As I wake up every morning, usually around six-thirty no matter what the occasion, I do not typically think to myself, “Today will be a good day,” or “Today, I’m going to do something productive.” Often times, I just do it. Others, I simply stick to my day-to-day routines without a fuss. Still, I would consider myself an optimist.
There are, I think, two reasons for this. Firstly, I think it is healthy being optimistic; it is better for the body and mind. Secondly, in a world where many people claim to be depressed and go about saying life sucks, I want to be different. It seems people want to feel like a part of a group, while, at the same time, be unique. Therefore, to be unique in a world of wanting to belong is to have a distinctive combination of groups. And while my combinations of groups (which I might claim to be unique) may be shared with this person here or that person there, it is the desire to be unique, and the means of doing so, that makes up the individual.
I would label myself a Chinese-American, though both my parents came originally from Taiwan. I would consider myself primarily American, though my family traces back to both Taiwan and China. Today, I belong to that group which is distracted and torn between the “old” culture and the newer, “American” one. On one hand, I am fortunate enough to have two parents that understand English to a degree they can take care of themselves for the most part and can take care of paying the bills without a problem; but on the other hand, I am cursed. Mandarin Chinese has become secondary to English in my home, partly because we now are so used to English, and partly because the Chinese abilities of my sister and me are embarrassingly limited. When I was younger, my dad had encouraged me and my younger sister (by only two years) to speak and practice our Chinese at home. Today, it is mixed. I speak with my sister and Chinese-speaking friends almost exclusively in English. Even my mother speaks with me in English now. Of falling into the American way of things—but more really, of falling out of the Chinese style—I hate it.
Inherent in American culture—a culture of mixed races and of people from lands far and wide—is a sense of, for the most part, a dual-culture. Here, in America, there is always a problem of whether or not to assimilate or to diverge from the immediate culture, of adopting and adapting the new in place of the traditional and old. And within this culture, we typically have two choices that speak more to our individual upbringing and, therefore, our individual preferences: urban culture versus rural culture, American cars versus foreign cars, Windows versus Mac OS, or contacts versus eyeglasses, etc. I, myself, belong to group of the urban culture of New York City, of the Apple culture of Mac, and of those that prefer Japanese cars, namely Toyota. With these choices, I am proud of my sense of belonging—especially belonging to the minority—which, I would like to think, further adds to my own enrichment and uniqueness. A few months ago, my family purchased a new Toyota SUV, the Highlander. (With my suggestion, we chose green; green was uncommon in the streets, and silver, though the color looks stunning, was becoming far too ordinary.) And since the day we drove our new car home, I became more aware of the cars on the street. Now, when I’m walking down the sidewalk, I pay attention to the “brands” of each car I pass. Sometimes, I tell my friends if we are walking together. They don’t care, but I find it interesting. I guess it is my way of becoming in tune with at least one aspect of American industry. I have become so adept at identifying cars that I can point them out merely by looking at their lit taillights. To me, it is like a game; to me, I have reached sort of Level Two.
And just like a player in a game, I am optimistic. I am optimistic that I may not only learn about the cultures and cults around me but also absorb them enough to balance my own sense of belonging and of uniqueness.
