Mixed, Raced and Confused

My mother is Chinese. My father is Scottish. Which makes me half Chinese, half Scottish. I didn’t always see it this way. As a child, I saw myself as either one or the other. How do I explain my confusion with being identified with being Chinese or being white? Would it make sense if I were to say that at certain periods and in certain places, I would try hard to fit in by being whatever others were. For example, when I lived in Hong Kong, I would call myself Chinese; when I lived in Australia, I would call myself white. Yet, in certain periods of my childhood and in particular countries, I would try hard to be different from what others were. For example, the situations would be the same, but my sentiment reversed: In Hong Kong, I would call myself white; in Australia, I would call myself Chinese. You probably have a puzzled look on your face. Like I said, I’m not sure if I’m able to articulate clearly the reasons for these clashes in sentiment.

I remember as a kid in Hong Kong, I longed to look Asian. I envied the other school kids with their jet-black hair, soft white skin, and super neat handwriting. It’s true, their handwriting looked like perfectly stencilled work next to my sloppy chicken-scratch. There was also a brief period when I thought all Asians looked the same – and I imagine some Asians think all white people look the same. When I moved to foreign countries I would start to distance myself from my Asian pedigree when I found myself surrounded by white people. I never felt ashamed of either race. I just always had this urge to fit in. At birth, I was given the name, Jack. In Hong Kong, I was called Jackie, as this was quite common there. I didn’t mind being called Jackie when I was little because Jackie Chan was in fact, my hero. But to my horror, I found out by a classmate in Scotland that Jackie was a girl name in the UK. So I immediately distanced myself from the name, Jackie, and insisted I be called Jack from that moment on. So, I was no longer Jackie, I was Jack. I was no longer Chinese. I was Scottish. I had no concept of being half Chinese, half Scottish; it was either one or the other.

But within a short span of time, I’d do a complete 180 and long for my Asian roots and cling on to anything that reminded me of Hong Kong. I would re-watch all of my mum’s old video recordings of Chinese movies and canto-pop performances (which my Dad had packed for me when we moved away). If people asked where I was from, I would say “Hong Kong” and say that I was Chinese. I would be proud of this too. I would switch back and forth between being Asian and being white multiple times. I know I’m still not explaining why this was the case, I’m just saying what I would do. The truth is, I don’t know why. At some point in my late teens, I came to accept I was of mixed race. This rigid dichotomy between being Chinese and being white seemed to dissolve. The wall was torn down. There were no life-changing moments of enlightenment or changes in character. Life resumed course at the same speed and in the same manner as it always had. I simply felt fine with being half Chinese, half Scottish. In fact, I embraced being Eurasian and felt proud for what I saw as having the best of both worlds. Granted, while moving countries continuously throughout childhood certainly gave me a worldly view, I still consider my Asian and Western genes and upbringing to give me an even greater appreciation for different cultures.

Being brought up with two different sets of value systems did mould my character. Chinese families traditionally embrace the idea of a closely-knit family. Parents reinforce the importance of close family ties by very closely looking after their children well beyond the point of adulthood, and are still very much involved in all aspects of their children’s family affairs. Western families tend to let more slack on the leash over their children, which fosters greater independence on the part of the children. Some may remark the Western family unit is less close, thus, colder. However, I find it better prepares the child for the realities of adulthood. At least, these are my views from my own experience. I was raised by my Dad from birth right through to my late teens. Since I left Hong Kong at the age of 8, I had no contact with my mother until I turned 18, so I did not truly become acquainted with Chinese family values firsthand until well past my formative years. Being raised by my father definitely made me into a much more independent person. He told me he had dropped out of high school and left the house at the age of 15. So, I always expected that once I turned 18, I would be off on my own. I started earning my own keep at the age of 14 and was out of the house at the age of 17, but that’s a different story altogether.

While I did struggle with the concept of being of mixed race growing up, I found I was able to eventually accept myself for who I was without categorizing myself by race. I think that the more of a melting point our society becomes, the less ethnicity and race are used as a category of analysis to identify with one another. My name is Jack. I am half Chinese, half Scottish. Some mornings I wake up and feel Asian and other mornings I feel white.

Black Sheep

I have an odd thing against fads. In fact, I can be so stubborn that I’ll refuse to listen/read/do certain things when it seems everyone is following a fad. I still haven’t read Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code because I didn’t like how everyone was gushing over it. My friends in high school kept saying I “had to” read this book. I didn’t like that. It took me 7 years before I watched the Titanic movie. I used to think those Affliction shirts were cool when I saw MMA fighters wearing them, but I don’t like how it seems every tool in the lower mainland is now wearing them. I’m not sure why I don’t like fads. I just don’t like following what everyone else is doing.

I wasn’t always this way. I have this stubborn tendency to be the black sheep in the herd but I can’t pinpoint when this started. I’m not sure if it is my innate personality, but I have a feeling it was passed from my Dad and Stepmum. I always heard things like “Why would you want to be normal?” or “Normal is boring. Be different” or “Stop thinking what others are thinking and do what you want.” For a while I used to be quite frustrated with my parents for always being so different from my friends’ parents. For a start, why on earth did we have to move so much? Ever since an early age, I was never in the same school for more than a year before we jumped to a different city and/or country. I started thinking we more closely resembled a pack of Gypsies than a normal family. I longed for normality, consistency, monotony, suburbia, pop tarts, junk food, white bread, brand name clothes, MTV, and Nintendo. Instead, I was told POP tarts weren’t real food; if I were to eat instant noodles, I’d have to replace the brain cancer seasoning packets with soy sauce; if I was hungry then have some fruit; MTV was trash; video games thwart creativity; if I was bored then read a book; wearing Nike meant supporting child labour. Needless to say, I only ate brown bread, brown rice, absolutely no junk food, and having a soda was considered a treat. The idea of entertainment was considered listening to music and drawing in my room. Going out to a restaurant for dinner was unheard of. Watching TV while eating dinner was out of the question. If I ever got into trouble, my parents never ‘grounded’ me because they considered it a useless form of punishment. Instead, they just gave me more chores to do. I was always ashamed as a kid for not being ‘normal’ or not fitting in with the rest. I was very self conscious of the fact I never wore the ‘cool’ clothes other kids wore. Maybe the instability of continuously moving to new places and never knowing how long it would be until the next move made me long for what I saw as comfort, safety, predictability and consistency in other kids’ families.

I’m rambling. 

What am I getting at here? Hmm… I’m lost… I started out explaining why as a kid I always wanted to fit in but ended up rambling on about my insignificant childhood. I guess I should just finish this train of thought by saying that in recent years, despite my former tendency to conform and seek acceptance, I now catch myself saying or thinking things I heard my parents say to me when I was younger. I guess their years of unconventional parenting somehow got through to me. I now find myself reluctant to wear what everyone else is wearing, avoid wearing brand names for the sake of showing off the brand name itself, wary of books that everyone says I must read, and hesitant of doing something just because everyone else is doing it. I hope I don’t come across as a pretentious snob, which I’m sure I do. I hope that sharing my childhood experiences made sense of some of my disdain for fads. But if it didn’t, I’m not surprised, because even I can’t make sense of my childhood.