Growing up, I should have noticed the Peranakan signs all around me

I am a Peranakan.

Wonder why I started this post with a sentence like that? Here’s why.

I have lived 23 years of my life speaking and breathing Hokkein. For those who are in the dialect group, you recognise that similar sense of pride when you understand what your grandfather is talking about. Or having a dish (ie. Hokkein Mee) named after your dialect group so you can boast to your fellow Caucasian friends that, hey, that’s an invention of my forefathers!

And then my father dropped the bomb. “Girl, you Peranakan lah.”

Exit Hokkein Mee – enter Nonya Kueh.

To cut the long story short, my dad had forgotten to let us in on our ethnicity. He thought that all these while, seeing my late grandmother in her Nonya traditional dress would make us naturally realise that we are part of the Peranakan culture. Come to think of it, I must have been blind not to see the signs!

My grandmother, with her hair tightly wound into a bun, was always feeding us with her specialty dishes. Back then, I had no idea what constituted a Peranakan cuisine. All I knew was that I looked forward to eating the sticky and sweet delicacies every Sunday.

So okay, you can’t fault me for being a glutton or that I hadn’t notice the amount of kueh kuehs I’ve eaten. What about my dad’s profound grasp in the Malay language and the mixture of Malay and Hokkein words used when my grandparents spoke to him? I was seriously beginning to question my lack of observational skills as a child.

As much as I enjoy seeing my father squirm whenever we bring up the topic, I realised that all along, the Peranakan culture was already in my blood, waiting for me to acknowledge it. Just like how a child would be enticed by sweet treats, I am well on my way to discovering this Nonya side of me, embracing this rich albeit disappearing culture with arms wide open.