Week 5: Fresh Off The Boat: My Early Cultural Experience in America - Eason Chang

A photo my dad took of the sunrise from the inside of a Chinese bullet train, leaving from Beijing to Chengdu, Sichuan.

  I’m sick of scrolling onto those cooking videos where the entire thing is a cliche-dense narrative by the author mourning with a possibly AI-generated script about their less-than-ideal childhood and I’m sure I’m not the only one, so bear with me. I remember landing in California, alighting the plane, and seeing new classmates. I still recall crying in the Xi’an International Airport, where my grandpa was practically face-hugged by me, Alien style, as I looked at my ticket in disgust, refusing to leave. I remember my mom had complained United Airlines planes were too cold on the way here, and I remember her frustration being magnified when the flight attendants served ice cream once we landed… while the AC was fully on. 

    The mandarin word for America directly translates to “Beautiful Country,” but at first, I saw no beauty. In kindergarten, I could not communicate with the teachers, and my ever-patronizing one did not help. The kids at school, all the way up to third grade, made fun of my name. The only time I was able to enjoy my time was during lunch, when I met a Korean girl (I think she was an immigrant?) in my grade that I shared bits of my shredded pork with from my Chinese hamburger, and we would just talk about anything and everything. I missed West Valley Elementary School so much when I had to move from Cupertino to Fremont in the middle of second grade.

    Finishing my second grade in Brookvale Elementary, I begged my parents to let me attend Warwick because a neighbor friend attended it, but there really was no difference once I switched in third grade. Once in a while, I would get in trouble for some things, but that was practically the only eventful thing in Elementary school since the GATE program was a sham and the graduation ceremony was nothing to write home about. 

    One major cultural problem with moving to America, however, despite the attempts by my parents to enroll me in every language learning program, was the weakening of my Mandarin understanding. In the past few years, I have managed to recover bits of vocabulary, but I still honestly think my vocabulary was the strongest when I was still in pre-school in China, which is both funny and sad. 

    One day, I will find the time to pick up a personal study plan for my mother tongue, but looking at my Junior schedule, the time is not now.


Comments

  1. Alisha SOctober 28, 2026 at 9:42 PM

    Hi Eason! I find it really interesting how, even though identity is no longer the prompt for this quarter, you were still able to effectively tie how your cultural identity has shaped your experiences in America. While I am also an immigrant, I do not share your experience of leaving my home country with such a vivid memory of the event. I was just young enough to remember fractions of my experience, unaffected by the idea of leaving my family with my scarce memory of it all. Whenever we return to the places in Melbourne that I apparently would cry about leaving, I feel completely distanced from my past. I suppose this in of itself is another way that American society has so pivotally affected immigrant communities-- replacing the reverence given to birthplace with the ideals of the American Dream.
    Similar to your experience, however, I have also lost the ability to speak Hindi. I could understand and mostly speak the language as a child, but westernized friends and family told my parents to prioritize English, claiming it would be “better” for my experiences in America. It now only feels like I have lost even more of my cultural identity, something only signified by the color of my skin and the festivals I celebrate.
    Your story of cultural shifting as you interacted more and more with American society is beautifully portrayed, and it is honestly quite staggering to see how-- even in an area as diverse as Fremont-- you still had to sacrifice such large portions of your identity at such a young age. I hope that both of us can one day finally make the time to reconnect with our cultures, even if that cannot happen soon.

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