Say my name

Reclaiming my Asian Name

This article has me reflecting on the many times that I have allowed my Chinese name to be truncated or misspelt to fit in the narrative. I distinctly remember being told by a customs and immigrations officer years ago that Hui should be my first name, and that if I wanted Hui Shing to be my first name, then I need to spell it "HuiShing" or "Hui-Shing". I was even given a brief lecture while being held in secondary on first names and middle names, and how I filled out the forms incorrectly by putting "Hui Shing Andy" as first name.

Most recently, at a local DMV, the agent simply refused to correct an error she made on the submission form despite the various types of identifying documents presented with the correct spelling of my name. In her words, "it's fine." As a result my current license reads "Hui, Shing Andy, LAU".

I supposed I have just grown accustomed to it, after all I do have numerous IDs that just reads Hui S. Lau - insurance cards, office IDs, assigned login names. The hassle of explaining my full name just didn't seem worth it. I just go by Andy, which raises other problems as there is an Andy Lau who is a famous actor/singer in Hong Kong and I find myself living the Michael Bolton rant from Office Space.

All that being said, I am beginning to wonder if I should be more insistent on how my name should be spelt/assigned correctly.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/magazine/interactive/2022/assimilation-chinese-names-asian-racism/?itid=hp_magazine

2021 Independence Day

 All across the United States upon Main Streets such as this people are gearing for a celebration. Banners are strung everywhere; red, white, and blue swaying in the breeze. I can already hear the cacophony of Sousa’s creation mixed with the revving of engines, and a waft of bbq and hot dog steam in the air. America is ready to be boisterous once again after a muted year.

Yet beneath all the bravado, I can’t help but feel as if this is the first major gathering following the death of a unifying figure in the family. There is this desire to carry on as it were. We would get together to yammer and bicker around the kitchen table like in the old days. But that’s not true, is it? Someone would slip up, the name of the fallen would come up, and there would be this awkward silence as people shift uncomfortably in their seats. Because, let's be honest, ours has never been quite the culture adapted to grieving. Did we even grief appropriately? Or have we forcibly moved right along?

I don't know. I know for me, as I observe Independence Day, I will be thinking of all the people who would have loved to be here. I would be thinking of those who readily gave their all to fight for a more perfect Union, to establish Justice, to insure domestic Tranquility, to provide for the common defence, to promote the general Welfare, and to secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity for all. I will be thinking of those who believed with all their being that all men are created equal and guaranteed certain unalienable Rights, including Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

I will be thinking of them, and how best to carry on their legacy. Happy Birthday America, may you always be the land that takes the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. May you always be hopeful, idealistic, despite the losses you have suffered along the way.

Going beyond the audiogram

 My fellow audiologists:

At what point do we move beyond the audiogram or pushes its limits? Should we at least update it? I mean after all, in terms of plotting data on a graph, we are literally doing it upside down, from top to bottom. I must confess I find it troublesome that we remain so fixated on audiograms.

Don't get me wrong, there is so much information to glean from an audiogram, and I love how there are so many self-check elements built in to validate each part of the battery of tests. Yet, have we maximized its utility and can it be improved upon?

Truth be told, an audiogram can only go so far, and my fear is we remained too confined by it. We don't communicate in beeps, we are not R2D2, yet we test that way. We rarely converse in truly quiet settings, speaking at a steady rate. Yet we bank on word recognition to tell us how the person should do in real life. There are those who do hear above 0dB HL and beyond 8kHz, and while their thresholds may appear "normal "could mean a significant shift had we a baseline that tested the "extremes".

The audiogram is the entry point, and too often we allow it to become the whole narrative. We ought to be asking more. How is the brain being engaged given this information, and have we tested the full-spectrum?

How do we present this data to others? The fact that there are a significant number of us who find having an engineer or a musician as a patient troublesome speaks volumes about us as a profession, not them. They are the ones who understand sounds beyond what a graph dictates, and we should too. Convince them that we understand. The unit of measurement for sound, dB, is a relative unit - how do we relate it? How do we go from here's how you hear to here's how you listen?

I think it is time we go beyond the audiogram, the X and Os, the brackets. We need to explore more. We need to make sure we perform more objective measurements like immittance audiometry, and electrophysiology tests. That's where we make the difference. Let's not get hung up on audiograms and how we ought to fit hearing aids based on them; we as a profession are more than that.

My Hong Kong

I don't talk about Hong Kong often. Whenever people ask me where I am from, I usually answer them with I am from all over, that I grew up partially in Hong Kong and Canada, and then spent the last 20 years in various parts of the US. Hong Kong became that ex that I don't speak about - a place that at one point in time I knew intimately well, played a significant role in shaping me, and whose updates occasionally populate on my social media feeds. The truth though, if I were to carry on the analogy, Hong Kong felt very much like the one that got away.

You see, I do love Hong Kong. My parents grew up in Hong Kong, and they were part of the generation that had a hand in helping it reach its peak. Through their eyes, I saw a Hong Kong that worked its way out of a corrupted and conflicted past, then proceeded to build infrastructures that made it the Pearl of the Orient. I inherited their staunch belief that Hong Kong is a place of opportunity - where one can work hard and play hard, and settle down. Hong Kong was a unique place that enjoys certain civil liberties and technological advances that few places could rival. It was strategically designed to allow for a merger of the East and West in harmony on so many levels - commerce, cultural exchange, and tourism.

I too know Hong Kong well. I have literally walked from one end of the island to the other numerous times. I was familiar with the street vendors and the mom-and-pop stores in several neighbourhoods. There was a time I could have given walking tours to tourists, and if you needed me to find certain items, I knew exactly where to go and get them.

I am proud of being a Hong Konger. Time was I readily want to show Hong Kong off to people. I wanted them to see for themselves the amazing blend of East and West, the now and then. Hong Kong was a true melting pot; you can get all kinds of cuisines, buy all kinds of stuff, and experience all sorts of cultures. You can ride different modes of transport and explore so many "boroughs", each drastically different from the next.

In a way, it was sad that things between myself and Hong Kong didn't quite work out. We parted ways, and I find myself wandering in the US for the past twenty years, hopping from one city to another every few years. Subtly, I would find myself comparing each place to Hong Kong - how does it match up, where it is better, and where it is not. Hong Kong has set a bar for what I expect in a place. Now, don't get me wrong, I have had great experiences with various cities, but you never forget your first do you?

Lik it or not, I am a Hong Konger. That's the place where I was born and lived during some of my formative years. While my Cantonese and written traditional Chinese left much to be desired for, it tickles me that I grew up in one of the last strongholds that still holds true to certain Chinese traditions and culture that disappeared elsewhere under CCP influence. While we can ill afford to romanticize colonization, in Hong Kong's case, it was a success story that has yet to be rivalled or replicated, not that I would advocate for colonization. For some reason, the Hong Kong identity was preserved and made more unique under British rule, and it is something that CCP has been working steadfastly to remove in recent years. After all, if we are being candid, Hong Kong serves as a reminder of how glorious Chinese culture can be if its people were actually given the means to be educated about their history and their liberties.

Why am I waxing nostalgic about this? Well, sometimes just because a relationship doesn't work out, doesn't mean you stop caring for the other. In this case, there is a profound sadness in witnessing a once beautiful place being corrupted and entering into an abusive relationship - nay, kidnapped, hijacked, and brainwashed. Because that is in essence that is what is happening to Hong Kong. A once vibrant place, defiant in the face of tyranny, a refuge for free speech and civil liberties, now dimmed, diminished and silenced. Yes, Hong Kong has always been tiny, a literal dot on many maps, but it was fierce.

Life will go on I suppose, but I truly hate to see Hong Kong like this - battered, betrayed, and dispirited.

Rain reflections

 As I sit here listening to the steady pattering of rain, I find my thoughts drifting back to memories of growing up in the Pacific Northwest.  Rain was a common occurrence, and I suspect that was what made coffee houses so common in Seattle and Vancouver.  When the outside world threatens Seasonal Affective Disorder, we adapt by building warm, cozily lit cafes filled with the aroma of caffeine and resounding with the sounds of lively conversations to combat that.  I know that is partially where my affinity for rain began.  Nothing like rain to provide my not-so-athletic-and-mostly-introverted-self with the excuse to stay indoors and read to my heart's content.  It was glorious.  

Rain can be soothing, and it can also be freeing.  The monsoons in Hong Kong and the riotous rainstorms in Williamsburg VA were all liberating to me.  People like being in the sun, me?  I like being out in the rain.  To feel the coolness as water trickle down the roads and was as the wispy mist floats from the asphalt.  It is an orchestra of sights and sounds that is often overlooked.  

Oh, and then there are the puddles.  Ah, yes, to cars they can mean potential jolting potholes, and for pedestrians soaked feet.  But to the photographer, they are medium to see the world differently - a mirage, so beautiful, and yet so fleeting, easily disrupted by ripples.  To capture a reflection in the puddle is to savour a truly ephemeral and ethereal moment.  So there it is, will I ever stop loving the rain, I certainly hope not. 

Communion

 It has been over a year since I last received the Eucharist. Although online services and daily prayers provided the means for me to stay tethered, ultimately I craved this medicine and nourishment.

What sustained me is knowing soon I can return to worship in person, to come before His table and receive Him just as He has beckoned us to join Him. It is not just the Eucharist mind you. Oh no, to partake in the Eucharist is to be part of something greater, for we do not come before the altar alone, but with the community.

I can never for the life of me imagine a G-d who would deny anyone access to Him. That, as stewards, ours is to draw ALL to Him so that He may feed them, nourish them, and bring comfort to them, just as we have received from Him. Ours is to be His agent, to hold the door open, to welcome, to embrace, to love. I do not wish to eat alone or eat before others can get to their share. That is not the feast that the Lord has prepared for us. His words were, "Take, Eat, All of you." Not some, all.

So, I patiently wait for when I can partake again. I hope none will be denied, especially not by any person, for it was never our place to deem who is worthy, nor was it ever our right to withhold love, grace, and salvation when they have been made readily available in abundance by He whom we believed has love that knows no bounds.

Spiritual Breathing

 How long can one hold one's breath? Physiologically, not too long as survival instincts (hopefully)would kick in before true asphyxiation could occur. Psychologically, however, I have found, can lasts much longer than healthy.

I am saying this as it has just occurred to me today that I have been holding my breath spiritually for quite a bit of time. Delays upon delays have resulted in me being stuck in that in-between state where I can't actually move to my new abode or start my new job. During that time, I became anxious, I forgot to breathe spiritually. Oh, I was feeling overwhelmed, I was losing sleep, I couldn't think logically. It was terrible. I wasn't very pleasant, and I was choking on my own uneasiness without a clue on how to alert others to deliver the spiritual Heimlich.

Luckily, things did start falling into place, and I could at last breathe again. And what a relief it was. It's foolish, but the truth is, we all tend to forget to breathe at times - when concentrating, when attempting something difficult. How many times have I found myself reminding my students or patients to breathe? How easily I forget. My body tensed, my fists clenched, and my psychological wellbeing going into cyanosis.  

I guess what I am trying to get at is remind ourselves to breathe, to open up. You would think breathing being so critical to surival that we should be able to do it naturally. But the truth is, being able to take deep breaths constantly, especially when it matters most takes practice. We all need spiritual air to clear our heads too.