Being Chinese-American vs. Being American-Chinese

Chinese-American: Chinese is being used as an adjective and descriptor for the noun — American. This person is at his/her/their core, an American with Chinese qualities — a history, cultural, and ideas. Vice versa, someone who is American-Chinese is at his/her/their core, a Chinese with American qualities — history, culture, and ideas. The lines that separate the two are very vague and I can’t claim to know the exact boundaries. But essentially, this becomes a question of one’s percentage of “Chinese-ness” and “American-ness” . So what constitutes either category?

To be Chinese - in the traditional sense - one must be ethnically Chinese. Within China, this is debatable (a topic which I will temporarily avoid), but across national borders, one must look Chinese. Even though China is a multi-ethnic country, it is still dominated by a Han majority and no matter how well educated a foreigner is in Chinese culture, history, language, and literature, they will on first impression, be seen as an outsider. It takes a long time for a foreigner to be accepted as a full member of Chinese society — if they are at all. Depictions of foreigners in Chinese TV dramas often treat them as comic relief or patronizing of their ability to speak, write, and read Chinese, even if they do know it very well.

Now, what does it mean to be American? In theory, it is not a person’s ethnicity, race, or skin color that decides whether they are American, but whether they believe in the values of the nation’s Founding Fathers — freedom, liberty, and democracy. There is more, but I’m being vague here. That does not mean one’s ethnicity, race, and color is not important. If events in the last two years taught us anything, it is that ethnicity, race, and color are vastly importantly and unfortunately, still a focal point for conflict and struggle. We are not living in a post-ethnic/racial/colored world. Still, these people are seen as visually part of the country, if not always fully accepted. Foreigners in China often remain foreigners and others no matter how well they have assimilated into the culture.

But why am I boring you with a lecture on this?

Legally, I am Chinese-American. My parents are first-generation immigrants from China, arriving in in the early 1990s to pursue higher education and get their Masters at the University of Southern California. I was born in the US and therefore, I am an American citizen with an American passport but ethnically Chinese. I spent my early youth in suburban Los Angeles in a neighborhood without many Chinese or other East Asian families. We went to Monterey Park on weekends to eat Chinese food and go see my parents’ other Chinese friends whom came to the US and settled, hoping to start better lives. They all spoke fluent Chinese while I couldn’t. I understood a little, but I always spoke in English with the typical American/Californian accent. Los Angeles was home. I was a proud Californian until my parents sent me to China for school.

I spent two years in Xiamen, a small city of China where not many people spoke English in 2002. When my classmates heard an American was going to join their class, they were expecting a girl with blond hair and blue eyes. Not me. When I showed up, looking not much different from themselves, an atmosphere of disappointment and confusion hung in the air. My two years there was the first time it became excruciatingly clear of what it meant to be American abroad.

I became a point of comparison for my peers, their parents, and strangers.

I didn’t want people giving me pitying looks when I struggled to write my name. I disliked it when people asked me if I liked China or the USA better. When the international news segments on TV were dominated by the Iraq War, the boys in my class attacked me, yelling, “Down with the foreign devil! Down with the terrorist!”

Yet I continued to introduced myself as American because that’s what I was to myself as an eight-year-old. What else could I possibly be? Sure, I’m Chinese, but I didn’t act like one. I was physically broader than the other girls in my class because of all the tennis and swimming I did back in LA. I wasn’t as thin. I was too carefree. I “lacked manners”, unaware of the etiquette of my new environment.

I simply didn’t know how to be Chinese. But I learnt the ways of the language and the mannerisms to survive and survive I did.

Due to my English ability, the school nominated me to represent them at the city English speech competition. I actually failed the first time and only got third place because I didn’t know enough Chinese words. The judges were very confused by the girl whom had an impeccable accent but didn’t know more than half of the Chinese characters she had to translate. I fixed that the next year and was one of the distinguished winners and actually got to be on local television for five glorious minutes of fame.

But I digress. The point is, I learnt how to be Chinese and finally fit into my ethnic and cultural heritage. With the help of my paternal grandmother, a retired Chinese teacher, she tutored me at home to supplement my studies at school. I caught up to my classmates and became one of the top ten students in a class of fifty. I became a respected member of my community and the boys no longer bullied me. In a rather interesting turn of events, two of them even got down on their knees begging me to tutor them in English before our final exams. In the middle a street while a group of us were walking home from school. Second grade was weird.

Still, if anyone asked me where home was, I would have told them unfalteringly, Los Angeles, with my head high and beaming with pride. I learnt to revel in being the Chinese foreigner because it made me feel special. Silly me.

But then I moved to Shanghai and remained there for eight years. In school, I was surrounded by others just like me. I was no longer special but somehow, that was comforting too. I was among other children of Chinese descent born abroad with varying degrees of allegiance to their ancestral land. I was enrolled at an international school and it was amazing to meet other Chinese-Americans, Canadians, Australians, and British English speakers. I was amazed that my classmates were from all over the world. We were very different and yet not so different after all.

In tenth grade, I transferred to a different international school in Shanghai because the system in my previous school was making it difficult for my academic strong points to shine through. I was increasingly unhappy and my self-esteem was shattered. My friends were the only ones keeping me there.

The new school was an American international school and that let to the greatest culture shock. It felt exactly like being dropped into a well endowed suburban high school in the US. My classmates still came from everywhere, but there was a different kind of mentality or general lens of China that was around me. If I felt semi-integrated in the local Chinese culture in my previous school, I felt isolated from it in the new school. Everything Chinese we did felt performed for a foreign audience. If Chinese and English were integral languages learnt at the previous school, Chinese was only one out of three options including French and Spanish at the new school. It meant that to them, it was optional for students to be more in touch with their host country. In the passing years in Shanghai, I had become more localized and it never felt clearer as it did in those last two years before college. Again, the only people to get me through that disoriented experience were my friends.

Then I came back to the US. I moved to the picturesque campus of Wellesley and I wanted to blend in. With perceptions of Chinese students always bunching together, I did my best to avoid always being with them. In reality, they always saw me as an ABC (American Born Chinese) no matter the length of time spent in China anyways. I tried hanging out with the Americans, trying to channel the Californian in me, but I had lost touch with all things in America and was aware of some disconnect in my friendships even though I adored these people. I didn’t feel at ease with the Chinese-American cultural groups either because while I technically identify with them, I didn’t have the same shared experiences.

“so, here you are
too foreign for home
too foreign for here.
never enough for both.”
Ijeoma Umebinyuo, diaspora blues