Asian Fusion

“So, what does this say?” my dad asks with childlike wonder. He points to the Korean words alongside a flower tree in the painting. I instinctively slap my forehead, muttering Dad, please, under my breath. All he had to say was that we needed a few more minutes before deciding what to order. My neighbors, who were accompanying us for dinner, chuckled at my dad’s mannerisms.

“Well, actually, those words over there are in Chinese,” the Korean waiter responded politely, referring to the signature seal inscribed on the bottom left-hand corner of the drawing. Stone something, I read to myself. Unlike English, I couldn’t sound out the foreign word anymore than deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphics.

At an authentic Korean restaurant, my unfamiliarity with the language and culture can be easily masked by my appearance. Luckily, I didn’t have to be sounding out the Korean dishes on the menu, since I was given the English translations.

When the food arrived, I dove into the side dishes with my chopsticks. As I paced myself through the seaweed salad, tofu, and curry, our main course – ”a large bowl of seafood noodle soup soaked in red chili paste – ”appeared at the table. My tongue nearly fell off as I scooped each bite to my mouth, but it was also too numb for me to care.

The waiter returned, asking something quickly, to which my parents replied, yes.

I didn’t know what he said, but it was definitely Mandarin Chinese.
“What did he say?” I asked. Earlier, he said “Thank you” in Chinese, which isn’t really that impressive, but I had never heard of the phrase he said (with practically flawless tones, too!).

“He asked if the food was okay,” my mom replied.
“Wow, I know my Chinese isn’t that great, but I’m a little embarrassed,” my neighbor Kevin added.

I was feeling a little warm from either embarrassment or the spice. We dropped the topic, consuming our energy towards finishing the remaining dishes to our meal.

On the car ride home, Kevin mentioned the waiter again and we started discussing the similarities of language among the Asian cultures.

“The Japanese use Kanji, and attribute that to the Chinese language,” he started.

“I mean, a lot of the cultures just borrow things from the Chinese culture anyway,” I joked. I knew the comment was dismissive, but I knew I was joking because I was insecure with the statement I was making.

The truth is, I am quick to make judgments when people say, “Oh, all Asians are the same.” I retort by stating distinctions based on facial structure, language, and cuisine.

We are clearly different, I conclude. But, talking to people of Chinese descent, I become just as guilty when I make statements that other cultures are similar to the Chinese culture.

I had seen that flower painting in the restaurant before. I had seen variations of this theme; maybe the flowers looked smaller or lighter in color, or maybe there are fewer branches. When it seems too familiar, I only make a passing glance. Had my dad not mentioned anything, I would not have noticed that this flower painting was meshed with Korean and Chinese influences. Sometimes, without questioning the nuances of the other, how would we know the difference?