Every two weeks or so, I am publishing an essay from an emerging writer. This week, “Why Are You Stranded?” by Nicole Zhao. Nicole is a writer from Elmhurst, Queens and based in Brooklyn. Her writing has been published in Apogee Journal and is forthcoming in
As a first generation individual, although from another country, I felt this on such a personal level.
It’s so frustrating to learn so much of your culture from “ colonizers” or people from outside the culture.
I remember my father once said “We never felt the need to analyze why or how we did things in our culture, we just did it.” I thinks that what is like for many cultures and why being a first generation, you feel so out of place.
Jun 29, 2022·edited Jun 29, 2022Liked by Nicole Zhao
Loved this so much, commenting with tears in my eyes. Taiwanese here, parents speak Taiwanese Hokkien and Mandarin. Have been on that same wiki hole of reading about anglicization of my parents dialects, frustration of learning about my ancestral culture through a western perspective, not knowing the name of one of my favorite foods or vegetables. Even the bit about your dad telling you he wanted to kill himself. When the Asian American immigrant experience feels lonely, singular, so distant from everything and everyone else, I remind myself that even that feeling is shared, that we are all intensely connected through/by/despite these feelings of fragmentation and alienation. Thanks for writing this, Nicole.
Thank you so much for this essay, Nicole. It beautifully put to words what I've found so difficult to express in my own life. How guilty I feel to lack such basic knowledge about my own family and our history. How much I crave to know where I come from, only to be stymied by my inability to speak the languages of my parents. How divorced I am from the birthplaces of my ancestors. How inept I feel at having to learn about my culture and history from other people, from Google, from books, from seemingly everyone and everything except from the people I am connected with through blood. This piece resonated deeply and I'm grateful to you for having written it and shared it.
Thank you so much for this moving essay. As a first generation American from an entirely different part of the world, I identified with the feeling of being “other” no matter where I am. Being the child of immigrants & first generation American has meant I have learned about my culture through misrepresentations and interpretations that never quite aligned with my experience.
To learn about the “reparations” Haitians were forced to pay France for their freedom from historians instead of was wild.
We all want to learn about ourselves and our roots, and it is so much more complex for us.
I appreciated this essay so much, Nicole. I am one of many girls born in China and adopted by white Americans, and I resonate with so much of this, so I wanted to let you know that you are reaching and speaking to this little niche audience as well. So much of what I have learned about my culture and ancestors was filtered through the lens of white people. My ongoing struggle to learn Mandarin Chinese often leaves me ashamed and disappointed, so I waver back and forth every few months in trying, and then abandoning the effort. A white coworker told me in passing about how her daughter is learning Chinese in kindergarten as part of their regular curriculum and comes home speaking new Chinese words. Hearing this made me hollow and jealous.
As an immigrant who have raised first generation children in the US, I relate to your dad's attitude about not "deliberately" passing on my culture to my children. They had asked me the same questions when people assumed they know the history or fluently speak the language of my birthplace.
I suppose, as immigrants we're so busy trying to assimilate and we want our children to be "American" something we struggle to achieve by studying hard and having to take a test to swear off allegiance to our birth country. (Some immigrants are allowed to have both, but not my kind)
However, food was also the one part of my culture that I shared daily with my children. I may not be able to tell them much about their ancestors, our history, landmarks...but in my heart, I carry the love of my country. My girls are proud to tell anyone who ask that they are Haitians, who were born here because their parents are Haitians.
Such a moving, poignant piece. I absolutely love how you took us on a journey from not knowing what of your father's habits and activities were "cultural" versus idiosyncratic, to "I am trying to articulate myself into existence" (WOW, what a sentence), to, finally, having all the words you need. Brings a tear to my eye. Love the story, absolutely adore the writing.
Screenshotted so many passages. I meant to glance at this while holding my baby and read in more depth later, but I was transfixed. Thankfully baby fell asleep long enough for me to devour this. Love.
This piece is stunning. “I savored the rich umami flavor and swallowed that which I could not name.” This line took my breath away. Looking forward to reading more of your work, Nicole.
As a first generation individual, although from another country, I felt this on such a personal level.
It’s so frustrating to learn so much of your culture from “ colonizers” or people from outside the culture.
I remember my father once said “We never felt the need to analyze why or how we did things in our culture, we just did it.” I thinks that what is like for many cultures and why being a first generation, you feel so out of place.
Loved this so much, commenting with tears in my eyes. Taiwanese here, parents speak Taiwanese Hokkien and Mandarin. Have been on that same wiki hole of reading about anglicization of my parents dialects, frustration of learning about my ancestral culture through a western perspective, not knowing the name of one of my favorite foods or vegetables. Even the bit about your dad telling you he wanted to kill himself. When the Asian American immigrant experience feels lonely, singular, so distant from everything and everyone else, I remind myself that even that feeling is shared, that we are all intensely connected through/by/despite these feelings of fragmentation and alienation. Thanks for writing this, Nicole.
Thank you so much for this essay, Nicole. It beautifully put to words what I've found so difficult to express in my own life. How guilty I feel to lack such basic knowledge about my own family and our history. How much I crave to know where I come from, only to be stymied by my inability to speak the languages of my parents. How divorced I am from the birthplaces of my ancestors. How inept I feel at having to learn about my culture and history from other people, from Google, from books, from seemingly everyone and everything except from the people I am connected with through blood. This piece resonated deeply and I'm grateful to you for having written it and shared it.
Thank you so much for this moving essay. As a first generation American from an entirely different part of the world, I identified with the feeling of being “other” no matter where I am. Being the child of immigrants & first generation American has meant I have learned about my culture through misrepresentations and interpretations that never quite aligned with my experience.
To learn about the “reparations” Haitians were forced to pay France for their freedom from historians instead of was wild.
We all want to learn about ourselves and our roots, and it is so much more complex for us.
🙏🏽
I appreciated this essay so much, Nicole. I am one of many girls born in China and adopted by white Americans, and I resonate with so much of this, so I wanted to let you know that you are reaching and speaking to this little niche audience as well. So much of what I have learned about my culture and ancestors was filtered through the lens of white people. My ongoing struggle to learn Mandarin Chinese often leaves me ashamed and disappointed, so I waver back and forth every few months in trying, and then abandoning the effort. A white coworker told me in passing about how her daughter is learning Chinese in kindergarten as part of their regular curriculum and comes home speaking new Chinese words. Hearing this made me hollow and jealous.
Everything about this article, and especially the title
As an immigrant who have raised first generation children in the US, I relate to your dad's attitude about not "deliberately" passing on my culture to my children. They had asked me the same questions when people assumed they know the history or fluently speak the language of my birthplace.
I suppose, as immigrants we're so busy trying to assimilate and we want our children to be "American" something we struggle to achieve by studying hard and having to take a test to swear off allegiance to our birth country. (Some immigrants are allowed to have both, but not my kind)
However, food was also the one part of my culture that I shared daily with my children. I may not be able to tell them much about their ancestors, our history, landmarks...but in my heart, I carry the love of my country. My girls are proud to tell anyone who ask that they are Haitians, who were born here because their parents are Haitians.
Great essay Nicole!
Such a moving, poignant piece. I absolutely love how you took us on a journey from not knowing what of your father's habits and activities were "cultural" versus idiosyncratic, to "I am trying to articulate myself into existence" (WOW, what a sentence), to, finally, having all the words you need. Brings a tear to my eye. Love the story, absolutely adore the writing.
"JFK ain't no spaceship either" sent me lmao
Brilliant and beautiful work, Nicole
Screenshotted so many passages. I meant to glance at this while holding my baby and read in more depth later, but I was transfixed. Thankfully baby fell asleep long enough for me to devour this. Love.
Oof this hit me right in the feels. So much of your experience mirrors my own, and written so eloquently . Thank you for this essay Nicole.
“I am trying to articulate myself into existence.” breathtaking
This piece is stunning. “I savored the rich umami flavor and swallowed that which I could not name.” This line took my breath away. Looking forward to reading more of your work, Nicole.
This may make its way into our first year writing program.
This is beautiful.