Y'ain't From Around Here, Are You?

Y'aint from around here, are you?" I hear this a lot.

Apparently I'm not. Apparently I have an accent. I'm a transplanted Anglo-Chinese with what can be deemed as an RP accent. According to Wikipedia: Received Pronunciation (RP), also called the Queen's (or King's) English and BBC English, is the accent of Standard English in England. I don't hear it at all. But then again, we never hear our own speech patterns now do we? To me I sound normal. To everyone around me, that isn't so much the case. I have been assured ad nauseum that I do indeed have an accent. Most folk are pleasant about it. Some not so much. But then again, that seems to be part of the sociological makeup of society isn't it? Gotta have the good and the bad.

The good folk aren't that interesting in this particular tale of mine. Mostly a conversation carries on a few minutes before the person I'm talking to, rather self-consciously asks "Are you from England/Australia/New Zealand?" Take your pick. Technically, the answer to all three is "No, I'm from none of the above." Technically, I'm supposedly from Malaysia. My parents both assured me I was made and produced there, hence earning myself citizenship with no effort whatsoever on my part. Mother on the other hand... well, that's not part of this tale. But I was also registered at the British High Commission because Daddy is British. Therefore I also have British Citizenship (again with no effort on my part). Hah, my gentle reader, I feel you thinking, "You are English then!" Nope, no I am not. I am half British. British is not automatically English. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland consist of 4 countries: England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. Daddy is Welsh which makes me Welsh too.

Side note here. It is considered extremely impolite to assume all British are English. Just saying. It's tantamount to calling all Americans Yankees. Here in the South, I could get shot then have my teeth kicked in for saying such a shocking thing.

So, back to the conversation. I mostly say Britain (because of the accent) and my charming acquaintance will nod happily and say "Yes, I detected the accent. You know, I (or my husband, mother, grandad, Uncle Jim) was in England once...." The small talk then takes it own predictable turn. It ends up being a nice, harmless conversation.

You also have the gushers. After a few words, the grab your hand and say "Oh My God!! Like you totally have this accent! Like, it's so cool, y'know? Is it like English then, cause that's just so hot!!!" When I answer in the affirmative, I get another gush of "SHUT UP!!! Get outa here!! Like totally say something!!!" So I oblige, I say "Something" and am usually greeted with peals of laughter followed by "You are just soooo cute I could eat you! You totally rock!!" Did you understand that? Don't worry, it took me awhile to figure it out too! Bless them! Nice people, they really are.

Then you have the just bizarre. While helping out a gentleman at work one day, he suddenly asked me if he detected a Korean accent. Korean?? Seriously? I didn't realise my 4 hour layover in Seoul while flying from L.A. to Hong Kong allowed me to absorb the speech patterns of an average Korean. "Oh goody!!" I thought to myself, my inner imp doing it's happy jig, "Now I get to play!!!"
My co-workers have gone quiet and started subtly eavesdropping. Oh how well they know me!
"Wow!" I say, sounding suitably impressed, "How perceptive of you. I can assure you no one else has ever detected it."
He smiles smugly at me. "I'm very gifted when it comes to catching accents," he boasts. "I can hear yours distinctly. "Which part of Korea?" he presses further.
My nosy co-workers have dropped all pretenses of not listening and are waiting for this train-wreck to happen.
"Oh, the northern part, " I say grinning like a Cheshire cat. "You know, that little city called Pyongyang, located just by the Taedong River. It really is a little farther north than most Americans are familiar with. Beautiful place. Our people are so friendly there."
Co-workers have started to snort and choke. They obviously know their geography better than Mr. Gifted.
Oblivious, he beams at me, "Yes, know it well. Such wonderful people. The women are gorgeous!" he says, terribly proud of his ability to identify Korean accents, his geographical knowledge of Northern Asia and apparently just as confident of his devastating charm and magnetism. He's turned on his 1,000 watt smile now. This is getting embarrassing. For him. My co-workers are no longer bothering to hold back anything. They've all gone and hidden in the back room where I could hear the most awful grunts and chokes and guffaws. Time to put an end to this.
"I'm sure they are. Will this be all sir?" I don't give him a chance to answer. "Enjoy your workout then. " I say as I turn my back to him and answer the phone.

There was also a time when I called up the car dealership in California to inquire about a recall. At the most random of moments, the rep breaks out with, "You're from Texas aren't you? I love Texas. Which part you from?"
Rather taken aback I fell back into my evil mode. "The British part!" I say with conviction. "It's in the north (I love being from the north if you haven't already spotted a trend!), specifically in the Hill Country in a little town called Pecan Springs. Lovely place there." Yes, there is hill country in Texas. No there is no Pecan Springs except in the wonderful fictitious world of Susan Whittig Albert's China Bayles Mysteries. This satisfied the man and we were back on track to the rather boring recall issue.

And then there are the just plain rude. There was this one guy who overheard me speaking to my friend at a stock car race (I embrace all forms of American culture! It was a fun night!!!). "Hey lady!" he bellows, "You got an English accent dontcha?"
"I've been told I have." I answer.
"Awww!," he says "I'm sooo sorry. Must be tough!" he grins idiotically.
"Oh sweetheart," I coo at him, batting my eyes. "Don't feel sorry for me. I've learn to deal with it. You save your sympathy for yourself. See, to I can change my accent in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, when you wake up tomorrow, you'll still be an idiot and there is no cure for dumbass."
My friends were sensible enough to grab me by the arm and drag me away before anything else happened. I love my friends!

You also have the folks that just barge in boorishly while you're in the middle of a conversation with someone else to state authoritatively that I have an accent. This irritates me no end. Why do you have to interrupt my conversation with this earth shattering piece of information. Gosh, if I wasn't told RIGHT THAT MOMENT, I guess the world will jolt off it's axis and Armageddon will be set in motion. I handle this one with very little grace, I'm sad to say. I look at the offending person from head to toe to head again, look them square in the eye and say in a clear, distinct, school teacher tone that carries through the whole room, "Sir/Ma'am, I don't have an accent. I have a speech impediment and for your information, in polite society we do not go around pointing out peoples' handicaps. It would behoove you to refrain from doing so in the future because others may not be as restrained as myself." For the full effect, I then toss my head, march off and leave the boor standing there. What he does after that, I don't particularly care.

I don't mention accents anymore. I know how old it can get. There's a German lady at the Commissary, an Indian girl and a Scottish lady at the Walmart where I shop. We've crossed paths numerous time over the last 2 years. None of us has breathed a word about accents. We hear it, we digest it and we move on. It isn't the accent that defines these people, it's their kindness, their work ethics, their smile and their sunny nature that make them who they are.

And I'm positive they're as sick as I am of being told that we ain't from around here.

Vent over.

The Unfilial Daughter

"Gee! You've been avoiding me haven't you?"
"No Ma, I haven't. I've been really busy." I mumble, embarrassed.The truth is I have been avoiding Mother.
"Too busy for your parents?" Did I just just hear that hint of a sinister tone in her voice? I'd better step up my game.
"Of course not, Ma! Perish the thought! I've just been swamped at work having to learn so much about the new position. So much to absorb! But I was going to call this weekend when I could dedicate more time to talking!"
"You always say that." Apparently I do. Oh God, I am praying, please don't let her use THAT word! Please!
"You know, Carol Lee's daughter calls her everyday. The most filial of daughters. No wonder Carol is so proud!"
Crap, crap, CRAP!!! Not only did she bring up Carol Lee's offspring who are, she would have me believe, perfection incarnated; the Chinese poster children, she also used THAT word!

Filial. A word firmly entrenched in the vocabulary of every Asian mother to ever walk this earth. Nothing trumps filial! It's meaning, according to the dictionary is: "of, relating to, or befitting a son or daughter. As in filial obedience" In Chinese Hokkien it is "Oo cheng". In Malay the word is "berbaktian". In Japanese it is "oyakoko". The one thing an Asian mother wants above all else is a filial offspring. Yes, to be a doctor, an engineer, a lawyer, a financier, all these are highly desirable for the boast-factor, but to be filial tops it all.

Take Carol Lee's youngest daughter Masie. Masie Lee, a 35 years old Harvard graduate is an in-house consultant to one of the biggest financial firms in the world. For her job Masie travels regularly between London, New York and Hong Kong and owns homes in each of the cities. Carol(and Carol's maid) go along twice a year for an all expense paid trip so Masie can spend time with her mother. She dotes on Carol if my mother is to be believed. Then there's Anabelle, Maisie's older sister; she read law in Oxford, earned herself a first (class degree) and is now one of the foremost solicitors in London. She is happily married to a successful Dermatologist in private practice and their 4 beautiful children are all on their way to becoming clones of their perfect parents. Annabelle and the grandkids visit Carol in San Francisco 3 times a year, again according to mother. And we have Daniel, Carol Lee's middle child. He's a physician and a Commander in the Navy, a decorated war hero and a published author. His homeport is San Diego and he visits his mother every opportunity he has. Carol Lee has it all! Beautiful, successful children and every one of them filial. Are you ready to puke yet, dearest reader? If you are, join me. I have a spare bucket!

There's no comparison. No wonder my mother feels cheated with her lot. Two average daughters leading average lives halfway round the world and visiting once every year or two. And to add insult to injury, I, her eldest, staunchly refuses to have children. How much more unfilial can I get? It is a sore subject with my mother, a source of embarrassment and frustration when each of her friends call to announce their daughter or daughter-in-law just popped out another bundle of joy. These women are popping out kids with alarming regularity. Rather viciously, I think of that tennis ball machine my Uncle S.K. a professional tennis player, uses for practice. Pop, thwack! Pop, thwack!. Pop, thwack, ad infinitum. With each new pop there follows a thwack. The tennis racket hitting that ball symbolizes another nail I hammer into my long suffering mother's heart. Cruel, cruel, unfilial daughter that I am. What had she done to deserve this?! My sister, albeit unintentionally, finally took pity on mother and produced the longed for grandson (yes! Sis was very clever. She had a boy and boys are prized in Chinese culture!), And just like that, I have become forever indebted to my sister!

My childless state is not my only failure. Alas, I have not quite reached the depths of my unfilialness. Which brings me full circle; right back to the call (remember, the call from mother that started this ramble). Carol Lee's daughter calls everyday. Allegedly. I don't. My utter lack of concern for my parents and their well being was pretty obvious by the infrequency of my calls. I can't deny this particular failing. I am guilty as charged. I can hear my gentle readers thinking to themselves, "why not just give her a quick call everyday? Your filial status will improve and that can't be a bad thing?" Yes, I know this. But I can't bring myself to do it. "Why?" my gentle readers ask. "Perhaps you are a trifle unfilial after all." they admonish. Yes perhaps I am. See, much as I love talking to my mother, I really don't want to hear about the likes of Carol Lee, her perfectly filial offspring and their fertility status. I have enough self esteem issues, I don't need any more. And the irony? It is their absolute filialness that is making me unfilial.

But back to the conversation. "Yes Ma. I know Annabelle and Masie call everyday They're doing so well, I hear. Mrs Lee is very blessed."
My mother sniffs dismissively. "Daniel is anyway." she says. And with those three words, my interest is peaked, my attention captured; trapped! I am listening attentively now. "The girls?" I urge her.
"Well" she says and her voice takes on the conspiratorial tone, "Annabelle and Philip are heading for a divorce. Ann calls Carol everyday (Aha! Annabelle is the culprit!) and Carol is beside herself. You know how this will look, a divorce in that family! Hah! It's unheard of. But Carol says, Ann is being so stubborn. What do you expect from a lawyer? They're always so hard headed and can never see it from another's point of view. Poor Carol! And as if that wasn't enough, Masie! Masie!"
"What about Masie?" I ask breathlessly. This keeps getting better!
"She's pregnant!"
"Oooh, Carol must be thrilled" I say cautiously. I sense another pop and thwack moment soon!
"Thrilled? THRILLED?? Have you gone mad, darling?! She's not married!!! The shame this will bring on the family!"
"Oh my!" I say.
"Yes, I am lost for words too!" says Mother as she gushes on, "And that's not all. That stupid, selfish girl refuses to name the baby's father! How could she do this to Carol?!"
"Oh Ma, that's too bad." I say. No pop and thwack! Not this time! A reprieve!!!
"Yes, yes it is. I thank God everyday for my two sensible daughters and their wonderful husbands and my perfect grandson!" she tells me. "I am a very lucky woman aren't I? Such filial children!"

Absolutely Ma!, Sis and I are such filial children! Well for now anyway.