Little Reminders - Observations On Fitting In In This World

Since coming to America almost thirty years ago, I’ve been hyper aware of my mixed-ethnicity and I’ve been trying to reconcile it - what I am and where I fit in. For those of you who don’t know, I’m Asian, of Chinese and Filipino origins, and Caucasian (German and Spanish). Of my Asian side, I’m mostly Filipino but I grew up in Hong Kong so, in many ways, I relate more with the Chinese part of my ethnic makeup.

Over the past month or so, things have happened that, in my mind at least, have reinforced my differentness and/or pushed me to identifying with my Asian side. Even before these incidents, I’ve always seen myself as Asian and referred to myself as one but, when I look back on my youth, I feel that I was never quite Asian enough in Hong Kong and being an immigrant in America I’ve never felt white enough here. The impact of this duality hits home when I go to the Asian grocery store and I catch other customers giving me interesting looks of surprise, as if to say “What’s he doing here?” With my Filipino brethren, it’s funnier still when I speak Tagalog. I’m usually greeted with expressions that display equal amounts of shock, joy and disbelief. My Tagalog isn’t great by any means but, if I keep it simple, it’s passable.  One time, I was mistaken for a US serviceman who learnt to speak Tagalog. And the other Filipino insisted I was even after telling her I wasn’t. Not that all non-Filipinos who learn to speak Tagalog mispronounce their words but, going by movies and shows like Back To Bataan and Bring ‘Em Back Alive, my Tagalog pronunciation and accent are actually quite good and better than that of John Wayne and Brue Boxleitner.

As a writer, I’m trying to work my way into the literary community. As an Asian American writer, I’m trying to break into that literary world as well. So, last year, when Hyphen magazine interviewed me for a piece on Asian American authors who’d self-published their books and when I was invited to submit my novel, Back Kicks And Broken Promises, to the Asian American Writers Workshop for its annual Asian American Literary Awards (although the invitation was withdrawn, as per the rules, when AAWW found out my book was self-pubbed), I was naturally excited. I was thrilled because my work and the fruits of my work were being recognised but I was further excited because I was starting to make my way into a community I hope to fully belong.

Well, recently, three subtle but impacting events helped me get closer to sorting out my feelings about my identity crisis. Before I go on, please take note that I’m talking about my identity crisis with regard to my mixed race makeup and upbringing. I embrace the fact that I’m mixed because it allows me to see things in the unique way only a mixed person can. However, not all mixed race people have an identity crisis but if my experiences can help those who do discover ways to sort theirs out then job done.

Anyway, here’s what happened. I was at breakfast with my son at McDonald’s. It was our usual Sunday thing before his swim lesson and we see the same people there week after week. There’s a very nice woman, around 60, who goes there after mass. She eats her breakfast and reads the church bulletin and, on occasion, she’s come up to us and said hello and commented on how sweet and well mannered my son is. The Sunday before Thanksgiving, she came up to us and said hello and told me that my son is sweet. She also, hesitantly, wished us a Happy Thanksgiving without actually saying “Happy Thanksgiving” and was apologetic in suggesting that we might celebrate it. She even used the words “If you celebrate.” This event enhanced my feelings of being different. It even reinforced my being an immigrant and, with my obviously Asian son with me – he must’ve gotten the majority of the Asian genes from my wife and I and not so much the German or Spanish (my wife is part Spanish also) - it reinforced that part of me also. My son, ironically, is not an immigrant having been born and being raised in New Jersey. The woman was so kind and genuine in her words that I couldn’t help from feeling like that immigrant who’s come to a new land filled with hope and promise.

The second event was when I bought a beverage at the café at my local Barnes and Noble. When I gave my name, Juan, for the person to write on the cup, she verified its spelling and said, “Wan?” I smiled and I even liked the mistake but I did correct her although, to be honest, I almost didn’t.

The third was in Chinatown last weekend. With a friend, who is also a ‘third culture kid’ like me (Filipina who grew up in Indonesia and lives in New York City), my family had lunch at a noodle shop on Mott Street. I spoke with the wait staff in Cantonese and it felt like being back home in Hong Kong – the sights, the sounds, the smells and the tastes. Funnily, even though I know fewer Cantonese words than Tagalog ones, which is embarrassing considering I grew up in Hong Kong, my Cantonese intonation is better than my Tagalog and I’m more confident with my Cantonese over my Tagalog. After lunch, we crossed the street to a store so I could buy my son a gung fu uniform. There, the elderly saleswoman and I spoke to one another in Pidgin English and Cantonese. When she asked me, in Cantonese, if I were Chinese, I answered her in Cantonese that my grandmother, my father’s mother, was part Chinese (Manchurian).

While these incidents are minor, they reinforced in me that people see me as Asian and that I can and do fit in that world; as an Asian in Asia when I go back home and to The Philippines and as an Asian living in America. They also reminded me that the keys to finding a place to belong as part of an ethnic group or as a writer or anything else for that matter are often done so incrementally and not always with a grand moment. So, if you’re like me, struggling to find his place in this world and make sense of it all, keep an eye and ear out for the little things. They won’t be obvious but they’ll often be the most meaningful.

Thanksgiving And The Americanization Of An Immigrant

Thanksgiving And The Americanization Of An Immigrant


Happy Thanksgiving everyone! It's a little early, I know, but what the heck! I'm in a holiday frame of mind and Thanksgiving may be my favourite one.

I don't know whether I'm a patriot or not. I know I'm not a 'rah rah' jingoist.  But I do  live in America and have dual citizenship (US and Philippines) and I have a lot of love for this country. So, last week, when I heard reports of how Black Friday has actually turned into Black Thursday, I was saddened. This is not new, however, with stores opening its doors at midnight for early Christmas shopping deals in recent years. This yearm however,  shops are opening as early as 8pm and, for me, this is just not cool.

Holidays, like Thanksgiving and Christmas, are largely family affairs. It some cases, family from parts near and far, but whom you don't see on a daily basis, come by. It's a great time to spend with these individuals and for one's kids to really get to know their relatives. One can argue that going shopping as a group can be a family outing but, come on, let's get real. And, for the United States, Thanksgiving is such a unique holiday. It's one of THE important national holidays - like July 4th (when the country became its own) and Columbus Day (when it was discovered), which, sadly, seems to have gone by the wayside.

I find it a little funny, then, that I, an immigrant, is blogging about the glory of Thanksgiving. Most immigrants, I think, form a bond with July 4th. That day, after all, is when America became its own nation, independent from Britain, and meshes perfectly with the immigrant ideal of coming to America, breaking away on some level from the immigrant's native land, to form his or her own way in 'the land of the free and the home of the brave.' Thanksgiving, though,  is something I didn't grow up with in Hong Kong. I'd heard about it and studied about The Mayflower and The Pilgrims but that was it. Hong Kong, in my youth, was a British colony and I'm Filipino so Thanksgiving wasn't something we celebrated. (We did, though, take some of Thanksgiving's traditions such as eating a turkey with stuffing, which my mother learnt from her German-American father,  into Christmas).

So, perhaps, since it was something new to me, it became something special.

Every year, going back to when I was single and still living in my parents house in South Orange, I watch The Macy's Parade on TV. It's fun, exciting and helps bring in the holiday season. Now, married and a father, I do that with my wife and son. We're establishing our own traditions and, maybe, my son will continue them. Who knows? After the parade, we watch the dog show and then, as the bird is cooking, we go for a long walk. I think, for me, Thanksgiving became extra special because it was a holiday when my parents and I got to be together. Being the youngest, with two married sisters in other cities and a brother in Manila, a lot of the years before I got married and before my folks moved back to Manila were spent with just the three of us. More often than not, they would be in Manila for Christmas with my brother so Thanksgiving became our time.

I think becoming a father, too, made me appreciate Thanksgiving; not just as a family holiday but as an American holiday. My son, like me, has dual citizenship but he was born and is being raised in the United States (unlike me). He's the first generation of natural-born Americans in my immediate family (one my sister's has three daughters, all born in the US, and while she is part of my immediate family her husband and children are not). Add to this that I am an immigrant who has difficulty in knowing where to call home - Philippines (where I was born, hold citizenship, and I see myself ethnically as a Filipino), Hong Kong (where I was raised from 9 months to 16, where my heart calls home, and a city that tugs on the Chinese blood given to me by my paternal grandmother) or New Jersey, USA (where I've lived the last 28 years, hold citizenship, and experienced many of life's defining moments) - and who has  a strong sense of loss and displacement, I feel it's imperative that I forge a sense of belonging and roots for my son. My son was born in 2008, in America, and I want him to be able to say, unequivocally, where he's from. When I'm asked where I'm from, I'm always uncertain how to respond.

Also, in 2008, the first minority president was elected. Barack Obama, half black and half white, became our president and, yes, I voted for him. I liked what he had to say. I'm not a die-hard Democrat and I'd vote Republican if I thought the candidate would do the best for me and if that would, in turn, be the best for my family. In 2008, Obama made me believe he was that candidate. I felt the same way in 2012. But, more than his goals and policies, I felt a connection to him - as a biracial human being. In a way, I felt there was finally someone who would, on some level, put minorities and multi-ethnics somewhere close to the front of his thoughts. Furthermore, he has a strong Asian connection, having lived in Hawaii and Indonesia and he has Asian relatives. So, again, he was someone I, as an biracial immigrant citizen of this country, could relate to. Lastly, Obama spoke about - and speaks about - Americans taking care of Americans, crossing the aisle from the Democrat side of government to the Republican - and that is the kind of world I want my son to grow up in and, hopefully, influence. No man is an island and we should all watch each others' backs.

So, it is with this view of America - a 'new' America, if you will - and my American-born son and the special quality Thanksgiving has for me that I count down to Thursday and celebrate what I regard as the best of American holidays and usher in the holiday season. Thank you America for all you are and all you've given me and for what you will give my son.

God bless America and Happy Thanksgiving!

Madness

This world is going nuts.

I'm attaching a link, at the bottom of this post, to a friend's blog about the Tucson school district's elimination of Mexican-American Studies. It's a terrible situation and, in my opinion, borders on (if not actually being) racism. The removal of the course has also seen a ban on several works of literature that will promote young people reading, give them something to relate to, educate them, entertain them and give them some kind of support that helps them understand themselves as Mexican-Americans.

Personally, when I came to America, when everything suddenly became about where I was from and what nationality I am, I wish there were more courses in the secondary school I attended and in college that had to do with multi-ethnic studies. Maybe I didn't look hard enough but I don't recall seeing offerings for Asian-American studies when I was a student at Rutgers University from 1987-1991. Now, there seems to be an abundance - and that's a good thing - of multi-ethnic studies at every university in the country. Those courses can be general (Asian-American studies) to specific (Chinese-American Literature).

This country was born of immigrants and to deny current and future immigrants and the children of immigrants, not to mention those individuals who just want to broaden their minds, the opportunity to learn about how people of the same and similar backgrounds fit in and have contributed to the growth of this great country is simply an injustice. I forget the actual statistics and timeline but a recent TIME Magazine article stated that the Census Bureau reported that this country is going to, eventually, have a majority population that is made up of mixed race citizens and minorities.

As an immigrant and a writer, as a teacher and a parent, I have to say that what the Tucson school district is doing is wrong. It's censorship and racism. I'm not a big fan of censorhip, although I do agree that some material is not appropriate for certain ages and populations. Whatever you believe religiously, sexually explicit material, for example, is here to stay and it's a big money-making industry. I wouldn't condone letting a minor read or watch any of it, however. What an adult does with this kind of material is up to him or her and something he or she will have to come to terms with within his or her own religious beliefs, feelings, etc. However, finding a connection and understanding of oneself, through literature for example, that is appropriate to the individual's age, level of understanding and so on is another thing altogether.

Here's the link to my friend's blog.

http://mattdelapena.com/blog/