My Mother is Taiwanese, I’m American

My Mother is Taiwanese, I’m American

The musty air and the sagging seats with stuffing spilling out indicate the weariness of the high school auditorium. I drum my fingers on the polished wood of the armrests, over the grooves of carved initials: "J.Y. + C.A." Indifferently, I wonder if their relationship has endured as long as the engraved proclamation. J.Y. must be a girl, I decide for no particular reason. Jayne . . . Johanna . . . Jackie . . . ? Slouched down in the shabby velvet seat, I feign aloofness to the excitement buzzing around me. Taking great care to appear as disinterested as possible, I 'casually scan the hall with the attitude of a removed outsider.

From my vantage point toward the rear of the auditorium, I can see over the top of rows and rows of black-haired heads. I watch them gossiping, scolding, and chattering animatedly to one another in a language I seldom hear outside my home. Chipmunks, decidedly, is the word that comes to mind as they scurry about greeting newcomers loudly like long lost relatives. "Have you eaten yet? Ai-yah! You are too thin! Come sit over here!" There are no hugs exchanged, but the warmth is undeniable. "Say ‘hello' to Auntie and Uncle," the children are instructed. Disregarding the unmistakable warning tone in their parents' voices, mischievous children run around just out of reach while the grandmothers and grandfathers smile understandingly. The little girls, some already squinting through thick lenses with plastic frames, are dressed in the pigtails and red Mary Janes I remember so well. I envy their insouciant play, blissfully unconcerned about disheveled appearances and deferred studying. As an observer, I perceive something very foreign about the scene, yet so familiar...

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...nherent to each person's identity, I have somehow managed to lose the essence of the community. Born Taiwanese but raised American, ethnicity often plays a dominant role in my interactions when I am immersed among ethnic Chinese. I have worn the pigtails and red Mary Janes, I have been dressed in plaids and stripes, and I have even found myself exclaiming an occasional "Ai-yah!" At the same time, I am too tall, too loud, too outspoken. I covet my mother's easy affinity with Chinese people, but this level of familiarity has deteriorated into an overwhelming sense of emptiness over the years. Perhaps when I outgrew the pigtails and red Mary Janes, I also outgrew my status as a full-fledged member of this community.

Scorning the cursory welcomes and feeling foolishly distant, I slink back into the auditorium where the cacophony of voices fades into a soothing hum.