Karen's Article

My Entrance into the Taiwanese American Community - by Karen Lee
HOUSTON, Texas April 13, 2006 ------ I arrived in the Houston airport late Thursday night, after sitting on a plane two hours longer than the flight plan indicated. I was going to be attending the North American Taiwanese Women's Association conference and I didn't really know what to expect. I had been granted a scholarship to attend, otherwise I don't think I would have gone. Where I grew up did not have many Asian families, and mine was definitely the only one on the block. I barely knew where I fit in the Asian American community, let alone a Taiwanese American Women's community. This was the sort of thing my college roommate did. She grew up in Southern California where Changs, Wangs, and Kims dominated her yearbook. She belonged to every Asian/Taiwanese group in college. Sometimes I went along, most of the time I kept to myself. I didn't fit in. They thought I was whitewashed. And I was okay with that. So there I was, at the airport, waiting for the shuttle to take me to the hotel. I saw a Taiwanese couple standing behind me, bantering in Taiwanese. The woman was looking for a bathroom. Her husband suggested she wait until they reached the hotel. I always liked listening in on conversations conducted in Taiwanese. There's something about it that is so homey - it's the language my parents converse in, curse and tell jokes in. To me, Mandarin was what I learned in Chinese school, and had the flavor and tone of childish school lessons. My parents' friends and relatives would speak Mandarin to me in a sing-song voice, patronizing and with correct grammar. They spoke to each other in Taiwanese, and those were the best conversations to listen in on. Taiwanese had attitude, it was raunchy, it conveyed sarcasm and playful jabs like only a living language, unfettered by formal writing and officialness, can. So that when I hear complete strangers, discussing the toilet and complaining about sleepiness, I am reminded of home. Which is sometimes a good thing, and sometimes not. Another reason I was a little apprehensive about the NATWA convention was that historically, I did not have a great relationship with the older women of my family, particularly my mother. I associated older Taiwanese women as always having something to say about my weight, about my hair, about my career choices and my choice of clothing. They frequently looked upon my tomboyish, independent ways with disapproval, and chastised my mother about it. That I was going to be spending an entire weekend with close-minded, old-fashioned, disapproving old ladies was not my idea of a good time. And yet I was intrigued. They were hosting a panel of Taiwanese American writers and filmmakers, which seemed completely out of character of all the older Taiwanese aunties I knew. Plus the mission statement on their website read, and I'll quote: 1. to evoke a sense of self-esteem and enhance women's dignity, 2. to oppose gender discrimination and promote gender equality, 3. to fully develop women's potential and encourage their participation in public affairs, 4. to contribute to the advancement of human rights and democratic development in Taiwan, 5. to reach out and work with women's organization worldwide to promote peace for all. That didn't sound at all like the values I usually associated with my mother's generation - which was: make lots of money, get married, have kids, buy house, buy car, take care of parents when they get old. No where had I ever gotten the sense of giving back to the community, developing a women's participation in public affairs and building my sense of self-esteem. My brothers and I called my mom the Dream Killer because any time we expressed an interest in any career that made less than 100k, it was immediately shot down. I perceived the Asian American community to value a person's worth based on test scores, college brand name, and income, not on the quality of one's character. This kind of merit-based love does not exactly foster good-self esteem and strong sense of morals, as Karen Lin's short film "Perfection" and the indie film "Better Luck Tomorrow" show. But perhaps, I thought to myself, I have only a limited perspective of what being part of an Asian American community is. I was thinking all this while standing in line, and finally I turned around to introduce myself to the couple behind me. As I suspected, they were attending the NATWA conference too. I was surprised the woman's husband was coming along too. It turned out a lot of husbands showed up to the conference to show their support. This is a far cry from the attitude of the male cousins in my family, for whom the punchline to the question, "wanna hear something funny?" is, "women's rights." I had come to attend the NATWA II panels, but during the meals and the social events, had a chance to talk to some of the NATWA women who took a great interest in me. No where did I feel any sense of disapproval, especially when I told them I was in graduate school for English literature. To my complete surprise, I was encouraged, even congratulated, and shown nothing but support and pleasure for my mere presence. To indulge in cliché, it was as if I had just been given a glass of water after a week in the desert. All the guilt, all the suppressed hurt, anger and misunderstandings I had always blamed on generational and culture gaps between my parents and myself were brought to extreme focus that weekend. I wished my parents were at the conference and could talk to these open-minded, loving women who's maternal nature call on them to try to bridge this gap between Taiwanese mothers and their American daughters. I still remember the words of one of the women who said to me, "Don't feel guilty for pursuing what you love. It doesn't make you a bad daughter. Your parents only worry about you. Try to understand where they are coming from." As I talked to more and more of these articulate women with big hearts and vibrant personalities, it made me miss my mother more and more. Our relationship has not been a good one, I admit. But I can't help but feel that if only she had a community such as this, she would not have to bear so much of the burden of worrying about me - that there is a whole community who worry about their daughters and that they can talk to each other and to us about our relationships, our careers and our dreams without the misunderstandings that arise from generational and cultural differences. I was asked to write about the conference, and what I got out of it was more than the panels and the presentations - it was the feeling I got when I was talking to the aunties. It was the love expressed in a way I never thought I'd ever see. It was that much-needed and long-awaited approval that I had convinced myself I could do without. And for the first time in my life, I really felt like I was Taiwanese, that I was part of a community that I could rely on and go to in need. There are many Taiwanese Americans, like me, who choose to go about their lives without this community - ostensibly because they have always considered this community to be disapproving and old-fashioned. What I have learned from the NATWA conference is that it doesn't have to be and it isn't. In just a weekend a lot of stubborn, entrenched ideas I had about this community were changed. NATWA ladies like the Ah-Yi who was so kind as to donate the money for a scholarship like the one I received can really make a difference. Also, I'd like to thank all the wonderful ladies who came up to talk and encourage me. One kind and supporting word can mean so much. I wanted to give back somehow, and one way I could think of helping was to build a website for NATWA II. The second generation Taiwanese women that I met were so varied in their skills and accomplishments that I really think NATWA II could be a very powerful and important organization. So if you know of any second generation Taiwanese women, direct them to our website! It's a great way to network and talk about things we have in common. And most importantly, it will be a way to continue in the tradition of the work NATWA has done, in the name of community. Karen Lee is the webmaster of NATWA II and was the NATWA II 2006 scholarship recipient.

HOUSTON, Texas April 13, 2006 ------ I arrived in the Houston airport late Thursday night, after sitting on a plane two hours longer than the flight plan indicated. I was going to be attending the North American Taiwanese Women's Association conference and I didn't really know what to expect. I had been granted a scholarship to attend, otherwise I don't think I would have gone. Where I grew up did not have many Asian families, and mine was definitely the only one on the block. I barely knew where I fit in the Asian American community, let alone a Taiwanese American Women's community. This was the sort of thing my college roommate did. She grew up in Southern California where Changs, Wangs, and Kims dominated her yearbook. She belonged to every Asian/Taiwanese group in college. Sometimes I went along, most of the time I kept to myself. I didn't fit in. They thought I was whitewashed. And I was okay with that.

So there I was, at the airport, waiting for the shuttle to take me to the hotel. I saw a Taiwanese couple standing behind me, bantering in Taiwanese. The woman was looking for a bathroom. Her husband suggested she wait until they reached the hotel. I always liked listening in on conversations conducted in Taiwanese. There's something about it that is so homey - it's the language my parents converse in, curse and tell jokes in. To me, Mandarin was what I learned in Chinese school, and had the flavor and tone of childish school lessons. My parents' friends and relatives would speak Mandarin to me in a sing-song voice, patronizing and with correct grammar. They spoke to each other in Taiwanese, and those were the best conversations to listen in on. Taiwanese had attitude, it was raunchy, it conveyed sarcasm and playful jabs like only a living language, unfettered by formal writing and officialness, can. So that when I hear complete strangers, discussing the toilet and complaining about sleepiness, I am reminded of home. Which is sometimes a good thing, and sometimes not.

Another reason I was a little apprehensive about the NATWA convention was that historically, I did not have a great relationship with the older women of my family, particularly my mother. I associated older Taiwanese women as always having something to say about my weight, about my hair, about my career choices and my choice of clothing. They frequently looked upon my tomboyish, independent ways with disapproval, and chastised my mother about it. That I was going to be spending an entire weekend with close-minded, old-fashioned, disapproving old ladies was not my idea of a good time. And yet I was intrigued. They were hosting a panel of Taiwanese American writers and filmmakers, which seemed completely out of character of all the older Taiwanese aunties I knew. Plus the mission statement on their website read, and I'll quote:

That didn't sound at all like the values I usually associated with my mother's generation - which was: make lots of money, get married, have kids, buy house, buy car, take care of parents when they get old. No where had I ever gotten the sense of giving back to the community, developing a women's participation in public affairs and building my sense of self-esteem. My brothers and I called my mom the Dream Killer because any time we expressed an interest in any career that made less than 100k, it was immediately shot down. I perceived the Asian American community to value a person's worth based on test scores, college brand name, and income, not on the quality of one's character. This kind of merit-based love does not exactly foster good-self esteem and strong sense of morals, as Karen Lin's short film "Perfection" and the indie film "Better Luck Tomorrow" show. But perhaps, I thought to myself, I have only a limited perspective of what being part of an Asian American community is.

I was thinking all this while standing in line, and finally I turned around to introduce myself to the couple behind me. As I suspected, they were attending the NATWA conference too. I was surprised the woman's husband was coming along too. It turned out a lot of husbands showed up to the conference to show their support. This is a far cry from the attitude of the male cousins in my family, for whom the punchline to the question, "wanna hear something funny?" is, "women's rights."

I had come to attend the NATWA II panels, but during the meals and the social events, had a chance to talk to some of the NATWA women who took a great interest in me. No where did I feel any sense of disapproval, especially when I told them I was in graduate school for English literature. To my complete surprise, I was encouraged, even congratulated, and shown nothing but support and pleasure for my mere presence. To indulge in cliché, it was as if I had just been given a glass of water after a week in the desert. All the guilt, all the suppressed hurt, anger and misunderstandings I had always blamed on generational and culture gaps between my parents and myself were brought to extreme focus that weekend. I wished my parents were at the conference and could talk to these open-minded, loving women who's maternal nature call on them to try to bridge this gap between Taiwanese mothers and their American daughters. I still remember the words of one of the women who said to me, "Don't feel guilty for pursuing what you love. It doesn't make you a bad daughter. Your parents only worry about you. Try to understand where they are coming from."

As I talked to more and more of these articulate women with big hearts and vibrant personalities, it made me miss my mother more and more. Our relationship has not been a good one, I admit. But I can't help but feel that if only she had a community such as this, she would not have to bear so much of the burden of worrying about me - that there is a whole community who worry about their daughters and that they can talk to each other and to us about our relationships, our careers and our dreams without the misunderstandings that arise from generational and cultural differences. I was asked to write about the conference, and what I got out of it was more than the panels and the presentations - it was the feeling I got when I was talking to the aunties. It was the love expressed in a way I never thought I'd ever see. It was that much-needed and long-awaited approval that I had convinced myself I could do without. And for the first time in my life, I really felt like I was Taiwanese, that I was part of a community that I could rely on and go to in need. There are many Taiwanese Americans, like me, who choose to go about their lives without this community - ostensibly because they have always considered this community to be disapproving and old-fashioned. What I have learned from the NATWA conference is that it doesn't have to be and it isn't.

In just a weekend a lot of stubborn, entrenched ideas I had about this community were changed. NATWA ladies like the Ah-Yi who was so kind as to donate the money for a scholarship like the one I received can really make a difference. Also, I'd like to thank all the wonderful ladies who came up to talk and encourage me. One kind and supporting word can mean so much. I wanted to give back somehow, and one way I could think of helping was to build a website for NATWA II. The second generation Taiwanese women that I met were so varied in their skills and accomplishments that I really think NATWA II could be a very powerful and important organization. So if you know of any second generation Taiwanese women, direct them to our website! It's a great way to network and talk about things we have in common. And most importantly, it will be a way to continue in the tradition of the work NATWA has done, in the name of community.

Karen Lee is the webmaster of NATWA II and was the NATWA II 2006 scholarship recipient.