As I unpack
If Chineseness is a discourse, it must be spoken by someone to have any meaning for our time. The question, as such, is “Who speaks?” We must speak for Chineseness or allow it to be spoken for. In other words, ideology is not democratic. To be silent is to be ventriloquized.
- Chan Kwok Bun
I am Chinese. In truth, I had trouble writing that. I backspaced a few times and tried taking up less space…“I’m actually half-Chinese”. But whether I am half or whole, I still am. Not everyone knows this about me, I pass as white on most days. And if people do know this about me, they soon forget it. I gatekeep my own identity for myself. In the past year of hearing of violence against Asians, I felt lucky to be so ethnically ambiguous. And for this, I feel immense guilt. On top of this guilt, I am feeling so many other things. The baggage I bring to this discussion is heavy. I don’t talk about it much and the layers of why are deep.
As I unpack this baggage of why I feel so guilty, six Asian women are murdered in Atlanta. I am heartbroken and I feel a deep ache of sadness in my bones. Just as this happens, my timeline is flooded with online public support and sadness, a sudden social outcry against racism toward Asians. I understand why you do it. I understand why you post the story, share the news, sign the petitions, I really do. I’ve been there and I’ve done that. It’s important. It’s valuable to cast a light on the shadows of life so that maybe they’re a bit less dark. At the same time, I am confused. On my journey to be a better ally, I’ve done this. I’ve posted the stories, shared the news, and signed the petitions, but I also do the work. I reach out and lend an ear or shoulder to those in need as best I can. And if I haven’t done that for you, I’m sorry. If I haven’t done that for you, it could be that I just didn’t have the capacity to be there for anyone, let alone myself. Right now, I can’t help but think Are you reaching out to your Asian friends asking how they’re doing? Maybe your answer is no, and to that, I ask Why not? Why do you post solidarity but practice the opposite? Maybe your answer is yes, and to that, I ask… Why not me?
As I unpack more, I realize I have repressed my Asian culture for a multitude of reasons. Out of choice, personal protection, safety, embarrassment, compulsion, fear. I also realize that I was born into a lot of that repression. My father is Chinese, born and raised in Hong Kong. His life hasn’t been easy but I wouldn’t really know how or why because I barely know him. He left before I was born. Since then, I’ve met him maybe once a year (at most), almost always at a Chinese restaurant, and it’s always a bit tense. There’s a lot of sadness in his life and that’s not my story to tell, but the conversation inevitably turns sad and I end up telling him it’s okay that he left. I’m fine. I grew up alright. But the truth is, I’m not. Of course, I cherish and adore the relationship I have with my mom. She acted as mom and dad at the best and worst of times. Does that mean I can’t long for something I never had? Does that mean I don’t deal with feelings of abandonment?
As I unpack more, I realize I was fine for so long because it was easier to be fine. As I age and consider my own mortality and that of my parents, I realize there is a hole inside me, a hole in my wholeness that I can’t name or claim.
As I unpack more, I realize why I don’t wear my Chineseness with pride. To give weight to my Chineseness would also give equal weight to my abandonment. As I grapple with the news and my identity in all of this, I recall times of telling people that I’m half-Chinese and them asking if I speak the language. Of course I don’t, but to admit that would always lead to the question of Why not? Because my dad left me before I was born. And so they get two traumas for the price of one.
As I unpack more, I wonder why I feel so sad. I think of all the times I’ve been told I’m not that Asian or a bad Asian. So do I really have the right to feel such sadness in my bones for Asian women? Am I even one? There’s a lot of guilt inside of me these days. I feel guilty for not being Chinese enough. I feel guilty that I’m able to shapeshift and I’ll never have to experience the trauma and tragedies of other Asian women. I feel guilty for resenting my Whiteness. I feel guilty for repressing my Chineseness. It’s a vicious cycle I can’t seem to escape right now.
As I unpack more, I realize I can try and do the work on my own. I’m writing a research paper on Chinese food traditions but as I research and read and pore over the unending resources, I realize there are centuries of culture I’ll never know. I’ll never scratch the surface. I’ll never understand the nuances of Chinese family structures from the inside, only as an outsider… because I don’t have a Chinese family. I can only be the researcher in my own life and that breaks my heart and makes me want to go back to repressing it all over again… just to be fine. And then I feel guilty all over again.
I thought I knew who I was. It turns out at thirty-one I know less than ever before. This internal crisis is met with the feeling of loneliness. The loneliness of having sequestered my Chineseness so far away that no one even sees me. I feel sad for my Asians right now. I know how you fear for your titas, your aunties, and your nai nais because I do too. I see the Asian community standing together and supporting each other and I’m on the other side of the fence waiting for someone to ask me to come over. I long to be seen as Asian in a time like this. I long to be asked how I’m holding up with all of this. Because the truth is, not great.
As I unpack more, I realize a lot of my sadness comes from a mourning of my past as much as a mourning of my future. I’ll never know the joys of Chinese childhood traditions and I’ll never be able to share them with my children. It’s as though I’ll forever live with a ghost of myself constantly reminding me of what I’ve lost.
Lately, I’ve been avoiding asking people how they are, mostly because I’m not prepared to answer the same question volleyed back. In short, this is why. I’m unsure of who I am, let alone how I am. Let this be the answer. This unabashed proclamation of identity is simultaneously an interrogation of self. The loss of identity as a mixed-race person is further entrenched with the loss of that physical tie to my genetic history. Much of what I shared here are firsts for me and they’re still in works in progress. I can’t seem to get everything in my head on paper but every time I edit and re-write and edit again, I cry a little less.
Somehow in all of this, I am tempted to apologize. To tell you that this isn’t a cry for help, a bid for attention, a guilt trip. Saying this out loud is the only way for me to start coping with this. All of this guilt and fear of fitting in has kept me from recognizing my own feelings of placelessness. It will take years to fully unpack that. Even though the shares on my timeline have slowed down and you’ve moved on to the next big thing, the story isn’t over. These are not easy topics to grasp as they flip on their head with each new day. So if you ask me…this is how I am.
Originally published on www.wippwellness.com/as-i-unpack April 22, 2021
