We usually think of language as a way to communicate and connect with others, but throughout much of my childhood and adolescence, it rendered me invisible. My parents arrived in the United States from Shandong province in China in the 1990s, and quickly settled down in New York City. I grew up in Queens in what would probably be considered an ethnic enclave for newly-arrived Asian immigrants by the year 2000, when I was born. I came of age in a linguistically and culturally rich environment, but despite this, my parents never taught me to read and speak in Chinese. As a result, I had a feeling of shame regarding the language. It wasn’t until college that I decided to take introductory Chinese classes. This is a picture of my Chinese character workbook. It was a grueling and painstaking process, but I worked hard at it and am now able to speak and read comfortably. Today, I’m a high school history teacher of English Learner (EL) students. Having this language learning experience allows me to empathize meaningfully with what they are going through, and reminds me that language learning is a part of identity-making, too.  That’s why the Chinese language–in every comforting, shameful, comforting, and intimidating skin that it wears–is the perfect representation of my cultural identity. 

– Megan Zhang

Relationship:  Child of im/migrant Child of im/migrant