This is Me; My Heritage and I

I have always been (a little) proud.

My mum, Madeleine (no Chinese name) is Eurasian-Chinese. Or Chinese-Eurasian, if you're particular about the dads coming first.

My beloved Grandpa was Hakka who spoke English to his nine children. Probably because my Grandma spoke no Chinese. Come to think of it, I, who spent years of my childhood (from the time I could walk to the age of fifteen) living with my grandparents, can't even tell to this day whether Grandpa spoke anything other than English.

My Grandma is Eurasian, I suspect of Portuguese descent. My only clue of this? She cooks (cooked - she's chair-bound now) some mean Devil curry and we (my mum, Auntie and I) bake pineapple tarts and sugee cake for Christmas. Grandma has a really cool surname too - Jalle.

Growing up my mum was the major influence in my life. I was taught to be, for lack a way of saying it better, almost Anti-Chinese. We watched the Cosby Show, progressed to Friends and shouted the answers to Wheel of Fortune and A-Million-Dollar-Chance-of-A-Lifetime. We spoke exclusively English at home, and thought that was normal. My brothers and I couldn't even order food in Chinese (Hokkien) until much, much later in life. Daniel was sent to a Chinse medium primary school but hated it. It was almost as if he knew it wasn't for him even though he was seven, or twelve. When mum wanted him to go to similar high school he went ballistic and cried every day (and I mean every day) until he got into St Xavier's, where he thrives now.

Thanks to mum, we love Christmas more than Chinese New Year because, well, she did.

Somehow, we were programmed to bring out the tree and buy presents for each other. To eat turkey, sambal and sugee cake. To sing the Golden Oldies (actually that's more Pa than Mum), and to watch all the American sitcoms. To hate steamed white chicken and to be snooty to people who didn't speak English as well as we did (ok, that was mostly me, and I had some peer influence there no doubt).

I can truthfully say that I only appreciated, accepted my Chinese heritage when I was in University. That was when I was the only Chinese out of 20 who spoke none. That's when I learnt to order food in Mandarin. That was where I realized that there were some Malaysians who spoke no English almost their entire life.

I dabbled, wet my toes in the Chinese- gang for a while, mostly because they were my coursemates. But I soon found some people who were more like me and they have been my closest friends, and still are. But I learnt - and changed quite a bit. I now look forward to good Dim Sum, roast crackled pork when I never accepted as a child. I would rather have chocolate cookies and chicken pies.

Why am I writing this? Because I am wondering about my own descendants. What sort of heritage to I pass down? What kind of memories shall I create? How do I want to be remembered?

It's the nostalgia speaking, excuse me. But one word comes to mind though, whatever it may be - delicously.