency in not having "observed that for many years". Could it be isolation that does this to you? Could it be a lack of communal mass? Could it be one's just trying to forget (in some extreme cases) all that is tied to their past lives, their background, their childhood?
Some couples sighed a heavy resignation of confession that their kids "refused to speak their dialect". I must say I did pause to weigh the statement because somehow I have seen kids from Asia that came from cross-parentage maintained both their (if not more) dialects consistently, hence it's a doable thing. Could it be an environmental influence then? Could it be in the much loved Malaysian tongue-in-cheek "ini sure tak cukup rotan ni!"
I'm not talking about people with three eyes or hold a Babi Hutan-slaying knive in their purse. These are respectable people in their chosen professions, serving the people of Australia.
My immediate in-laws from my brother's side are tight and solid as a family. Kids are immensely well brought up and dutiful towards their parents. Very admirable. However when both our sides sit together, there are much to talk and share, exclamations of surprise that the Wong kids know how to speak Chinese (particularly me, which made me shot a moment of ponder on how far my brother had gone in the language preservation ladder, and just forget about his command in Melayu even! Must be funny hearing him belting out a sentence in the former national language of choice...), our filling in the gaps on cultural elements that had previously appeared to be so common a knowledge to us.
I'm putting all of these down more of a reminder to question myself. How difficult it must be for the earlier migrants? How or what do you use to define as your stand or your contribution on the temple of multiculturalism? What is important, and what can be replaced? Admittedly, it is tricky to have an "open house" concept in the middle of a working week but in my case, Chinese New Year runs for fifteen days, I think I can fix in a fusion get-together for the weekend, Aussie Barbie and VBs with Yee Sang and that silky 1960s' crooner belting out some CNY songs?
Fast forward again: Day two into the new Lunar year. The arvo was blowing away peacefully with a cooler respite settling into the week. So unlike the usual clash of mahjong "washing" that was a staple as you walked through every kampung village housing lanes in Elopura, or the Char Siew sweetly roasted pork-infused streets of Cheras that lined the beginning of the terrace houses in a domain of the Kuala Lumpur district. A dull hum at first, but building up to an evaporative expulsion of hopes and luck, duelling and trickery, all in the good fun of festive gambling. Heck, we decided to round up my folks and cash in our rabbit year brought on "luck" and tried out a few rounds of Poker and reminisce about the good old days of my maternal grandmother's infamous appearance in the CNY gambling circuit back on that affectionately named "Pineapple Hill Village" by the beach with the powder white sand, hence its name.
But later on the six o'clock news, Cyclone Yasi's coverage dominated most of the headlines, shared only minutely with the riot in Cairo. It struck me - there was hardly any 60 second blip on why and what millions if not billions of Chinese on this particular week were doing. No touch on the meaning of reunion. No touch on the infusion of various dialect clans and their influence on the elements and definitions of CNY celebration.
Some couples sighed a heavy resignation of confession that their kids "refused to speak their dialect". I must say I did pause to weigh the statement because somehow I have seen kids from Asia that came from cross-parentage maintained both their (if not more) dialects consistently, hence it's a doable thing. Could it be an environmental influence then? Could it be in the much loved Malaysian tongue-in-cheek "ini sure tak cukup rotan ni!"
I'm not talking about people with three eyes or hold a Babi Hutan-slaying knive in their purse. These are respectable people in their chosen professions, serving the people of Australia.
My immediate in-laws from my brother's side are tight and solid as a family. Kids are immensely well brought up and dutiful towards their parents. Very admirable. However when both our sides sit together, there are much to talk and share, exclamations of surprise that the Wong kids know how to speak Chinese (particularly me, which made me shot a moment of ponder on how far my brother had gone in the language preservation ladder, and just forget about his command in Melayu even! Must be funny hearing him belting out a sentence in the former national language of choice...), our filling in the gaps on cultural elements that had previously appeared to be so common a knowledge to us.
I'm putting all of these down more of a reminder to question myself. How difficult it must be for the earlier migrants? How or what do you use to define as your stand or your contribution on the temple of multiculturalism? What is important, and what can be replaced? Admittedly, it is tricky to have an "open house" concept in the middle of a working week but in my case, Chinese New Year runs for fifteen days, I think I can fix in a fusion get-together for the weekend, Aussie Barbie and VBs with Yee Sang and that silky 1960s' crooner belting out some CNY songs?
Fast forward again: Day two into the new Lunar year. The arvo was blowing away peacefully with a cooler respite settling into the week. So unlike the usual clash of mahjong "washing" that was a staple as you walked through every kampung village housing lanes in Elopura, or the Char Siew sweetly roasted pork-infused streets of Cheras that lined the beginning of the terrace houses in a domain of the Kuala Lumpur district. A dull hum at first, but building up to an evaporative expulsion of hopes and luck, duelling and trickery, all in the good fun of festive gambling. Heck, we decided to round up my folks and cash in our rabbit year brought on "luck" and tried out a few rounds of Poker and reminisce about the good old days of my maternal grandmother's infamous appearance in the CNY gambling circuit back on that affectionately named "Pineapple Hill Village" by the beach with the powder white sand, hence its name.
But later on the six o'clock news, Cyclone Yasi's coverage dominated most of the headlines, shared only minutely with the riot in Cairo. It struck me - there was hardly any 60 second blip on why and what millions if not billions of Chinese on this particular week were doing. No touch on the meaning of reunion. No touch on the infusion of various dialect clans and their influence on the elements and definitions of CNY celebration.
Chinese New Year could and may had potentially passed on as just another day here. Completely insignificant. I'm not asking for national coverage 24/7 but unless you are of Chinese descent or related to one, chances are you will probably think this weekend is just another shrimp on the Barbie.
I asked myself again - how well do I know Eid being celebrated here? How well do I understand Ponggal and if they even celebrate it here? How much do we share the significance of Thaipusam? How about Qurban? Onam anyone? Kaamatan then, how or what about it you say? And what about the similarities or differences that migrants adopt or define to mark something more "common" like Good Friday, Easter and Christmas? How about the Scandinavian holidays? The more indigenous holidays?
As much as I support a Bill of Rights to define the civil code of order for every Australian, and those that want to be part of this country; I think I catch myself thinking, or more correctly asking a heck lot more questions regarding the fabric of Australia.
It is my belief that how you grew up, what you uphold today, play a little bit even in the way you conduct yourself in the future.
Up until today, beyond the grading of my college paper submission, beyond my awakening from the years of ignorance regarding my own multicultural possession from my native country, beyond my new, hopeful carving of an inter-cultural family unit for myself, my partner and child - what and how should I represent multicultural Australia?
What is really important? How far are we prepared to sacrifice and uphold, to forego and forget?
I asked myself again - how well do I know Eid being celebrated here? How well do I understand Ponggal and if they even celebrate it here? How much do we share the significance of Thaipusam? How about Qurban? Onam anyone? Kaamatan then, how or what about it you say? And what about the similarities or differences that migrants adopt or define to mark something more "common" like Good Friday, Easter and Christmas? How about the Scandinavian holidays? The more indigenous holidays?
As much as I support a Bill of Rights to define the civil code of order for every Australian, and those that want to be part of this country; I think I catch myself thinking, or more correctly asking a heck lot more questions regarding the fabric of Australia.
It is my belief that how you grew up, what you uphold today, play a little bit even in the way you conduct yourself in the future.
Up until today, beyond the grading of my college paper submission, beyond my awakening from the years of ignorance regarding my own multicultural possession from my native country, beyond my new, hopeful carving of an inter-cultural family unit for myself, my partner and child - what and how should I represent multicultural Australia?
What is really important? How far are we prepared to sacrifice and uphold, to forego and forget?
