I guess I felt the first inkling of being “different” around the age of pre-school when we lived in Westover, Massachusetts. Although I don’t remember very much of pre-school, I do remember at that early age feeling out of place, aloof from other kids. I was the shy, quiet one in class growing up. I was painfully shy throughout my childhood years and felt very content reading books or being by myself. In college, I overcompensated by becoming the social butterfly and partying. When I look back at school pictures, my face stands out among all the others. Mine was typically the only Asian one. I became a minority once we moved to the states from Okinawa, but I never knew or understood that word until I became a young adult.

Teasing started in kindergarten. By then, we’d moved to Bossier City, Louisiana. There wasn’t much in the way of cultural diversity in this small town, and we lived in a predominantly white neighborhood. I always tried to downplay the teasing and brushed it off as if nothing happened. Mostly, people did the usual stereotypical things like pulling up the corners of their eyes with their fingers or trying to talk sing-songy. Occasionally I’d hear “chink” as I passed by. Once, on the school bus, someone I thought was my friend intentionally shoved me off the bus seat. At the time, I didn’t understand why she would treat me in such a way. It was embarrassing, but again, I just tried to act like it hadn’t happened. It was a long ride to school that morning.

Around the time of junior high, I wanted desperately to be part of a particular group of girls who were considered very “popular.” I began hanging out with them and they seemed to accept me, although I always felt like I had to fight for their acceptance by acting “cool.” Then one day, one of the girls said to me, “why don’t you find another group to hang out with?” I was shocked, speechless, embarrassed, and didn’t understand why the sudden “boot out,” or why they no longer wanted to be friends, but I got the message. I felt confused. It didn’t occur to me until much later in life that perhaps these events took place because of my race. I kept these incidents to myself and never talked to anyone about them, not even to my parents. Back then, I wasn’t sure what to think of it all, and it was very difficult for me to put my feelings into words, something I struggled with even into my adult years. Mostly, as I mentioned before, I felt embarrassment and confusion. I was embarrassed that I looked different from everyone around me. My parents seemed oblivious. I don’t think they ever knew about any of the teasing. We never talked about how things were going in school or any difficulties I may have been having, and we never talked about my birth heritage. My adoptive parents did not make efforts to expose me to my birth culture, although looking back, if they had been offered education perhaps by a social worker and had known better, things may have turned out differently. They were of a different generation where families didn’t really talk about problems openly. My parents were unaware of how difficult it was to “fit in” with my peers because of my race, and they weren’t exactly prepared to guide me through the social pressures and issues of prejudice or racism.

That's me right smack in the middle, front row

As I got older I realized that being shy wasn’t so cool, and I longed to be liked and accepted by my peers just like any other pre-teen and teenager. That longing for acceptance eventually turned into an obsession. I wanted to change who I was and look like everyone else. I downplayed my Asian features and rejected any association with my birth culture. In 6th grade I wrote a biography report and lied about where I was born. In the report, I said that I was born in Hawaii and hid the fact that I was born in Taiwan. Many students questioned me afterwards, but I stuck by my story.

In 8th grade, I finally made some genuine friends who I felt safe and with and could be myself around. Still, I struggled with insecurity and low self-esteem. As I mentioned before, I became obsessed with wanting to look like everyone else. Make-up became the answer. I began applying eye makeup to make my eyes look bigger and rounder. I curled my straight hair every morning before school with hot rollers. By the end of the day, the southern humidity usually caused it to go flat, which was annoying. In high school, I used Sun-in to make my hair look lighter and not so black. Furthermore, I wanted to hang out with the “popular” girls in school even though I could never shake the feeling of inadequacy. At home, I became increasingly disrespectful towards my parents. They were more strict than other parents and seemed so old fashioned. One Christmas, my dad gave me a special present. I was horrified when it turned out to be a license plate for my car with the words “Oriental Express” inscribed across it. I refused to put it on my car and probably made a few hurtful comments towards my dad. If I could take all of that back, I would. I know that in Dad’s small way, he was trying the only way he knew how to reach out to me. He and Mom both were completely unaware of the identity crisis I struggled with and were so uneducated on issues of race and ethnic identity. I’m sure that Dad thought the gift was something special and was completely boggled after I rejected it. The license plate sat on my dresser collecting dust. I didn’t want to completely get rid of it because I didn’t want to hurt my dad’s feelings any more than I already had. I’m not sure what happened to it over the years.

After college, I moved out of Louisiana. It was extremely difficult for my mom. Dad didn’t say much, but I know it was hard for him too. Mom wanted me to stay close to home, but I needed to get out from under her control and explore. I ended up in Florida for a couple of years, then moved to California. My first year away from home, I purposely did not go home to see my parents, but stayed in Florida by myself just to exert my independence. I had such mixed feelings, part guilt, part, “but I’m an adult now,” because I knew that my parents wanted to see me, yet I wanted them to understand that I made my own decisions now. I realize that when I left home, I created a huge hole in my parents’ life, especially my mom’s. I had been their whole world for so long – obviously, this was not a healthy kind of relationship.

When I eventually moved to California, the first thing that struck me about it was how many Asian people there were. I couldn’t believe it. Naturally, I avoided associating with anyone Asian. Eventually, through the support of a very close group of friends, I began to overcome some of my old insecurities and became more “accepting” of the Asian community around me, although at this point, I still didn’t identity with my cultural heritage and had no interest in searching for my birth parents or returning to Taiwan.

Last year, I began a master’s degree in social work at Arizona State University. I enrolled in a class called Diversity, Oppression and Change. This class forced me to re-examine issues of culture, identity, and race-relations. I chose to write a research paper on ethnic and racial identity in Asian-American adoptees, a topic obviously close to my heart. To my surprise, I found masses of literature written on cross-cultural and transracial adoption. These research studies focused primarily on issues such as racial and ethnic conflict and confusion, the role of parenting and nurturing cultural identity, and the development of ethnic identity across stages of life. I also interviewed two other Asian-American adoptees, which was the best part. The whole process of researching and writing was inspiring. I became increasingly interested in learning more about other Asian-American adoptees and discussing our stories together. The process of recovering a sense of cultural identity took root and has been growing ever since.

All in all, being born of one race and culture, yet raised in another has had its challenges in my life. I never knew that this is an issue that many transracially/cross-culturally adopted children experience. I’m still trying to reconcile the two and feel that in time things might be different. I might feel differently about who I am. Or, maybe this issue will be ever present in my life because  that’s just part of who I am.