Comfortable enough in America, Chinatown, and even Hong Kong or Taiwan, we seem to belong everywhere. And because of this, we might also belong nowhere. “Home,” it seems, ends up being a mixed-up notion that must be redefined if it is to have meaning for many of us.
~Phoebe Eng, Warrior Lessons
When I was in Chinese school in New York, author Phoebe Eng came by for a book signing at my school. My parents bought me her book, Warrior Lessons, while I was in class and had her sign it for me. When I received the book, I read through it to learn more about the Asian-American woman’s experience. I remember reading through it every couple of years since then, and now it’s time to read it again. She speaks of a variety of experiences by Asian-American women from around the country, much of which we can relate to.
The quote above is particularly pertinent to my life. Not only did I grow up between the US and China, I also moved from the East Coast to the Midwest and ended up on the West Coast. I can fit in and live comfortably just about anywhere, yet not belong anywhere. It’s the story of my life. And so, whenever people ask me where I’m from, my answer varies each time.
Where am I from? A little bit of everywhere, I’d sometimes reply, then explain the moves I’ve made. When I’m not in the mood to delve too deeply, I’ll just simply say the current place I am living. In China, I’m from America. In America, I’m from Asia. In Europe, I choose. This can sometimes be beneficial and I can choose sides as needed, but of course much of the time I just end up being an outsider. But I’ve never really had a problem with that. In fact, I quite enjoying being “the other” – Eastern to the Westerners, Western to the Easterners, and just plain foreign to foreign countrymen.
The idea of home is also distorted by my multiple moves, which leaves me with no single hometown, no single childhood home, and no single concept of home. Home is sometimes a house, or a town, or wherever my parents are. Home is sometimes where I have been living as of late and home is sometimes the place I am currently most fond of staying at. In a broad sense, home is the United States, where I am most comfortable culturally and linguistically. Yet in a deeper sense, home is China, where my roots are and all of my family still resides. As I like to tell people, it’s complicated. That’s ok though, I don’t mind!
I am perfectly content going to a foreign country like Hong Kong and having people speak to me in Cantonese, assuming I would understand (unfortunately, I only know Mandarin). I am also very happy to be able to hop between my two countries of origin without any major language barriers. And while my notion of home changes almost as much as my physical addresses have changed, I understand that the way we see life and our lives will change over time. So what’s so wrong about having a fluid definition of what makes a home?
