Ying-Yen Hsu: a Treasure of History by Monica Hsu Growing up, I always thought of my grandpa as a silent, conservative man who occasionally laughed and only talked when he prayed before meals. My recollection of him was faint, and I only had the fuzzy details of my childhood memories to help paint who he was. Flashbacks of him stowed away in the laundry room came to mind. What was in this laundry room, I will never know. Even as a young girl I knew that trespassing his ingenuousness was unquestionable. Whenever I observed my grandparents, they always communicated in a different language. Taiwanese is what it was called. Not Mandarin, not Cantonese, but Taiwanese. Because of this language barrier, I missed out on half of the words that ever came out of my grandpa’s mouth. As you can see, my grandpa was a mysterious
figure whom I knew scarce details about. I knew for a fact he was a genius. I also knew he immigrated from Taiwan. But what does being a “genius” actually mean? For what reasons did he immigrate to the United States? Shortly after these thoughts came to mind, my grandpa sat me down on a couch to make sure he knew exactly what he was getting himself into. Half laughing, I assured him that this was not any serious or formal matter. I just needed to observe him, take a few pictures, and ask a few questions. My assurance dissolved in his mind, and he was still very questionable about the subject. “How many students are doing this project?” he asked with a quizzical look, as if gaining the knowledge of a specific number would increase his understanding
of my project. In the back of my mind, I knew he did not fully comprehend what I was trying to explain to him. This was merely a short interview for a project at school and my grandpa just had to be himself. Instead, he whipped out a notebook and started jotting down the specifics of my project. The language barrier between me and my grandpa was an exasperating enemy to our relationship. However, I realized that it was an extraordinary case to be able to communicate with my grandpa. Taking into consideration that he was a Taiwanese immigrant, it was astonishing how exceptional his knowledge of English was. Despite the missing articles and varying tenses in his speech, he spoke well enough to have comprehensive conversations. “Monica, you need to learn Taiwanese,” was what my grandpa would always impose on me.