I’ve stared to work for two weeks without telling many people. The truth is, I don’t know how to describe this experience. For starters, I end up working as a reporter for, not an American medium, a Chinese Newspaper. This is not a bad place, and I get to polish and make good use of my journalistic skills, but being a reporter who focuses on Chinese community still blew my mind, not in a good way.
I’m responsible for Flushing, Queens. If you have a slight knowledge of Queens, you’ll know that Flushing is the major hub of Asian immigrants. It used to be called Little Taipei when lots of immigrants from Taiwan arrived and settle down here. Over the years, many new immigrants from China settle down in Flushing through word-of-mouth, and Flushing has thus become the Mandarin-speaking Chinatown in New York.
Okay, enough about the history. As you may or may not know, where Chinese gather gathers dirtiness. Flushing has always been this dirty, crowded and smelly neighborhood. Almost every person you see here is Asian, or Chinese-speaking person. Chinese is definitely more useful than English here. Besides, the architectural style, decorative style, products for sale here, and even people’s manner are so Chinese here. It seems like the “China” is directly transplanted and revived here. Walking down the street, you wouldn’t see a teeny-tiny tinge of New Yorkness here. This makes me dizzy.
Being a reporter for a Chinese newspaper is yet another weird experience. The reports are written in, for and by Chinese (I’m Taiwanese, however), so our readership is mainly Chinese, which is fine. Nevertheless, it seems like they only care about what happens within the Chinese community. What I’ve covered so far are community events, such as a local conference, a party for the elderly on Moon Festival, or man/woman lost. They have their news value in affinity, which I appreciate, but it strikes me weird that people are so consumed by their own matter within the community. They do everything in Chinese. Events are conducted in Chinese. We report in Chinese. We seem to live in an independent, floating world. I always joke about that I am working in a Chinese theme park.
Manhattan thus seems so far away. Things happening there never seem to affect them or concern them. What they need to do is manage their own community well, and stay in their lairs. On one hand, I feel bad for them to be provincial, but on the other hand, I try to relate to their loneliness and homesickness as immigrants, and stop being judgmental. I don’t think I would make peace with Flushing anytime soon, let alone falling in love with them. But this is a slice of New York too, somewhere I haven’t realized but about to.
