Todo sobre mi familia
Well, perhaps not everything, but something and in fact, the most interesting part about my family background. Why is this something that comes up now? As I may have mentioned, I'm heading over to Mauritius at the end of the month - much of this impending trip is about visiting family, of which I have much in that remote island in the Indian Ocean. This time, however, I am going to spend time with blood family I have never met on any previous visit.
Until 18 months ago, I didn't know my grandmother - my father's mother. Growing up, I was told she had died when my father was very young. As all my other grandparents were also dead before I could get to know them, I simply bypassed loss and accepted their absence, remembered them on All Souls' Day, felt desultory envy as other kids' grandparents would lavish on them. Then, last year, my mother returned from a trip to visit my uncle (dad's brother) in Australia with the news that she had discovered that her mother-in-law, my grandmother, my father's mother - was live and well. Dad had never spoken much about his family history - it was understood that his childhood had been defined by pain, separation and loss, and noone questioned his silence. After the shock (me, my bro) and tears (mum, my sis) of coming to terms with the news had passed, we got down to the practicalities of recovering history and meeting the lost relatives.
First - history. My grandfather - my father's father - was by accounts (and by deduction from his diversely-mothered progeny), a philanderer and scoundrel. There were three "official" wives, and he fathered 9 kids - notably, the sequence of these children did not match the arrival of the wives. Let me explain briefly by example - when he arrived in Mauritius, he already had a wife married from young in China. He nonetheless embarked on a relationship of vague nuptial with my grandmother, and had 3 kids by her. Suddenly, wife #1 from China arrived in Mauritius and (supposedly on coercion from his own parents) he set up home with wife #1 and abandoned my grandmother. OK, maybe "abandoned" is slightly the wrong word - being separated from "grandmere" (as she likes to be called) didn't stop him having further children with her, despite being back with wife #1.
When I met my grandmother, she wouldn't speak ill of my grandfather. He was, and remains, the love of her life. She never had any relations with any other man, and she's proud of this - despite his treatment of her. I didn't once pity her for this - I thought it was heroic on her part. An important factor comes into play when talking about the discovery of my grandmother - she is a "metisse" - a mixture of dutch, and black african ancestries. Having grown up not quite believing I had only the east asian heritage (my face just didn't match up), it all fell into place when it turned out that my father is mixed race, and hence so am I. In fact, this mixed background was a relief to discover. I'm running no risk of ever falling victim to arguments grounded in racial purity - it would be self-damnation. Another thing to realise is that this side of my family is the definition of interaciality. All colours are accounted for. Example: my dad's sisters married european and indian spouses, and when you put my siblings and our cousins together - it could be an advert for united colours of Benetton. To the mind that thinks in stereotypes and associates this with broad racial definitions, my family would appear somewhat of a conundrum. But happily so - note also, friends, that nature's absorption of genetic diversity does indeed give rise to fresh design. Let me just say that I have some very beautiful cousins! (Do not make erroneous inference from that last comment, please!) Hence, finding out about my grandmother proved transformative in my sense of personal identity.
Similarly, my grandfather's sudden transformation from flat image from black and white photography into antihero of a sort was bizarrely comforting. Initially disturbed by his apparently scoundrel ways, I have come to terms with it - I read it like a bizarre novel rather than a familial experience. It churned around in my mind, until the indecency fell away, leaving only the sense of the rambunctious about it - a tropical picaresque, you could say. It also helps me come to terms with the moments of self-destructive idiocy. In my immediate family, I am recognised as someone with a streak of the idiotic about me - always sustaining responsibility for so long, then suffering a lapse of illogical combustion (e.g. as a student I'll work hard at a shitty job all summer to save up for self-reliance during term, then end up poisoned by an almighty alcoholic excess on the last day of my job, and have to be carried 20 stops on the underground then laid out on a kerbstone for my disgusted father to lump in the back of the car). Yes - whilst I try to be Mr Reliable in my job, I more than compensate for this with ludicrous idiocy outside. I have to confess, it is ultimately only my ability to pull off stellar academic/professional performances that got me out of being branded the black sheep - I generally fuck up everything else, and you would weep to see how disapprovingly the glances can be - ironically, this comes particularly from my dad (read into that what you will). Having an ancestral template to blame my idiocy on is soothing - perhaps, just perhaps, I'll be able to convince myself that those moments are surges of a genetic spike and not some wholly exclusive personality defect.
Until 18 months ago, I didn't know my grandmother - my father's mother. Growing up, I was told she had died when my father was very young. As all my other grandparents were also dead before I could get to know them, I simply bypassed loss and accepted their absence, remembered them on All Souls' Day, felt desultory envy as other kids' grandparents would lavish on them. Then, last year, my mother returned from a trip to visit my uncle (dad's brother) in Australia with the news that she had discovered that her mother-in-law, my grandmother, my father's mother - was live and well. Dad had never spoken much about his family history - it was understood that his childhood had been defined by pain, separation and loss, and noone questioned his silence. After the shock (me, my bro) and tears (mum, my sis) of coming to terms with the news had passed, we got down to the practicalities of recovering history and meeting the lost relatives.
First - history. My grandfather - my father's father - was by accounts (and by deduction from his diversely-mothered progeny), a philanderer and scoundrel. There were three "official" wives, and he fathered 9 kids - notably, the sequence of these children did not match the arrival of the wives. Let me explain briefly by example - when he arrived in Mauritius, he already had a wife married from young in China. He nonetheless embarked on a relationship of vague nuptial with my grandmother, and had 3 kids by her. Suddenly, wife #1 from China arrived in Mauritius and (supposedly on coercion from his own parents) he set up home with wife #1 and abandoned my grandmother. OK, maybe "abandoned" is slightly the wrong word - being separated from "grandmere" (as she likes to be called) didn't stop him having further children with her, despite being back with wife #1.
When I met my grandmother, she wouldn't speak ill of my grandfather. He was, and remains, the love of her life. She never had any relations with any other man, and she's proud of this - despite his treatment of her. I didn't once pity her for this - I thought it was heroic on her part. An important factor comes into play when talking about the discovery of my grandmother - she is a "metisse" - a mixture of dutch, and black african ancestries. Having grown up not quite believing I had only the east asian heritage (my face just didn't match up), it all fell into place when it turned out that my father is mixed race, and hence so am I. In fact, this mixed background was a relief to discover. I'm running no risk of ever falling victim to arguments grounded in racial purity - it would be self-damnation. Another thing to realise is that this side of my family is the definition of interaciality. All colours are accounted for. Example: my dad's sisters married european and indian spouses, and when you put my siblings and our cousins together - it could be an advert for united colours of Benetton. To the mind that thinks in stereotypes and associates this with broad racial definitions, my family would appear somewhat of a conundrum. But happily so - note also, friends, that nature's absorption of genetic diversity does indeed give rise to fresh design. Let me just say that I have some very beautiful cousins! (Do not make erroneous inference from that last comment, please!) Hence, finding out about my grandmother proved transformative in my sense of personal identity.
Similarly, my grandfather's sudden transformation from flat image from black and white photography into antihero of a sort was bizarrely comforting. Initially disturbed by his apparently scoundrel ways, I have come to terms with it - I read it like a bizarre novel rather than a familial experience. It churned around in my mind, until the indecency fell away, leaving only the sense of the rambunctious about it - a tropical picaresque, you could say. It also helps me come to terms with the moments of self-destructive idiocy. In my immediate family, I am recognised as someone with a streak of the idiotic about me - always sustaining responsibility for so long, then suffering a lapse of illogical combustion (e.g. as a student I'll work hard at a shitty job all summer to save up for self-reliance during term, then end up poisoned by an almighty alcoholic excess on the last day of my job, and have to be carried 20 stops on the underground then laid out on a kerbstone for my disgusted father to lump in the back of the car). Yes - whilst I try to be Mr Reliable in my job, I more than compensate for this with ludicrous idiocy outside. I have to confess, it is ultimately only my ability to pull off stellar academic/professional performances that got me out of being branded the black sheep - I generally fuck up everything else, and you would weep to see how disapprovingly the glances can be - ironically, this comes particularly from my dad (read into that what you will). Having an ancestral template to blame my idiocy on is soothing - perhaps, just perhaps, I'll be able to convince myself that those moments are surges of a genetic spike and not some wholly exclusive personality defect.
posted by nickwong8 at 10:28 pm
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