L.K. Sham
Why did you choose your program at UBC and what did you enjoy most about it?
As a first-generation Canadian born in the (then) British colony of Hongkong (“Hongkong” as one word is the historically accurate usage in the English language), I grew up in Richmond with a vile vengeance against my very own cultural heritage. I was fine with speaking my mother tongue; for a few of the most formative years of my childhood, I bunked with my gracious grandma (“Màh-màh”), who would spend the waking moments of every night vividly relaying tall tales and seasoned stories to me. But Cantonese language school every weekend was not only a chore, but even torture, simply because I could never memorize and regurgitate the rote knowledge behind writing Chinese characters. One particular teacher, who also hailed from Hongkong, would single me out and have me stand in front of the class as she berated me for getting 20/100. She’d even call my parents late at night, lecturing even them (yes, one after the other) on how not to raise a lazy son.
Mom and Pops took none of it and rebuked her every insinuating accusation. But then at the cusp of puberty, the nightmare that was Cantonese school miraculously morphed into the sweetest dream: a budding boy falling for the love goddess depicted in a wu-hsia TV drama (a genre of literature refitted for screens big and small generally mixed with outsized personalities similar to English King Arthurs and Spanish Don Quixotes weaved together through fantastical storytelling). I followed Síu-lùhng-néui* (“Lil Dragon Girl”) from the small screen to the written word, and thereon in I was hooked. And was I ever! It was this love story with the beauty that is the Cantonese language, her spoken word, her written form as well as the tradition and culture, not to mention its strength and vitality that led me to the great learning halls of UBC.
My quest for knowledge was, curiously enough, not unlike the trials and tribulations faced by Síu-lòhng-néui* and her love-lost lover: I trekked through two other universities, UVic on nearby Vancouver Island and The CUHK atop the hills of the jutting peninsula facing the otherworldly Island of Hongkong, or the most Fragrant Harbour, before arriving at my holy grail: a B.A. in Chinese with a minor in linguistics.
In her generous acceptance of a vast number of transfer credits, UBC granted me the opportunity to explore my academic interests in linguistics, an opportunity I seized zealously to focus on analyzing Cantonese, its sounds, vocabulary, and grammar. Spending my lecture breaks and free days delving into the depths of the Asian Library, I was able to browse through its formidable collection of tomes ancient and contemporary, unveiling along the way both weighty gems of knowledge as well as airs of light-hearted reading.
What were some of your most meaningful experiences at UBC?
On top of the countless hours perusing books big and small, hefty or feather-like, I was able to connect and sometimes reconnect with likeminded colleagues and dear friends, all of whom entertained me by listening in on the stories I’d tell of teachers who actually teach and not bore as well as the dorkiest of dad jokes I’d conjure up at lunch, or sometimes (though don’t tell the then-presiding faculty) during famously dull lectures.
I still remember that one lecture held in a Student Commons Room where everyone sat on the floor raising their heads as if in awe and looking up at the standing professor who was visiting from (I believe) Harvard as he took his audience on a meandering ride through the green meadows, deep valleys, and steep mountains that form Chinese philosophy (which many a learned man in academia, including the speaker of the day, insist to be a misnomer, only if the term “philosophy” is strictly defined helleno-, romano-, and euro-centrically, and therefore with a set of uncritical, even biased eyes still prevalent in some circles of the modern West).
That moment, apart from being neck-breaking, was path-breaking as well. I saw with my very biased Asian eyes what colourless, humanistic great learning could encompass, however debatable—even controversial—its subject may be. The gift of perspective on perspectives was begotten and forever endowed upon me in that very room.
Is your current career path as you originally intended? What challenges did you face in launching your career?
The life journey that has shaped my career was and still is rife with missed opportunities, even flat-out rejections, but I am no less thankful in spite of it. At this juncture in my life, I am about to leave graduate school a second time, and it will be the second time I leave without earning a postgraduate degree.
After UBC I entered grad school in Hongkong and worked as a teaching assistant to my supervisor, a visionary giant in the field of Cantonese linguistics, whose seminal works not only have great impact on the discipline’s past and present, but also in many ways continue to shape and direct its future. Due to personal circumstances, I was unable to complete the M.Phil. requirements and left as a school dropout only to shape a path towards being a teacher at the post-secondary level. At the height of my career as a pedagogist, at a time when some would argue I was most vain, I was let go in the second blow to a fledgling career trying to uncover universal truths and impart that knowledge unto others.
At what appeared to be rock bottom, I transitioned to work in school administration, through roles at the elementary, secondary, and eventually university level. During the ensuing years, as I honed in on the mighty pen I proudly call my own, I was showered with many opportunities in not only taking on projects involving procedural and institutional change that led me up the “corporate” ladder of university administration, but also other successful endeavours in the literary and scholarly worlds.
By day, I was a square paper pusher seated at an L-shaped administrator’s desk; by night, I taught Cantonese to English and Mandarin speakers trying to find their way into the cultural halls of Hongkong, their adopted home. I also wrote and translated poetry and children’s literature from English to Chinese and vice versa. During my spare time, I actively participated in academic discourse: presenting conference papers, giving invited lectures, and publishing peer-reviewed articles.
Despite a second set of personal circumstances that will prevent me from earning a Master’s yet again, I remain engaged in active discourse with mentors and collaborators on expanding existing publications and making uniquely interdisciplinary contributions to many arenas of the humanities and social sciences. Yes, one can surely look at my past and see a personal history that is marred with irreversible scars. I, however, reflect on my experience and still see limitless opportunities in spite of it, sometimes even because of it. I have in the past fallen down, but I have persevered and I am still walking on that untrodden path I proudly call my own.
What choices did you make at UBC that contributed to your career success / journey?
Apart from the course credits required of the Chinese major, I took electives exploring Mughal India and conceptualizing computer science, even dabbing my pen in technical writing. Now, I would concede that some of these electives were catastrophic failures that significantly lowered my GPA, though in hindsight I can only appreciate the epiphany that came to me as a result: to quote Alexander Pope, “To err is human” and the human experience is only enriched by, not encumbered with, occasional missteps and even complete failures. Learning to embrace the human experience with all its guts and glory has allowed me to, and now I must quote Ms. Frizzle, “take chances! make mistakes!” By allowing myself to venture into the unknown, taking that uniquely untrodden path, I have found through thick and thin eventual success. At the end of the rainbow, there is often no pot of gold, but there will always be success depending on how you dare to define it.
L.K. Sham
Why did you choose your program at UBC and what did you enjoy most about it?
As a first-generation Canadian born in the (then) British colony of Hongkong (“Hongkong” as one word is the historically accurate usage in the English language), I grew up in Richmond with a vile vengeance against my very own cultural heritage. I was fine with speaking my mother tongue; for a few of the most formative years of my childhood, I bunked with my gracious grandma (“Màh-màh”), who would spend the waking moments of every night vividly relaying tall tales and seasoned stories to me. But Cantonese language school every weekend was not only a chore, but even torture, simply because I could never memorize and regurgitate the rote knowledge behind writing Chinese characters. One particular teacher, who also hailed from Hongkong, would single me out and have me stand in front of the class as she berated me for getting 20/100. She’d even call my parents late at night, lecturing even them (yes, one after the other) on how not to raise a lazy son.
Mom and Pops took none of it and rebuked her every insinuating accusation. But then at the cusp of puberty, the nightmare that was Cantonese school miraculously morphed into the sweetest dream: a budding boy falling for the love goddess depicted in a wu-hsia TV drama (a genre of literature refitted for screens big and small generally mixed with outsized personalities similar to English King Arthurs and Spanish Don Quixotes weaved together through fantastical storytelling). I followed Síu-lùhng-néui* (“Lil Dragon Girl”) from the small screen to the written word, and thereon in I was hooked. And was I ever! It was this love story with the beauty that is the Cantonese language, her spoken word, her written form as well as the tradition and culture, not to mention its strength and vitality that led me to the great learning halls of UBC.
My quest for knowledge was, curiously enough, not unlike the trials and tribulations faced by Síu-lòhng-néui* and her love-lost lover: I trekked through two other universities, UVic on nearby Vancouver Island and The CUHK atop the hills of the jutting peninsula facing the otherworldly Island of Hongkong, or the most Fragrant Harbour, before arriving at my holy grail: a B.A. in Chinese with a minor in linguistics.
In her generous acceptance of a vast number of transfer credits, UBC granted me the opportunity to explore my academic interests in linguistics, an opportunity I seized zealously to focus on analyzing Cantonese, its sounds, vocabulary, and grammar. Spending my lecture breaks and free days delving into the depths of the Asian Library, I was able to browse through its formidable collection of tomes ancient and contemporary, unveiling along the way both weighty gems of knowledge as well as airs of light-hearted reading.
What were some of your most meaningful experiences at UBC?
On top of the countless hours perusing books big and small, hefty or feather-like, I was able to connect and sometimes reconnect with likeminded colleagues and dear friends, all of whom entertained me by listening in on the stories I’d tell of teachers who actually teach and not bore as well as the dorkiest of dad jokes I’d conjure up at lunch, or sometimes (though don’t tell the then-presiding faculty) during famously dull lectures.
I still remember that one lecture held in a Student Commons Room where everyone sat on the floor raising their heads as if in awe and looking up at the standing professor who was visiting from (I believe) Harvard as he took his audience on a meandering ride through the green meadows, deep valleys, and steep mountains that form Chinese philosophy (which many a learned man in academia, including the speaker of the day, insist to be a misnomer, only if the term “philosophy” is strictly defined helleno-, romano-, and euro-centrically, and therefore with a set of uncritical, even biased eyes still prevalent in some circles of the modern West).
That moment, apart from being neck-breaking, was path-breaking as well. I saw with my very biased Asian eyes what colourless, humanistic great learning could encompass, however debatable—even controversial—its subject may be. The gift of perspective on perspectives was begotten and forever endowed upon me in that very room.
Is your current career path as you originally intended? What challenges did you face in launching your career?
The life journey that has shaped my career was and still is rife with missed opportunities, even flat-out rejections, but I am no less thankful in spite of it. At this juncture in my life, I am about to leave graduate school a second time, and it will be the second time I leave without earning a postgraduate degree.
After UBC I entered grad school in Hongkong and worked as a teaching assistant to my supervisor, a visionary giant in the field of Cantonese linguistics, whose seminal works not only have great impact on the discipline’s past and present, but also in many ways continue to shape and direct its future. Due to personal circumstances, I was unable to complete the M.Phil. requirements and left as a school dropout only to shape a path towards being a teacher at the post-secondary level. At the height of my career as a pedagogist, at a time when some would argue I was most vain, I was let go in the second blow to a fledgling career trying to uncover universal truths and impart that knowledge unto others.
At what appeared to be rock bottom, I transitioned to work in school administration, through roles at the elementary, secondary, and eventually university level. During the ensuing years, as I honed in on the mighty pen I proudly call my own, I was showered with many opportunities in not only taking on projects involving procedural and institutional change that led me up the “corporate” ladder of university administration, but also other successful endeavours in the literary and scholarly worlds.
By day, I was a square paper pusher seated at an L-shaped administrator’s desk; by night, I taught Cantonese to English and Mandarin speakers trying to find their way into the cultural halls of Hongkong, their adopted home. I also wrote and translated poetry and children’s literature from English to Chinese and vice versa. During my spare time, I actively participated in academic discourse: presenting conference papers, giving invited lectures, and publishing peer-reviewed articles.
Despite a second set of personal circumstances that will prevent me from earning a Master’s yet again, I remain engaged in active discourse with mentors and collaborators on expanding existing publications and making uniquely interdisciplinary contributions to many arenas of the humanities and social sciences. Yes, one can surely look at my past and see a personal history that is marred with irreversible scars. I, however, reflect on my experience and still see limitless opportunities in spite of it, sometimes even because of it. I have in the past fallen down, but I have persevered and I am still walking on that untrodden path I proudly call my own.
What choices did you make at UBC that contributed to your career success / journey?
Apart from the course credits required of the Chinese major, I took electives exploring Mughal India and conceptualizing computer science, even dabbing my pen in technical writing. Now, I would concede that some of these electives were catastrophic failures that significantly lowered my GPA, though in hindsight I can only appreciate the epiphany that came to me as a result: to quote Alexander Pope, “To err is human” and the human experience is only enriched by, not encumbered with, occasional missteps and even complete failures. Learning to embrace the human experience with all its guts and glory has allowed me to, and now I must quote Ms. Frizzle, “take chances! make mistakes!” By allowing myself to venture into the unknown, taking that uniquely untrodden path, I have found through thick and thin eventual success. At the end of the rainbow, there is often no pot of gold, but there will always be success depending on how you dare to define it.
