Where #ImFrom: Not an exotic object
By Winnie Wong
The cashier at the wine store around the corner from my Boston apartment asks the question as he rings me up.
“Where are you from?”
I’m confused. I’m in the middle of handing him my California driver’s license that says where I’m from, so he’ll know in a few seconds. Why did he have to ask, and with that mildly aggressive tone?
I give him the benefit of the doubt — sometimes people have licenses from places they’re not from — and say, “California.”
His face is one of utter disbelief. That was clearly not what he wanted to hear. I’m confused by his reaction and start to feel angry, like a child being unjustly punished. His eyes are telling me my answer is wrong even though it isn’t.
I was born and raised in California and am Chinese American. Just because I look Chinese doesn’t mean I’m from China. He gives me my license back, and I quickly give him my credit card.
“You mean where are my parents from?” I ask through gritted teeth. He nods, holding my card like ransom, waiting for my answer.
“Malaysia and Vietnam,” and immediately, his dissatisfaction dissipates. He swipes my card.
“Ohhh, ahhh,” he says, his curiosity clearly satiated, even piqued. I do not want to speak, feeling like an exotic object instead of a human being.
He hands me my card. “Thanks,” I mutter, and rush out the door.
On my walk home, my emotions are high and I grow more offended as I process what just happened. The unspoken judgment in his eyes, not accepting my answer which was the truth, holding the card like he had power over me — it was all still upsetting me. As someone who doesn’t get angry easily, this was a big deal.
I eventually calmed down to this conclusion: When people ask where you are from, but are really asking where your parents are from, we can use this as an opportunity to educate them. To fill their void with knowledge instead of silence. To engage in a conversation even if it’s uncomfortable, with the hopes of broadening their perceptions.
I started to do this, but shut down because of my aversion to discomfort. Being Chinese American means straddling the line between two identities, which can be difficult. Ethnically one, nationality-wise another, culturally both. It is a unique position to be in, and one that comes with privilege and honor. I shouldn’t have felt shame when I answered his question.
You don’t counteract ignorance by shutting down — that doesn’t change anything. Next time, I’ll answer with a smile and throw the question back, “Where are you from?”
This is part of a series called #ImFrom, where members of the AJ+ community share personal stories about the question, “Where are you from?”
