9/26/08: Chinglish lets you be your inner Batman

Since Chinglish is the language of the future, or at least the near future, here’s a primer for your convenience. Study up. Next week there will be a quiz.

In terms of grammar, Chinese lacks article words such as “the,” “a,” or “an,” and Chinglish speakers will often leave them out.

Mandarin also has no tense. If something happens in the future, an indicator is put into the sentence — “tomorrow” or “next year” — but not attached to the verb, a la “will” in “I will go to the store.”

For English speakers learning Chinese, the other side of Chinglish, grammatical articles like “le” or “de” add mystery and suspense to Chinese grammar. No American I know has ever totally mastered the use of “le,” and no Chinese I’ve asked has been able to explain it.

There are a few archaic phrases likely to be revived by a surge in Chinglish use. “Oh, what a pity!” often greeted a revelation that something lamentable had happened to me on the way to class, or that I wouldn’t be able to join my students for volleyball or badminton afterward.
“Best wishes” in Chinglish transcends the coworker’s-birthday-card cordiality it usually has here, and becomes an expression of genuine interest in a friend’s wellbeing.

If you ask a Chinese how they’re feeling, they will likely answer “so-so” in lieu of “fine.”

Tone is often the only difference between words in Chinese, leading to interesting associations between words we don’t recognize as similar, particularly with numbers.

Just as the word for eight, “ba,” is similar to “fortune,” “fa,” the word “si” can mean both “four” and “death or dies.” Four is considered an unlucky number.

There are also some numbers, my students told me, that correlate to Chinese phrases. If you’re ever texted the number 150, for instance, the messenger is trying to send you “best wishes.” 520 means “I love you.” (“Wu er ling” is similar to “wo ai ni.”)

My students also added a few given names to the canon. Chinese names aren’t abstracted from meanings the way European or American names often are; they’re also characteristics or other nouns, like our “Faith” or “Dawn.”

My students often tried to translate the literal meanings of their names, leading to English names like Agent, Purple or Tornado.

“My name means ‘a strong wind,’” explained my student Tornado. “It means I am forceful and strong.”

His cousin, Batman, didn’t attempt to explain his name, but another fictional character did.
“[Han] Solo is a very brave man,” he said.

Each of my classes at the university level also included a girl named “Apple,” in reference to having a rounded face.

These may sound strange at first, but after awhile, I suspect we’ll get used to people calling themselves whatever they want.

“Batman!” I found myself saying in class one day. “Sit down and pay attention! Tornado, please help him find his place in the reading.”

Chinese also use descriptive titles with their names. Instead of “Miss Watkins,” my Chinese name to my students would translate to “Teacher Watkins.” Bus or taxi drivers are “Driver Zhang,” principals are “Principal Li,” and so on. Calling a person by their title shows respect rather than objectification in Chinese culture.

If you appear to be older, or much-respected, don’t be surprised to hear yourself referred to as “Grandma” or “Grandpa” — also a sign of respect for Chinese.

Taking leave of someone may elicit a “happy every day,” a common Chinglish phrase on par with “best wishes.”

So a happy every day to you.