Posted by 윤선 in Asian stereotypes, Australia, Robert, adoption, cultural differences, family, identity, life, parenting | 3 Comments
“But Where Are You Really From?”
A conversation between me and my husband last night:
Me: Does it bother you that if we have kids, they’ll be half-Asian? They’ll be something other than what you are?
Robert: *Slight roll of eyes and here-we-go-again expression*. No. It doesn’t bother me.
Me: What would you do if one day our kid came home from school and said to you: “someone asked me where I really come from”, what would you say to that?
Robert: I’d say that they asked because they have some of you in them, which is Korean, and they have some of me, which is… some part of Europe. Let’s just say England.
Me: Yeah, but what would you say if they asked why those kids asked them that?
Robert: I’d say that they asked because kids want to know the origins of people.
Me: …
I was considering entering this. But I dunno if I will or not. Anywho, in my unemployed state, as I sit here hoping for a call from employers, my writer’s block stupor thankfully got slightly broken while I watched 꽃보다 남자 (Boys Over Flowers) and read that entry linked above. I just finished watching the following episode:
Obviously Jan Di didn’t deliberately sleep with some dude. It goes on to show how she got framed and why etc etc. But the point is that even though he cares about her, Jun Pyo was clearly swayed by what he saw on the TV. Even though deep down he knew Jan Di wouldn’t do something like that, it was still difficult for him not to believe what he saw.
“Where did you really come from?” That was a question that haunted me constantly. It still is. I think it’s a question that all people of non-caucasian backgrounds living in western countries dread. And you can tell when people are about to ask it. They get this stupidly curious expression on their face, followed by them looking me (or their person in question) up and down, looking a little uncomfortable and confused, and then the words just seem to spill out of their stupid mouths as though they’re spewing after drinking too much stupidity. To me, this question implies a lot more, and means more than just some clueless person genuinely wondering what my racial heritage is. It’s like a roundabout way of saying:
- You’re different. Why?
- Because you’re different, I have no idea how to relate to you, so I’m going to try making conversation based purely on what I can see.
- Even though I don’t know you, the only way I can relate to you is by the local Chinese restaurant down my street. Oh! That reminds me: do you speak Chinese? It’s amazing to hear it when I get Chinese takeaway! I mean… you’re Asian, so that means you’re Chinese, right? I have this Chinese friend…
- Based on your outside appearances, you don’t belong here. Perhaps you should figure out where you do belong, because it’s not here. Not in my world.
- I don’t know how to relate to people that don’t resemble me on the outside. That’s my own insecurity, but it’s easier for me to make it seem like yours.
- It’s so much easier for me to focus on our differences. So instead of even trying to venture into the world of our similarities, I’m just going to focus on what’s different about us. And you’re the different one because you’re Asian and I’m not. I’m of the dominant background, so that means I can interrogate you any way I like.
- I’m going to make you feel small and insignificant so I can make myself feel better about my position in the world.
- I have very limited knowledge of what’s outside Australia/the US/the UK/whatever else western country, so I just have to ask, because… I don’t know a lot about the world.
…should I continue? The list is endless.
…I should have my husband read this post, and then see what his answer to my above question would be.
Although I’m OK at dealing with this question now (it still makes me uncomfortable, but I’m now old enough to just deal with it. Normally when asked, I either suck it up and tell them Korea, or if I feel like being a smartass, I’ll just say I’m from Australia, look at them as if they’re the idiot, then walk away), being asked this as a child was simply gut-wrenching. And it only encouraged the shame I felt in being Asian. Who wants to grow up as the Other when they’re only just developing a sense of identity and position in the world? If what I’m saying makes no sense, imagine how you’d feel as a child if people continuously came up to you and asked you the questions/spouted the statements I listed off above. How would that make you feel? What would you say? What would you do? How would you react? Sure, it might be easy to answer now, as an adult, but how would you have reacted when you were, say… eight?
Seriously… children should go home everyday wanting to learn more about their hobbies and interests; they should want to go home everyday and tell their parents what they’ve done at school; they should want to go to ballet lessons and sport training… they should not come home everyday confused or afraid to ask why people say certain things – to people of whom they know won’t understand – won’t have experienced the same things. In fact, as an adoptee, coming home everyday to a caucasian family (whom I loved) was, however, still coming home to the same types of people who were the interrogators to begin with. These people had fair skin, curly hair and big eyes. They belonged in the world that the interrogators were in. Why would any adopted child confide in the same people who made them feel alienated in the outside world, in the first place?
I wonder if Robert would answer my question differently if he were aware of these things…
In the video in the link I posted above, many of the interviewees say they’re proud to be Asian American. Sometimes I want to ask: why? What is there to be proud of? Why be proud of being Asian in a western world when we’re often simply made to feel as though we don’t belong? What’s to be proud of in that?
Related posts:
I remember being asked this as a child, though I don’t remember it making me really upset. I think I just said, “I’m adopted from Korea” or something. Now, I tell people that I’m from my home state of Virginia, and if they’re rude enough to say “No, like, where is your family from?” I’ll usually say “My mom is from Virginia, and my dad is from Florida.” Eventually, I might say, “Are you talking about my ethnicity?” in such a tone that they feel sheepish. I think it’s important to force people to confront their questions and the stupid ways that they try to veil them. I probably wouldn’t be as offended if someone said, “I’m sorry if this comes off as rude, but I was wondering if I could ask you about your ethnic background.” instead of some BS question like “Where are you really from?”
On the half-Asian, half-Caucasian children thing, I’m a little excited that my children will most likely be BEAUTIFUL…though I kind of hate the thought of childbirth.
Maybe it’s because I grew up and now live in a very culturally diverse area, but this question has never bothered me except for a brief period in high school. (To give you an idea of how Asian it is here, my sons’ preschool class of 23 children has one white kid and maybe a couple of Mexican kids. The rest are Asian or hapa.)
I myself ask other people where they are from all the time. To me, it is a way to connect with the other person. And I don’t limit this question to ethnic minorities, I also ask white Americans (to see if they are from a different state, for example). As I said, I feel it is a way to bond and find similarities with each other. I admit I have been guilty of the “Oh you’re Indian? I love Indian food! And my brother speaks Hindi!” inanities, but it’s generally received positively.
Having said that, I do see how being a transracial adoptee would throw a whole level of complexity into answering this question. Plus, I would feel very differently if I could tell someone was asking me in a negative “you don’t belong here” way.
To answer your last question, I am proud to be Asian American because hey, I can’t go through life hating myself. In all seriousness, I do feel that growing up Asian in America made me more open-minded about a lot of things than if I were Asian Asian or white American (such as trying different foods and accepting people who are “different”). As an angst-filled teenager, I did think a lot about the fact that I didn’t REALLY belong anywhere. But now, I like that I am very familiar with two different cultures, and that I can take what I like from each. I like that I can understand more than one language. It helps also that I am now surrounded by a lot of Asian Americans (more so than when I was younger), and we form our own identity.
Hi
I like your post, and you really couldn’t have said more clearly how I felt growing up in a city (Niagara Falls) where there were virtually no other Asian kids. I was the only Asian kid in my elementary and middle school and was bullied and questioned on a daily basis. Kids, adults, teachers, everybody asked me where I was really from and I hated having to explain who I was everytime I was introduced to someone new. New kids would stare at me, point at me, have that look of confusion, “But…but…you’re not from here.” I learned early on that I couldn’t ask my parents about it. I remember coming home from kindergarten and me telling my mother that the kids made fun of me because I was different. They had called me awful names, yelled that I should go back to China where I belonged, and pulled back their eyes so they were slits. She denied that I was different and that I was only trying to get attention by saying I was. “What makes you think you’re so special. You’re no different than any of those other kids.” She then proceeded to tell me that I must’ve done something wrong to provoke those kids. I was in a state of shock after that, and that certainly ended the conversation. After that, I never spoke to her about my being different; instead, the rage grew inside of me until it exploded in high school.
The intensity is no longer as strong–I’ve learned to channel the anger into doing meaningful projects, but it led to a lot of problems in my life, namely my inability to form and keep relationships, my negative outlook on life, my dislike for “happy” celebrations and family holidays, and my low self-esteem. After years of soul searching and therapy, I’m still learning how to navigate through the ice waters of what it means to be adopted.
When people ask me, “Where are you really from?” I now say I was born in Korea but move to the States when I was young. When I was younger, I would just glare at them. If people prod and ask, “How old were you?” I say “a baby” instead of 4 1/2 years old” because that usually gets them to stop. If I say I’m 4 1/2, they’ll inevitably look for an “accent”. More than a few times after I’ve said I moved to the States as a baby, they would reply, “Oh, so that’s why you don’t have an accent.”
It’s been really, really hard growing up as an adoptee.