I Grew Up in Hong Kong
When I was a kid, I wanted to refer to myself as Canadian-Chinese. This made sense — my dad is Canadian, and my mom is Chinese. But when people first heard this, they thought I was ethnically Chinese and grew up in Canada. Not true.
Because of COVID and this year’s election, I’ve avoided my usual news and politics podcasts. I came across AsianBossGirl, an upbeat podcast for the “modern day Asian American woman”. I thought this casual podcast would distract me from the flurry of current events, but it just made it clear that I don’t fit into the “Asian American box”. I am an American citizen, but I haven’t even spent a quarter of my life here. I am Asian, but also not completely.
My Dad is from Calgary, Canada, but his job moved him to Hong Kong in the 80s. My Mum is ethnically Chinese, but she went to England for boarding school when she was 11. After university in the UK, she moved to San Francisco and then back to Hong Kong, also for her job. I grew up in Hong Kong, not China. I went to an international school and fluent in English, Mandarin and Cantonese. I am of mixed race.
To make things even more complicated, my mum is the first in several generations of her family to grow up outside of Jamaica. Once my mum and my sister were sent to boarding school, her parents moved to Malta and then the entire extended family immigrated to Canada, where they live now. I spent all my summers in grade school in Canada. I was more Canadian than my peers in grade school.
Living in Hong Kong, I was raised in-between multiple cultures, inherited four passports and travelled extensively. I played for Hong Kong’s National Soccer Team, but I was less of a Hong Konger than my teammates.
I don’t have a commonly used label to explain who I am. I don’t really have a place where I can say “I am 100% from here”. I am from some weird land of everywhere and nowhere. I am everyone and no one. As I move from one place to another, my identity changes.
I am proud of my jumbled identity and I have reaped its benefits. My last name is Roberts and I was raised partially in Westernized culture, so it has been easy for me to adapt to the regular archetype of how an American college student would dress or speak and talk about what they would care about. Despite being perceived as normal, I can also tap into my rich culture and have several other exclusive communities to interact with — international students, Chinese students, Canadian students, etc.
My identity is also a valuable asset for my future. As I’ve been searching for a full-time job, interviewers have told me that one of my biggest assets is that I’m fluent in Chinese, but don’t have an accent when I speak English. My background is more interesting than the people I am competing against and I don’t need visa sponsorship.
Plus, coming from a family that has wealth and being the “most attractive race” makes everything easier.
With the rise of anti-Asian racism over the past year, I’ve become more unsure about my place in the U.S. In February, I stayed with a friend, who is Japanese, in New York City. She avoided taking the subway and refused to leave her apartment at night. When we walked down the street together, she was hyper-aware, looking over her shoulder every few steps. Every few steps, I wondered if I would be the one to save her from some racist attack. Maybe the perpetrator would see a whitish looking person and choose to back down? I wish I had known the extent of anti-asian racism before these inflammatory events, before covid. I feel guilty that I am her best friend, but had no idea about a huge part of her struggle. No wonder she is so desperate to graduate and leave the U.S. She has told me jokingly, “Sabrina, you’re the whitest friend I have!” No wonder her friend group is all Asian.
Only a month later, six Asian women were killed when a man went on a shooting spree targeting spas in Atlanta.
I think about whether I would have been a target in Atlanta or in New York City. How do others perceive me? I feel the pain from these events but I can’t publicly mourn because I am not a total “minority” in the traditional sense. I am not exactly like the women who were targeted in Atlanta or the Asian Americans who have been attacked in New York City. I’ve had the best of both worlds but haven’t experienced the worst of either. Compared to “full Asians”, I’m sure I’ve dealt with less racism. I don’t want to pretend that violence against Asians is 100% my issue but I also don’t want to lie to myself or the rest of the world and say that it doesn’t impact me at all.
When one part of my identity is pit against the other, I tear myself apart. I hear the voices of countless people who have asked me:
“Do you feel more Asian? Or more white?”
“But, like, if you had to choose? Asian? Or White?”
Vermont recently announced that any BIPOC person, and people living with a BIPOC person, are eligible to be vaccinated against COVID-19. I am presented with a binary question — are you BIPOC or not? I added on my own question — do you deserve this vaccine or not?
It brings me back to the original confusion. I haven’t suffered like fully Asian people, I have benefited from being Asian, I have wealth on my side. This policy is not supposed to be directed towards mixed race students in the covid-safe-bubble that is Middlebury College. Similarly, I don’t walk down the street in New York City fearing that someone will attack me (even though maybe I should) and I don’t feel like people assume that my English will be bad or that I’m an immigrant.
There are so many buts.
But people have made assumptions.
But I have been used because of my race.
But I have had to prove myself to the larger group when no one else had to.
But I have had to hide parts of myself to fit in.
Even the thought of my roommates asking me if I am going to make an appointment to get vaccinated makes me uncomfortable.
I don’t have to be attacked to be Asian. I don’t have to experience the worst of it to be considered a minority. What does a “full” Asian experience even mean? I am as proud of my Asian identity as I am my White identity. I go ahead and book my vaccine. And while I might forget this realization soon, at least I have it for today.
The world is cosmopolitan and diverse and closed and divided. In the middle of it all, I’m supposed to have the best of both worlds. And while I do, I am also tired of being pulled in so many directions.
“Nice to meet you! Where are you from?”
“I grew up in Hong Kong.”
It’s easier to say that, than to say, “I was born and raised in Hong Kong and lived there until I graduated high school, but my parents are Caucasian Canadian and Chinese so I am of mixed race. My parents also lived all around the world, so I am an American, Canadian, British and Hong Kong citizen. I spent all of my childhood summers in Canada and went to a Canadian International School, but I also speak Cantonese and Mandarin. I now live in the U.S. and will be living in Washington D.C. for the foreseeable future.”
