In July of this year, I decided to finally clean my room, something I had been putting off ever since I graduated from high school. As I was sorting through a pile of worksheets, research papers, and reading material, I came across a fourth-grade analytical essay on Charles Yu’s “Chinatown Interiors.” In it, I argued that the characters in “Inside Chinatown” exhibited a sense of discontinuity and displacement typical of the East Asian experience. We often feel trapped in a double bind. We often feel not only not included in American society, but also isolated from our ethnic roots. I smiled as I recalled the joy I had reading the book, the effort I had put into my essay, and the glowing feedback I had received from my English teacher. It also allowed me to reflect on how my own perspective on Chinese American identity has changed since writing this essay.
The message of double alienation in “Interior Chinatown” resonated strongly with me as a high school student. To give you a little background, I was born in America and moved to Hong Kong when I was five years old. Although it allowed me to gain a deeper understanding of Chinese culture and experience a truly multicultural environment, I felt that something was missing. . Living in Hong Kong, I became aware of the concept of identity for the first time. I clung to my American identity and yearned for the place I still called home. That doesn’t mean I was unhappy. Although I was used to the narrow streets of Aberdeen and the hustle and bustle of Tsim Sha Tsui, America seemed like the real home for me.
Years later, I was 14 years old and standing in the lunch line, listening to the constant noise of conversation going on next to me. Phrases like Avalon, Flyers, and KOP went in one ear and out the other. I couldn’t relate to my friends’ hobbies, interests, and pastimes (what is lacrosse?), and I felt like I was learning English for the first time. At the end of the school day, my mom came to pick me up. I stared at the blur of quaint suburban communities and luxurious country clubs and wondered what it would be like to call these streets “home.” I suddenly felt a strong admiration for the hustle and bustle of Hong Kong. Time helped, but I still felt like an outsider and never fully integrated into my predominantly white high school.
In “Interior Chinatown,” protagonist Willis Wu is an actor who plays the typical borderline racist supporting character, aptly named “Common Asian Male” in a police drama. is. As a young boy, he witnessed his father, a Taiwanese immigrant and an actor himself, become disillusioned with his roles, believing that he would never be promoted to roles played by white actors (spoiler: he would never be promoted to a role played by a white actor). (not promoted). Like Yu’s characters, I had a hard time coming to terms with the contradictions that come with Chinese ethnicity and American nationality. The United States is (at least nominally) a country that embraces cultural diversity. This country is both a mosaic and a melting pot, but both external and internal pressures made me feel like I had to conform to white American society. I created two rigid ideas in my head about American and Chinese identities, and inevitably felt like I had to choose between Chinese and American.
Since high school, societal pressures and expectations have shaped my identity, leading me to ask questions like “Am I American enough?” and “Have I become white?” I asked myself repeatedly. I rarely talked about my Chinese identity with my white colleagues, choosing instead to have casual conversations about Philadelphia sports teams. The funny thing is, I ended up liking them, but when I was around my Asian American friends, I realized that my knowledge of sports didn’t match their interests. This cultural duality made me feel the need to compartmentalize different aspects of myself in order to be accepted in different social environments. But in trying to fit in, I somehow felt even more incomplete.
As I grew up, I learned to embrace both cultures I grew up in rather than limiting my identity to binary choices. Slowly but surely, I started talking about my Chinese identity. Far from being excluded, most of my peers turned out to be interested in tradition and cuisine. I started expressing my love for sports everywhere, rather than limiting it to certain situations or certain social circles. I realized that parts of me can exist alongside other parts. I was happier and bridging both sides of my identity suddenly seemed much easier than I imagined.
Last winter, I attended Friendsgiving hosted by the parents of a high school friend. I substituted the turkey for duck and the stuffing for seaweed dumplings. I didn’t want to miss NFL Thanksgiving, so I turned on the TV and my friend sat next to me as the Lions started playing the Packers. As I watched the sun set on soccer, I thought about how uniquely Chinese this is.
I now know that my American identity and Chinese identity are closely related. Accepting one side does not involve excluding the other side. Choosing one or the other would stunt my growth and prevent me from being absorbed in both Chinese and American interests. Also, holding myself to rigid standards of what it means to be Chinese American means giving in to stereotypes and preconceived notions that mold me into the person I am: i haven’t. After all, neither my Chineseness nor my Americanness is based on predetermined qualifications.
Perhaps this is the best way to describe my identity. I speak fluent Chinese and converse with my parents in their native language whenever I get the chance. I love Philadelphia sports and feel the joy and pain of every win and loss. I’m curious about American cities and go down rabbit holes on Wikipedia every time I feel bored. I collect stickers and magnets that I think are important, and my devices and refrigerators turn into a messy mosaic.
I’ll continue rooting for my sports teams, hoping the Eagles win another Lombardi Trophy or the 76ers finally conquer their playoff demons. I will continue to love American history and think about the good and bad of this country’s past. I am also proud of the food I eat, the mid-autumn mooncakes I share with family and friends, and the values of hard work and respect that my parents instilled in me.
MiC columnist Bowen Deng can be reached at kbdeng@umich.edu.
