Who are you – and where are you from?

My nine year old said the other day: ”Most of us in our class are not American American.” Puzzled, I asked him what he meant. As it turns out, as with many of his friends, even though he is born in the US and has lived here his entire life, he does not consider himself pure American because he is mixed race. 

In the land of immigrants, being white is becoming a prerequisite of being American.

This brings back memories of a prior conversation I had with my kids around the last election, as they looked in the mirror and asked: ” Mommy, what color are we? We are not yellow, we are not brown, and we are not white.”

Or the tense moments I experienced when a stranger persisted and asked where I was from, and where my ancestors came from - because “they surely did not come from America”.

Which brings me back to where I started. What does it mean to be an American, in a mixing bowl of citizens from all over the world? Why are we so hung up on our country of origin and the physical boundaries that separate us? Does the color of my skin matter? 

I have grappled with the identity question since I was little. I was born and raised in Hong Kong, back when it was still a British colony. Many of us call ourselves Hongkonger instead of Chinese. We had our own flag and a social system that largely modeled after the British, with governors of the territory appointed by the U.K. Fast forward to 1997, the territory was handed back to China and was set up as a special administrative region (SAR), along with a new flag and other subtle changes. Over time people in the territory find themselves facing an identity question: Do they now consider themselves Chinese or Hongkongers – or both? And how about those of us who have adopted a second home abroad? I have lived in the States much longer than I have lived in Hong Kong. I pay taxes, I vote, and I have established my home and my business in the U.S. Am I American, as indicated by my passport? Or American Chinese? Or American Chinese from Hong Kong? 

When people say, “Go home!”... where is home for me – and where do I truly belong?

Am I American enough to be here?

I envy those who never have to question their nationality; those who can talk about who they are without having to explain the intricacies of identity.

I envy those who simply never get asked.

Suddenly, the question “Where are you from?” doesn’t seem so simple anymore.

“I am not an Athenian or a Greek, but a citizen of the world.” ~ Socrates