I was at a party recently. As with most other parties, I'm the token minority in the group. Usually it doesn't really matter. But this time I really felt looked at. I could tell people were just itching to ask, "Where are you from? What ethnicity are you?" They kept dancing around the subject in our small talk. A few minutes in I just found ways to bring it up, "I'm Chinese. I moved here as a kid. Lived in Seattle for 18 years." In response I heard, "Oh, no wonder you speak English so good." Well, you idiot, speak English so well. I told them what they wanted to hear so they were less distracted and we could concentrate in our pointless talks about weather and rising house prices.
In addition to race, I had nothing in common with the other guests. I spent all night wondering when I had been at the party long enough to leave politely. Arrogant discussions that I over heard included:
- Who has THE BEST educational program to take your infant to learn learn 4 foreign languages, improve fine motor skills, and develop an appreciation of classical music?
- Which local co-op has the best food container for reusing?
- "What's the name of that great new vegan cafe?"
It felt like I was drowning in a sea of white liberals.
As my life flashed before my eyes at these last moments, I remembered a conversation with an acquaintance way back in high school. Then as now, I was friends with an all white group. My then boyfriend did have one other Chinese as a friend, Henry, who was several years older than us juniors and seniors. Of course everyone expected us to get along well because after all, we were both Chinese. Henry was from northern China and I was from
Hong Kong, barely considered a part of China back in 1997. We didn't have much to talk about.
After a year or so, we did end up becoming friends. I remember one day we were picking up another friend and we talked in the car while we waited. You see, most soulful and
pivotal exchanges between people happen in cars. We talked about our families, our childhood as an immigrants, and our stupid and spoiled middle class white friends. We both wondered how and why we seemed to gravitate toward whites as friends, even though we ended up feeling hurt and left out so much of the time. We were both young adults
trying to find our identity in the world. Henry summed it up best when he said,
"The more white we get, the more more Chinese we feel."
We both wanted to be Americanized so badly that we try to be friends with typical white Americans. We were trying to be white by association. In our attempt, two things ended up happening. One, as we integrated ourselves into the white world, we were surrounded by people who made it a point to remind us of how different we were. Two, as we "succeeded" in
assimilating into the white world, we felt lost and adrift. We put all our strength into pushing ourselves away from our Asian base and into the sea of mainstream America. Once we were safely away from our Asian shore, we grasped at anything Asian left on us, like it was the only life jacket on the boat.
Henry and I sat in our little dingy that night, looking at each other in
confusion and asking why we worked so hard to severe our ties when it put us out at a lonely foggy sea. We kept rowing away.
Now ten years after our confession, I think I know why we hold on to the pieces of Chinese left in us. We cling on to our Chinese roots because when we finally have all the accessories and possessions that are supposed to identify us as white mainstream Americans, we realize that we will never be accepted or
fully acknowledged. We are like a child who thoughtlessly cast aside an old trusted toy to save up for a new popular model. But after the
excitement wears off we remember that old toy. In regret we run out to find the old toy in the yard, faded, broken and rusting. There is no way to undo all the signs of neglect.
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