When Asians Rebel

“Oh Jacqui, you rebel Asian.”

A title assigned to me over the years of mathematical failure and a penchant for writing, I have grown to accept it as, quite frankly, the most recognizable aspect of my identity. With its habit of making a daily presence, usually when I dawdled instead of going straight to class, told people that ‘I couldn’t care less’ about an upcoming sac, or declared a dislike for a particular school condition, only recently did I realise that this ‘colloquial’ title was very much based off my race. Hold on, I thought, that isn’t fair. I could not be the only Asian who was not gifted with the grace of numbers, who preferred instead a musical past time and was allowed out after nine, or had more Caucasian friends than she did Asian. However, apparently, in choosing subjects entirely based off humanities, cutting my hair short and even through the act of speaking my mind, I became, not a functioning member of society but, strangely enough, a “rebel”.

When I was young, struggling with clashing cultures resulted in insecurity, a liability to wince when people asked me where I was from, the temptation to deny. It was as though every curious eye was directed not at who I was, but at the colour of my skin, that no matter what answer I produced, people would still force me into the stereotype created by connotation and high VCE scores. Therefore, it was easier, for example, to pick up Italian than to admit I had any sense of my own native tongue (Mandarin or Cantonese), which would’ve cast me aside as “different”. Many times I refused to comment on my heritage, because I was scared of the labels, of the seemingly negative connotations associated to anybody with a non-Caucasian background.

I think I speak for many others when I say that it is tempting to regard such race-based ‘terminology’ as racist. Surely, if it had not been for the colour of my skin, I would not be regarded in such an almost awe-struck fashion. It was not abnormal for people to prefer the arts to the sciences; it was not unique to pursue a career in film and literature rather than law. And yet the speculation continued to haunt me even out of high school.  I can remember at my first Maitreya Festival, the incredibly cute blonde stoner asked me mid-make out; “so where does your Asian-ness come from?”

And now for the revelation: Yes, I learnt to grow the fuck up. Especially after five days of 24/7 doof, I understood that there is nothing remotely offensive about others asking about your racial background (provided there isn’t any obscene inflection or insult). It’s the same as people asking for the origins of your leather jacket, haircut, even manicure. Genuine curiosity should not be mistaken for otherwise – just as Jeffrey Campbell Lita spikes for actual fashion statements.

In accepting my race as an inherent part of who I am, it has been easier for me to accept myself. I am proud to have a heritage that differs to those around me but most of all, I am happy to be an example that stereotypes are not there to be adhered or obeyed. Nobody, no matter how stereotypical they may seem at first glance, fit completely into any mould. And as long as I am accepted, then there is no reason why my identity cannot be forever fused with my background. After all, if it had not been for my parents, perhaps I too would’ve fitted the stereotypes. But, in almost a paradox, by breaking out, I was invited in.

Besides, there is a certain respect associated with the term “rebel”. And I cannot say I don’t enjoy the certain…privileges that come with it.

Originally published on yourfriendshouse.com, 2013.