Katie and I went to see Yellow Face tonight, which is a play about Asian-American racial identity, among other things.
It was interesting. I don’t spend all that much time thinking about the fact that I’m an Asian-American, and I haven’t really dwelt on the advantages and disadvantages that this label/community confers, but I do feel like I’ve always been aware of it my entire life.
That, and a recent splashy Newsweek cover article labeled “Is Your Baby Racist?” got me thinking. How much of my Chinese heritage will I impart onto my child? How much can I? How much should I?
Ideally, I’d like to give my baby the best parts of being an Asian-American and spare him or her the worst, but is it really up to me to decide which is which? Do I even know? And how good of a teacher will I be anyway?
As I’ve grown, I’ve felt less and less Chinese. I hardly speak the language anymore. I can’t read it at all. I can’t speak too intelligently on most Chinese culture and history. When I visit the country itself, I feel like a tourist, not like I’m returning home.
But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a part of me, that I was born there, that I lived there for the first four years of my life. I like that I’ve Chinese, I’m proud of it. I guess I’m just not sure what it actually means to me or my unborn child just yet.
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