Chinese Lessons, Pt 1

I have always struggled with my Mandarin. Its half-baked, half-done, half past six. 10 years of free education, yet I couldn't master the language, or even secure a pass (without the need of grace shown my the examiner).

I was never convinced that I should study the language. Why not something else? I've constantly asked many people in the education industry why must we do our mother tongue. A common reply was, to understand our heritage better.

I cannot agree with that. I mean by looking at our culture through the language used by it; more often than not, our culture is defended by the language. You would always have something good to say about your culture because it is its language speaking for it. The voice of your culture is in its language. Think about it, has your Chinese (Malay and Tamil, inclusive) textbook ever spoken bad about certain stuff in the culture? No. One who masters the language is usually so ingrained in the culture that his/her ownself is lost in it.

If you want to truly understand one's culture, its looking at it beyond how the people living it. Its looking at it from a different, unbiased point of view and appreciating, criticising and understanding it.

But its not that bad.

I have very fond memories, as well as not so fond ones of my Chinese lessons in school. I remember Chinese teachers to be the meanest people on earth, or so I felt.

When I was in lower primary, Chinese teachers instilled such a revered fear for them that I would never try talking in Chinese period. In all my intense look, try to look like I was actually paying attention. It was scary. I remember the teacher would scream on the top of her sharp voice across the classroom when someone wasn't listen, was talking, or doing something she felt wasn't morally right. (Those days belies the memories of the civics and moral lessons in our Mother Tongue.)

Of course, my Chinese deteriorated as my fears got the better of me, and I never really had a chance to speak up and express in Mandarin in complete terror of being eaten up by my teachers, laughed at by my friends (remember, I'm shy?), or just wet my pants as I attempt something I knew I wouldn't make it to the finishing line. I was like that till the end.

My insecurities were great, my guts weren't.