I grew up having most of my extended family close by in the Boston area. My grandfather immigrated to the United States as a paper son via Angel Island when he was about 8 years old. Soon after, he made his way across the country, eventually establishing roots on Hyde Park Avenue in Jamaica Plain. Most of his youth was centered around making enough money to bring his parents and younger brothers over from China. Eventually our family congregated on Tower Street next to the Forest Hills T stop, down the street from the original Hyde Park Ave house. Growing up I spent a good amount of time at Tower Street for family events. The building is a classic Boston triple decker style, with different cohorts of my extended family living on each floor. No single floor was built to comfortably accommodate the 30+ family members we had, so holidays and parties always had a bunch of chaotic energy. We had four generations of the family together at the time. My siblings and I were the youngest generation, while my great grandparents were the oldest. The majority of my family back then was made up of my father’s generation, the children of the generation that immigrated and the first to be born in the United States. While everyone has their own quirks, we all share a goofy, childish sense of humor that’s amplified by our tendency to be louder than we need to be.

It’s common when a family immigrates to a new country and culture, the generation that immigrates retains many of the habits and traits of where they are from, such as fluency in the native language (Toisanese for us) or knowledge of traditional customs and holidays. The first generation born in the new location retains a lot of those same characteristics from their immigrant parents, but as expected, growing up in this new environment breeds some different characteristics too. Language fluency and accents are easy ones to point out. Then there are holidays celebrated by the masses around you that can overshadow the holidays that only your family celebrates. Even things like the cuisines you prefer can drastically differ. This process, sometimes referred to as “cultural assimilation” (and in the States often referred to as “whitewashing”), often continues at a more drastic rate as further generations develop in the same environment.

It’s not implying assimilation is a bad thing. Many of us can agree it’s an important part of learning and connecting with the world around you; but many of us understand preserving pieces of our heritage through generations can be very important to our elders. Many people tie their cultural identity to their personal identity (to varying degrees of course). For some, that preservation of culture is instilled early and easily while for others it’s like pushing a square peg through a round hole. Take language fluency for example. Someone my age in the same generation who grew up in Chinatown is most likely proficient in Toisanese (maybe Cantonese instead) at least, and could understand what my grandmother is saying 100% of the time. Drive just 15 minutes west to the predominantly white city of Newton where I grew up and you’ll find me struggling to shape my mouth to pronounce basic Toisanese words. I can barely speak the language, limited mostly to disciplinary phrases I heard often growing up as a “kai doi” (mischievous boy), standard day to day phrases like “hehck fan” (eat), or family favorites (remember, a childish sense of humor across the board with my family) such as “oah see” (take a poop).

I mentioned the original folks that immigrated over for my family was my grandfather’s generation and his parents. My grandpa was first, then he brought my grandparents and his three brothers, each who ended up marrying. That group of ten were old school, and our family’s source of truth for any information on how to do things the “traditional” way. Seven of them have passed away so far, two of which passed just this year. My grandmother (my ngin ngin), and the third brother and his wife (my thlam gong and thlam po) are the last three remaining from that generation. Inevitably, they will pass away too. The physical links that connect us younger, American, generations to our native home will be gone. I wonder, and unfortunately expect, that just like fluency has waned with each generation so will the traditions, the culture, and possibly even the identity. From big things like important holidays & customers, to smaller things like how to make lobster sauce (not just any lobster sauce, the way our family makes lobster sauce), how quickly will these things disappear or evolve into something completely different?

For many people like me, who are relatively more whitewashed than others, we still hold our cultural background dear. The elders in our family (especially if they are the immigrants in our family) are heritage personified. A tangible glimpse into the past. You talk to them and hear first-hand experience about how things used to be in the old country, become thankful for many things you take for granted, and understand both where and who you come from. In some cases it’s also a glimpse into the future. Growing up, I can’t remember ever seeing many people that looked like me on tv, in books, billboards, etc. and the few I did were often ridiculed, obedient, emasculated, stereotypes (some exceptions of course, notably Jackie Chan, shout out Jackie Chan). It’s bleak if the only reflection you see of yourself is in negative lights like that. With my parents and grandparents I was lucky enough to have a vision and model for what I could be in the future. While other kids could idolize Spider-Man and actually feel like they could be him because of similar features, I spent a lot of time imagining myself in the future as another version of my dad, my grandpa, and a lot of my uncles.

My favorite person to pretend to be as a kid was my grandfather. He was so damn cool and relatable. We lost him in January this year, and it hit all of us pretty hard (remember, he was the person in our family who dedicated his youth to setting our family’s foundation here). I’ve been working a lot of material inspired by his memory (education on Paper Sons, his village, etc.) and hope to release it soon, but it’s still crazy hard to write about him even 9 months after.

With my grandfather gone, the thing I’m most anxious about right now is losing my grandmother. The reasons for that anxiety go way beyond having a link to my cultural past (as you can imagine, I love my grandmother to death she is truly a character, and I hope you have had the opportunity to love your grandparents too). Specifically related to this post though, I’ve been making a more dedicated effort to ask and learn about things that I hope to continue on for her. Things about holidays I used to ignore, superstitions I used to think were stupid, and customs I’d forget to follow. I’ve busted out some Toisanese to my grandmother recently. I’ve been practicing with my lovely girlfriend and now roommate/landlady Brenda, and it’s really nice to see the joyful surprise and huge smile on my grandmother’s face as she realizes that I can communicate to a small degree in the language she is most comfortable.

If you have experienced a similar feeling like I’ve described, and are interested in learning more just like I am, I encourage you to reach out to your elders to try and learn more. If they’re not around, feel free to DM us on Instagram @thefamiliarfeeling and I’ll share with you everything I can.

- Maicen