To be regarded as a “foreigner,” or what is locally known among the Thai people as a “farang,” is not something anyone is comfortable with. You’re viewed as an outsider, like you don’t belong there. I know I don’t look fully Thai because I’m half Thai (from my mom) and half Caucasian (from my dad). I have freckles, I’m not tan and I certainly don’t have black hair. Now, if you have any knowledge at all of southern Thais, they typically have silky black hair and relatively dark skin. Before I go any further, you should know that I grew up on a backpacker’s island in the Gulf of Thailand where most foreigners were tourists on a budget. All of them had somehow mastered the art of haggling before their visit to our island, and the local residents referred to all of them as “farang.” So, for me to be called a “farang,” even though I was born and raised there, was absurd to me. Just because I didn’t look like the typical Thai person and because I spoke two languages rather than one, does not mean I didn’t belong. In fact, it pushed me to try to be as Thai as possible to prove both to myself and other locals that I belonged.
I remember one bright afternoon I was playing with my friends down the street from my house. It was getting late enough that I had to be home for dinner. My father, with his long, muscular Caucasian legs strode down the street to summon me and tell me off for staying out later than I promised. “Miriam, its time to come home and eat your dinner, I made you a peanut butter sandwich,” said Dad. I felt so ashamed that he was speaking to me in English, I just wanted to him to shut up even though he barely said anything. How could I have been so rude, to secretly want him to be quiet when he even made me my favorite sandwich for dinner? It was like my brain was going to burst into flames of anger. Here was my Dad, speaking to me in front of all my friends in a foreign language, while I wanted to be more Thai so people would stop calling me the “farang” kid. How humiliating! So I did what I usually did back then, I responded in the Thai-est accent possible, even though I’d never had a Thai accent when I spoke English. “Okay Pa, I come in a few minute, I play furd okay?” What I was trying to say was that I’d come home in a few minutes, but I wanted to play first, and was that okay? Now, let me say that when you know a language so fluently, it’s difficult to break it up so that you sound less adept.
To make matters worse, every afternoon, after I finished Thai school, my Dad would sit me down and force me to learn English. I suppose he knew it would be useful for me to know a universal language, and had secretly planned to send me off to a British boarding school. As far as I knew, he never wanted to move our family to back to the States. I thought my father was just being selfish; teaching English just because he was from America. I just thought the whole thing was an absolute waste of my time. Anyhow, there would be these textbooks shipped all the way from America, and I’d have to do comprehension exercises. I despised it. I’d cry and try to find the lamest excuses why I shouldn’t have class each day, “I worked so hard in school today, I’m really tired, Pa,” or “Please can I just have one day off?” Except, I would say that almost everyday. I mean, how cruel can you be to make your child go to school, after normal school, while her friends are out playing and having fun? How cruel can you be, to try to teach your child a language that would make her feel like an outcast? As a child, these were my thoughts on the English language, shameful feelings, I know. But my father was so patient; I guess he knew that what he was doing was noble, teaching me something so valuable, so useful that I could use it anyplace I went. How could I have felt such strong distaste and strong dislike of my father, when all he was doing was giving me knowledge? How could I have been such a spoiled little brat, when all he was doing was opening endless windows of opportunity for me?
It was only my father’s teachings that got me into my private school where everything was taught in English, where I learned wonderful things like science, history and geography. The English language has exposed me to many new cultures, especially in my boarding school where everyone was from everywhere. It allowed me to read Shakespeare’s plays and John Keats’ poems. If it weren’t for my father, my opportunities would be significantly limited; I’d only speak one language, one that you can only use in one country. Looking back, I feel awful for being ashamed of the other half of myself.
Speaking English and attending boarding school, where everything was taught in English definitely pulled me away from being Thai. As time went on, I realized that there were many people who were also bilingual, and they weren’t ashamed of their partially Western looks and their ability to speak English. In fact, they were proud to be bilingual. I understand that I don’t look like the typical Thai person, but I knew I was Thai; I was born and raised there! I spoke the language! I wouldn’t dare step on money, because I know it is insulting and disrespectful, I always put my head down when I walk in front of elders, I know that stepping on books and pillows is a sin, and never in my life have I ever, nor will you ever hear me utter a single disparaging comment about the King, for he is the father of my country. I shared these Thai values with every other Thai person. The fact that I could speak English and Thai, made me confused about my identity as a child, but as I grew up I realized that it was okay not to have one sole language identity. So what if I’m called a “farang?” I knew I belonged.
Never again will I be ashamed of my identity. When I overcame the confusion and shame of being bilingual, I felt liberated to speak proper English to my dad, even in front of my Thai friends. Just because I was bilingual does not mean I’m an outsider. My childhood struggles of speaking multiple languages have opened my eyes about how much of an asset bilingualism really is. I am proud that I speak English, and I am proud that I speak Thai. Speaking English has given me the opportunity to attend any university in the world, rather than just in Thailand. It is the reason I am able to attend UC Davis today. It has allowed me to communicate with a wider circle of people, from many different countries and thus I am able to obtain worldly knowledge. Now that I realize that being bilingual is a benefit, when I meet people who are mixed race, I expect them to speak two languages, and I am appalled when they don’t. If your mother speaks a different language to your father, you should know both languages fluently. It is an advantage. It is an opportunity. It opens doors. You may face the challenge of having no exclusive identity at first, but you will mature to realize that you have a skill many businesses desire, and an ability many people wished they had.
About the Author: Miriam Hershman, was born in Thailand and is now a Nutrition Science major and someday would like to travel to Africa and make a difference.
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