The other day I realised that with Mama’s passing I now no longer have anyone in the family to speak Cantonese with. It was a strange disconcerting realisation. Of course this is nothing like the loss of language many other communities have had to face. The Aboriginal Languages of Australia Virtual Library, for instance, states that of the approximately 200 indigenous languages here, “Less than 20 languages are strong, and even these are endangered: the others have been destroyed, live in the memories of the elderly, or are being revived by their communities.” (I could find more stats and things, but I’m too lazy to do non-Web-based research for this.)
Given that Cantonese is spoken by millions of people world-wide I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities for me to speak Cantonese, e.g. the next time we go to a Chinese restaurant here in Perth. It’s not just about speaking the language, though. It’s about being able to speak to someone who understands, to some degree, where you’ve come from, and what your experiences are. Speaking Cantonese with my grandmother was always infinitely more satisfying than speaking Cantonese to a Hong Kong shopkeeper or eavesdropping on the conversations of Southern Chinese students. It’s not going to be easy to find a Cantonese conversationalist who has very strong Malay and Teochiew influences (and was born in 1920s Singapore, lived through the Japanese occupation of Malaya)…
Of course it’s not just about the language itself, but all the other customs and traditions, too. Last night at my parents’ place, my brother and his wife announced that they are having a baby in September. Once we stopped congratulating them - my parents were overjoyed, given that this is going to be their first grandchild - the discussion turned to the topic of how the child would address its seniors. Mum thought at first that she should be called Ah Mah but I think we established that that term of address would not be correct if we followed Cantonese tradition (which would be ‘correct’ given that Dad has Cantonese antecedents), in which case she would be called Mama. I’ve written about the languages spoken in my family before. I’m sure many other families in our situation (immigrants) have language histories that are as varied as ours.
I was amused interested to see how vehement Dad was in his insistence that the new member of the family would address each of its aunts and uncles by the correct terminology. In a Chinese family it’s never as simple as appending the term Uncle or Auntie to someone’s name (this chart gives a great illustration of some of the complexity involved). Dad thinks we ought to use Baba Nyonya relationship terms. Only problem is, he isn’t entirely sure what the correct terminology should be, apart from the fact that I should be called Mak Ko, given that I am the eldest. I didn’t particularly care if I was called C, but I suppose, on reflection, it would be good to maintain some of these traditions. If only we still had someone who knew what the done thing is.
