Translating My Heart Into Acceptable Language

A musical memoir of code-switching, cultural hiding, and the long road back to authenticity

My family traveled a lot growing up. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Did I mention my parents were acrobats? That might have to be a story for another time. But this meant a significant amount of time spent on the road. In a car. Before the days of Spotify or iPads. Which meant entertainment typically took the form of napping or music.

My parents’ creative backgrounds also meant that the arts were always a part of my life, especially music. I grew up listening to the voices of Andy Lau (刘德华), Jacky Cheung (张学友), and Faye Wong (王菲.) Like most Asian households, we had some form of a karaoke machine. I could belt out 《忘情水》 and 《吻别》 right alongside my aunties and uncles. In fact, I was known for my rendition of 《潇洒走一回》at every family function—and probably butchering the lyrics, if I’m being completely honest.

At some point, my mom discovered artists like Mariah Carey and Toni Braxton so those cassette tapes became part of the rotation too, but Chinese songs remained a staple in my life.

My preteen years brought an obsession with a certain boy band from a certain drama series. There’s plenty of things I’ll complain about growing up in Vegas but one thing I won’t complain about are the concerts that pass through. And one of my first ever concerts—and a core memory—was seeing F4 in concert. If you were a preteen/teenage girl (or have been around one) then you know when the boyband fever hits, it hits hard. And while I wasn’t “othered” at school during that time, I found that the obsession with non-mainstream American artists needed to be tucked away behind Britney, Eminem, and Avril.

You know the phrase “code switching” used to describe “the practice of alternating between two or more languages or varieties of language in conversation”? Well, I became fluent in the language of acceptable musical taste. I could rap Eve’s opening verse of “Let Me Blow Ya Mind” with as much enthusiasm as Coco Lee’s verses in 《刀马旦》. I could belt the choruses of Backstreet Boys and *NSYNC with as much adoration as the chorus of 《流星雨》. I could watch TRL’s countdown with as much excitement as watching the words highlighting across the bottom of the screen during karaoke.

This musical code-switching became second nature, but the “why” behind constantly translating my heart into an acceptable language would take years to fully understand—and years to undo.