Zongzi
(dumpling)

Commended Entry: "Zongzi (Dumpling)" by Pei Yuan Erica Yip from Malaysia

This article was submitted in the Kids World Travel Guide Essay Competition 2022 in the Senior Category 12 - 15 years.

Zongzi (dumpling)

The smell of onions and salted eggs, which was neither awful nor delightful, overwhelmed the kitchen. As she bustled about making the zongzi (dumpling) fillings—red bean paste, boiled chestnuts, salted egg, and seasoned meat, I clapped my chubby palms together in appreciation for the celebration.

Since young, I had been living with my grandmother as she educated me and accompanied me. Notwithstanding, the happy lifestyle did not last long. After raising me to the age of eight, my grandmother passed away. She entirely left my life as she had never been like she had not shaped my entire upbringing. Yet, under her influence, my first language was not English or Malay, but Chinese. The out-of-place syllables seemed bizarre to me as I grudgingly complied with my friends' coaxes to speak English phrases for them with a heavy Chinese accent. I was truly hurt and subsequently quit using Chinese at home after being humiliated by how my tongue mispronounced those English words.

A distinct remembrance always plagued me. "Dummy, it's restaurant. Why do you pronounce it as "re-s-tou-rant"? Silence, I did not know what to do. I eventually started making up stories to cover up my silence. Why would I utilise my remarks to commend a hierarchical society that practises a patriarchal system? I was scared. I was concerned that I would not be able to find the appropriate phrase when I opened my mouth. I was concerned that I would seem spooky in my language. So, if I chose to remain silent, I could act as if my quietness was an option.

While reading Gandhi's autobiography, I came upon a quote that had a profound impact on me. "A nation's culture resides in the hearts and the soul of its people". For the first moment, I wondered if my reticence eroded my cultural belonging. I determined to retrieve it. The first step of my decomposition process is gathering terms: a bunch of words from my dad whilst he rang my mother, several words from my Chinese teacher in class, and the last few verbs from the Chinese animations my young cousin watches.

The festival of dumplings is back. I am in the kitchen again, this time with my mother and cousins. In front of me is a pot of rice and some bamboo leaves. We all sat and swapped anticipatory glances. Nobody can make zongzi. As we swarm around the iPad, "Googling". I am bothered by the knowledge deficit. Does following instructions given by an anonymous blogger instead of perceiving Nainai's voice in my brain still qualify as upholding a tradition?

Rather than cutting the string with my teeth, as Nainai had taught, I cut the string with scissors, just as I had cut my bonds with Chinese linguistics and tradition throughout those days. Presently, I merely have the frayed string, which I must knot across the bamboo leaf to prevent the rice from falling out of my zongzi.

Congratulations on your essay "Zongzi", Pei Yuan. Such an inspirational essay! Well composed and skillfully written. Thank you! Well done!

Pei Yuan Erica Yip attends Foon Yew High School Johor Bahru/ Malaysia. English as Second Language - Home language Chinese