Perhaps the clearest moment I've experienced of disturbance of perceived identity--the question, "Who am I?"--is the one regarding ethnic identity.
For 22-years I knew myself as a Vietnamese American. It was how I defined myself when people asked what my cultural background was; the identity invoked in me a degree of loyalty towards the Vietnamese people and a sense of belonging, even despite not being familiar the traditional culture or having ever lived in Vietnam.
In November last year I uncovered that, in fact, my entire family history was rooted in Chinese culture. My parents were born in Vietnam due to circumstances of war and violence in China, but raised in a Chinese community and attended a Chinese school. Before my parents, generations and generations of ancestors living, raising families, and dying in China.
In effect, culturally, I was (am) more Chinese than Vietnamese.
What may seem arbitrary for some reading this was in fact shocking and groundless for me to learn. Here I stood with my biases towards Chinese politics, or having in the past been somewhat proud of my distinction from "common" Asians (I was once asked, in verbatim, "What are you? Chinese or Japanese? Or Korean?").
In an instant the rug underneath my feet was pulled and I stumbled and floated, feeling unsure of where I was permitted to land.
So now, if I must answer, I say that I am Chinese-Vietnamese American. Though I still "feel" more Vietnamese than Chinese, whatever that means. It was a moment that allowed me to sense how obvious it is that race is indeed a social construct.
The answers that I offer for simple questions, like, "Who am I? Where was I born? What do I do?" are limiting in that they invite a projective assumption about who I am, what I've done, and where I've been. That being said, these answers are also helpful in forming some sort of sense of bonding and similarity, which tends to be helpful in initial meetings (Perhaps in part why our first inquiry with new people tend to be, "Where are you from? What do you do?").
I suspect these simple questions are most beneficial when the listener and the responder hold the assumption that each individual is dynamic and impossible to recreate--that what is true and makes sense will be different in the past, present, and future, and none will have been incorrect.
I agree that simplicity is more profound. Ambiguity allows for a myriad of interpretations, where everything does not need to be complicated to exist. I come from a family origin that over complicates almost everything; from religion and moral authority to basic communication and family interaction. With relation to 'birth' and 'home', I cannot change the physical location of my birth, nor can I change my family history. However I can be reborn with new thoughts and ideas.
Even when I am completely at rest my heart is pumping, therefore I am always doing something. And I may not be physically moving in those moments, but perhaps I follow my thoughts and therefore I am 'going' somewhere (reaching a conclusion, forming an opinion, reflecting or processing a past event).
There are grander and more minute paths in my life all occurring simultaneously. I am writing this while I go to college while I sit on a bus that is taking me somewhere. Later I may be walking to get food, and I am still in college. So 'going' and 'doing' will always be subject to interpretation—from the grandest accomplishments I seek in my lifetime to the most routine granular daily activities (like putting on socks).
Where were you born? The first thing that comes to me when I consider this question is the place of my birth, so my answer would be Santa Maria, CA. When I look back at time when I still believed in the religion of my family, born again Christian, I might say, in Albuquerque, NM when I was around ten years old. Looking back at my more recent past, to a time when everything came together for me and I knew where I needed to be and what I needed to do, my answer might be Cedar Crest, NM.
At first glance this question seems to be rather straight forward, but when considered in depth it means so much more for me. I was raised in a religion that took the idea of being born again very seriously. I am no longer a practicing Christian, so it has been fascinating for me to bring awareness to how the religion of my past has shaped the way I think. If I had not been raised to believe that it is possible to be reborn, I think that my answer to this question would be quite different.
I noticed a couple of weeks ago that my older brother changed where he is "From" on Facebook. Originally, it read "Corpus Christi, TX" because that's where we spent most of our childhood. Now it reads, "Rock Hill, South Carolina," the city where he was born. I wondered, should I change my "From" to "Pensacola, FL" (where I was born) instead of "Corpus Christi, TX?" Where AM I from? What does that even mean? To outsiders, being from Texas means I have an accent, I grew up in a small town on a ranch, I drove a pick-up truck to school, I'm a conservative, gun-slinging "Bush" lover, and I don't know a thing about anything outside of Texas (none of these are true). Maybe that's why my brother would rather answer "South Carolina." Sometimes I would like to bite my tongue, too, when someone asks me, "Where are you from?" I answer, "Texas," and they say "Oh," with a look of pity. That's when I wish we could sit across from each other, legs crossed on a meditation pillow, and continue with, "Not just that." It's impossible to stick with one answer in a moment or over time. I feel connected to certain moments of my childhood that I wouldn't ever want to deny, moments that make my life feel so special. Or, if someone asked me, "where are you going," eight years ago, I would have said, "Somewhere, I hope"; 2 years ago, "Africa!"; last year, "graduate school!"
I was born in Pensacola, FL. My home is in Boulder, CO. I am sitting at my kitchen table right now, with no plans to go anywhere else. I am typing on my laptop. What is most profound about these answers is that they do not define me. I am not where I was born, where I am from, where my home is, what I am doing, or where I am going. Tomorrow, next week, next year, they'll all be different anyway.
One word stands out to me the most: change. Our answers will change, just as everyone here has described. The only constant in life is change, and through this insight we can begin to expect it, welcome it, learn from it. So much of society's energy is spent preventing or reacting to change and attempting to hold on to a steady normalcy. I think of the process of grieving in the culture that raised me; it was praise-worthy to stop showing emotion after a couple weeks, implying, "you're doing so well!" Why is there such a denial of inevitable change?
Mindfulness has been one of the best tools to break through this consensus trance, as I learn to accept things as they are with non-attachment.
Perhaps the clearest moment I've experienced of disturbance of perceived identity--the question, "Who am I?"--is the one regarding ethnic identity.
ReplyDeleteFor 22-years I knew myself as a Vietnamese American. It was how I defined myself when people asked what my cultural background was; the identity invoked in me a degree of loyalty towards the Vietnamese people and a sense of belonging, even despite not being familiar the traditional culture or having ever lived in Vietnam.
In November last year I uncovered that, in fact, my entire family history was rooted in Chinese culture. My parents were born in Vietnam due to circumstances of war and violence in China, but raised in a Chinese community and attended a Chinese school. Before my parents, generations and generations of ancestors living, raising families, and dying in China.
In effect, culturally, I was (am) more Chinese than Vietnamese.
What may seem arbitrary for some reading this was in fact shocking and groundless for me to learn. Here I stood with my biases towards Chinese politics, or having in the past been somewhat proud of my distinction from "common" Asians (I was once asked, in verbatim, "What are you? Chinese or Japanese? Or Korean?").
In an instant the rug underneath my feet was pulled and I stumbled and floated, feeling unsure of where I was permitted to land.
So now, if I must answer, I say that I am Chinese-Vietnamese American. Though I still "feel" more Vietnamese than Chinese, whatever that means. It was a moment that allowed me to sense how obvious it is that race is indeed a social construct.
The answers that I offer for simple questions, like, "Who am I? Where was I born? What do I do?" are limiting in that they invite a projective assumption about who I am, what I've done, and where I've been. That being said, these answers are also helpful in forming some sort of sense of bonding and similarity, which tends to be helpful in initial meetings (Perhaps in part why our first inquiry with new people tend to be, "Where are you from? What do you do?").
I suspect these simple questions are most beneficial when the listener and the responder hold the assumption that each individual is dynamic and impossible to recreate--that what is true and makes sense will be different in the past, present, and future, and none will have been incorrect.
I agree that simplicity is more profound. Ambiguity allows for a myriad of interpretations, where everything does not need to be complicated to exist. I come from a family origin that over complicates almost everything; from religion and moral authority to basic communication and family interaction. With relation to 'birth' and 'home', I cannot change the physical location of my birth, nor can I change my family history. However I can be reborn with new thoughts and ideas.
ReplyDeleteEven when I am completely at rest my heart is pumping, therefore I am always doing something. And I may not be physically moving in those moments, but perhaps I follow my thoughts and therefore I am 'going' somewhere (reaching a conclusion, forming an opinion, reflecting or processing a past event).
There are grander and more minute paths in my life all occurring simultaneously. I am writing this while I go to college while I sit on a bus that is taking me somewhere. Later I may be walking to get food, and I am still in college. So 'going' and 'doing' will always be subject to interpretation—from the grandest accomplishments I seek in my lifetime to the most routine granular daily activities (like putting on socks).
Where were you born? The first thing that comes to me when I consider this question is the place of my birth, so my answer would be Santa Maria, CA. When I look back at time when I still believed in the religion of my family, born again Christian, I might say, in Albuquerque, NM when I was around ten years old. Looking back at my more recent past, to a time when everything came together for me and I knew where I needed to be and what I needed to do, my answer might be Cedar Crest, NM.
ReplyDeleteAt first glance this question seems to be rather straight forward, but when considered in depth it means so much more for me. I was raised in a religion that took the idea of being born again very seriously. I am no longer a practicing Christian, so it has been fascinating for me to bring awareness to how the religion of my past has shaped the way I think. If I had not been raised to believe that it is possible to be reborn, I think that my answer to this question would be quite different.
I noticed a couple of weeks ago that my older brother changed where he is "From" on Facebook. Originally, it read "Corpus Christi, TX" because that's where we spent most of our childhood. Now it reads, "Rock Hill, South Carolina," the city where he was born. I wondered, should I change my "From" to "Pensacola, FL" (where I was born) instead of "Corpus Christi, TX?" Where AM I from? What does that even mean? To outsiders, being from Texas means I have an accent, I grew up in a small town on a ranch, I drove a pick-up truck to school, I'm a conservative, gun-slinging "Bush" lover, and I don't know a thing about anything outside of Texas (none of these are true). Maybe that's why my brother would rather answer "South Carolina." Sometimes I would like to bite my tongue, too, when someone asks me, "Where are you from?" I answer, "Texas," and they say "Oh," with a look of pity. That's when I wish we could sit across from each other, legs crossed on a meditation pillow, and continue with, "Not just that." It's impossible to stick with one answer in a moment or over time. I feel connected to certain moments of my childhood that I wouldn't ever want to deny, moments that make my life feel so special. Or, if someone asked me, "where are you going," eight years ago, I would have said, "Somewhere, I hope"; 2 years ago, "Africa!"; last year, "graduate school!"
ReplyDeleteI was born in Pensacola, FL. My home is in Boulder, CO. I am sitting at my kitchen table right now, with no plans to go anywhere else. I am typing on my laptop. What is most profound about these answers is that they do not define me. I am not where I was born, where I am from, where my home is, what I am doing, or where I am going. Tomorrow, next week, next year, they'll all be different anyway.
One word stands out to me the most: change. Our answers will change, just as everyone here has described. The only constant in life is change, and through this insight we can begin to expect it, welcome it, learn from it. So much of society's energy is spent preventing or reacting to change and attempting to hold on to a steady normalcy. I think of the process of grieving in the culture that raised me; it was praise-worthy to stop showing emotion after a couple weeks, implying, "you're doing so well!" Why is there such a denial of inevitable change?
ReplyDeleteMindfulness has been one of the best tools to break through this consensus trance, as I learn to accept things as they are with non-attachment.