How it Feels to Be Half of One Me

I remember the day I realized I belong no where. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a happy person. I have a loving family, thriving social life, great education and am blessed by the opportunities I have. But I don’t belong anywhere. You see, I’m Wasian; a blend of Chinese and American. I have Asian eyes and eyebrows, but I also have an American nose and lips. My hair is a significant shade lighter than my Chinese friends, and I often get asked where I get it dyed (spoiler, I don’t). I get told I am so so lucky to have access to the best of both worlds. For example, Chinese new year hongbao (money envelopes), Thanksgiving turkey and of course the different cultures and languages. But do I really have access to everything?

The first time I ever felt I was on the outside was when I was nine. It was a sweltering hot Floridian summer. My sister and I were at the dog parade with my stoic Yeye (grandpa) and chatty Nainai (grandma). As usual, Nainai was dragging me and my sister to everyone who was willing to listen to her gush about her exotic Chinese granddaughters. The other party introduced their own grandchild, except they didn’t introduce their grandchild as “Max, my American grandson”. It was just “My grandson, Max”. I remember thinking, “Why didn’t his Nainai introduce him as American?” and that question hung in my mind continuously. Later when we got home, I asked “Nainai, why am I only Chinese? Aren’t I American too?” She said, and I remember this vividly, “Oh honey, of course you are, but you’re only half! You’ll always be my little Chinese doll.” Nainai didn’t mean it with spite, she meant it as a compliment. But to me, those words meant that I wasn’t American. “Ok, that’s fine because I’m still Chinese.” I thought and so that Chinese New Year, I went to my mothers hometown, Beijing, and celebrated the New Year with my family. It was wonderfully vibrant and rambunctious. But for some reason, my older cousin kept trying to speak to me in broken english; so did some of my other family. Annoyed, I sat on my Laoye’s (grandpa) lap and asked him, “Laoye, why do they keep trying to speak to me in English? I can speak Chinese too because I’m also Chinese!” He chuckled and said, “They speak english to you because you are a foreigner, don’t take it to heart.” Foreigner? But I thought I was Chinese? And then it dawned on me, even though I am Chinese and American, I am only half. I will never be fully American, nor will I ever be fully Chinese. I will always be floating somewhere on the wide expanse of half.

I used to struggle with it, but now that I have grown and matured more I’m OK with it because it’s true. I am only half. But I think that’s something beautiful because I get a whole new viewpoint of the world and I can find my own place to belong. Even if I don’t, then so be it. I’m perfectly content with being half. Of being mixed.

I love the idea of biracial. I actually don’t use the word biracial. I tend to use mixed. Biracial to me accentuates the word race, and, you know, I don’t really care for it.

Mat Johnson