Susyn Mihalasky, New Jersey

This article originally appeared in Besida, published in Poland.

I've just taken a window seat on the bus that I ride in my daily commute between New York City, where I do research, and New Jersey, where I live. It's 6:30pm and we are all heading home. The usual crowd of tired, sweaty, but nicely dressed office people squeeze on board along with me. They place their briefcases and raincoats in the overhead racks and scramble for the last remaining seats.

The interior of the bus grows warm and the windows begin to fog over. Huh. No "sightseeing" for today.

I guess that I’ll just settle in for my usual long linguistic struggle reading my copy of Beshida. I reach into my bag, being careful not to jostle the elbow of the Asian man now seated next to me. He is well dressed in an expensive-looking suit and watch. He is reading the newspaper of choice among more educated, politically informed Americans: The New York Times.

But my Beshida awaits. I get to work: "iiii-uuuuu-eeee..." What? What? "B-b-vvvv-ooooo..." What? I don't know that word, either. Why are there so many long words? But I press on, undaunted. Nobody ever said that reversing the process of assimilation would be easy.

"Excuse me. What is that you are reading...is it your ethnic language?" I look up. My well-dressed Asian neighbor is talking to me. I notice that he is in his 20s and has a thick Chinese accent.

Now, this is an unusual twist. In the United States non-white racial groups are the ones who most often "act ethnic." They openly display their languages, cultures, religions, foods and folk costumes. Americans of European heritage are often grouped into the meaningless category "white." White. Who cares? What could that possibly mean? Are all "white" people alike? And are the lives and values of "white" and "non-white" Americans so dissimilar that skin color is a reliable indicator of identity? Yet here is a "white looking" Asian man inquiring into the ethnic background of a "white, European" American.

I answer my neighbor's question: "I am reading a newsletter put out by my ethnic community in Europe. We call ourselves 'Lemkos' and the name of our region is 'Lemkovyna.'

"Where exactly is Lemkovyna?" my neighbor asks.

Where is Lemkovyna? How could I describe it? Does he even know where the Carpathian Mountains are? He probably would not know Lemkos from Martians. I am tempted to say: 'Lemkovyna is on Mars and Lemkos are really Martians in disguise.' But then I reconsider.

"Lemkovyna,” I say, “is located in the Carpathian Mountains in the south eastern part of Poland...you know, in Eastern Europe."

My neighbor nods his head intelligently, knowledgeably.

Could he really know where it is? Schools in the United States neglect the subject of geography, but in his country geography is probably well taught. The only reason that I know where Lemkovyna is located is because I was there...and I certainly don't know where Mars is!

I return to my Beshida: "Iiiiiii.....,” “Ooooooooo,….”

Why does one language need so many variations on one sound?! Maybe someone just hit the wrong typewriter key? And why does Lemko borrow words from Ukrainian or Polish but not from English? English has lots and lots of very good words...and I know all of them already! There would be nothing new for me to learn!

Huh. The window is still fogged over, but we are not moving. We must be caught in traffic. I turn to my neighbor:

"So, I notice that you have an accent. Where are you from?"

"I am from China," he answers, almost reluctantly. He then gives a long, unpronounceable place name [...].

"Oh, I know it!" I say.

To my surprise, he shows no surprise. Huh.

A few minutes later, looking at my Beshida, my neighbor says: "It is a very interesting looking language."

"Cyrillic alphabet," I say.

Again, he nods his head in a knowledgeable, intelligent manner. They must have really good education in that unpronounceable place in China....

"Of course, you are fluent," says my neighbor.

This is a statement of belief rather than a question. How can I be a "real ethnic" if I am not fluent in my language? I decide that I cannot possibly disappoint him....

"Of course," I answer, waiting for a large bolt of lightening to come out of heaven and strike me dead. But nothing happens. Perhaps the bus will crash? No, not that either. In fact, the bus is finally beginning to move. And the window is unfogging....

I return to my reading. First one word...then the next...then the next. This article is going surprisingly quickly, I understand all of the ideas and I know a lot of the words in it. Maybe I really am fluent! I am proud of myself until I realize that the article I am reading is a Lemko translation of one that I wrote in English. Huh.

Suddenly a hand is blocking the page. Surprised, I look up. My Chinese neighbor is pointing at the page and looking at me:

"For example, what does this word mean?," he asks.

Panic.

"That word? You mean, that word right there?" I ask, pointing to the same paragraph. Anything to gain time....

My neighbor is pointing at a scary looking word with five syllables and at least 10 letters. And it has several different "i"s in it too.

Huh. I frantically read the entire sentence. No help. In fact, I don't know many of the words in that sentence. Petro! What kind of an editor are you? Where do you find these strange words?

I read one word below the one that my neighbor is pointing to. Oh, I know that one! "'Sheep,'" I say, "that word means 'sheep.'"

"Oh, I see," he nods his head, visibly impressed with my linguistic skills.

When is my stop? I look out the now unfogged window. My stop is still far away....

I recall my neighbor's thick accent. "Are you fluent in Chinese?" I ask.

"Yes," he answers quickly, without enthusiasm or pride. He sounds as if he does not want to talk about it...and he doesn't.

"Tell me more about Lemkos,” he says.

I tell him a little bit about recent events in Poland, about Akcja Wisla ... Ukrainophiles ... Russophiles ... Orthodoxy ... Greek Catholicism. Am I really sitting in a bus full of tired, sleeping people from New Jersey? And after this discussion, why isn't my neighbor sleeping?

Instead, I see that he is as interested in the topic as I am. In my enthusiasm, I begin to tell him about the time when I lived in Lemkovyna and my experiences there. I tell him about how being simply "American" or "White" is not enough...how it is important to retain contact with one's ethnic heritage and roots. I expect that, as a Chinese-American, my neighbor will understand these sentiments and agree with them. Maybe he can provide me with more insights into this.

So I ask him again about China. Again, however, he is unenthusiastic, bored, indifferent. After a very uninspired discussion, he said: "You are very 'ethnic'."

At first, this strikes me as odd. Me? "Ethnic?" Huh.

"Do I really seem 'ethnic' to you?" I ask.

"Oh, yes," he smiles. "You are familiar with your history, language - you are emotionally involved and you even went to live there."

"But don't you care about your roots?," I ask.

At last, I see enthusiasm and pride in my neighbors face.

"No!" he answers triumphantly in his thick accent, "...I only speak English, I am a 'real American!'" "And," he adds assertively, "...I will take an American wife!"

Now he is smiling much too intensely and leaning too close. I take a quick look out the window. Oh, good! My stop is next!

And next time I'll take the train...!