SINGAPORE – You’ve found me in a very Chinese time of my life, dear reader, even though I’ve identified myself ethnically as a Chinese Singaporean since birth.
For the past three months, I’ve watched exclusively Chinese dramas and variety shows and listened to Chinese songs. I’ve restarted my Chinese language studies via language apps, and am increasingly spending more time on Weibo than on my Instagram account. There are plans to take the kids on a trip to China next spring.
Friends who have known me since childhood – and my Chinese teachers – would be surprised if they saw me now.
I’m a self-proclaimed “banana” who grew up in an English-speaking household and received a passing grade in Chinese despite going through tuition for most of my school-going years.
While my paternal side is Cantonese, my maternal side is Peranakan and speaks a smattering of Hokkien-Malay with English.
Despite the multilingual influences, I read, sing and think in English. Ordering food in Mandarin required following a script in my head – any divergence would cause my brain to autopilot to “zhe ge”, “na ge” (this or that, in Mandarin). My Chinese listening and comprehension skills were all right, but I could not find the words to express myself. My Chinese is bad, I said in self-assessment.
So what sparked the change? It all started in March due to a confluence of things, but mainly this: My elder daughter was pronouncing her Chinese name in such a sing-song lilt that it ended up meaning something else altogether.
Even though she was in her third year of Chinese lessons at school, I was still receiving feedback from her Chinese teachers that she couldn’t fully understand what was being said or follow along during reading sessions. I was certain it was because my husband and I used only English at home.
By happenstance, I had coffee with an acquaintance who studied developmental psycholinguistics – the study of how children’s developing brains affect their ability to understand and produce language.
I learnt that studies have found that the first five years of life are the optimal window for children to pick up languages or at least attune their ears to the different rhythms.
Is it too late, I asked in a panic, as my daughter was a few months shy of five. While researchers debate the exact critical period for language acquisition, the general consensus is that the earlier the start, the better.
Speak to her in Mandarin as much as you can and let her hear the language 24/7 at home, my acquaintance advised. I resolved to start immediately, but how? I had tried to get my daughter to improve her Mandarin in her earlier years but failed each time.
She found it weird when I spoke to her in Mandarin and told me to stop. My persistence was met with her silence. Undeterred, I bought and (tried to) read Peppa Pig storybooks in my halting Mandarin. I tried playing Chinese nursery songs, but soon got annoyed at the high-pitched singing and syrupy nature of the children’s songs. It was the blind leading the blind.
An old, shameful memory resurfaced, which made me even more motivated not to give up. Almost a decade ago, I interviewed a Chinese business owner by relying heavily on a translator. At the end of the interview, the interviewee kindly told me that I “really should learn how to speak Chinese”. I remember my embarrassment to this day.
All these thoughts and struggles played out as I watched the Chinese historical drama Pursuit Of Jade. I relied on the English subtitles as usual, but this time I felt frustrated.
I knew the subtitles could not fully convey the nuances of the dialogue, which had poetic lines steeped in historical and cultural context. My foundational grasp of Mandarin made me feel like doing away with the subtitles was just within reach if I put in more effort to improve.
At that point, it became more than just being able to read and understand Chinese – it was also about connecting with the language on a cultural level. I was also not doing myself any favours by believing I was just not good at Mandarin, and I didn’t want to cripple my daughter’s early steps in her lifelong journey learning the Chinese language.
This time, I was going to make sure the process was enjoyable and fun.
I started by playing a cover of Jay Chou’s 2003 hit song 东风破 (East Wind Breaks), which I came across on YouTube, featuring Chinese singer Liu Xin and Chinese Yue opera actress Chen Lijun.
It was an instant hit with my daughter and 2½-year-old son, who both now request the song on a near-daily basis even three months later. I also find it very cute that my daughter sings along to the Chinese opera bits, and I have started looking for opportunities to expose her to live Chinese opera performances.
My children’s usual repertoire of English shows such as Paw Patrol and Gabby’s Dollhouse and Disney songs has been replaced with live performances of Chinese songs I find on YouTube. Most of them are by Chinese actor-singer Liu Yuning.
I now have a YouTube playlist chock-full of their favourite songs. My kids may not remember all the song titles, but they have developed a preference for covers of classic songs such as 爱江山更爱美人 (The Bold And The Beautiful, originally sung by Lily Lee) by Liu Yuning and Richie Jen, and 潇洒走一回 (Live Life To The Fullest) by Sally Yeh, and sing along to them whenever they can.
The children love the rhythmic, sing-along nature of the songs, especially The Bold And The Beautiful with its repetitive verses, which makes it easier to remember.
I also play back recorded sessions of actor-singer Liu’s live streams in the background, which run for hours as he talks with fans and sings.
All this is just the beginning. Eventually, I hope to get them – and myself – used to watching Chinese-language shows, reading Chinese books at bedtime and conversing with others in Mandarin.
I am starting to see some budding shoots as a result of my labour. My daughter no longer tells me to stop speaking in Mandarin and attempts to reply in the language. She even asks me how to say certain phrases or words in Mandarin. She no longer looks as lost as she used to during Chinese lessons, according to her teacher, and seems to understand what is being said. And she is getting better at pronouncing her Chinese name.
My husband and son are also improving their vocabulary and comprehension in the language, to varying degrees.
As for me, aside from picking up more vocabulary, I’ve also picked up popular Chinese slang phrases. My current favourites are “我懵了” (wo meng le), which essentially means I’m confused or stunned, and “真假的” (zhen jia de), which is the equivalent of “are you serious?” to express surprise.
I also recently managed a 10-minute phone call with my baby’s infant care teacher entirely in Mandarin, confidently, and neither of us had any trouble understanding each other. I can imagine my 16-year-old self going “真假的?!”
