The core part of my Chinese name ‘迪dí’ means ‘enlighten’. Ironic, as I’m quite an indecisive person. As a child, I found comfort in reimagining the cultural meaning of my name — Ying-Di Yin 甄 英 迪 — which is often still met with confusion (later, mispronunciation) upon an introduction. Aware of my family’s differences to other Australians, I jokingly interpreted the character in my name as a prophecy: that one day I would have an epiphany about who I was, and the meaning of my differences to others in this country.
As an adult, I’ve learnt that epiphanies are drawn out over time and more specifically, identity is not a single revelation. It’s nuanced and complex — drawn from various elements including memory, history, personal experiences and social politics. Lately, I’ve been more curious about how to shape my future through culture, particularly the missing parts. So I began the journey to learn about my family’s migrational past and discover what historical cultural knowledge could teach me.
An examination of the cultural past is not a given pathway for everyone. It requires access to archival documents, records and information, living testimonies or simply the interest to engage in it. While reading a previous Runway Journal article by Joanna Bayndrian, a line resonated with me – the failure of the archive. Certainly, the Chinese-Australian diaspora can view the non-preservation or lack of extensive recording of early Chinese migration to Australia as a failure, but what about my own personal failure to archive my family history and carry it into the future?
Gong Gong and Henry Lum moved to Australia in 1929. Preferring the lifestyle in Hong Kong, Gong Gong moved back in 1931, never returning to Australia again. At age 50, he started a family with A Po (grandmother). Henry Lum remained in Sydney and rose to prominence through business, even becoming close friends with Australian Prime Minister Billy Hughes.
Both brothers were generous within their communities. Henry Lum sponsored many people from Hong Kong to Australia and Gong gong provided refuge and helped those escaping hardship from China to Hong Kong during the Communist Years.
November 12, 2020
Piecing together your family history is an exciting yet strange experience. I wonder if it really can change you dramatically - what does history do for you, what do you want from it? Do you carry it into the future or is it just nice to know?
Knowing where you come from is an age-old story that is compelling for a reason. For me, it’s a craving to know where you belong and to place yourself culturally in the land that is physically alienating.
November 14 2020
The first time I became aware of the extent of my Chinese-Australian lineage took place at my 2nd cousin’s wedding in Sydney, 2012. I was introduced to a group of three Asian men in their 60s, who I respectfully called ‘Uncle’ as they were my elders. As I spoke in Cantonese, they responded in English, attached with jovial, thick Aussie accents that stunned me. I had never met Asian elders with anything other than ‘authentic’ Chinese accents in Australia. It was then that I realised there existed an integrated history here larger than my known community.
Perhaps I was ignorant, but at the time I did not feel compelled to know more. Instead, I was more fascinated with my Hong Kong history, idealising it like a scene in Wong Kar Wai’s In the Mood for Love. I felt grounded when I returned to the city — I was represented and felt like I belonged. The thrill of conversing in Cantonese, albeit broken at times, and understanding another language never got old. It made sense.
I wonder how life would have changed if Ma Ma was also born in Australia like her cousins? How would my history and connection to culture be altered?
My maternal uncle Kau Fu purchased this limited book dedicated to the Yip family ancestral tree. Only a few hundred copies were made and distributed in China. Some information in this book was fortunate to have survived the Cultural Revolution. The Yip clan dates back 2000 years ago, 29 generations. The first Yip was supposedly a General in 529BC.
Ma Ma. Phone interview with myself, 3 November 2020. Retelling the story of her experience with Taai Po (maternal great grandmother) and the outdated custom of feet binding. Until the early 20th century, small feet were thought to be beautiful and alluring for marriage. A girl’s feet would be broken and tightly bound to make them smaller, like a lotus. I originally misunderstood this story as a child.
November 17 2020
I recently listened to an interview podcast with British writer Zadie Smith. She amusingly said we are living in a social media age where ‘this is the first time in history you’ll be able to see pictures of your grandma in her bikini doing a body shot...How much will that change families?’[1] How our histories will be archived now and in the future will undoubtedly change drastically. Archives will be digitised in HD. Every memory and experience will be recorded in various formats, theoretically leaving little room for interpretation.
My family’s historical archive is fragmented. Uncle Allen is the passionate archivist but was unable to speak to me due to poor health. I would like to have asked him what motivated him to dedicate so much time to our family’s history? As both first generation Australians, was his compulsion to archive due to the same reasons as mine?
In the absence of a major source of knowledge, I was left with a trail of analogue documents to follow. Photocopies of his research included images, visits to the State Library, visa documents, Australian dossiers, family trees, and recounts of a visit to our family village, Chuen Mei in China. He had even endeavoured to complete a project titled Leaves From The Yip Family Tree but I’m unsure if he ever finished. Digitally, the family tree was transferred online to ancestry.com.
The rest of the knowledge is held by family members passing down their experiences, and stories they’ve been told. During my research, knowledge was gathered via phone calls, Zoom meetings and text messages. These mediums may be even more precious than ‘official’ forms of documentation. They are testimonials of lived experience, told across languages in short-hand form and pieced together by memory. And yet, stories can be mistold and altered each and every time.
Without all the knowledge, we are left to fill in the gaps and ‘purposefully insert fiction into this kind of history reimaging’[2]. Staged photographs of relatives looking dapper in waistcoats allow us to insert a date in the historical timeline, but do not record the way of life experienced at the time. Other candid photos of my family eating Chinese food around the table may capture a moment in time, but also leave room for more storytelling. This piece itself can be thought of in the same way, as a reimagined archival document that records our history only as I understand it.
The duality of culture for first generations of the diaspora can provide liberation — you can take what you want from your culture, and leave what you don’t want. You can learn from the past, avoid the same mistakes or carry on the same traditions. The practice of archiving and sourcing knowledge allows me this freedom to dictate my future, whatever my past may be. I’m left to create interpretations, reimage the past and in turn, embrace my differences and shape my identity over a lifelong journey towards ‘enlightenment’.
[1] Zadie Smith, interview with Edwina Throsby, ‘It’s a Long Story - Zadie Smith | Class, race, family and belonging’, podcast audio, 21 October 2020, https://www.sydneyoperahouse.com/digital/podcasts/its-a-long-story/zadie-smith.html
[2] Joanna Bayndrian, ‘A Merchant, A Miner And A Bushranger Walk Into A Pub: John Young Zerunge And Jason Phu’, Runway Journal, 2017
Ying-Di Yin is a Chinese-Australian freelance writer/critic, actor, presenter and communications practitioner at the Sydney Opera House working and living on unceded Gadigal land. She has a keen interest in telling authentic stories that represent diversity and through that mission is learning more about her own culture and identity. All her practices intertwine as she endeavours to creatively reflect and engage with true human connectivity, contemporary culture and important socio-political issues through storytelling.
The core part of my Chinese name ‘迪dí’ means ‘enlighten’. Ironic, as I’m quite an indecisive person. As a child, I found comfort in reimagining the cultural meaning of my name — Ying-Di Yin 甄 英 迪 — which is often still met with confusion (later, mispronunciation) upon an introduction. Aware of my family’s differences to other Australians, I jokingly interpreted the character in my name as a prophecy: that one day I would have an epiphany about who I was, and the meaning of my differences to others in this country.
As an adult, I’ve learnt that epiphanies are drawn out over time and more specifically, identity is not a single revelation. It’s nuanced and complex — drawn from various elements including memory, history, personal experiences and social politics. Lately, I’ve been more curious about how to shape my future through culture, particularly the missing parts. So I began the journey to learn about my family’s migrational past and discover what historical cultural knowledge could teach me.
An examination of the cultural past is not a given pathway for everyone. It requires access to archival documents, records and information, living testimonies or simply the interest to engage in it. While reading a previous Runway Journal article by Joanna Bayndrian, a line resonated with me – the failure of the archive. Certainly, the Chinese-Australian diaspora can view the non-preservation or lack of extensive recording of early Chinese migration to Australia as a failure, but what about my own personal failure to archive my family history and carry it into the future?
Gong Gong and Henry Lum moved to Australia in 1929. Preferring the lifestyle in Hong Kong, Gong Gong moved back in 1931, never returning to Australia again. At age 50, he started a family with A Po (grandmother). Henry Lum remained in Sydney and rose to prominence through business, even becoming close friends with Australian Prime Minister Billy Hughes.
Both brothers were generous within their communities. Henry Lum sponsored many people from Hong Kong to Australia and Gong gong provided refuge and helped those escaping hardship from China to Hong Kong during the Communist Years.
November 12, 2020
Piecing together your family history is an exciting yet strange experience. I wonder if it really can change you dramatically - what does history do for you, what do you want from it? Do you carry it into the future or is it just nice to know?
Knowing where you come from is an age-old story that is compelling for a reason. For me, it’s a craving to know where you belong and to place yourself culturally in the land that is physically alienating.
November 14 2020
The first time I became aware of the extent of my Chinese-Australian lineage took place at my 2nd cousin’s wedding in Sydney, 2012. I was introduced to a group of three Asian men in their 60s, who I respectfully called ‘Uncle’ as they were my elders. As I spoke in Cantonese, they responded in English, attached with jovial, thick Aussie accents that stunned me. I had never met Asian elders with anything other than ‘authentic’ Chinese accents in Australia. It was then that I realised there existed an integrated history here larger than my known community.
Perhaps I was ignorant, but at the time I did not feel compelled to know more. Instead, I was more fascinated with my Hong Kong history, idealising it like a scene in Wong Kar Wai’s In the Mood for Love. I felt grounded when I returned to the city — I was represented and felt like I belonged. The thrill of conversing in Cantonese, albeit broken at times, and understanding another language never got old. It made sense.
I wonder how life would have changed if Ma Ma was also born in Australia like her cousins? How would my history and connection to culture be altered?
My maternal uncle Kau Fu purchased this limited book dedicated to the Yip family ancestral tree. Only a few hundred copies were made and distributed in China. Some information in this book was fortunate to have survived the Cultural Revolution. The Yip clan dates back 2000 years ago, 29 generations. The first Yip was supposedly a General in 529BC.
November 17 2020
I recently listened to an interview podcast with British writer Zadie Smith. She amusingly said we are living in a social media age where ‘this is the first time in history you’ll be able to see pictures of your grandma in her bikini doing a body shot...How much will that change families?’[1] How our histories will be archived now and in the future will undoubtedly change drastically. Archives will be digitised in HD. Every memory and experience will be recorded in various formats, theoretically leaving little room for interpretation.
My family’s historical archive is fragmented. Uncle Allen is the passionate archivist but was unable to speak to me due to poor health. I would like to have asked him what motivated him to dedicate so much time to our family’s history? As both first generation Australians, was his compulsion to archive due to the same reasons as mine?
In the absence of a major source of knowledge, I was left with a trail of analogue documents to follow. Photocopies of his research included images, visits to the State Library, visa documents, Australian dossiers, family trees, and recounts of a visit to our family village, Chuen Mei in China. He had even endeavoured to complete a project titled Leaves From The Yip Family Tree but I’m unsure if he ever finished. Digitally, the family tree was transferred online to ancestry.com.
The rest of the knowledge is held by family members passing down their experiences, and stories they’ve been told. During my research, knowledge was gathered via phone calls, Zoom meetings and text messages. These mediums may be even more precious than ‘official’ forms of documentation. They are testimonials of lived experience, told across languages in short-hand form and pieced together by memory. And yet, stories can be mistold and altered each and every time.
Without all the knowledge, we are left to fill in the gaps and ‘purposefully insert fiction into this kind of history reimaging’[2]. Staged photographs of relatives looking dapper in waistcoats allow us to insert a date in the historical timeline, but do not record the way of life experienced at the time. Other candid photos of my family eating Chinese food around the table may capture a moment in time, but also leave room for more storytelling. This piece itself can be thought of in the same way, as a reimagined archival document that records our history only as I understand it.
Ma Ma. Phone interview with myself, 3 November 2020. Retelling the story of her experience with Taai Po (maternal great grandmother) and the outdated custom of feet binding. Until the early 20th century, small feet were thought to be beautiful and alluring for marriage. A girl’s feet would be broken and tightly bound to make them smaller, like a lotus. I originally misunderstood this story as a child.
The duality of culture for first generations of the diaspora can provide liberation — you can take what you want from your culture, and leave what you don’t want. You can learn from the past, avoid the same mistakes or carry on the same traditions. The practice of archiving and sourcing knowledge allows me this freedom to dictate my future, whatever my past may be. I’m left to create interpretations, reimage the past and in turn, embrace my differences and shape my identity over a lifelong journey towards ‘enlightenment’.
[1] Zadie Smith, interview with Edwina Throsby, ‘It’s a Long Story - Zadie Smith | Class, race, family and belonging’, podcast audio, 21 October 2020, https://www.sydneyoperahouse.com/digital/podcasts/its-a-long-story/zadie-smith.html
[2] Joanna Bayndrian, ‘A Merchant, A Miner And A Bushranger Walk Into A Pub: John Young Zerunge And Jason Phu’, Runway Journal, 2017
Ying-Di Yin is a Chinese-Australian freelance writer/critic, actor, presenter and communications practitioner at the Sydney Opera House working and living on unceded Gadigal land. She has a keen interest in telling authentic stories that represent diversity and through that mission is learning more about her own culture and identity. All her practices intertwine as she endeavours to creatively reflect and engage with true human connectivity, contemporary culture and important socio-political issues through storytelling.
Runway Journal acknowledges the custodians of the nations our digital platform reaches. We extend this acknowledgement to all First Nations artists, writers and audiences.
Runway Journal is assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
Runway Journal receives project support from the NSW Government through Create NSW.
Runway Journal acknowledges the custodians of the nations our digital platform reaches. We extend this acknowledgement to all First Nations artists, writers and audiences.
Runway Journal is assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
Runway Journal receives project support from the NSW Government through Create NSW.