The Other Identity

After a story about how Asian my boyfriend is, my coworker laughed and said I talk about my boyfriend as if I'm not Asian. I think I've made it clear by now on here that I don't consider myself to be ethnically Asian. I spent the majority of my life identifying as white, for better or for worse.

I mentioned in my history that my parents made it very clear from early on that I was adopted, but it never stopped me from identifying from the long line of white Disney princesses (ignoring that my favorite was Ariel and she's half fish) or wanting Barbie over her Asian friends like Dana. My mom bought me the American Girl Doll Abby even though all the AG books I chose to read were of Samantha. I wanted to be Ariel and sing to the fish. I wanted to be Samantha and go on adventures. Not once did I think I was too yellow, my hair too dark, or my eyes too squinty to be either of these white girls.

Simply put, I was colorblind.

Looking back there were many instances in my childhood where my parentage and place in the mostly white community were challenged, but at the time it barely registered to me that I was different. Growing up in the type of town I lived in, nearly everyone knew who I was or someone could easily tell them of my family situation. My ethnicity wasn't directly challenged, I wasn't treated as the token minority (though that may have something to do with my more "assertive" personality, ahemahem), and if I never drew attention to the way I looked, neither did anyone else.

I had Hispanic friends who struggled on a near daily basis about their heritage and simply fitting in. For some, it was much easier to just assimilate into the rest of the white student body and pretend that their parents understood English. For others, they fought to be recognized for who they are, and were alienated by the majority for it.

I won't deny that there's a struggle between the white and Hispanic population in Wenatchee, and it certainly escalated. I personally feel that Hispanics were looked down on, and they returned the judgement in kind, including Hispanic educators and persons of authority. Their fight for their identity included the right to be respected, but often times it's the kids that suffered for it. I went out of my way to be friendly because I believed the majority should be obligated to show them kindness. At that age, it hadn't even registered to me that I wasn't part of the majority and that they never considered me to be part of it to begin with.

It wasn't until I enrolled in college that people began to ask questions. Hardly anyone knew me, and those that did certainly didn't have the time or care to inform everyone else of my situation.

Where are you from?
Wenatchee.

But where were you born?
Well, Korea, but I'm from here.

Oh, do you speak Korean?
No.

Didn't your parents teach you?
No, they speak English.

But aren't they also from Korea since you were born there?
My parents are white.

Oh, do you want to go back to Korea?
No.

Why not?

During the first few months I was very stubborn and unwavering about my answers. I'm American. My parents are white. I'm essentially white. I am not Asian at all. But slowly I started to think, if I look Korean, does that make me Korean? Should I be trying to take steps towards being what everyone assumes? Should I start eating fish? But I don't like fish-- will I need to learn to like fish?

Moving to Seattle complicated the matter further. In Wenatchee mentioning adoption stopped most of the questions about my ethnicity and instead barreled down the path of being adopted. In Seattle, mentioning adoption prompted people to ask why I didn't want to be more Korean. Why didn't I make more of an effort to recognize and understand the culture that was effectively estranged from me at four months old?

And to guys I was desired. In high school I was unpopular and the boys didn't want to risk their reputation by associating with me. But in college, being Asian was enough to wash away anything unappealing about me-- to all the boys who weren't Asian, that is. To real Asians I wasn't Asian enough. My name was too American and my mannerism too white. In fact, they considered me to look too white, often assuming that I was half Korean. I didn't speak Korean, I was much too tall, and wouldn't drink tea. What kind of Asian doesn't like tea?

Not a real one, that's for sure, and the real Asian's never gave me a second thought.

So this left me in a really awkward situation. On the one hand, a large portion of people identified me as Asian. On the other hand, the actual Asians considered me as white. Which identity do you appease and which one do you represent? I can identify with the white community, but I can't deny the way I look. I can't stop identifying as Korean because everyone has labeled me as such. After a few more years of trying to represent myself in order to preemptively meet the judgements of others, I gave up.

I can't control what others think about me or judge me for. I can't stop them from offering me tea or speaking to me in Korean. The very best I can do is know who I am, but also try to be understanding when someone labels me as something I'm not. Will I ever consider myself to be Korean? Some days I think it would be easier to answer as such and try to avoid questions from naturally curious people. But I realize it's better to be honest, not only to educate others, but also to remain true and in charge of my identity.