Exploring the Wicked Mother: Navigating a Cross-Cultural Life through Self-Help
Embracing Midlife Challenges: Navigating a Transformative Cross-Cultural Life in the 40s
NOSTALIC TAPES AND MOTHER LOVE:
A TALE OF TVB DRAMAS
Childhood memories, like old videotapes, play in my mind, filled with Hong Kong soap operas and my mother by my side. It’s something I’ve carried from my early years into my present, and it’s a quirk I cherish, even if it’s odd.
Every Saturday, my mother and I would take the train to Utrecht, the big city. Our destination? The Chinese video rental store, a treasure trove of TVB dramas. There, we’d take at least 7 to 10 videotapes, each containing a single episode of our chosen series. You should see the disappointment in my face, when we only took 3 or 5 tapes to home. This means I had to wait another week for more tapes! Addiction knows no boundaries, and sometimes, we’d find our faces stuck in front of the TV until the clock hits midnight and beyond.
Now, my mother and I, we’ve never been the ideal partner for deep conversations. It’s as if the universe had decided our shared interest would revolve around TVB dramas—their characters, their plots, and the lives of the actors and actresses. We’d gossip about their real-world antics, as if they were our neighbours.
Through those tapes, I learned more about Cantonese culture than any textbook could offer, and the language itself became my friend. We’d traverse a landscape of hardworking peasants in China, the tyranny of the rich over the poor, various kung fu masters, Chinese ghosts, hopping vampires, the Monkey King, Hong Kong police, love triangles, evil stepmothers, infidelity where couples ended in a pig cage, a servant molested by the master, sick person coughing blood in the air, disobedience of children waiting to be hit by the heavy thunder for punishment. .
But amidst all the drama, what truly triggered me were the Cantonese love songs. Music performances and award shows introduced me to the “Four Heavenly Kings” singers: Andy Lau, Leon Lai, Aaron Kwok, and Jacky Cheung. My heart had a soft spot for Leon Lai. I’d daydream about him, crafting fantasies where we’d be destined to meet. I’d even holding the idea of joining the Hong Kong Miss Pageant, hoping for some romantic encounter or a shot at becoming a singer or actress myself. Alas, courage eluded me. It wasn’t a matter of thinking myself particularly pretty, but rather an unshakable belief that I’d never be selected due to my height and, as they say in Cantonese, my “big, meaty” flat nose. Apparently, having a substantial sniffer meant future wealth. So, here I am, in my 40s still waiting for my nose to bring in the riches.
In the end, it’s these sassy memories, the shared laughter and musings about TVB dramas that bind me to my mother. Our conversations may not be deep, but they are uniquely ours, woven together in the comforting glow of the TV screen and the melodies of old Cantonese songs. We would hum the songs in front of the tv, whether is from Teressa Deng or Cantonese Operas.
Struggling to find my voice
Growing up with parents who spoke very little Dutch, my first language, my mother tongue, was Cantonese. Back then, I wasn’t exactly proud of it, especially when I found myself in the classroom. The language barrier made me feel like an outsider, someone who couldn’t quite express themselves. Speaking up was a mission impossible, and I was too scared to stand up for myself. This, I believe, was the primary reason I became a target for bullies during my early years, from the first grade to maybe the fifth or sixth. My memory vividly retraces the steps of my first-grade misadventure. There was this girl, a giant compared to my little me, who seemed to have made it her personal mission to haunt my restroom visits. Every time I went in, there she was, ready to fling the door open and pinch me. I could never quite understood her motives, and the fear of her loomed over me for years. Even now, at this stage of life, I’m left with a big question mark—why did she do it? Was it because I was Chinese, an easy target: a quiet, introverted girl?
She was one of the main reason I switched to another school. A Protestant school became my sanctuary, a place where I could finally feel a bit safe. Yet, the bullying didn’t cease until I discovered the courage to speak up and confront my classmates. I must have been around 8 or 9 years old when my Dutch became more polished, and, more importantly, I found the nerve to voice my thoughts (even it is just a little!).
The names they called at me were a symphony of racism: “Hanky Panky”, “Poep Chinees”, “Spleetogen,” “sambal bij,” “witte Lijst,” “dish nr 92,” and “Ni Hao hahaha.” For those who share the Chinese-Dutch experience, these words cut deep. Strangely, even in adulthood, every time I heard these words again on the streets, I can still feel the hurt and anger.
Yet, among all the classmates who taunted me, one memory stands out—a memory that still stings today. It was when a teacher doubted my capability during a spelling test. I had spelled a word correctly, sitting next to my best friend, who also had it right. But when the teacher asked the class to raise their hands if they had spelled it correctly, he singled me out, asking, “Did you do it by yourself?” I was stunned, disheartened, and frustrated. I was so proud that I had that word correct, how could he doubt me, and how on earth could I have copied from my friend when our chairs were a meter apart?
These memories remain salting in my soul, the challenges I faced growing up in a world where I struggled to find my voice and a sense of belonging. While I find most of the time feeling lonely….
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