This article, written by me while I was an undergrad at Columbia University, was originally posted on the Columbia Witness (formerly Columbia Crown & Cross) blog. 谷歌AI的中文翻译在英文文本之后。如果中文翻译违反任何IP知识产权，请在评论区提出，我会删除中文版本。
“What language do you dream in? English or Chinese?”
I was once asked this question. And yes, I couldn’t count how many times I had woken up trying to remember what language I had dreamt in. It often slipped my mind, and during the few times I actually remembered dreaming in Chinese, I felt reassured. I would pat my chest and tell myself: “Honey, don’t you worry. You are still Chinese.”
As a student who left China during high school to come to the U.S., I have gotten certain comments or questions from native English speakers: “You speak English so well. I can’t even hear an accent,” or “You go to school in America all by yourself? How independent and brave you are! Your parents must be very proud.” However, when I go back to China, I am welcomed by teases such as, “Hey, you still know how to speak Chinese! That’s impressive!” Just when I think the “judgment” is over, the second comment follows: “I bet you’ve forgotten how to write.”
What worries me is not the mocking tone my friends use, but that what they say is true—I do have trouble recalling many Chinese characters.
The years spent in an English-speaking country have surely changed me, not just in terms of what language I know best, but also in terms of my cultural identity. The changes that took place were hardly noticeable at first, but after a few years away from Chinese culture, I realized how different I was from my friends and family at home. As I accepted and internalized the American way of living and socializing, I had forgotten some of my own customs and traditions. Meanwhile, Chinese culture was changing so fast that I had trouble catching up.
It came to the point where I almost forgot to celebrate the Lunar New Year, the biggest holiday in China. During my first two years in America, I was still very excited about the Chinese New Year. I would hang up red decorations around my homestay family’s house two weeks before. And on New Year’s Eve, I would watch the New Year’s Gala, eat dumplings, call my parents, get hongbao (red packets with money inside) from older relatives, and do the New Year’s Eve countdown in Beijing time. I did these things as if they were the only way to preserve my Chinese identity in a foreign land. There was nothing better to reaffirm my Chinese-ness than to re-enact the customs and traditions of the Chinese New Year.
However, over the years, I have felt less and less connected to my Chinese roots. On the one hand, there have been many changes in the ways people celebrate the New Year since I left China. For example, instead of getting physical red packets from my relatives, I now get them electronically through WeChat, a Chinese messaging app. Due to pollution, people are no longer allowed to have fireworks on New Year’s Eve. Also, each year, people come up with new forms of slang, and it’s a pain trying to understand them. On the other hand, I was so caught up in school work, extracurriculars, and internships that I didn’t have the time to think about celebration at all.
It was not just during New Year’s–I experienced changes in my mannerisms and habits in many everyday activities. Before I came to the U.S., I never greeted people with “How are you?” or “What’s up?” It took me a while before I felt comfortable asking people how they were doing as soon as I saw them, and it was also hard to judge how much to say when answering that question in order to be polite. However, after I became accustomed to this system of greeting, I tried to apply it to my friends and family in China. The result was awkward and unfamiliar. Also, as I got more and more used to American food, my desire for Chinese food had slowly disappeared. It didn’t matter as much if I couldn’t get a taste of home for an entire year. And the family-style dining experience, where everyone shares the same dishes had been replaced by individual plates with the strict rule of no double-dipping. When I realized that I had lost the connection to the changes in my culture and the enthusiasm to celebrate my culture, I felt lost. There was no way I could completely adjust to American culture, nor could I be “fully” Chinese anymore.
Three years after I came to the U.S, I became a Christian. Ever since then, I sometimes wondered if the alienation from my own culture was partly the result of picking up a new Christian identity; no one I knew in China was Christian, so being Christian in China felt like being something other than Chinese. I rationalized that it was only natural that I become more comfortable with Christian traditions than Chinese ones, since my Christian identity was the most important. And now that you are a Christian, isn’t it great that you have the best identity you could ever have gotten? However, this rationalization didn’t resolve the uneasiness in my heart. I still felt that I was in the gap between two cultures, not completely Chinese, not completely American, forever stuck in the middle of nowhere, and maybe stuck because my conversion to the Christian faith had expedited the entire process.
Is the only complete identity left with me my Christian identity? When people ask me, “Oh, so you are Chinese, why were we talking in English this whole time?” can I only be ashamed of my incompleteness and blush without knowing how to respond? Why do I have to experience such confusion? I would love to have a firm answer for questions like these, but, honestly, I still don’t. All I have now are a few more thoughts that may or may not be the right answer.
As I think more about these questions, I realize that my rationalization before was not so sound. Instead of feeling like I am stuck in a state of cultural limbo, I should see Christianity as a valuable part of my identity that God has given me. The Chinese identity I was born with and the Western identity that I grew into are both celebrated by Him. He loves and celebrates diversity.
We know this from many passages in the Scripture; one example would be the story of the apostle Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch, who was the “court official of Candace, queen of the Ethiopians”.1 In search of God, the eunuch went on a journey from his home in Ethiopia to Jerusalem. On his way back from Jerusalem, he was reading some passages from Isaiah and had trouble understanding them, so God sent Philip to meet the eunuch, explain the Scripture and the Gospel, and eventually helped him to convert to Christianity. It is hard to imagine that someone so culturally and geographically distant from Jewish or Christian culture would travel so far away from home for God. But God not only brought the eunuch to Jerusalem, but He also brought Philip to bring him into the Kingdom.
From this example, we see that cultural diversity is beautiful to God. He does amazing things to bring people from all kinds of cultural backgrounds to Himself so that one day, “a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages [will stand] before the throne and before the Lamb”.2 Just as God arranged for the eunuch to meet Phillip, He orchestrated my life so that I could eventually encounter Him. It is possible that I would never have had the opportunity to learn about Him had I stayed in China. Although it is inevitable that I feel disconnected from Chinese culture, I was able to gain another identity worth so much more. And there is no reason to think that I am giving up my cultural identity for a Christian one, or that Christianity was the accelerator of my feeling of identity loss. Instead, the knowledge of a God who loves diversity helps me to cherish my own cultural roots that God has given me.
Also, I know that I am not alone. Everyone struggles with identity crises on one level or another: from culture, from school, from work, or from relationships. It is our nature as humans. Ultimately, our lives on earth are just a long journey outside of our true home. With a Christian identity, we have the hope for an eternal home. During the times when I miss my home in China the most, I always remember the lyrics from “The Wayfaring Stranger”:
“I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger
Traveling through this world below
There is no sickness, no toil, nor danger
In that bright land to which I go
I’m going there to see my Father
And all my loved ones who’ve gone on
I’m just going over Jordan
I’m just going over home”
I can’t wait for the day I can be with my Father in my true home, the place where I truly belong. As Paul said in Ephesians 2: 19-21: “So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord.”
1 Acts 8:26-40
2 Rev. 7:9
以下为谷歌AI Gemini生成的中文翻译。作者并未做任何编辑。
“你做梦时用什么语言？英语还是中文？”
曾有人这样问我。确实，我不记清有多少次醒来时，都在努力回想梦里说的是什么语言。梦境往往转瞬即逝，但每当我有几次确切记得梦里说的是中文时，我都会感到一种莫名的心安。我会拍拍胸口自言自语道：“亲爱的，别担心，你骨子里还是个中国人。”
作为一个高中就离开中国赴美留学的学生，我常听到母语为英语的人这样评价或询问：“你的英语说得真好，听不出一点口音，”或者“你一个人在美国上学？真是太独立、太勇敢了！你父母一定为你感到骄傲。”然而，当我回到中国，应接不暇的却是各种调侃：“嘿，你居然还记得怎么说中文！真了不起！”就在我以为这些“审判”结束时，第二句紧随其后：“我打赌你已经忘了怎么写字了。”
令我担忧的并不是朋友们的调侃，而是他们说的是事实——我确实在回想许多汉字时感到吃力。
在英语国家生活的这些年确实改变了我，不仅在于我最擅长哪种语言，更在于我的文化身份。这些变化起初微乎其微，但在脱离中国文化几年后，我意识到自己与家乡的朋友和家人之间已经产生了巨大的隔阂。随着我接受并内化了美国式的生活和社交方式，我忘记了一些原有的风俗传统。与此同时，中国文化的变化如此之快，以至于我难以跟上它的脚步。
我甚至一度快要忘记庆祝农历新年——这个中国最重要的节日。来美国的前两年，我对春节依然兴致勃勃。我会提前两周在寄宿家庭里挂起红色的装饰物。除夕那天，我会看春晚、包饺子、给父母打电话、领长辈的红包，并按照北京时间进行跨年倒计时。我做这些事，仿佛这是在异国他乡保留我中国身份的唯一方式。没有什么比重演春节的习俗更能在那一刻确证我的“中国属性”了。
然而，随着时间的推移，我感到自己与中国根基的连接越来越弱。一方面，自我离开后，人们庆祝新年的方式发生了许多变化。例如，我收到的不再是长辈递过来的纸质红包，而是通过微信发来的电子红包。由于环保政策，除夕夜不再允许燃放烟花。此外，每年都会涌现出大量新网络流行语，想要弄懂它们简直是一种折磨。另一方面，我整日埋头于学业、课外活动和实习，根本无暇顾及庆祝。
这种变化不仅体现在过年上，也渗透进我日常生活的言谈举止中。来美国之前，我从不用“你好吗？”或“最近怎么样？”来打招呼。我花了很长时间才适应一见面就询问对方近况的社交礼仪，而且很难拿捏回答时的分寸，既要礼貌又不能说得太多。然而，当我习惯了这套问候体系并尝试把它应用到国内的亲友身上时，结果却是尴尬而生疏的。此外，随着我越来越习惯美式饮食，我对中餐的渴望也慢慢消退了。哪怕一年吃不到“家乡味”似乎也无所谓了。而那种大家共享一桌菜的合餐模式，也被严禁“口水筷”的个人分餐制所取代。当我意识到自己失去了与文化变迁的联结，也失去了庆祝文化的激情时，我感到迷失了方向。我无法完全融入美国文化，却也无法再成为一个“纯粹”的中国人。
赴美三年后，我成为了一名基督徒。从那时起，我有时会想：这种对自己文化的疏离感，是否部分源于我获得了一个新的“基督徒”身份？在我认识的国内亲友中没有基督徒，因此在中国，作为一个基督徒感觉像是成了中国人之外的某种身份。我曾这样自我安慰：既然基督徒身份是最重要的，那么我对基督教传统比对中国传统感到更舒适也是理所当然的。既然你现在是基督徒了，拥有了最棒的身份，这难道不是一件好事吗？然而，这种逻辑并不能平复我内心的不安。我依然觉得自己处于两种文化的夹缝中，既不是纯粹的中国人，也不是纯粹的美国人，永远困在无名之地，甚至觉得是因为我的改信加速了这一疏离的过程。
难道我剩下的唯一完整的身份就只有基督徒身份了吗？当人们问我：“哦，你既然是中国人，为什么我们刚才一直用英文聊天？”时，我是否只能为自己的不完整感到羞耻，面红耳赤却不知如何作答？为什么我必须经历这种困惑？我很想给这些问题一个坚定的答案，但说实话，我目前还没有。我现在拥有的，只是一些或许正确、也或许并非定论的思考。
随着对这些问题的深入思考，我意识到我之前的逻辑并不严密。我不该觉得自己困在文化边缘的尴尬境地，而应该将基督教视为上帝赋予我的身份中极具价值的一部分。我与生俱来的中国身份，和我逐渐养成的西方身份，都为祂所喜悦。祂热爱并赞美多样性。
我们从圣经的许多章节中可以读到这一点。例如腓利与埃塞俄比亚太监的故事，那位太监是“埃塞俄比亚女王干大基手下总管银库的有大权的太监”。[1] 为了寻找上帝，这位太监从埃塞俄比亚的家乡长途跋涉来到耶路撒冷。在返回的途中，他正在阅读《以赛亚书》却难以领悟，于是上帝差遣腓利去遇见他，向他讲解经文和福音，并最终引导他受洗归主。很难想象一个在文化和地理上与犹太或基督教文化如此遥远的人，会为了上帝走这么远的路。但上帝不仅带他去了耶路撒冷，还差遣腓利带他进入了神国。
从这个例子中我们可以看到，文化多样性在上帝眼中是美丽的。祂行奇妙的事，将来自各种文化背景的人带到祂身边，直到有一天，“有许多的人，没有人能数过来，是从各国、各族、各民、各方来的，站在宝座和羔羊面前”。[2] 正如上帝安排这位太监与腓利相遇，祂也编排了我的人生，使我最终能与祂相遇。如果我留在国内，也许永远没有机会认识祂。虽然与中国文化的疏离感不可避免，但我获得了一个价值远超于此的新身份。没有理由认为我是为了基督徒身份而放弃了文化身份，或者认为基督教加速了我身份丧失的挫败感。相反，认知到一位热爱多样性的上帝，反而能帮助我更加珍视上帝赋予我的文化根源。
同时，我也知道我并不孤单。每个人都在某种程度上经历着身份危机：源于文化、学校、工作或人际关系。这是人类的天性。归根结底，我们在地上的生活只是一场通往真正家园的漫长旅程。拥有了基督徒身份，我们就拥有了对永恒家园的盼望。每当我最思念中国的家时，我总会想起《流浪的陌生人》（The Wayfaring Stranger）里的歌词：
“我只是个贫穷流浪的陌生人
穿行于这尘世之间
在我将去的那个光明之地
没有病痛、劳苦与艰险
我正去往那里探望我的父
还有那些先行一步的至爱亲朋
我正跨越约旦河
我正走在回家的路上”
我迫不及待地想念那一天，我能与我的父在一起，回到我真正的家，那个我真正属于的地方。正如保罗在《以弗所书》2:19-21中所说：“这样，你们不再作外人和客旅，是与圣徒同国，是上帝家里的人了；并且被建造在使徒和先知的根基上，有基督耶稣自己为房角石，各房靠他联络得合式，渐渐成为主的圣殿。”
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