In Ancient China, it is said that “People should never forget where they come from, or they will forget their own identity.” Hometown, a sacrosanct word, represents the starting station and determination of a person in Chinese culture. We are leaves in the wind; when we die, we are returned to the tree roots that bred us. Dialects are symbols of our connections to hometowns—-they vary, possessing distinct jargon, so different in grammar and pronunciations that they can even be considered different languages. In this way, dialects lead us to where we belong, to the people who are united with us by the same mother, the hometown.

But what about people who do not speak any dialect? Where do they belong?

My family’s hometowns are a mixture of southern China. My father comes from Hangzhou, the east part; my mother has two hometowns, Sichuan, the middle-north part, from my grandma, and Shantou, the very south part, from my grandpa. My maternal grandparents brought me up, passing standard Mandarin to me. We, as a family, have settled down in Guangzhou for more than 10 years. However, my paternal grandparents stay in Hangzhou, whose languages I never understand. The strange thing is that, even though I seldom stay in Hangzhou, things related to it make me feel familiar and warm. When I hear someone talking in a Hangzhou dialect on the street, even if what they say is negative:“ ze yang bu ho de la (this is not good)”, I feel obliged to smile at them, as long as it is not “lee yeong emm hou (the same words in Cantonese).” The reason for that is quite simple—I hear the voice of my grandparents from their accents. I hear the voice that bid me farewell when I left Hangzhou, the poor Mandarin with a thick Hangzhou accent: “ze yang bu ho de, de te sao si jian le…wo men yuo ho xiang ni de la. (this is not good—your stay is poorly short! We will miss you really much).”My family comforts me that I am not a Cantonese every time when I am frustrated by the fact that I cannot fit in or understand Cantonese. “ Well, you are from Hangzhou, bae. There is no shame of that.” I always assume that I am a Hangzhou person until my peers in elementary school point out that, “you do not belong to Hangzhou if you neither stay there nor speak its dialect.”

Where can I belong then? Should I start expecting that Guangzhou will recognize me?
But I have never found myself a part of this place though it was where I spent most of my years, where I grew up, where I went to elementary school, middle school and high school and where I learned how to speak. I knew that very early in my life—Guangzhou is not where I belong. 

  In elementary school, I was excluded from certain groups and their conversations because I did not speak Cantonese. Though My fellow students were required to speak standard mandarin according to the government’s policy, they were more willing to speak in their mother tongue.

“What? You can’t speak Cantonese?” my roommate in middle school giggled with amazement, “I mean, everyone can do that.”
“ How’s that strange? I am in no way a Cantonese person,” immediately I announced, “I am from Hangzhou.”
  “But you said you’ve been in here since childhood,” she interrupted with a look similar to our overbearing head teacher, “and you still cannot understand even a little Cantonese? Maybe your parents want you to be a Cantonese person you know, how’s that so difficult?”
I could do nothing but make a pale smile.
“I mean, my goodness, you’ve been here over ten years! How come? Don’t you want to try to fit in?”
She started taunted, people around chuckling. I stood there straight, embarrassed, trying to make my face less blushed and myself less silly, but I failed.  Their faces distorted into a strange mixture of red mouths with chuckles, and their eyes shone in the light of conceit. “Outsider,” I heard someone say, “Don't pay expectation to them. They just can’t fit in.”
  All of a sudden I found myself surrounded by strangers.
They were too young to care about my feelings, and I was too shy to ask them to include me in the Cantonese speaking circle. I know the fact that I could have, in fact, learn Cantonese, but it was at first a punishment of my pudency and later a passive resistance of the city that does not recognize me.

Back then I hated Cantonese, for it seemed exclusive to me, and because of that, this city seemed exclusive to me. This city made me accustom to people’s surprised faces displayed for my identity, and their banter for my failure of speaking Cantonese.

In high school, however, Guangzhou shows its hospitality. There are three characters in my name, most people manage to pronounce two of them correctly when they first meet me, but Jared did only one right.
“ Hey, you must be Chou Yadeng? I am…”
“ No, I am not.” I interrupted him with a little annoyance and stressed my name “QIU YACHENG indeed. Nice to meet you.”
“ Oh sorry! It sounds even better this way,” neither ashamed nor offended, he smiled at me with a little surprise like if he was so, so glad to know me, “ I am Jared. Very nice to meet you.”
I forgave him totally at the moment he smiled at me.

I was reluctant when Jared tried to introduce me to his close friends, who were all native speakers of Cantonese like him. It was awkward to find myself in a conversation with multiple people speaking things that I couldn't understand—Being left out is unbearable to me. I would not be surprised if the situation this time was to be the same. I regretted already as soon as I met them, hearing them greet me with that grudging voice of Mandarin with Cantonese accent; and I almost craved for leaving when they asked me if I mind them speaking Cantonese, for mandarin is uneasy to them. Blithely I smiled back, pleaded them to pardon my lack of participation, and decided that I would no more hang out with a group of Cantonese anymore, whatever Jared suggested. The first twenty minutes of chatting seemed like torture; Maintain smiling while they exchanged greetings in a language I didn't know exhausted me. I felt like I could foresee them telling Jared how slighting I am and how I could not fit in their circle, and incapable of being his friend.

However, I was wrong.
Jared dragged me out, “ Tell me you are not mad.”
“ I am not.”
“ Don’t be mad at me.”
“ I am not mad!” I dared not to look into his eyes—they were too bright and tender to face any negative emotions.
“ They are so worried,” he whispered in my ear, “they are afraid that they’ve done stuff wrong and made you upset..you know how bad their Mandarin is. They all like you, so they are very unsettled to see you unhappy. Well, I told them that Ivy is super nice and lovely, just a little shy. Would you mind if I translate for you guys?”
I was astonished.
How nice it is to feel the unexpected goodwill from some “strangers”!
I stopped dodging his eyes. I saw the light. And we couldn't help to burst into laughter. We turned back to them. Words came out of my mouth in the easiest way, “ Hey guys, Cantonese is totally fine. Sorry I am not good at that but just talk in your ways. Let me know more about you.” I could see the warmth in their eyes, which shone with relief. I felt some changes taking place.
“ Just let Jared translate to you anyway!”  one said, making eyes on Jared.
“ Yea, he will enjoy that.”
“ How?” Their laughter imbued me with delight.
“ Because Jared like..”
  “ Translation!...Jared loves translation work, he always wants to speak Mandarin better right?”
“ His Mandarin is funny, though a little better than us.”
“ Because I am a friendly, helpful, nice guy,” Jared pulled me away from their surrounding, “who has many silly friends jabbering in gibberish.”

They made a circle around me as if we were little kids, telling me some funny story of them and Jared in the bygone times, in the mixture of Cantonese and Mandarin. Jared translated the dialects to me with some amusing gestures and teased them in Mandarin. We made jokes on each other on that wonderful afternoon, comfortably sharing our stories and cackling together like old friends.

“Zuai gin(goodbye)! Looking forward to hanging out next time! Ngo dei hou zong yi lei a(we real zong yi you).”
“Sure! It is great to know you guys!” I turned to Jared, “What does zong yi mean?”
“Means you are in the middle of my mind.”

From that day on, I am not afraid of any Cantonese conversation. A heart that longs another will not be plagued by the barrier of languages. Passion and consideration are the best languages. I talk with people who have different mother tongues in all the possible way and made many a friend who speaks Cantonese. We ridicule each other on funny mistakes of unfamiliar words but in a nice way. Now the city does not seem exclusive anymore. And I think I can finally belong here.

Thanks to that, I figure out the question that puzzled me for so long—why I used to love a place I seldom been more than a place I am living in? The reason is simple: my first impression of Hangzhou was my grandparents’ devotion, while the one of Guangzhou is the mild opposition and jeer from my peers. Therefore I expected to belong to Hangzhou with all my heart while displaying bias to the Cantonese regardless of all their possible kindness. Guangzhou was not my hometown only because I never try to assume it to be. And now it is because I open my heart to it.

My mind travels back to the “hometown” that does not recognize me. I think of my grandparents’ house, where the winds smell like baked sugar and fireworks, carrying laughter in Hangzhou dialects, blowing on my face so gently and warmly, like a mother’s touch, like an old friend’s greet. I recall my grandparents, talking to me in a dialect I never understand, with the love that I can always understand. That’s why I see Hangzhou as the hometown. That’s why Hangzhou accent warms me though I never speak with it.  It is my grandparents’ doting and hospitality that make me home. Now the situation is the same in Guangzhou: my friend’s hospitality and care make this city my second home. I was wrong about belonging. People find themselves belongs to other groups when they feel welcomed, but that warm welcoming does not have to derive from geological or language similarity.

We do not belong to language.
We belong to love.
Hangzhou always recognizes me, and so is Guangzhou.