Overall, I talked to 6 migrant entrepreneurs. All interviews were conducted in Mandarin and lasted between 30 minutes - 2 hours. Going in, I felt nervous about my abilities to translate and converse in a language that has always felt so familiar yet foreign to me. Although Mandarin is my first language, I barely spoke it outside of the house growing up. My vocabulary is limited, syntax rigid, and tone somehow both too formal and informal.

During an interview, I admitted that I feel like different people when switching between my two languages. English is the language in which I dream, journal, and think. With it, I am able to analyze and explain my feelings and opinions. Here at college, it allows to me to be relatable and interesting in a palatable way. Chinese is the language in which I do simple arithmetic, tell my parents I love them, and name my favorite foods and stuffed animals. My use of it is clumsy but tender. It is the only language in which I feel comfortable asking for help and attention. 

Before I headed home, a friend sent me a short story by Ken Liu. The following excerpt from The Paper Menagerie touched me deeply. 

“Mom looked at him. “If I say ‘love,’ I feel here.” She pointed to her lips. “If I say ‘ai,’ I feel here.” She put her hand over her heart.”

I drew courage from this when talking to my interviewees. Although I sometimes slipped between formal and informal language and took several tries to formulate my questions, I trusted that my sincerity and genuine curiosity could be felt.

The whole experience also reminded of something someone in my first year Russian class once said. She joked that when conversing in Russian, we all sounded younger, more honest and naive. Limited to a simple set of vocabulary and grammatical structures, we expressed our thoughts and opinions simply and directly. No modifiers or complex sentences. Although nuance was certainly lost, there was also something fun and strangely compelling about communicating using such simple language.  

After a two hour interview with one of my interviewees, I took to thanking her profusely. I felt both grateful yet awkward toward her kindness, vulnerability, and willingness to share. Her response was surprising. She thanked me for listening and making her feel heard. She commented on my quickness to smile and attentive gaze. I shared how nervous I had felt trying to speak in Mandarin. We began talking about the beauty of the language. Together, 尊敬 means to respect. Separately, 尊 can be more precisely associated with the willingness to follow and obey, whereas 敬 brings to mind acts of offering, sharing, and learning. The phrase 捨得 (willing) similarly reveals deeper meaning when broke down. One must first 捨 (give, leave behind) in order to 得 (receive).

This assured me of the reciprocity in our interactions and I took comfort in knowing that she, too, had deeply enjoyed our conversation.