girl beach: JILL ALPHONSO

MY PAPER, TUESDAY FEBRUARY 1, 2011, PAGE A10, LIFESTYLE (VIEWPOINTS)
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By JILL ALPHONSO, myp@sph.com.sg, Tue, Feb 01, 2011, my paper

PHOTO: I was raised in a modern way, and my parents did not hold me to tradition. But one unspoken rule was this: Turn up at the reunion dinner, come hell or high water, because po po and gong gong like to have their grandchildren there.
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PHOTO: JILL ALPHONSO
MY PAPER MONDAY MARCH 1, 2010, A13 - A14, MY TRAVEL

EACH Chinese New Year, I have cause to reflect on exactly how Chinese I am - which is to say, not very.

Yet, I participate in the annual reunion dinner with my maternal relatives, and show up at my granny's house from day one to day three like a dutiful grandchild.

It is the one time of the year that I actually feel, for want of a better word, "Chinese".

I am of mixed stock. The "Alphonso" in my name will hint that I am officially classified as Eurasian - a term I don't particularly identify with. I refer to myself as hapa, a Hawaiian term used for people of mixed descent.

For me, it seems to imply lesser ethnic leanings since it generally refers to an Asian or Pacific Islander who is "half" of something else.

It appeals to me as I was raised pretty much colour-blind. Really, there was no other choice.

I am somewhat Chinese, my maternal grandfather having come from Taiwanese stock (so we were told).

My grandmother came from China, but was raised by an aunt in Sitiawan in Malaysia.

From my father's side of the family, I get Japanese, Sri Lankan and Scottish blood. I look, apart from my 1.83m frame, wide hips and large feet, Chinese.

Cab drivers attempt conversation in Mandarin with me, and are often met with confused silence.

Hawkers look to me for an order in Mandarin, and are baffled when I cannot respond.

When I need to, I am able to ask where the toilets are and tell waiters I would like a table for two in Mandarin.

Anything other than that is a stretch, especially since in secondary school, German - and not Chinese - was my second language. I'd failed Chinese over and over in primary school, and had had it with the humiliation.

But language doesn't define how one feels, and a part of me does identify with my Chinese heritage. This was most apparent when I felt as though I was losing my grip on it.

Going to university in Hawaii, and subsequently working in Seattle in Washington state, I missed all things Chinese.

Sure, both American states have healthy enough Chinese populations. I re-learnt the basics of the Chinese language in college, and I could order char siew pau, if I wanted to, from a 24-hour dimsum place in Seattle.

But I missed the culture I'd grown up in terribly, while to missing my family terribly at the same time.

Within my mother's family, the world made a certain kind of sense.

My non-traditional mother, despite all her rebellion and moxie, had strict values passed on to her from her parents - values she held me to and, in holding me to them, was passing them on to me.

And the hierarchy in our family was clear - elders first, always, and in all things.

None of this existed for me away from home.

And at home, Chinese New Year was a touchstone where I would see cousins turning up at the reunion dinner to pay their respects to their elders and spend time with them.

On the following days, I would get to see extended family members whose names I'd forget during the rest of the year. I would enjoy their company for those few hours.

During my years away, I missed all that with a horrible vengeance, feeling like I was far away from my roots.

That included the sense that I am, at least, somewhat Chinese.

Sure, I was raised in a modern way, and my parents did not hold me to tradition. But one unspoken rule was this: Turn up at the reunion dinner, come hell or high water, because po po and gong gong like to have their grandchildren there.

I have not, except in extraneous circumstances, disobeyed.

I will expect my children, when I eventually have them, to abide by the same rule, no matter how hapa they are.

So, to answer my own question of "How Chinese am I?" I say: Not very.

But the part of me that is sings very loudly during Chinese New Year indeed.

Gong xi, everybody.

By JILL ALPHONSO, myp@sph.com.sg, Tue, Feb 01, 2011, my paper

PHOTO: And at home, Chinese New Year was a touchstone where I would see cousins turning up at the reunion dinner to pay their respects to their elders and spend time with them.
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http://travelerfolio.com/hallstatt-austria/

HELPDESK
我的字典: Wǒ de zì diǎn

Dutiful: 顺从的 - shùn cóng de
Heritage: 文化遗产 - wén huà yí chǎn
Non-traditional: 非传统的 - fēi chuán tǒng de
Unspoken rule: 潜规则 - qián guī zé

PHOTO: JILL ALPHONSO
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Reference

MY PAPERTHURSDAY DECEMBER 24, 2009 A13, LIFESTYLE (Viewpoint)
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by BY JILL ALPHONSO, myp@sph.com.sg

PHOTO: http://www.adobetutorialz.com/content_images/AdobePhotoshop/ART-D/tutorial423/23.jpg

PHOTO: JILL ALPHONSO
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ONCE upon a time, I hated Christmas. “Bah!” I would say whenever the topic was brought up. There was never any need to say more.

PHOTO: http://typicalmacuser.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2007/12/800px-merry_christmas_1.png

It was, I think, a reaction to the fact that I had no say in family get-together. I was going to someone’s house for an afternoon or an evening – like it or not.

PHOTO: http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1134/1444386082_f7606afcb6_b.jpg

Things have changed. I adore family functions now. Maybe it’s just part of getting older.

Whatever the case, in the first year that I was feeling warmly about the family Christmas Eve tradition, I decided to pitch in. “Let me cook!” I said to my mother.

PHOTO: http://media.photobucket.com/image/christmas%20house/MarilynK44/Animated_Christmas_HouseSus.gif

After all, I’d spent a few Christmases on my own in the United States when I worked there in my early 20s. Then, I’d whip up dinners for other “orphaned” friends who couldn’t afford to fly home, or who simply were avoiding being with their relatives.

PHOTO: http://media.photobucket.com/image/I%2525E2%252580%252599m%20at%20home%20with%20Christmas/calligraphie/Alsace2008154.jpg

My mother was immediately excited by my offer. “What’s the menu?” she asked eagerly.

PHOTO: http://www.north-pole-christmas.com/uploads/Wallpaper/christmas_wallpaper_berries.jpg

I planned. Pored over cookbooks. Consulted Martha Stewart via her website. Lamb, I thought. Totally nontraditional. And kind of quirky. Maybe even subversively offensive (you know, Jesus. Manger. That whole spiel). It would still be delicious. It was perfect. I’d get some chops and grill them to perfection.

PHOTO: http://www.north-pole-christmas.com/uploads/Wallpaper/christmas_wallpaper_prettyblue.jpg

My mother offered to do the vegetables. Something with carrots, that’s all I recall. My aunt would make dessert. I’d also make a simple side, like mashed potatoes.

Everything was going fine until my mother decided I’d have to cook in her kitchen. Dinner, after all, was at her house.

PHOTO: http://www.apparenting.com/Images/front-drive-snow.png

It should have set of warning bells. My mother is known as a masterful entertainer and a great cook. She pulls off parties like no one else can. My cousins always ask hopefully if Christmas will be at her house. But she gained her reputation, you see, by being meticulous. She is a perfectionist who leaves no stone unturned when it comes to the party stakes.

PHOTO: http://www.kriyayoga.com/wallpapers/widescreen_wallpapers/christmas_wallpapers/christmas-wallpaper-pink-stargazer-dsc09909-ws.jpg

So, I should have known that she was going to bogart the entire operation. I should never have agreed to the use of her oven, her stove. Her kitchen is her domain.

PHOTO: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_9NQHNBNvV262Rh-QdM7wVAyGc2djGrS48rgFGKuNssUB4YvERvrPUUGoZEzbC8y0KnaOOKp2ov49LguSgYCAGCnJUIcOrc7OxSirWiYRL64mSPfg_yUW3HO65fePZOpJL10k8RrRGqW/s1600/Lys4.jpg

Two weeks before the dinner, I told her what I was cooking. “Sounds nice,” she said. I beamed. I was infused with the Christmas spirit.

PHOTO: http://pinoyerasmusmundus.files.wordpress.com/2008/12/greenish-glow-of-northern-lights.jpg

A week later, she called and said: “I’ve been reading about lamb.” She asked if I’d consider tweaking the recipe. Sure, I said.

PHOTO: http://static.minitokyo.net/view/21/18/70921.jpg

On the day of the show, I turned up to cook. Disaster. My mother had decided this was to be a collaborative effort. That quickly turned into her directing me to do things like checking the meat.

PHOTO: http://www.visitsweden.com/ImageVault/Images/conversionFormat_13/id_149/ImageVaultHandler.aspx

Essentially, she was in charge. In the end, all I could claim credit for was the mashed potatoes.

The lamb was...interesting. (She’d never cooked lamb in her life until that point.) Since that incident four years ago, I haven’t offered to cook for family functions.

If I was being honest, I’d say I was a little hurt that my mum didn’t trust my judgment. In truth, all she’d wanted was to be part of the fun.

PHOTO: http://www.kriyayoga.com/wallpapers/widescreen_wallpapers/christmas_wallpapers/christmas-orchids-dsc09812-ws.jpg

My mother, however, regularly cooks for me, sometimes even bringing food over for my household. I love her food. It’s so good that it brings tears to my eyes. I’m not exaggerating when I say I think I would die without it.

This year, I asked what we were doing for our traditional Christmas Eve dinner. “I don’t know,” she said, sounding a tad forlorn, adding: “Your father’s singing in the church choir for the evening Mass.”

PHOTO: http://cedarlounge.files.wordpress.com/2007/12/sun_snow_oak.jpg

“We could still do dinner,” I said hopefully. She thought about it. “I guess we could order a turkey. You always like that,” she said. “You could invite one or two of your ‘orphans’ over.”

The friend I invited said he’d bring dessert (his mother was a chef and he’s an excellent cook).

PHOTO: http://www.zastavki.com/pictures/1280x1024/Christmas_wallpapers__003773_.jpg

My mother said she’d do the veg. My partner and I thought about what we could contribute. I rang my mother. “Hey,” I said, “I’ll help pick up the turkey if you lend me the car. And we’ll bring something along, too.” “Sure,” she said, sounding upbeat. “What are you thinking of making?”

PHOTO: http://www16.plala.or.jp/christmas1956/11ch-othe02/2001-pokemon.jpg

“Mashed potatoes,” I said firmly. I sucked in a breath.

PHOTO: http://www.wordcatalystmagazine.com/images/912Merry%20Christmas-1.gif

My mother paused. “Okay,” she conceded. “That’s a good idea. You do make a good mash.”

myp@sph.com.sg

PHOTO: http://www.scrapycrafter.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/christmas-house.jpg

HELPDESK: 我的字典
Wǒ de zì diǎn

Tradition: 传统 - chuán tǒng
Meticulous: 严谨的 - yán jǐn de
Tweaking: 轻微调整 - qīng wēi tiáo zhěng
Exaggerating: 夸张 - kuā zhāng