On being Asian...

The jig is up. I'm Asian. You probably hadn't guessed that, but yes, I'm guilty.

I. Am. Asian.

And with this descriptor comes all sorts of stereotypes, some true, some not so true.

I did take piano lessons. For eleven years.

And violin. For four.

I had a bowl cut. As did my sister.

We had rice with every meal. Even if it was spaghetti.

My parents are professionals who pushed us academically and even sent us to academically-focused summer camps.

We had a chalkboard in our playroom where our father taught us math.

We were grounded for getting Bs.

And my mom makes the best Filipino food around. Hands down.

My favorite part of being Asian (or Pacific Islander, if you must get technical) is when I'm confronted by an idiot who can't tell "what I am" and often broaches the subject with a sensitive, "What are you?"

After Chinese and Japanese, most run out of countries and just stare at me, stumped.

Filipino?

Yes. Filipino.

Oh.

Those are my favorite times. Oh, and when people get me confused with someone who is also Asian, but looks nothing like me. But I totally understand that. It's hard to keep you white people straight too.

I also love poking fun at the Asian culture. I've been known to state that "Asian chicken salad" is simply "chicken salad" to us. It makes some uncomfortable, but those who know me well know I'm just trying to make people uncomfortable.

Why am I posting about this? Because tonight I read another blog called "The Banana Diaries" and it was hilarious. This guy's Korean (not Chinese or Japanese as one might guess). And he's blogging about growing up Korean. And going to Church camp. And being "Fresh off the Boat". It's pretty funny, well-written stuff.

So I thought to myself, "I know a little something about being Asian. I can write about that."

And here we are.

I remember growing up, wanting to be just like Elizabeth Corrigan.

Blonde hair. Blue eyes.

Blonde-haired, blue-eyed family.

Golden retriever (who had red hair and brown eyes).

I wanted nothing more than to fit in. To be the same as "them".

I remember trying to open my eyes really wide when getting my picture taken.

Because. Well, you know.

I have slanty eyes.

I remember disliking that my skin was darker.

I didn't have a curl to my hair to save my life. My mother tried and tried to perm it and it would be curly. For about a week. Poor mom.

But all in all, I wanted to melt in and not be noticed.

Now...I'm a little different.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not one that stands out, by any means. I don't wear outlandish clothes and dye my hair orange in order to buck the trend.

I'm actually kind of mainstream now, but not out of a desire to conform. Well, I guess that's a part of everyone's motivation to some extent.

But now, I'm more comfortable in my own skin.

I love being Asian. Because it's part of me. It's who I am so much so, that it's not even something that stands out to me anymore. It's not something that's top of mind anymore.

And I love that my daughter looks kind of Asian (my husband is as white and Wonder Bread as "they" come).

And I love that she'll grow up knowing the customs, calling my parents "Lolo" and "Lola", and maybe even learning to cook my mom's amazing recipes.

And I especially love that I'm raising a strong, half-Asian woman. Who, one day when she's asked, "Are you Oriental?" she can calmly look at the person and say, "Why, yes. I am a rug."