Gender and racial discrimination is something many women from Asian backgrounds face. It’s something we reluctantly and relentlessly put up with on professional and personal fronts all around the world.
Inequality. Favouritism. Sexism. Misrepresentation. These are the challenges women commonly face growing up Asian or living in a society where typical Asian cultural values, patriarchal norms and Confucian ideals are upheld.
As I wrote in this post Why Males Are the Favoured Sex In Asian Cultures, in many Asian cultures often women are seen as either passive or overbearing, and all round less capable than those who are born or endowed with certain contrasting biological traits. In many Asian cultures, ‘boys over girls’ or ‘man over woman’ is often how the mentality goes at home, at work, in social settings and countless situations in between.
Blogging isn’t always easy. It can be a lot of work with quite a few lessons along the way.
This month marks five years since I started this blog about multiculturalism, being Asian Australian and cultural stereotypes. Reflecting on this milestone, I never anticipated this blog would still be going today. I also never imagined my blog would have a bit of a following and helped me become a better writer. To be honest, blogging has been challenging.
The more you blog, the more your blog becomes a notable part of your life. The more you blog, the more you realise it can be hard keeping up the blog and juggling it with the rest of your life – but it’s doable. Here are some valuable, reality-check lessons that I’ve learned from being a blogger.
Art or science? That’s a choice we might have to make at some point in our lives, maybe when we’re deciding what to study. Or choosing our career. Or deciding on which passion path to take.
Art is commonly thought of as abstract work, work that doesn’t always follow particular patterns, work open to interpretation. Think the fields of writing, music, painting, photography. On the other hand, science is commonly associated with logic and grounded in rational thinking, Think the fields of astronomy, accounting, law, medicine.
Writing non-fiction isn’t easy. Like any craft, it’s never short of challenges. But with non-fiction writing, there’s constantly the challenge to actually keep doing it and achieve something with it.
After so many years as a non-fiction writer, I’m now a published author of a non-fiction book. No, it’s not my first book which I’ve been working on for a while. Recently I published a chapter in a compilation self-help book (more on this at the end of the post). The timing of it comes on the back of my fifth year as a non-fiction, multicultural blogger.
The challenges as an artist are endless. So are the possibilities.
Non-fiction writing involves telling stories about the real world, telling true stories. The narratives provide commentary on everyday events, the everyday experiences we see, feel and go through. Sharing and educating others on the finesses of the world, to enlighten about reality, is what many non-fiction writers aim to do.
There are times when cultural stereotypes hold us back from going after our dreams and creative passions. As an Asian Australian of Chinese descent, I’ve often felt this way. But then there are also times when we somehow find the strength and spark of courage to challenge expectations that we have of ourselves, and the expectations others have of us.
For a long time, I struggled to call myself a writer. My migrant Malaysian parents encouraged me to pay more attention to maths and science subjects at school – and I did and was much better at them than English. Two years ago, stringing words together for posts on this blog was a struggle. Today, I’ve written a draft of a book.
Melbourne. It boasts a grid-shaped city with skyscrapers alongside narrow laneways lined with cafes. A city where I’ve lived for more than half my life, went to university and now work. A city that speaks to me the perks that come with being a part of the rat race in a first world country, and whispers to me the finer things in life.
The other day it was 4pm on a cloudy Sunday afternoon in June. The chilly winter wind whipped my face. I had two hours to kill in the city before catching up with someone. Standing at the Flinders Street Station intersection, cars whizzed by. As two trams rumbled past, the asphalt shook slightly beneath my feet.