One day in middle school I was handing out my preschool picture extras my secret crush snatched one up and said awe… “BabyChing”. That was the first time I can remember someone calling me that name, but for as long as I’ve been alive that’s who I am, irony. I am the baby of three daughters, born to a Jamaican mother and father, the latter of who also happens to be Chinese. Hence the last name Ching. Here starts my confusion. First being American born, I am automatically a fish out of water. Jamaican people will tell me that my nationality is American and it is true. In America if a person happens to wonder where I am from they are referring to the nation from which my parents immigrated. The answer to this phenomenon becomes difficult because my parents also have their own parents whom of which may have emigrated from countries different from where their children were born. Yet I have learned to divulge what most Americans are most interested to hear and just so happen to be the most relative and simplistically true because my family tree is nobody’s business really lest I should decide to share it. But let’s face it I really fret how boring my life would come to be if no one were to ask me “what are you?”, and assuming on this particular day I’m feeling lazy, so I simply respond “Chinese-Jamaican.” What would my life be like without the million faces… of shock and amazement? The occasional perverted devious smirk coupled with a hand-warming gesture. Whatever I retort it is shortly followed by a look of confusion by most, with their neck exemplifying the degree of which they are taken a back, a small ratio of folks are equipped with politically correct harnesses’ on what their mouths may wish to say next, yet all unanimously resolve it to be a "good mix."
I’m from southwest Florida. The county of Lee, with the area code 239! [Insert demographical appropriate applause here] The same place your president decided to make a stop on the top list of his sites for the economic stimulus plan campaign. A place nicknamed “Lil Pakistan,” with beautiful beaches and tons of potential. Now, I don’t justifiably believe a person can tell me that haven’t recently heard some reference to my city. We are getting on the map, but not for all the right reasons. I was raised in the same town that the New Yorker and the New York Times dub as a location to be the newest of slums. Before, I could mention Lehigh Acres and everyone would scrunch their face and cock their head to the side until I’d say I’m from Fort Myers or Naples area. Chances are if you hear something perplexing, tragic or unthought-of on the news, the person is from there, bet.
I have learned to write as a way of expressing myself without punishment or critique. For the most part I try to leave some anonymity in every piece. I try not to fuel anyone’s narcissistic fire but my own. Emotionality is universal to me. A spherical dynamic if you will. My hope is that by evading subjectivity everyone can find my words to be relative no matter the topic. I want so much to stay relevant in this ever changing world. Because if what I’m writing has no significance than there is no point in taking the time to organize words or furthermore sharing my work. Language and written word have given man and civilization history. Where time is fleeting this is my offering to the cause of preservation, and permanence. It is also my own selfish effort to establish my own place in the time of history which I will live. Those who know me will find testament in that I will from time to time quote myself. I will do so here in this script, and rejoice in the fact that now possessing a degree I will not have to cite myself! My diction is purposeful. I enjoy playing with and on words. It is impossible to look too deeply in to any semantic. Thinking semantically about things sometimes brings feelings that we’d much rather be numb to. Instead I urge you to find meaning in the words you come across and check all that apply in your daily life.
No comments:
Post a Comment