Confessions of an Asian-American in Asia

Though sometimes it's easy to rag on the country you're from, because it's the place you feel you know the best, there are also many things about the U.S. that I quite admire. One of the biggest and most important things (to me) is that growing up in America, I got a strong sense that who you start out as/what you start off with does not necessarily reflect who you'll become/where you'll end up. In other words, though not everyone is born with equal opportunity, the future is not as fixed on immutable things such as age, gender, class or race. I can't say I've never felt limited by these things in my own life, but certainly not to the degree that citizens of other countries might have been.

To begin with, a little family background: my parents were both born in Guangzhou, China. My dad's family, as citizens of a communist country, erred on the side of the more wealthy and educated; his grandfather was a landowner, and both his parents, my grandparents, were teachers. My mother, on the other hand, grew up poor; both her parents were farmers barely surviving on the brink of poverty. When Mao instigated the Cultural Revolution, and for years after, both their destinies were greatly altered, as young people everywhere were dispersed to do hard labor in China's countryside.

It did not affect my mother as much since 1) she wasn't of age when the Revolution occurred and 2) her family members did not have professions worthy of prosecution (they were neither wealthy nor educated). In fact, she was considered to be a part of the "good class" and had the rare chance to enter a well-known and extremely competitive high school. Despite studying for and passing the difficult entrance exam, my mom was ultimately denied a spot because she had the Hepatitis B virus in her system (not uncommon back then); in order to be a student, you had to be intellectually and physically strong, and to her great dismay, she was not considered a part of the latter. Her dreams crushed, my mother started work at an electronics manufacturing factory instead, where she would eventually meet my father.

My father's beginnings also started off ominously, though for quite a different reason. He was separated from his brothers and sisters as a young teenager to work in a remote area, forced to do strenuous physical work as punishment for being born into a "class enemy" household. Most days, he and the other workers only had one or two bowls rice to eat during their long days of work, and they were rarely permitted to see family members. Because the family name was tainted by his social and economic background, he, too, was denied the chance to obtain a quality education; my father never finished middle school. Eventually, after several failed attempts, he and his brothers managed to escape Communist rule by swimming the channel to Hong Kong, where they lived for awhile until they were able to immigrate to the United States.

For most of my childhood, my parents both worked full-time, doing odd jobs as janitors and cooks to make ends meet. When we moved to California from New York, our extended family all lived together in one house, including my two cousins, their families, as well as my mother, father, brother, and me. I was raised mainly by my grandparents on my dad's side, who taught me how to tie my shoes, cook rice and speak Cantonese, which was my first language before learning English. Eventually, both my parents got stable jobs working at the U.S. Post Office, where they still work today. I was the first person in my family to go to college, and my brother and I the first generation to be born in America.

So here's where the beauty of America comes in. There are very few countries in this world where two peasants from China, both poor and with little hope of any future, much less a bright one, could stake out new lives in an unknown land, eventually accumulating enough wealth not only to purchase their own home, but to send both their children to well-acclaimed universities without incurring any debt. My parents went from having little money and virtually no freedom in their home country to being part of the middle-class in one of the wealthiest and arguably most powerful nation in the world.

I happened to be born in the right place at the right time, just a new-born when I was introduced to America's most immigrant-friendly place: New York City. My brother and I didn't grow up wealthy but unlike both my parents, we never lacked the essentials of food, shelter and education. My dad didn't buy me everything I wanted, but he also never hesitated to buy the books I wanted to read or to take me to the library whenever I begged to go. This, I believe, played an enormous role in my future aspirations and a big reason why I love to read and write today. By believing in the power of education to boost future generations, my parents were able to overcome the odds and essentially mold entirely different lives for themselves and their children. Of course this didn't come easily or quickly; it was the accumulation of many years of dogged, tiring work, of endless scrimping and saving, often at the expense of fostering nurturing relationships at home. As a teenager, I often felt unloved and misunderstood by my parents, feeling like their love for me was contingent on how I performed in and outside of school, particularly in comparison to my brother and cousins, but I understand now that my parents believed that the best way they could show us love was by providing for us financially and logistically; it is what their own parents would have done.

This kind of story is not uncommon in America. Many people would claim that it is a nation built from the ground up by immigrants, and that it's these very stories that make America beautiful and unique. It was only until I went abroad, however, that I started to really appreciate what all of this meant. It is a cultural legacy not common in many parts of Asia. While growing up, I never felt like growing up Chinese-American was strange or unfortunate; in fact, until I entered university, I never really questioned it much at all. It was all so perfectly normal from my standpoint.

But from the standpoint of many people in countries such as Japan and Taiwan, this upbringing is indeed very much out of the ordinary. I was born to Chinese parents (who eventually received American citizenship), but I grew up with a foot in both worlds, receiving not only what my parents/grandparents gave me but also what America gave me: the need to question facts and authority, the desire to speak my mind and the freedom to do both things without fear of repercussion.

My teachers always encouraged me to question what I learned, whether it was in history, math or art. They told me I could be whatever I wanted to be, if I was willing to put in the hard work and dedication. I received constant signs, both subtle and otherwise, that where I came from (my family background, my socioeconomic background, even my genetics) did not determine who I would become. The only thing that could and would determine my future was myself. And here I am, doing exactly what I want to be doing at this moment in time with the full support of my parents, friends and teachers. Could I have arrived at the same place had I not been born in America in 1988? I'm not sure.

If I tell someone in America that I want to be a writer, they do not say, "You cannot do that because your parents never went to college." The government does not say, "You cannot do that because your great-grandparents were teachers and factory owners." My parents do not say, "You cannot do that because you're a girl or because you're Chinese-American." On the contrary, many people say, "Because your parents never went to college, and because your great-grandparents were teachers and factory owners, and because you're a girl who grew up Chinese-American, you have something important to write about. You have a history to draw from, a story to tell. You have talent and you should give it everything you have." And then they smile and say, "Go after your dreams. Do what you love. You won't regret it."

In both Japan and Taiwan, I've noticed that there is a strong emphasis on bloodlines, certainly a stronger emphasis than in America. Perhaps this is true of much of Asia as well. Who your parents are and where they come from make up a strong part of your identity. I won't deny that this is true - I, too, believe that who my parents were and where they come from (China, later Hong Kong) have influenced myself in a myriad of ways. But ethnically, Japanese and Taiwanese people often insist that I'm Chinese. Where I was born and how I was raised has nothing to do with who I am, because genes trump all. If my parents were born in China, then I must be Chinese. But to a Chinese-American such as myself, such a strong assertion often comes off as puzzling and at times offensive, least of all because I'd sooner jump off a bridge than let a stranger tell me what my ethnic identity is, without knowing anything about my family background or upbringing.

In America, or at least in California, where I grew up, exploring your roots and trying to define for yourself who you are is a big part of the culture. It is practically considered a rite of passage with anyone with parents/grandparents born outside of the U.S., and nobody thinks it's strange (or at least nobody I know) if you end up straddling both worlds your whole life. It is a theme heavily discussed in ethnic studies courses or even just in casual conversations you have with people you just met. Most of my friends with parents who were not born in the States would not hesitate to call themselves American, but this is not necessarily so in other countries.

A third-generation Korean child who was born and raised in Japan, only speaks Japanese and has never been to Korea, might not be able to confidently call herself  "Japanese." Moreover, many others in Japan would not consider her Japanese either, not even those in the government. She, and others like her, get stuck with another name. Which leads to an interesting and possibly tragic discussion: What is it like to be considered a second-class citizen, denied of any ethnic identity, neither that of your parents' home country nor that of the country you identify with --  in a country in which you and your parents were both born and raised? What is it like living in a country when the language you speak, the clothes you wear and the schools you go to are all similar to those of your peers, and yet you are not considered one of them? As someone who received American citizenship the moment I was born, I cannot fathom such a quandary without feeling incredibly fortunate.

In Asia, my assertion of being "American" or even "Chinese-American" is often met with confusion, occasionally disbelief. "Are your parents white?" is a question I'm often asked. If anything, people's faces say it all: surprise, then hesitation. It is difficult to speak baldly of ignorance abroad when mainstream media (ahem, Hollywood) is still predominately filled with one kind of American, namely the Anglo-American (even "white" is not a simple label in America). It is not surprising that Asian-Americans, a slim minority in popular culture (if that), have a hard time explaining themselves in Asia. It is not surprising that I have these questions about where I'm from in nearly every Asian country I've ever visited (but obviously more frequently in the Asian countries where I have lived).

But when I'm in America, hardly anyone bats an eye if I say I'm Chinese-American. Part of this, I believe, is because as inhabitants of a predominantly immigrant nation, Americans are reluctant to be labeled politically incorrect (or risk offending others) by making certain assumptions about other people's race/background. We don't ask, "Are you really American?" but rather, "What kind of American?"

But another reason is because it simply doesn't matter, at least not in the sense that it limits you. In what was once known as a "beautiful country" and "the land of opportunity," anyone can make something of themselves if they try hard enough. Nowadays, with the recession and the passing of certain laws pertaining to immigration, more and more Americans are finding it difficult to proclaim such a statement with the same unflinching resolve, but that does not mean we have stopped believing in it. And that is something I love about America.