Alex Francavilla - Week 4 - Waves
American High School’s Science Olympiad team during the 2023-2024 school year had an ethnic makeup of 29.5/30 Asian students. The following school year, it was 44.5/45. It is on track to be the exact same this year.
No, we don’t own one arm, one leg, and half of a torso and head of a White person. That would be weird. And very illegal. And I’m not illegal, just weird.
Similar circumstances plague every congregation of academic-weapon tryhard high schoolers at this so-called “American” High School. In fact, one of the reasons 3rd period AP Lang is such a standout class to me this year is not just because of our incredible teacher (hi Mrs. Smith!) or the courseload, but because there are more than two—or should I say one and a half—non-Asian students in the classroom.
This wasn’t a super big issue in elementary school. In fact, I don’t think I really registered the fact that I was half-White back then. The extent to which I considered race and ethnicity was in witty little quips at the dinner table of "there's so many Indian people in my class!”. And, to my knowledge, my peers didn’t ostracize me for being “wasian” either. Yes, I was the butt of some jokes, but none were racially motivated or meant to be harmful in any way.
I think it was around 9th grade when that changed. People acted the same around me, but I had this gut feeling that despite everything I’d experienced so far, I didn’t belong. Because I was white.
All my life I’d clung to what little Chinese culture I had: the oddly poetic middle name my mom gave me, my good pinyin pronunciation despite my toddler-level vocabulary, the vaguely Shanghainese food my mom would cook in what little time she had between her 9-5 and household chores, the little trinkets around my room with unknown red and gold characters lining their sides, the secret practicing of stupid phrases like “我不会说普通话” (“I can’t speak Mandarin”). Because my whiteness meant nothing. It had no distinct culture and only strayed me further from my primarily Chinese friend groups.
But it wasn’t enough. My eyes were still too big. My eyelids were still too wrinkly. My limbs were still covered in too much hair. My eyelashes were too long. My skin was still too white, and tanned too easily.
I’d like to say I've changed. Change is a good thing. That middle name my mom gave me means change: 昇涌 (literally: “to rise” “surge,” or “rising above the surging waves”).
But many of these sentiments I still believe to this day.
Somewhere, someday, I will rise above this turbulence and leave these negative feelings behind. That might come when I get to college, or late into my adult life. Or it could come after I click “Publish” on this blog assignment. Maybe only the waves know.
I think it’s actually a good thing to not have your identity completely figured out—if there’s one thing I’ve learned from any of the cheesy movies and TV shows I watched when I was eight, it’s that life is a journey, and identity is the treasure you arrive at. I’m used to certainty, to knowing everything (a rather obnoxious habit I’d picked up in elementary school). It’s comforting to know every facet of your identity, sure, but it’s much more exciting to be able to discover that with time. We as humans are not meant to be static; we’re meant to constantly move, constantly expand our comfort zones. We are not human without growth and discovery, and, like you said, change is a good thing. One day you will certainly emerge from the ocean, born anew—but there’s no rush to get there. Maybe the real treasure you’re searching for is the friends you made along the way (:
ReplyDeleteI think your blog brings up a really interesting aspect about culture when you say that you felt your "whiteness" has no culture of its own. While such a view is potentially dismissive, I believe it comes from the same mentality that causes people to say that Americans don't have an accent. Of course, I understand where the feeling comes from—I, too, have felt upset with myself at times for not being Indian enough and being too whitewashed, as if my culture had been eroded away. I've realized recently that the opposite may be the case, and that my American culture, despite being viewed as the default by Americans, still is a culture. I believe that similar to this cultural blend, you being partially white is something that should be celebrated, not hidden.
ReplyDeleteHey Alex! Your Chinese middle name is very pretty! And you most definitely should be proud of yourself for having good pronunciation; to this day, my parents still laugh at me for messing up my tones. Most people here have likely experienced some sort of uncomfortable feeling of not belonging with people of their ethnic makeup in their home country, but having lived in the Bay Area where everyone’s cultural identities are more similar to each other than anywhere else in the world, I personally haven’t experienced much cultural exclusion here. I obviously can’t relate to the full extent of how you feel due to well… not being Wasian… but this blog was definitely an interesting insight to how just a small difference has had such a huge impact on your life.
ReplyDeleteHaving two very young Wasian cousins (one in the predominantly White Maryland suburbs and another living in Taiwan where non-ethnically Asian people are a rare sight), I’m a bit worried for their futures as they will most likely experience the same difficulties with finding that sense of belonging. It’s hard to let go of deeply-rooted beliefs, but I genuinely hope you are able to free yourself the burdening feelings that have plagued your mind.
If absolutely anyone at all reads our old blogs (I commend you if you do) I have a small fact-check I would like to add:
ReplyDeleteMy mom in fact did not give me my current middle name. She did give my older brother his Chinese name, but my mom's parents (most likely her own mother) was outraged that she didn't include them in the decision that they named me on their own without my mother's input...
Yep that's it ok thanks bye!!