Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Slanging

All too often nowadays I tend to lapse into a slang that can only be described as uniquely mine. A slang in which the words uttered tend to be pronounced in a comprehensible manner that can only be described as non-local-speak. I wonder where this faux accent was manufactured from, as I have noticed that I have spoken like that for as long as I can remember. But only recently it has gotten 'worse' - or if you look at it in another way, it should be 'better'.

I have forgotten how to speak Chinese. My ears no longer can figure out the simplest of phrases, two cojoining words put together to form a description of another word. I no longer can decipher how to order what to eat, thanks to the clearly illustrated signboards with numbers on them. No one now needs to understand a smattering of Chinese to order from Chinese food stalls. Just point to the picture, or even better, raise up a hand gesture in the symbol of the number that you want. You don't even need to speak. Strangely, Chinese hawkers now speak to me in local English-speak too. When I ask, 'how much?' (Because I cannot trust my tongue to twist into saying it in Chinese) They immediately answer, Oh, it's 70 cents, miss. Only the truly Chinese from China - many populating our shores these days, still hold on to tradition and refuse to speak in another language, almost standing out in their inability to local-speak.

I have absolutely no desire to put my offspring through the nightmare I went through, having failed my first test ever in the Chinese language. Having people laugh at me because of a single phrase I uttered. Others are more kind when you cannot pronounce English words right, they look sypathetically and utter kind nonsense about your underprivileged upbringing. But when you cannot speak your mother tongue, it is almost as if you have failed your duty by your ancestors. I prefer then, to be elitist and speak in my strange slang almost as though I have spent a good part of my life on the sidewalks of London and the highways of LA.

While in the bus, on the way home from The Office, I saw my old primary school mother tongue teacher Ding laoshi walking to her flat. As chances would have it, she lives close to mine. I was shocked at how old and frail she looked, almost like an old woman now, graying hair that was thinning in places. And then I realised that it was more than 10 years, close to 15, that I had actually last seen her. She was well-loved by all, unarguably the best mother tongue teacher we had ever had. I used to be on the same school bus as her, and she would take the opportunity to drill into me some chinese stuff which I never remembered. I wonder if the mother tongue teachers were amused at me not responding to my chinese name. In secondary, Mrs Fish had to call me "Rachel", only she couldn't pronounce it properly. I still remember one thing, though. She said to me, "Hai(a sigh)...(my chinese name) ar... Why you have beauty and no brains?" In Chinese of course. I remember feeling flattered that she thought I looked good - actually I did, in Primary. I was slim as a willow, with fair fair skin, thick red lips, and thick hair... perhaps it fitted into her expectation of a young femme.

Well... fast forward to now. Present time.
I have no beauty and no brains. Should I add no money as well?


Hahahahaha.