由Lisle Veach

越多I在中国在东方学会了关于对比在方式伙计之间，并且西方利用他们的名字，并且标题，越引人入胜它似乎，可能，因为我认为它暗示某事关于我们的二文化之间的深刻的区别。

在中国，一一自认关于更大的小组，然后更小的小组，然后在家庭之内和在那之后，作为个体。 要说明此我们必须只非常清楚看中国姓名和地址。 当您在中国时写某人的地址您首先写国家、然后省、然后城市或者现场，跟随由家的营业单位或地点。 在所有之后这，在底部，来人的名字。 并且在中国，姓-或姓氏-首先来; 并且在非常，最后是个体的教名。 对面我们。 当东部和西部名字碰撞，并且混乱盛产。

中国名字通常由二个或三个(极少数情况下四)汉字做成。 每个字符发音作为一个唯一音节。 李Hai Bo会对演讲作为先生。 李(他的姓); Hai Bo是他的教名。 到西方人的迷惑，在语音“别针yin”写的中国教名也许出现，单词，或者作为二个词或者有时用连字符号连接。 (即。 李Hai Bo或者李Haibo或者李Hai-Bo)。 When Chinese move to Western countries they frequently find it’s better to reverse their names, Western style, to avoid confusing the poor residents of their host country. Thus, Li Hai Bo might change his name to Hai Bo Li. Or possibly, in a hopeless effort to further clarify, Mr. Li might write his name: Li, Haibo. Since the family name is supposed to be first, you can also imagine the difficulty someone Chinese might have explaining in response to the official question, “Which one is your last name?”

A given name in China always has a special meaning, usually bestowed by parents to symbolize their hopes for luck or the character of the child - as in the above case, Haibo means ocean wave. Some of my Chinese friends were deeply puzzled when I replied to their inquiries that, actually, I don’t really know for sure what the heck my own name means.

Unlike here in America, we quickly found out in China that it’s normally considered socially impolite to address an adult by his or her given name, that is unless you are a relative or a pretty good friend and you’re sure you’re around the same age or older. If you know the professional title of the person you’re addressing, it’s better to call him or her by that designation. If Mr. Li is the director of the English Department or a government body, he will normally be called Director Li. A university teacher will be called, “Teacher Chu” or “Professor Wang.” A business person, “Manager Xu.” When speaking about a casual acquaintance to someone else, you’d also normally refer to that person by his or her complete name (e.g. Wang Xiao Mei), and not by the given name alone. The generic title “tongzhi” or “comrade” started fading out around the early 90s right along with the slide from socialism to an open market economy, and then it later creeped right back into some fashionable use. (I’ve heard recently, too, that in some mod urban circles it may now be a codeword to refer to a gay friend.)

Since we left China, the terms Mr., Mrs., Miss and Ms. have become quite acceptable for general business and cordial conversations. If Li Haibo is a good friend who is younger than you, you could call him, “Xiao Li,” which means “Little Li.” If he’s an older friend, you could call him “Lao Li,” which means “Old Li.” Both of these are polite terms of friendship or even endearment and may be used for either a man or a woman.

It’s considered rude for children or youth to address adults by their names, especially by their given names. Commonly children will call most adults “Aunty” (Ayi) or “Uncle” (Shushu). If the adult is old enough, children may use the title “Grandmother” or “Grandfather,” or even “Father’s Elder Brother” or “Father’s Elder Sister.” It took a while for me to get used to children shouting to me as I passed, “Hello, Grandpa!” (Ye Ye hao!) Also, depending upon age differences, they may refer to other children or youth they meet by such titles as “Elder Brother” or “Younger Sister.”

A foreigner’s presence in China can cause some confusion, as people might be a little uncertain what the polite form of address should be. Usually Chinese understand that, to be friendly in normal conversation, many Westerners will call each other by their given names, and some of the younger, more modernized Chinese might feel comfortable doing so, too, now. But, in a brave attempt at compromise, a young person will be just as likely to call you “Aunty Ruth” or “Uncle Bob.” Just as confused about what is proper, English students might refer to their foreign teacher as “Teacher Williams” or “Mrs. Mary.” Many simply feel too uncomfortable being asked to call someone by their given name alone, as is common for us to do in America. In the same way that many Chinese find it’s easier to reverse their names when they move to the West, a lot of foreigners in China find it’s just less confusing if they adopt a Chinese name and title.

It’s also become trendy in urban areas for young Chinese to take on English names. Mr. Li Hai Bo may choose to be referred to as Tony Li. In this case, he’ll probably be perfectly happy to be called simply “Tony” by everyone, Western style, as is the practice in Hong Kong and Taiwan, even though it might still feel pretty strange to him to be called “Hai Bo” by anyone but his friends and family.

Speaking of the importance of names, signing one’s name has little legal significance in mainland China. Since ancient times, in official matters, special seals (or “chops”), rather than signatures, have been what’s required on any official document. Chops are normally ivory, plastic or bone hand stamps with the name and/or logo of an individual, official body or business carved in one end. These are used to make a personal ink impression on documents. Individuals and companies usually have their own chops carved with their names in a unique style recognizable by them, and these chops are as closely guarded as cash. There are very strict legal consequences for counterfeiting or stealing chops, just as there would be for forging a signature in the West. And I’ve noticed that some Chinese friends visiting the U.S. have been reluctant to consider a legal document finalized by doing something as unsubstantial as simply writing your name.

Lisle Veach, At Home in China