A Chinese Girl Learning Chinese

When I first got here, I couldn't make a joke without a resultant awkward silence reverberating around the office cubicle walls. At first, I just thought that my colleagues couldn't hear me. So I told my jokes louder. Still nothing. Then I realized that I was no longer witty. I had lost my gift to talk and connect to people, because I couldn't find the right words and inject them with the proper nuances to express myself.

After I finished my first week at work, I called my dad and cried for two hours. I should leave. I couldn't do this. I couldn't speak Chinese. I should had taken my so-called dream job and stayed on the predictable and secure path where I knew I could succeed.

Things did get better. I jotted down every new word. I tested out unfamiliar words, which my colleagues found endlessly amusing. I was soon considered one of the funnier people at the office. Four people even patted my shoulder and told me that my Chinese had improved drastically.

Two weeks ago, our board chairman visited us as part of his latest round-the-world business trips. He decided to give an impromptu speech, as a rousing gesture, to the entire company. Of course I translated. Of course I squirmed. At that moment, I fancied that #20, #23, and my perfectionist self were best buds, pointing fingers and hating on me when I couldn't think of the Chinese words for "Bolivia" and "Chief Information Officer." It didn't matter that the CEO told me that I got rave reviews for my translation - I hid miserably in the bathroom, once again questioning, berating, and despairing.

Why do I put myself in situations day after day, where embarrassment is merely one South American country away? I have worked hard my entire life to salvage the remnant shreds of Chinese learned from grade school and nurse and strengthen it through Chinese trade law internships and language TA jobs despite growing up in an English dominant environment. Why am I not satisfied with the hard-earned fluency? Why do I keep beating myself against such a soul crushing language, dreaming of crossing over the celestial threshold of native mastery?

----

I was sitting at Church yesterday when I got a glimpse of the answer. A large man with gold rimmed glasses bore his testimony about his belief that someday, China would be open to missionary work. And I cried. Because I sensed, no I knew, that I will be a part of that work. By then, I will know how to be a friend to the Chinese people. I will know how to use their language - my language - to share something that is so important in my life.

At that time, there will be no more awkward silences.

In the mean time, all I can do is to print out the world map in Chinese and learn the countries one by one.