Your "Hometown Language" Isn't Uncouth, It's a Forgotten Treasure

Have you ever had moments like these?

When calling family, you instinctively want to use Mandarin because it feels more "formal" or "proper." At a friends' gathering, hearing someone speak a dialect, you secretly label it "uncouth" or "old-fashioned" in your mind. Or even, when asked, "Do you speak your hometown language?", you might sheepishly reply, "A little, but I'm out of practice."

We seem to have tacitly accepted a truth: that Mandarin is "the language," while our mother tongues — those hometown languages we grew up hearing, full of familiarity and warmth — are merely "dialects." Something secondary, less significant.

But is that truly the case?

A Story About a "Secret Recipe"

Let's look at this from a different perspective.

Imagine your grandmother has a "secret family recipe" for braised pork (hongshao rou), passed down through generations. The taste of this dish is one of your warmest childhood memories. Later, your parents' generation grew up and moved to different cities, like Shanghai, Guangzhou, and Chengdu. They subtly adjusted Grandma's recipe to suit local tastes: the relatives in Shanghai added a bit more sugar for a sweeter flavor; those in Guangzhou incorporated Chu Hou sauce for a richer aroma; and the Chengdu relatives added some douban (fermented broad bean paste) and hua jiao (Sichuan peppercorns) for a spicy and numbing kick.

While these modified versions of braised pork taste distinct, their roots all trace back to Grandma's original "secret recipe." Each one is delicious and carries the unique story and emotional resonance of a specific family branch.

Now, imagine a large chain restaurant emerges, introducing a standardized "national braised pork." It tastes good, is uniform across the country, and is convenient and quick. For efficiency and uniformity, this "standard version" is promoted everywhere—in schools, companies, and on television.

Gradually, people begin to feel that only this "standard version" is the true, respectable braised pork. Meanwhile, those sweet, savory, or spicy "family heirloom versions" cooked at home are considered mere "home cooking"—not "professional" enough, maybe even a bit "uncouth" or "provincial." Before long, the younger generation only knows the taste of the standard version, and Grandma's secret recipe, along with those creatively improved variations, slowly fades into obscurity.

Doesn't this story sound a bit tragic?

In essence, our "dialects" are those "family heirloom braised pork" dishes, each brimming with unique character and history. And Mandarin is that efficient, standardized "national version."

Min-nan (Hokkien), Cantonese, Wu, Hakka... these are not mere "local variants" of Mandarin. Rather, over the long course of history, they developed as languages parallel to Mandarin, all stemming from ancient Chinese. They are like distinct branches, each thriving on the grand family tree of Chinese languages, rather than small twigs sprouting from the main trunk.

To call Min-nan (Hokkien) a "Chinese dialect" is akin to calling Spanish or French "Latin dialects." From a linguistic perspective, the differences between them have long reached the level of distinct "languages," not merely "language" versus "dialect."

Losing a "Dish," What Do We Lose?

When a "family heirloom dish" disappears, we lose more than just a flavor.

We lose the image of Grandma bustling in the kitchen, that unique family memory, and an emotional connection that simply cannot be replicated by any "standard version."

Similarly, when a "dialect" declines, we lose far more than just a tool for communication.

In Penang, Malaysia, the local Min-nan language (known as "Penang Hokkien") faces just such a predicament. Generations of Chinese immigrants there blended their language with local culture, creating unique vocabulary and expressions. It wasn't merely a tool for communication; it was a vessel for their identity and cultural heritage. But with the widespread adoption of English and Mandarin, fewer and fewer young people can speak it fluently.

The disappearance of a language is like the final page of a family history being torn out. The witty remarks, ancient proverbs, and unique senses of humor that can only be precisely expressed in that language will all vanish with it. The emotional bond connecting us to our ancestors will also become blurred.

Reclaiming Your "Secret Recipe" is a Source of Pride

Fortunately, more and more people are beginning to realize the invaluable nature of these "family heirloom secret recipes." Just like the young people in Penang who are diligently documenting and promoting Hokkien, they aren't clinging to the past; they are safeguarding a treasure.

Nor do we have to choose between our "hometown language" and Mandarin. This isn't an "either/or" battle at all. Mastering Mandarin allows us to connect with a wider world, while re-engaging with our hometown language enables us to more deeply understand who we are and where we come from.

This is a much cooler form of "bilingualism"—the ability to navigate the decorum of the official language while also reveling in the intimacy of one's native tongue.

So, the next time you call family, try chatting about everyday life in your hometown language. Next time you hear someone speaking a dialect, try to appreciate its unique beauty. If you have children, teach them a few simple phrases in your native tongue; it's as important as teaching them their own names.

That's not "uncouth" or "provincial"; it's your roots, your unique cultural imprint.

In this era of globalization, it's easier than ever to connect with the world. But sometimes, the greatest distance is precisely the one between us and our closest cultural ties. Fortunately, technology can also serve as a bridge. For instance, when you want to share family stories with relatives overseas but worry about language barriers, chat tools like Intent with built-in AI translation can help you overcome that initial hurdle. It's not meant to replace the language itself, but rather to build the first bridge of communication, allowing those lost "family secrets" to be re-shared and heard.

Don't let your most precious "family heirloom secret recipe" be lost in your generation.

Starting today, proudly tell people: "I speak two languages: Mandarin, and my hometown language."