Words by: Jackie Zhou  

“How do you pronounce your surname?”

I never really immediately knew how to answer that question. My mother told me it’s pronounced ‘zoo’ but when they say my Chinese name, 周晶晶 (zhōu jīng jīng), it’s pronounced differently. ‘Zhou’ has more of a hollow sound, like the back of my mouth is forced to open in order to say it correctly.

Except it wasn’t forced. It was never forced. It came to me so naturally. But for a lot of my current friends, pronouncing it in a way that sounds more traditionally accurate proves difficult, because these are the sounds of a language completely unfamiliar to them.

For the majority of my childhood, ‘Zhou’ has been more of a ‘zoo’. I know a lot of second-generation immigrants that I grew up with, or even know now, who whiteify the pronunciation of their name.

This is a natural response when you’re trying to assimilate in a society that coerces you to believe that your culture, language and traditions make you different [derogatory].

But it does make you different! I’m sick of believing that — making my name easier to pronounce so white teachers don’t embarrass themselves and me when calling my name to an assembly of students and coworkers — doesn’t make me different. Having to adjust the way I say my name for others inherently makes me different, in fact.

I learned very quickly that my best attempts of cultural assimilation — changing the way I dress to whatever the popular kids were wearing to school, changing the way I say my name, emphasising my Australian accent, walking away from my parents when they spoke Mandarin in public — were all futile because I will always be perceived as different. The way I look is enough to immediately elicit a response in people’s heads about who I am as a person, even to those who know me the most.

It took me a long time to realise that that’s okay. Being immediately associated with stereotypes sucks ass, obviously, but how other people judge me as a person doesn’t matter because, throughout my life, I have learned to build a core identity in myself. No other person can take that from me. Building strength in my relationship with myself took a long time, and will likely be a journey I embark on for the rest of my life. But what matters is that I know who I am, and how other people perceive me is up to their own life experiences, prejudices and perceptions.

I have met many Zhou’s since my childhood, each introducing themselves with a different pronunciation. ‘Zow’ and ‘Zh-ow’ are among some of them. I am left conflicted on knowing what to say and how to say it in a society where the traditional Chinese pronunciation is extremely difficult for native English speakers.

But, I love that my culture, and the name that I have been given, makes me a little different. I love that, as an adult, I can root my identity in where my parents come from, while branching out into a person who I can shape and mould in my own way, on my own terms. All while calling two very different places home.