To Be A Daughter (2022 Edition) | 母亲的女儿（2022版）

In 2017, during my undergraduate studies at the University of Toronto, I participated in a student-led research initiative dubbed The Grandparent Project. For the project, I produced a piece about my relationship with my mother and negotiating identities, titled To Be A Daughter. Rereading this piece five years later, I am surprised by how much and how little has changed. Despite how far I’ve come in these intermediate years, personally and professionally, I still feel the same sense of unease that I did as an undergrad.

Global events in the past three years have unsettled me, unsettled us all. My struggles with navigating my cultural identity and reconciling the teachings of both Canadian and Chinese culture were amplified during the COVID-19 pandemic, a time when national belonging was called into question for immigrants and non-immigrants alike. I have watched fearfully and helplessly as anti-Chinese sentiment and xenophobia towards East Asians climb ever-higher here in North America. In these uncertain times, revisiting this piece of writing has remind me of the support I have, the love I receive, and how grateful I am for it. It has also reminded how much I cherish my loved ones and to tell them so.

This article is one of my favourites that I have ever written. I am re-posting it here, on my personal blog, with some editorial changes to both the English and Chinese text.

Credit for the original Chinese translation goes to a university colleague, Xiaohan Xu, with thanks to Vivien Lee for editorial support on this new version.

The author and her mother at Culture Square, Changchun, China. / 作者和母亲在长春文化广场。

One day, my mother asked my sister and I, “Do you consider yourself Canadian or Chinese?” Without thinking too hard, I replied, “I would say that I’m Chinese-Canadian.” She asked again, “Why not Canadian-Chinese?” Not anticipating these questions, I simply replied, “Because I was born in China I guess.” At this point, my younger sister, who was born in Canada, also chimed in, “I guess that makes me Canadian-Chinese.” This conversation took place when I was 14 or 15, and at the time I had never called my national identity into question. Or rather, I had not given the topic any thought at all. My indifference towards my identity evolved into curiosity once I moved away from my parents’ house in Calgary to Toronto for university. Since this move, I have been asking myself this question: am I Canadian or Chinese? Or something in between, or neither?

一天母亲问了我和妹妹一个问题：“你觉得自己是加拿大人，还是中国人？”我不假思索地回答道：“我觉得我是中国籍加拿大人（Chinese-Canadian）。”她又问道：“为什么不是加拿大籍中国人（Canadian-Chinese）呢？”我从没细想过这个问题，随口回答道：“大概是因为我出生在中国？”这时出生在加拿大的妹妹插嘴说：“那这样的话我就应该是加拿大籍中国人（Canadian-Chinese）吧。”这番谈话发生在我十四、五岁时，我从未质疑过我的国籍身份（national identity）。更确切地说，我根本没有考虑过这个问题。当我因上大学从父母位于卡尔加里的家搬到多伦多之后，我就突然对自己漠不关心（indifference）的身份产生了好奇（curiosity）。自从搬家以来，我一直在问自己这个问题：我究竟是加拿大人还是中国人？介于两者之间？或者两者都不是？

Prior to my arrival in Toronto, I had always considered myself to be an independent person. It wasn’t until I had to cook every meal of my own and mop the floors that I realized how truly dependent on my parents I had been. For the better part of my first year in Toronto, though, I refused to admit that I missed home or that I had not adapted to my new surroundings. To me, this admittance would have been a defeat, an implosion of the familiar sense of self that I had developed during my teenage years. It took until two years later, at the beginning of 2017, for me to feel ready to let go of the old version of myself, one that could face any challenge in life on my own. I came to accept that I, like all people, need to rely on others at times. Upon reflection, it was a desire to connect with my parents that led me to this change of heart, to readily admit my emotional dependency on them.

在来到多伦多之前，我一直认为自己是一个独立的人。直到我不得不每天自己做饭、拖地板，我才意识到以前我有多依赖父母。在大学第一年，我大部分时间都会拒绝承认自己想家，无法完全适应新的环境。对于我来说，这种承认代表着一次失败，会让我在青少年时期形成的自我意识向內破裂。直到两年以后，2017年年初，我才觉得自己已准备好放弃对自己以往的认知，那位可以独自面对生活中任何挑战的我。我开始接受我和所有人一样，有时候也是需要依赖他人。回想起来，更多了解父母的愿望使我改变了主意，并欣然承认我对他们的情感依赖。

Out of this desire to connect with my parents on a deeper level than ever before, I enrolled in a beginner’s Chinese course for those with prior experience during my first year of undergraduate studies. The more I practiced my Mandarin in class, the more I felt motivated to initiate conversations with my parents. Although I could previously hold a conversation in Mandarin, I began picking up on puns and subtle cultural references. I felt that I was building richer connections with my parents. My increased language abilities even gave me the confidence to conduct interviews with both my parents for The Grandparent Project.

基于想更深入了解我的父母，大一时，我参加了为有基础的初学者开办的初级汉语课程。在课堂上练习的普通话越多，我就越有与父母进行对话的动力。尽管我以前也可以用普通话聊天，我还是开始一点点儿学起俏皮话和微妙的文化影响差异（subtle cultural differences）。我感觉自己与父母的关系正在逐步加深。语言的进步甚至让我有信心为 The Grandparent Project 采访我的父母。

Reflecting upon these interviews lead me to view my relationship with my parents in a different light, especially my relationship with mother. My mother and I have always been alike in many ways, our stubbornness being one shared trait. During our interviews, my mother recounted the false and arrogant sense of independence that she felt in her teens and early twenties, an experience similar to my own. My mother used to feel like she understood everything there was to know about life, and that there was no obstacle she could not overcome with her own wit. She admits that it was not until immigrating to Canada and giving birth to a second child that she began to realize how foolish she was. “When I think about my younger self, I feel that I was really laughable (hen kexiao 很可笑),” she tells me. After landing in Canada, she began to reflect on her life’s journey and where it had taken her. Gradually, she decided that she would try to become more patient, more understanding. Being in a new environment showed her that she did not, in fact, “know it all” and that there was much to be learned in order to adapt to her new surroundings. She wanted to be a better person, and she started by trying to be a better mother.

回想起这些采访，我从不同的角度看待我与父母的关系，尤其是我与母亲的关系。在很多方面我都非常像母亲，比如我们都十分倔强。在采访期间，母亲向我讲述了她在十几二十多岁时所感受到的虚伪和傲慢的独立感，我也曾有过相似的经历。母亲以前觉得自己对生活的一切了如指掌，仅凭自己的聪明才智自就能克服所有障碍。她承认，直到移民加拿大并生了第二个孩子，她才开始意识到自己是多么天真。“当我想起年轻的自己时，我觉得自己真的很可笑，”她告诉我。迁居至加拿大后，她开始反思自己的人生旅程以及会把她带往何处。渐渐地，她决定尝试变得更有耐心，更加理解别人。全新的环境让她 意识到，自己实际上并不“无所不知”，为了适应新环境，她还有很多需要学习的东西。她想要成为一个更好的人，因此努力成为一个更好的母亲就是她开始的起点。

The author and her mother at the Calgary Zoo. / 作者和母亲在卡尔加里动物园。

Growing up, my mother did not feel that her own mother was loving towards her. My mother always felt that her mother was indifferent towards and dismissive of her. She thought that perhaps it was due to her gender, as my grandmother was kinder to and doted on my uncle (my mother’s older brother). Later in her life, my mother speculated that the minimal interaction she had with her mother was most likely because her personality was too similar to my grandfather’s. According to my mother, the only words my grandmother and grandfather exchanged with one another were argumentative. My grandmother apparently could not stand my grandfather, and she saw my mother as a replica of him; whenever my mother spoke, she took my grandfather’s side, my grandmother thought, or so my mother believed.

在母亲的成长中，她并没有感觉到姥姥对她的爱护，母亲总是觉得姥姥对她漠不关心，甚至有点讨厌她。她觉得可能是因为自己是女孩儿，因为姥姥明显更偏向舅舅。后来，母亲猜测她和姥姥不亲多半是因为她的性格与姥爷的性格太相似。母亲说，在她的记忆里，姥姥和姥爷除了吵架很少沟通。姥姥显然无法忍受姥爷，于是将母亲看作是姥爷的替代；因此每次母亲说话时，姥姥就会认为她在替姥爷讲话，至少母亲是这么认为的。

Unfortunately, neither my mother nor I will be able to ask my late grandmother what her true thoughts and feelings were. Neither would we be able to ask my late grandfather. In my mother’s first year of high school, her father passed away. Before the start of her first year of university, her mother passed away. As a child who lost her parents too young, my mother’s greatest longing in life was to have her own family. She met my father, who was a classmate of hers at the Jilin Institute of Architecture and Civil Engineering, in 1991. They married in 1996, a year after they had both graduated. I was born in 1997, in Changchun (长春), the capital city of Jilin Province (吉林省), where we made our home as a family of three.

不幸的是，母亲和我都无法询问已故姥姥的真实想法和感受，也无法向已故的姥爷印证我们的猜测。母亲念高一那年，姥爷去世了。随后，姥姥也在母亲大学第一年开学之前去世了。失去双亲后，母亲最大的渴望就是拥有自己的家庭。1991年，母亲在吉林建筑大学遇见了一位同学，我父亲。1996年，他们在毕业一年后结婚。1997年，我在吉林省省会长春出生，自此我们一家三口便在长春安家了。

By 2001, my mother had accumulated a number of reasons to leave China. For one, she began to have a recurring grim thought: what if she were to die suddenly, leaving me to grow up alone? In order to remedy this situation, she resolved to have a second child. According to China’s One-Child Policy (jihua shengyu zhengce 计划生育政策), though, this was forbidden; one way to make it possible was to move overseas.  Additionally, my mother was wary of the environmental state of China. She recalls how the air quality in Changchun was poor, how she had to burn coal in her apartment for heat, how the coal dust swept into the air with every gust of wind. The thick layer of soot that covered every surface of the apartment made her extremely uncomfortable, and she was constantly wiping down the furniture. My mother also felt that she did not quite fit in at work with her colleagues, or her social surroundings in general. After work each day, my mother did not go out to dinner with the rest of the office, but instead rushed home to be with her family. Lastly, since I was four years old at this time, my mother had begun to reflect on my future schooling. She had always felt that the public education system in China was too competitive and harsh and did not wish for me to suffer under this education system.

2001年，母亲已经有了很多离开中国的理由，其中有一个非常阴暗的理由在她的脑海中挥之不去：万一她先走了，留下我一个人孤零零地怎么办？为了避免这种情形，她决定生二胎。但是根据中国当时的计划生育政策，二胎是绝对不允许的；唯一的办法就是移居海外。此外，母亲对中国的环境状况十分担忧。在她的记忆中长春的空气质量很差：春秋的大风刮得尘土满天飞，而冬天为了取暖，煤灰也会在空气中久久不散。厚厚的烟灰覆盖在家具的表面上，这让她非常不舒服，迫使她不停地擦拭着家具上灰尘。同时，母亲无法融入当地的社会环境，在工作上总有一种被同事孤立的感觉。她不会与办公室的人交际，每天下班后也只是匆匆赶回家陪伴家人。而且，当时的我已经四岁了，母亲开始考虑我未来上学的问题。那时，中国公立教育体系竞争非常激烈，孩子们从小就要肩负多重学习压力，母亲不希望看着我在这种教育体系中受苦。

Perhaps it was fate when, in that same year, my mother saw a clip in the newspaper: an immigration agent was advertising immigration to Canada. She recalls that the advert explained Canada’s immigration “point system” and how it would treat high-skilled Asian immigrants favourably. A few days later, my mother went to see the immigration agent from the advertisement, who calculated her points and, based on her level of education and employment experience, assured her that the immigration process would go smoothly for her. Coincidentally, my mother’s closest friend at the time was living in Calgary, Alberta. Without much further thought, my mother organized the travel documents and had our family of three on a plane to Calgary. We arrived in April of 2003, a month before I turned six. Calgary is where I spent the majority of my life, until moving to Toronto for university.

也许是命运的安排，就在同一年，母亲偶然在报纸上看到了一个剪报：一位移民代理正在为移民加拿大做广告。她回忆说，广告上解释了加拿大的移民“计分系统”（point system）以及高技能亚洲移民可享受的优待。几天后，母亲去见了广告中的移民代理。移民代理计算了她的分数，并根据她的教育水平和就业经验向她保证，移民过程一定会非常顺利。巧合的是，母亲当时最亲密的朋友就住在阿尔伯塔省的卡尔加里。没有多想，母亲办好旅行手 续，带着我们一家三口坐上了飞往卡尔加里的航班。2003年4月我们到达加拿大，正好是我6岁生日前的一个月。卡尔加里是我生活了大半辈子的地方，直到搬到多伦多念大学。

Despite having lived in Canada for over a decade, it was not until 2016 that my parents began their Canadian citizenship applications. When I inquired as to why they waited for so long, my mother admitted that a part of her did not want to relinquish her Chinese citizenship. “I didn't have the heart to (she bude 舍不得) let go [of Chinese citizenship] because I still have an attachment (you ganqing 有感情) to China. If you let go of Chinese citizenship then you really aren't Chinese anymore, because China doesn't accept dual citizenships,” she says. “Would you really not be Chinese anymore?” I asked her. Her answer was pragmatic: If Canada were to ever instigate anti-Chinese policies (paihua zhengce 排华政策), causing Chinese people to flee back to China, it would be those with citizenship that the Chinese government protects first. Of course, she admits that this is an extreme example. “But when I think about the fact that I’m plainly not a Chinese person under the law, it still makes me sad (shanggan 伤感) to some extent, and it’s still difficult to bear (nanshou 难受).”

尽管在加拿大住了十多年，我父母直到2016年才开始办理加拿大入籍手续。当我问他们为什么等了这么久时，母亲坦白道心中的一部分她不想放弃中国国籍。“我是舍不得放弃，因为对中国还是有感情的。你要放弃了中国国籍你就真的不是中国人了，因为中国不承认双重国籍啊，”她说到。“你觉得你放弃了你就真的不是中国人了吗？”我问她。她的回答也非常务实：如果加拿大实施排华政策，导致中国人需要回国的时候，中国政府肯定会先保护持有中国国籍的人。当然，她承认这是一个极端的例子。“但是有时候一想起来，就是说在法律上你就不是中国人了，多多少少心里还是有一些伤感，有一些难受。”

I was intrigued by her mixed emotional and practical response. My mother has always admitted that she is not afraid to criticize Chinese society or the government, and indeed has done so frequently throughout my life. Prior to this interview, I was under the impression that she strongly disliked China and greatly favoured Canada. In casual conversations, my mother has always joked that she delayed applying for Canadian citizenship out of laziness. Thus, I was surprised by the sadness and longing she expressed towards her citizenship. 

这个包含了复杂情感且实务的回答让我很好奇。 母亲总是说她不避讳批评中国社会或是政府， 而且事实上她确实经常这样做。 在这次采访之前，我总是以为她非常不喜欢中国，非常偏爱加拿大。在闲聊中，她总是搪塞说不去申请国籍是因为懒得去。因此，在她对国籍表现出的眷恋和伤感之后，我确实感觉有些吃惊。

Most interesting to me was my mother’s unproblematic sense of her citizenship and nationality, which most likely came about with time and reflection. I, however, am still contemplating my own ambivalent attitudes. Since my parents did not apply for citizenship until 2016, and I was unable to apply as a minor, I was also a Chinese citizen for my first twelve years in Canada. My attitudes towards my Chinese nationality have been quite ironic. When I held my Chinese passport, I felt no sense of loyalty towards the country I was born in. Coincidentally, when I became infatuated with learning about China’s history and improving my Mandarin in my first and second year of university, I was also applying for Canadian citizenship. Of course, my desire to embrace Chinese culture was not solely due to this change in citizenship.

对我来说最有趣的是母亲这种很可能是随着时间和反思而产生的，对她的公民身份和国籍毫无疑问的感觉。然而，我还在为自己摇摆不定的矛盾态度（ambivalent attitudes）苦思冥想。因为我的父母直到2016年才申请加国国籍，而我作为未成年人无法申请，所以我以中国国籍在加拿大生活了十二年。我对中国国籍的态度颇具讽刺意味。当我拿着中国护照的时候，我对自己出生的国家毫无忠诚感。巧合的是，当我在大一大二，着迷般地开始学习中国历史、提高自己的普通话的时候，我也在申请加拿大国籍。当然，我对于想要更加深入地了解中国文化的原因不单单是因为自己的国籍改变。

After moving away, I suddenly felt guilty for not knowing more about my parents, their heritage, or our culture. A part of me worried that they might be disappointed that I am “not Chinese enough.” My taking Mandarin courses was in part motivated by a desire to become “more Chinese.” I also began watching more Chinese TV shows and sought out the traditions behind Chinese holidays so I could celebrate them on my own. However, all these efforts did not lead to feeling more Chinese. Rather, the more I learnt the more I realized how little I knew. I ended up feeling like a failure every time I heard about a major historical event that I was not aware of or came across an idiom I did not understand.

搬走后，我突然感到内疚，因为我不了解我的父母、他们的传统或我们的文化。我开始担心他们可能对于我“不够中国人”的身份感到失望。我去上中文课，一部分原因也是为了让自己更加“中国化”。我开始看更多的中国电视剧，了解中国节日背后的传统故事，以便自己可以 参与到庆祝当中。然而，所有这些努力并没有让我感觉更像中国人。相反，学得越多，我就越意识到我自己知道的太少了。每当听到某个我不知道的重大历史事件或遇到一个我不理解的成语时，我都会感到迎面而来的挫败感（feeling like a failure）。

Is that what it truly means to be Chinese, though? To recite historical facts and idioms? After consulting with my parents, I have come to learn that all they ever wanted was to be able to communicate with me in their native language. My father has always said that if my Mandarin is good enough to engage in small talk with him and my mother, they do not have any other requirements of me. For my mother, having open communication with her daughters—in any language—has always been her top priority. According to her, goutong 沟通(communication) was the “greatest failure” (hen shibai 很失败) in the relationship with her own mother. 

然而，这就是成为中国人的真正含义吗？ 背诵历史和成语？在询问了父母之后，我了解到他们想要的只是能够用他们的母语与我交流。我父亲总是说，如果我可以用普通话和他们聊聊天，他们也就没有什么其他奢望了。 对于母亲来说，跟女儿的沟通永远是最重要， 用哪种语言都一样。在她看来，沟通是她与姥姥关系中的“最大失败”。

The channels for open communication with my mother during most of my life faced a major roadblock: language. Although my Mandarin skills were on par to be conversational, part of me felt like there were many sentiments I could not express. I was comfortable discussing the weather or what I was doing at school, but I could never fully bring myself to talk about my feelings. If I was stressed, if something made me sad, I kept my feelings to myself. When she noticed, my mother always asked if I was upset. Most times, I told her I was fine. I believed that if I was not able to come up with the correct words in Mandarin, she would not be able to understand what I was truly feeling.

语言是与母亲交流的一个主要障碍。虽然我能用普通话进行日常及交流，但我仍无法用普通话准确地表达自己的情绪。我可以讨论天气或学校发生的事情，但我永远无法完全描述自己的感受。我会把压力、难过的事情、自己的感受藏在心里。每当母亲问我为何不开心，大多数时候我会回答说我还好，因为我相信如果我无法找到能准确表达我感受的词语，她也无法理解我内心的真实挣扎。

Although there were undoubtedly times where I misunderstood my mother and she misunderstood me, that never stopped my mother from trying to communicate with me in our native language. Additionally, neither of my parents explicitly stated or implied that they would refuse to speak to me if I used English. It was me who was frightened of miscommunication. In retrospect, my fears were borne out of the experiences that my friends had with their parents. During dinners with family friends and playdates with school mates, I saw parents bark at their children, “Speak Mandarin! I don’t understand you when you speak English.” I internalized this monologue and attributed the source of this expression to my own parents. Truthfully, it was not until conducting the interviews for The Grandparent Project with my mother that I realized how silly and misplaced my worries were. From the way my mother opened up to me during our interviews, it is obvious that she has not let language stand in the way of our open communication.

毫无疑问，有时我和母亲之间会出现误解，但这从未阻止母亲尝试用母语与我交流。此外，我的父母都没有明确表示或暗示如果我使用英语，他们将拒绝与我交谈。事实上，真正害怕误会的人是我。回想起来，我的恐惧源于我的朋友与其父母的经历。在与家人朋友共进晚餐和与同学玩耍时，我常常看到父母对他们的孩子咆哮着说道：“说普通话！你说英语的时候我听不懂。”我默默记住了这些话， 并且把这种情绪带到了我父母的身上。说实话，直到我为了The Grandparent Project 采访母亲之后，我才意识到我的担忧是多么的愚蠢和多余。母亲在采访中向我敞开心扉，并表示不会因语言而阻碍我们之间的沟通。

It is truly a pity that I let something so trivial be stand in the way of my relationship with my mother. It is not as if my mother would not have been able to understand me at all if I spoke to her in English. I should feel grateful to have a mother who listens in the first place. When she was younger, my mother once wrote my grandmother a letter. Since my grandmother would not speak to her in person, perhaps she would have responded to a letter, or so my mother thought. Unfortunately, my grandmother decided to take the letter and show it to one of my mother’s uncles. “Look at this child! She’s writing me letters,” my grandmother said. Afterwards, she even came back to mock (chaoxiao 嘲笑) my mother with the letter. Based on this experience, I now understand that my mother would most likely have appreciated it even if I had communicated with her through stick figure drawings or interpretive dance.

真的很遗憾，让如此微不足道的事情阻碍了我与母亲的关系。如果我用英语和母亲说话，母亲也能听懂我的意思。我应该感激有一位乐于倾听心声的母亲。母亲年时候曾经给姥姥写过一封信。那时母亲想既然姥姥不愿意和她说话，或许她会回信？然而，姥姥不单没有回信，反而给了一位叔叔看并说道：“你看这个孩子，她给我 写了一封信！”之后，这封信也成为了嘲笑母亲的话题。知道了母亲的这段经历以后，我现在明白了，即使我画小人或者用形意舞来和母亲交流，她也很可能会视如珍宝。

The roadblock to communication was not in fact one of language, but one of latent fear. Underlying my worries about “not being Chinese enough” was a fear of not being a good enough daughter. As mentioned before, after moving to university, I was overwhelmed by a relatively sudden appreciation for my parents. I began to understand the magnitude of the sacrifices my parents have made for me throughout my life, including uprooting their lives in China. For the first time in my life, I felt homesick; not for my physical home, but for the love and support that my parents gave me.

沟通的障碍实际上不是语言之一，而是潜在的恐惧。我对“不够中国人”的担忧背后是对我不是一个好女儿的恐惧。如前所述，上大学后，突然对父母产生的感激之情让我不知所措。我开始渐渐理解，父母在我的一生中为我做出的巨大牺牲，包括远离中国的安定生活。我有生以来第一次想家；不是物质意义上的家，而是父母给予的爱与支持。

The initial questions that lead me on this journey were fueled by a desire for certainty. Moving away from home brought many changes to my life. I felt unsettled by the smallest details, such as not having a consistent day-to-day school schedule. I realized how emotionally unprepared I was to be a grown-up. In my first year, I thought to myself: My mother had lost both her parents by this point in her life. If the worst should happen, and I were to lose my parents today, would I be satisfied with the relationship I had with them? The answer was no. I had not been a bad daughter to them before, but I knew that I could be a better one. The question, then, was how to be a better daughter?

一引导我踏上这段旅程的最初问题是出于对确定性的渴望。离开父母后，我的生活发生了许多改变。我甚至会因最小的事情而感到不安，例如，每天没有固定的日程。我意识到了自己毫无准备地升级为一个成年人。在大学第一年，我对自己说：母亲在大学第一年失去了父母，成为孤儿。如果最坏的情况发生了，如果我今天失去了父母，我会对我们之间关系有任何遗憾吗？答案是会的。虽然我不是一个很差的女儿，但是我知道我完全可以成为一个更好地女儿。那么，问题是如何成为一个更好的女儿？

Part of me has always wondered: if I had lived in China, would my personality have been more “Chinese”? Perhaps I would have been more traditional, more filial (jiaoxun 孝顺), more studious? The most daunting question was: Would my parents have liked me more? Of course, I cannot know. To my relief, my mother speculates that our relationship would not have been much different. However, if she had not left China, my mother believes that her emotional and mental health would have worsened. While we may still have had a close relationship, it would have been more tense (jinzhang 紧张). My mother admits that if she had not made the move to Canada, she would have missed out on the experiences that taught her to be a better person.

我曾设想：如果我住在中国，我的性格会更“中国化”吗？也许我会更传统、更孝顺、更好学？最令人生畏的问题是：我的父母会更喜欢我吗？ 当然，我永远不可能知道答案。令我松了一口气的是，我母亲推测我们的关系不会有太大的不同。但是，母亲认为，如果她没有离开中国，她的情绪和心理健康会恶化。虽然我们的关系可能会更亲近些，但也会更紧张。母亲承认如果她没有移居加拿大，她就会错过那些使她成为一个更好的人的经历。

The author on her first birthday. / 作者的一岁生日。

Comparing my mother’s pathways with my own, I feel closer and more similar to my mother than ever. We both experienced a physical journey which prompted an emotional journey. Moving to an unfamiliar environment showed us our own resilience, as well as our desires for self-improvement. Near the end of our physical and emotional journeys, we reached a similar destination: we both realized that in order to be a better mother or daughter, one must try to become a better person first. For me, self-growth has entailed being more honest about my feelings and not worrying about appearing weak for doing so. Expressing myself has allowed me to become a better daughter in my mother’s eyes, a daughter who is open about her worries. 

对比着我和母亲的人生轨迹，我感觉和母亲前所未有地相似和亲近。我们都曾经历过一场迁徙，最终内化成情感上的旅程。搬迁到陌生的环境中，我们感受到自己生命的弹性，和我们想要完善自己的本能渴望。在这次物理共精神上的旅途中，我们不约而同地 到达了同一目的地：我们都意识到了，想要成为 一个更好的母亲，或是女儿，我们必须先成为更 好的自己。对于我而言，自我成长需要对自己感情更加诚实，停止担心这样做会让自己看起来很 脆弱。表达自己，让我在母亲眼中成为了更好的女儿，一个会说出自己忧虑的女儿。

My identity crisis turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. No matter how silly my fear of “not being Chinese enough” was, without my attempts at becoming “more Chinese,” I would not have embarked on The Grandparent Project. Without this project, I would not have come to a deeper understanding about myself and my relationship with my mother. After undergoing this process, I no longer wonder about who I would have been if I had remained in China. Living in China surely would have impacted my life in several ways, but I am certain that my personality and values would not have been much different. My perseverance, diligence, and empathy are all values my mother taught me; they are not inherently Chinese nor Canadian traits. Without her, regardless of where I was physically located, I would have missed out on many lessons. 

我的身份危机最终是福也是祸。不管我对“不够中国化”的恐惧是多么愚蠢，如果我没有尝试变得“更中国化”，我就不会开始The Grandparent Project。如果没有这个项目，我就不会对自己以及与母亲的关系有更深入的了解。在经历了这个过程之后，我不会再纠结“如果我留在中国会怎样”的问题。留在中国肯定会对我的生活产生多方面的影响，但我确信对我的个性和价值观不会有太大的影响。我的坚韧、勤奋、同情心，都是母亲教予我的品质，不是加拿大人或中国人与生倶来的。在一生中，母亲是我最重要的人生导师。

In contemplating my identity, I have begun to place less emphasis on my nationality and more on my family. While I still identify as both Chinese and Canadian, more importantly to me, I see myself as my mother’s daughter.

在思考我的身份时，我开始不再那么重视我的国籍，而更多地重视我的家庭。尽管我认为自己既是中国人，又是加拿大人，但对我来说更重要的是，我认为自己是母亲的女儿。

Do you have comments about this article? Write me down below.

您对这篇文章有任何评论吗？请通过下方表格告诉我。