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Semi-Fluent
"Shudaizi"
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by
Yun-Xian Ho |
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Here I was sitting at the edge of a vast lily pond in the center
of Tsinghua University, one of the most prestigious universities
in China. I had already spent my first year at NYU attending Speaking
Freely classes for Mandarin. And in the following year, I had moved
on to take Mandarin for credit. Now, armed with phrases like "You
are my mooncake" and "I like stinky tofu"-and not too mention, a
strong, unmistakable American accent-I felt I was more than ready
to take my own great leap forward and continue studying the language
in the mainland. I would master the Mandarin language and…well,
at least, for the time being I was determined to return to America
from a summer in China with a new and improved set of armory-the
ability to confidently order a meal in Chinatown…in Chinese. |
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I proceeded to enroll in a second level Mandarin course in the Columbia
Summer Study Abroad Program and as I soon learned, the second level
was only halfway to the level I had originally intended to master.
Indeed, the fourth-year students would be reading and analyzing
Chinese journals and newspapers, while I, in the second level, would
probably still be perfecting the strokes of some of the most elementary
Chinese characters. Yes, to my disappointment, I was in fact two
levels away from attaining my goal of fluency. Nonetheless, I strove
to at least become…semi-fluent. |
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For the first several weeks in Beijing, I remained staunch to adhering
to my revised goal of achieving semi-fluency. I frequently biked
around campus with a bulging bag full of books and notes strapped
to my back. When finding a place to sit at the local American-style
café Sculpting in Time just outside of the campus, I made sure to
leave an extra seat for my textbooks. I did my homework a couple
days in advance. I took peeks at my notes amidst throngs of local
and foreign tourists "ooh-ing" and "aah-ing" at the awe-inspiring
national sites in various parts of the Beijing. I even prepared
vocabulary cards a week in advance. I was on the ball. |
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In addition to that, I was most punctual with the mandatory sessions
scheduled with my assigned conversation partner, Yang. One session
per day for four days a week was the requirement of the program.
Practicing my oral language skills with Yang for at least an hour
and a half each day proved to be highly beneficial to my studies. |
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However,
as I soon realized, in the process of strictly adhering to the codes
of a "shudaizi" (English translation: nerd), I had unknowingly transformed
into a typical student at Tsinghua University. Not to say that students
at Tsinghua University simply have their heads in books at all times
of the day. But rather, here I was amidst a storage room of great
knowledge, conscientiousness, and innovation and all I could see
was closed boxes opening to release occasional utterances of broken
English. Of course, prior to arriving in Beijing I had heard that
Tsinghua University is one of the top universities in China. And
with 2.5 billion people, it is no wonder that the Chinese phrase
"hit others on the head to get in" has become customary in describing
the college process. Yet my naïvete led me to simply fall victim
to the perpetual human flaw of judging a book by its cover. Even
after having learned my lesson in Writing Workshop I that language
does not necessarily reflect intelligence (i.e. Amy Tan's essay
"Mother Tongue"), I continued to see knowledge confined within the
context of 'l's pronounced like 'r's and 'she's transformed to 'he's.
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In
fact, one amusing experience I had during a conversation session
with Yang only seemed to build upon my erroneous belief of the extent
of the intelligence level around me. For this particular session,
Yang had decided to bring with him a book of American slang words.
I immediately broke into a fit of giggles upon opening the book
to one of the bookmarked pages. There, in the middle of the page,
was the word "beef" written bold as day, followed by a definition
and several examples of how to use the word "beef." I shamelessly
read aloud the sentences with the word's appropriate usage: |
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"Example
1: Do you have beef with your teacher?"
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"Example
2: American male cologne ads often feature many beefcakes."
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Beefcakes?! At this point, all I could do was imagine a non-native
American speaker uttering the word "beefcake" and once again I rolled
into a giggle fit. Here, sitting next to me, was a young graduate
student at Tsinghua diligently marking pages in an American slang
book and asking sincere questions about the technical usage of these
words that people in America would ordinarily just spew out thoughtlessly!
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Another instance of the deceiving nature of language occurred over
dinner with my host family. Of the nine weeks in the program, I
spent seven of them living in the home of a Tsinghua professor and
his family. For two nights a week, I would eat at home with my Chinese
host family and discuss issues ranging from dating etiquette in
China to the bombing of the Chinese Embassy. During this particular
dinner, the issue of English language took the spotlight and for
a good half an hour, we mulled over the correct pronunciation of
the English word style. |
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"Sty-uhl,"
I said, making sure to annunciate the final '-uhl' sound.
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"Stay-o,"
my host father, mother, and sister echoed in unison.
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I watched as my host father, an esteemed Professor of Material Sciences
and Engineering, struggled to pronounce the simple word style. Each
time it sounded more and more like he was describing old, tasteless
bread. Stale. Finally, they asked me to repeat the word into a tape
recorder where they would have it permanently to refer to and continue
to practice with. (Incidentally, on that same tape, I was also recorded
saying the words squirrel, homosexual, and octopus.) |
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Clearly, one can see how a limited vocabulary accompanied by a thick
foreign accent could suggest a speaker's lower standard of intelligence
when communicating in a language unfamiliar to him or her. My conversations
with Yang and my Chinese host father are only two examples of the
many experiences I had throughout my stay in China that confirmed
again and again the power of language in the perception of intelligence.
On that same token, surely the same could be said about me-a student
roaming the streets of a foreign country calling everyone "mooncake."
Admittedly, I giggled at the mispronunciations of English words,
but ironically, I was the one who was striving to reach a level
of mere semi-fluency in Mandarin. Furthermore, here I was a second-level
Mandarin student belittling a graduate student who had in fact learned
more than half the words in a 300-page GRE verbal preparation book;
skimming through American slang books was simply something he did
for fun. |
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As I returned to the states, seated on the plane with plastic container
of stir-fried noodles and a Little Debbie brownie on the side, I
thought about how my Mandarin language skills had improved greatly
and how I had not only expanded my Mandarin vocabulary, but expanded
my knowledge of the culture and nature behind the language as well.
I pictured my next experience walking into a Chinese restaurant
after arriving back in New York City. This would be the moment I
had trained for all summer long. I imagined my finger running down
the many food items listed in complicated Chinese characters, not
needing to stop once to recall the meaning of the character. I pictured
myself absorbing the chitchat of the Mandarin-speaking patrons seated
at tables around me. But then, as I imagined the waiter approaching
me to take my order, I froze. Suddenly, I thought to myself…"What
if he laughs at me?" |
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To this I would have to respond, "Do not judge me, for I am only
semi-fluent in Mandarin."
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