You'll fit right in!

As usual, my inner dialogue on race, racism, and being Asian American has been steadily flowing since arriving here in Malaysia.

On more than several occasions, people here have spoken to me in Malay or Chinese, mostly when I have tried to order food. All of the Good Shepherd staff people I have met so far have commented that I will fit right in. Most of them have said that I look Chinese.

It's interesting. Several of them have asked me, "You look like you have an Asian background. Are you..?" Each time, I want to shout (not angrily, more in an amused/befuddled way), "Of course I am!! Believe what you see!"

That question has perplexed me the last week. But today I realized why so many people are perplexed by my Asian-ness. I met some staff for the first time today at a youth center here in Kota Kinabalu. One of the staff immediately commented that I "will fit right in." They then asked me what I am (I've gotten that question a lot too and I do happen to like answering that one - people are intrigued by the Japanese and Filipino mix). But then the revelatory comment came from a Sister on staff: "But you are from the US?"

I think when all these staff people heard that two American volunteers were coming, they expected us both to look like Courtney, who is a blue eyed redhead. And indeed, Magda, the Good Shepherd Volunteer here in Malaysia last year, is also white. I think on some level it surprises the PKGS staff here in Malaysia to see that an American can look so much like them.

Last night, the PKGS director of the Sabah programs took me to Mass (Courtney wasn't feeling well, so she went back across the street to rest at the convent where we are currently staying for two nights). Looking around at all the other churchgoers, I realized that I really do blend in. Like a strawberry blends right into a banana smoothie. Unless I open my mouth, there is almost no way for people to mark me as American. There was a local hapa family sitting in front of us and I realized that they stood out in that crowd much more than I did. What a weird feeling.

Whenever Courtney and I have gone out in public here, people inevitably stare at Courtney. It hasn't affected her so much - I think after going abroad on other trips to Ghana, Ethiopia, and Ecuador, she has become more accustomed to it. Funnily enough, it is me, the one who "fits in" who has gone into this tailspin of identity questioning and thoughts.

Before leaving the country, during the Hurricane Irene weekend in NYC, I went to the grocery store to pick up some victuals. As I stood contemplating whether to buy light vanilla soy milk or regular soy milk, an African American guy came up to me and asked if I spoke Chinese. I was taken aback and said, rather confusedly, no. He persisted and I asked if I spoke a couple other Asian languages. Over the seconds that it took him to ask, I became annoyed and said more forcefully "no" each time. He then took out a business card and said, "Oh I'm sorry I wanted to give you this." The card was emblazoned with "Learn English" and was for ESL classes. I said to him, "No I very much speak English, thank you" and walked away. Frankly, I was infuriated. I'm getting angry typing this.

I'm more American than I am Asian. Coming to Asia reminds me of that. But then again, I'm Asian American. I'm fully American. Fully Asian American. But somehow, in my own country, I am still treated as a second class American. Saying that makes me feel a little melodramatic, especially knowing the brutality and injustice that other Asian Americans experience, but when I am made to question and defend my identity as an American, in whatever small way, I do feel that I have the right to make that emotional claim.

Before leaving for Malaysia, I was so sure that people would know right away that I am American, because of the way I dress, walk, look, speak. I have been so surprised to see that that hasn't been true. I know we have been in cities, so it might be different when we go to more rural areas. But I also know that my expectations came from visiting the Philippines and Japan, the countries of my ancestors, where I don't quite fit in because I don't look fully Filipino and I don't look fully Japanese.

That was not the first time someone in the US has assumed I'm from elsewhere. And I'm sure it's not the last time. In Malaysia, however, people assume I'm from here! The irony of that fascinates me. Courtney and I had a good talk about race and racism and everything in between last night, so I'm really happy she is open to those kinds of conversations. I'm sure it won't be the last time.