Where Are You From?

I was in a local coffee shop the other day when a man began talking to me as we were waiting in line. We chatted lightly for a few minutes, then he suddenly asked me, "Where are you from?" I said, "California." Then, as usual, he asked, "No, where are you originally from?" Again, I replied, "California. Orange County." Sometimes people leave it at that. Other times they either roll their eyes and try asking again or rephrase their question so that I, who must seem like the most obtuse person on Earth, can provide an acceptable response to their question about my ethnic background. I am not obtuse. I know what they are asking, but I don't like the question and the answer to the question is irrelevant. Even if I told them that my mother is originally from South Korea, it wouldn't explain where I came from or who I am. I have never been to Korea. I do not speak, read, write or competently understand Korean. The only languages I know are English and German. In fact, I double-majored in English and German in college. But no one seems to want to hear that I grew up in California or that I can only speak English and German or that I've only been to Europe. They want to hear me say that I'm Chinese, Japanese or Korean, as if that will reveal something significant about me that they otherwise would not have known, as if that would unlock the mystery of who I am. Sometimes it seems that they want to hear that I'm from Hawaii. This happened at my son's school when he first started kindergarten, which was amusing, because I think the assumption was that I must be Hawaiian because I don't have an accent.

This question of "where I'm from" or "who I am" has plagued me my whole life. The first time I was confronted with "the question" was in kindergarten in Southern California. A little boy asked me if I was a "ching-chong Chinese or a Jap." I just stared at him. I had no idea how to answer that question. I didn't really know what he meant and I wasn't even sure if I was or wasn't either of those things. He asked me a couple more times, but finally let it drop when I yelled, "I don't know!" Sometimes I feel like travelling back in time and saying, "I'm neither, you ignorant idiot! And you shouldn't call anyone either of those things. It's not polite or acceptable. Plus, what difference does it make? How will that shed any light on who I really am as an individual?" But I suppose a kindergartner wouldn't normally proffer such a response.

It may be hard to believe, but I truly try not to obsess about race. I don't think about it on a daily basis and neither do most of my family or friends. It's only when I am confronted with "the question", or some form of it, that I am forced to address the issue of race. I don't enjoy it. I often wonder why it is that Asian-Americans in particular have to deal with "the question" on a regular basis. No one seems to ask my Caucasian friends where they are from or whether they are Irish, German or Italian. No one asks my African-American friends if they are originally from Kenya, Zimbabwe or South Africa. No one asks my Hispanic friends if they are from Mexico, Puerto Rico or Guatemala, at least not on a regular basis. Why is it that Asian-Americans are asked "the question" so often, even by people who seem fairly educated and should know better? I live and work in an academic community and am constantly amazed when people ask me where I'm from or if I'm Chinese, Japanese or Korean. It's really none of their business and it shouldn't make a difference. How would that reveal anything about my true identity? The only answer I can honestly give them is that I'm American. Maybe someday that answer will be enough.