Warning: Faulty Asian

My husband, Lenny, sat at the landing of our staircase. I was seated at the coffee table working on last night’s blog entry. He made an attention getting noise and I looked up at him.

“Can I help you, honey?”

“Lily, check this out.” He chuckled and continued, “I’m reading this for my Masters class.”

I looked up at him and smiled. Lenny doesn’t usually share what he’s reading unless it’s useful, poignant, or funny. I wondered what it would be today.

Clearing his throat, Lenny recited in an amused cadence from his textbook. “Asian-Americans are generally viewed as successful, law-abiding, conforming, and high achieving. Their school behavior is much in keeping with those perceptions…They tend to dislike having attention drawn to them as individuals.” Lenny choked slightly on the phrase but soldiered on, “Many have been socialized to listen carefully, think before they speak,” at this point, I started laughing, “use soft voices, and show modesty…”

By the time the word “modesty” came out of his mouth, both Lenny and I were on the floor laughing. Finally catching his breath, he peeked between the banister railings and said, “Baby, you’re a Faulty Asian!”

“You know what, Lenny?” I commented gasping, “If that’s the definition, you’re damn right I am!”

Ask anyone who knows me. The words “quiet” and “modest” aren’t the first things that come out of their mouths when describing me. Now, I’ve been told that my personality is “adorable” and “energetic.” But more often than not, those words are preceded by terms such as sarcastic, caustic, and sharp. Oh, and don’t forget LOUD. Lenny always likes to point that one out.

No, these are not the typical traits of an Asian or even an Asian-American. Face it, the first thing that popped into your head when I mentioned the word Asian was probably that of giggling Japanese school girls covering their mouths while they laugh. Or perhaps it is the demure Chinese lady who looks down as the men in her family do all the talking.

My family, try as they might, tried to make me a lady. But stubborn old me just refuses to fit into a preconceived mold of “ethnic femininity.” I am proud to say that my interests are very well rounded and influenced by my upbringing here in the United States. I still clash with my Mom on how I’m “supposed” to act as a Filipino-American woman.

But this conflict is not unusual to just Asian-Americans. This problem of “fitting in” is a dilemma with anyone’s family that comes from different cultures. If you have to tack on a hyphen and “American” to the end of your ethnic description, you totally understand what I mean. We “hyphenates” (as my friend Ian and I decided to term it over the summer), have a very unique conflict: To some family members, we’re not ethnic enough. To some Caucasian Americans, we’re not white enough. And to ourselves, we’re not “me” enough.

I don’t know how many times I was corrected as a little girl by my mom whenever I would proudly say, “I am an American.”

“No you’re not. You’re Filipino.”

As I got older, my answer became, “I’m Filipino-American.”

To which my mom would reply, “I don’t care if you were born here. You have Filipino blood.”

Holy intimidating identity crisis, Batman! It didn’t make sense when my Mom presented it to me. It was as if she was telling me that if I didn’t make the Filipino part of me bigger than anything else, I was in danger of losing it. Here I was born in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, but I had to stay carbon copied into my heritage. To my teenage brain, I questioned why my family moved here if we were just going to be stuck with the same thinking that made them leave the Philippines to begin with.

In hindsight, I understood their need for me to accept my ethnicity. However, I still contend that while my culture is part of my identity, it is more important that people be true to THEMSELVES. People like me because I read books, because I love baseball, because I play piano, because I am a smart-ass that rarely backs down. They enjoy my company because I am smart, well spoken, and caring. No one loves me just because I’m a hyphenate. That would be tantamount to me turning to my friend Ian and saying, “I like you because you’re Canadian. And that’s about it.”

I absolutely despise it when hyphenates get together and pick on other hyphenates for not being “more ethnic.” It’s ridiculous. Of course I’m not going to be a completely Filipino person…I WAS BORN IN THE UNITED STATES. I have different experiences and stories from my cousins who live in the Philippines. And it’s awesome when I get to talk to them, because that exchange of information is vital to our family. I learn more about my people and culture this way. And that’s the kind of cultural awareness I seek. I don’t want to use my hyphenate status as a crutch. I would prefer to use it like lipstick…something that highlights the whole me.

And that’s the way it should be. Hyphenates should embrace themselves. By embracing who you are as a person, you are embracing your ethnicity and culture. I’m pretty sure many of you who fall into this category would never think of abandoning your culture (OMG…I can’t give up Filipino food!), just remember that it’s not 100% you. There are many components to you. You were not born a completed puzzle. You have pieces that still need to be picked-up. It’s the different looks, sights, and sounds of others that make this world interesting.

After we finished snorting and guffawing, Lenny picked himself off the stairs and joined me in the living room. Sitting himself next to me, he put his arm around my shoulder and smiled. Still giggling, I leaned against him and said, “So…are you going to return me, seeing as I am a faulty model of Asian?”

Pulling me close, he laughed, “Nah. You kind of grew on me. And besides,” he added kissing me on the top of the head, “I already took you out of the box. They won’t take you back.”

“But can you imagine the restocking fee if they did, Lenny?”