Chaozhou, Guangdong, China 潮州

So this entry really isn’t just about Chaozhou, but about Chaoshan. But when we’ve spent decades claiming that our homeland is Chaozhou, not realising the difference? That’s a little shameful. Then again, I didn’t even know Chaozhou was a city until recently (I thought it was a province), and couldn’t point to it on a map if you asked.

Three-quarters of my bloodline hails from the Chaoshan region. It’s often simply and confusingly referred to as Chaozhou, better known amongst the Cantonese-speaking diaspora (of which I am a part of) as Chiu Chow, and as Teochew in its eponymous language that I cannot speak or understand. While part of the Cantonese-speaking Guangdong province 廣東/广东, the Chaoshan (Teoswa) region is unique in that it uses the Teochew language instead. (Mandarin has four tones, Cantonese has six, and Teochew has eight!) While not actually true, it sometimes seems like there’s far more Teochew people outside of Chaozhou than in it! Many ethnic Chinese people you may know, even prominent politicians — particularly in Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, and immigrants in Canada and USA — trace their lineage to this region. Members of this Teochew diaspora have tended to lose their language within a generation, including my parents, who are still able to understand it due to being raised with the language present, but largely unable to speak it.
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 Hong Kong 香港

It’s taken me over a decade to focus on my birthplace.

I used to come to Hong Kong every couple of years, back when my grandparents were still alive. Being a rather lazy and petulant kid, I was pretty much dragged kicking and screaming every time, and never really enjoyed the many trips. Outside of seeing family, every trip seemed to involve spending weeks staying at a hotel next to a mall. The few times we left the confines of one of the seemingly thousands of shopping malls never really left an impression on me, and as a result, I never got to know the city or how to get around short of hopping into a taxi and magically teleporting to wherever my family needed to be.

The last time I was in Hong Kong was for a mere eight-hour layover, which I greatly enjoyed — spending it with my good friend Jacqueline, who took me around the city for the first time without it being a family obligation. That was five years ago. The last real time I spent any significant amount of time in the city was 14 years ago.

It’s a strange feeling being here. I look like everyone else, I speak Cantonese like everyone else (although with a pretty noticeable accent and diction of a non-native), I have plenty of extended family that I’m seeing, the food is comprised of many of my favourite dishes, I know the culture since it’s what I grew up with in Vancouver’s large Hong Konger community, and yet… This is my homeland, but it’s not home.
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