Once I was 4 years old ♪

There I am, so young. My mum somehow saved this photo from an article in the local paper about Te Whāriki and in all its pixelated glory. Not sure why I was wearing a crown while eating what appears to be cake, despite not being the birthday boy. Just being me I guess… 

Looking different

Throughout my school life, I was fortunate to not be bullied apart from the first few weeks in prep. That was just down to one smarty pants. I was aware from the outset that I looked different in my appearance in the sea of other children. Diversity was not the same as it is now where it is much more celebrated. While it was not burning-at-the-stake taboo by any means, it wasn’t as common to see many children similar to me – Chinese. 

Being children, we had carefree fun, laughed, joked and teased each other. Teasing would be trivial. On the odd occasion, my appearance was made fun of. No one likes being teased when you try to ‘fit in’. But in the end, I didn’t really care as I couldn’t change what I looked like. 

I remember the first primary school I went to expected me to study Chinese in language class. Fair assumption as there was only two choices. But I wanted to study Italian instead and it ended up having my mum come into school to talk to the principal about it. 

Moving forward in schooling, I continued to have no desire to learn Chinese. In my mind it was just sooo boring. I use it at home and with family. Isn’t that enough? 

High school came and some jokes and teasing re-appeared. Sometimes it was embarrassing but again it wasn’t bullying and in the end I was not affected but it at all. The remarks rolled off me like  water off a duck’s back. Sometimes I would give in and continue their jokes sarcastically by teasing myself and taking the wind out of their teasing. It stopped being fun for them. 

Maybe that’s why I hear the term ‘banana’ growing up. Yellow on the outside, white on the inside.

I never took offence to it. Seriously it’s probably accurate – from all the exposure to a majority of non Asian influences growing up. One thing I’m glad for is that I don’t have a particularly strong accent either way, bogan or otherwise.

The places we lived were also not ethnically Asian either. So apart from being at home, my world was not in an Asian bubble. While I had some friends with similar background to myself, we would converse in common English. I continued to adopt less traditional (let’s be honest, stereotypical) subjects for art type classes like wood work, visual design, even taking French outside of school. My cultural identity of being Chinese really only existed once I was at home. 

I will add that growing up, we did not really celebrate all the Chinese traditions either. We weren’t religious and Chinese New Year was rarely celebrated unless invited to a family friend’s gathering. I guess you could say it was a subconscious cultural assimilation. You can blame my parents for training me with western cutlery to use from an early age.

With that, I never ended up caring about traditions, or bothered to understand the meaning behind certain words or expand my vocabulary to more technical words. I actually do feel a bit lost sometimes speaking to my extended family where I come across words I don’t quite get as they haven’t been rotated into my everyday vernacular. 

That trajectory has carried through even now in the way I live.

I look back and feel like I don’t know much history of my family and culture. I don’t want to be someone who doesn’t have an idea of my cultural identity or feel disconnected. While sometimes I was embarrassed growing up, I never hated my background. But I am more proud of it these days. Quietly proud. Me being me, I don’t shout things from the rooftops. Now I’ve come to have more of a strong interest in the cultural aspects of my background including food.  We applaud cultural diversity now and the cynic in me feels that it’s almost trendy to be quirky or ‘diverse’ to be part of the movement. In reality, it’s nothing new. It is just more noticeable.  

What to do on a gloomy day?

Even simple things like food I never really appreciated what we ate growing up. It was just regular food to me.

As a first step, I tried my hand at 菠蘿包 or pineapple buns which is staple in Cantonese/ Asian bakeries. They are traditional as a breakfast item or more often than not as an afternoon tea snack with a milk tea. Afternoon teas are big in Cantonese culture and is a more of a casual affair. It’s one of those things that you never think to make and it’s actually pretty simple. I even managed to follow a fail safe recipe and more incredibly ignited my OCD by weighing each portion for uniformity. 

Despite the name, it does not contain any pineapple in any form. The pineapple name only accounts for the crackly exterior when baked. Who knew iso would send me making some baked goods that I took for granted (well $2.80 probably) at an Asian bakery? I think my dad would be proud of my attempt.

If you slice a bun in half and wodge butter in the middle, it is called 菠蘿油. Or literal translation as “pineapple oil” which is technically a different beast. Equally delicious but don’t expect sympathy from the health conscious. 

Guess the grass is always greener on the other side.

Hearing other people’s stories of growing up on plain beige food makes me glad I had more of an ‘exotic’ fare. Currently having less than ideal Cantonese food options around me, combined with limited capability to scour for said food has forced me to adopt some creative means to prepare the type of food I might have with my parents. Whether it is a quick bakery good from an Asian bakery or the more elaborate dim sum, those things I find myself wanting now. I’m thinking this is the part of my life where I am morphing into a senior with my safe and basic ideals, ways and palate.

  • See my other post for kanelbullar (cinnamon buns).