Growing up, English was the only language in my parents' house. My mom had considered teaching Cantonese to my sister and me, but thought that it would hinder our performance in school.

When we visited my grandparents each weekend, down in Santa Cruz, the language was predominantly Cantonese, with a little English. It has always fascinated me how my mom seems to become more animated and happier when speaking in her native tongue. I like to believe that she is able to express herself more freely and comfortably. She and my grandmother could talk for hours while my sister and I would play with the miniature pool table or the table tennis set.

There were times where I would listen intently, picking up the topic of the conversation when strategically placed English words would pop up. After a few times, I became an expert at telling when a conversation was about something interesting or simply criticism about my sister or me. We seemed to be a favorite topic of conversation.

And way back when, we would visit my great-grandparents about once a month. At their house, English and three Chinese dialects were used: Mandarin, Cantonese, and Sze Yup, which I think is a sub-group of Cantonese. I must have been at most five or six years old, but I remember standing at the threshold of the kitchen, listening to all of the familiar voices and hearing all of the unfamiliar words. Although I couldn't comprehend what was being said, there was something in the way it was said that made me feel warmth, comfort and at home.