Recently, on a trip back to Taiwan, the country of my heritage and my birth, I was stuck at how much an outsider I was. I had gone back to Taiwan many times when I was younger, but this was the first time I that went back on my own, without parental supervision, without hovering relatives paving the way. I wanted to go back on my own, to finally, experience the Taiwan that I have been telling everyone about for years.
I am a Chinese American. I am proud of my dual citizenship and my dual cultures. I tell everyone that I am both the "ying" and the "yang", experiencing the best of both worlds. I look upon my plain American friends with pity, for how would they know the joys of being so culturally unique? I had the ancient heritage and traditions of China, with the freedom and style of America. If only everyone could be this lucky.
Because I held onto this belief, I didn't mind that I was an outcast in America. Oh, of course I have lots of wonderful white American friends, as well as Chinese ones. Of course we all treated each other as equals, for were we not friends? We talked about our uniqueness, and never our differences, and yet, never once did I forget that I was Chinese. The clothes that were designed for bodies taller and leggier then I. Models that were blonder and more blue eyed then I. Television shows that only had Asians as a stereotypical joke or as the faithful sidekick. Little, subtle things. Nothing that would ever make me feel discriminated against. But definitely things to remind me that, in this great melting pot of diversity, I was just a little too diverse.
So, when I went back to Taiwan by myself, for the first time, I was not scared. My parents insisted that I speak Chinese at home, and while I couldn't be a linguist, my Chinese was fairly good, and almost accentless. Years of living off of cheeseburgers and gorging on pizza, didn't ruin my palate for traditional Chinese meals, rather it made me crave them even more. I packed only jeans and t-shirts, to blend into the country, ready to buy a cool looking belt or scarf that will mark me as "one of the natives". I was ready for my trip, to finally be able to be one of the crowd, than the one that stands out.
Finally, to experience Taiwan; the half remembered dreams from my childhood, and the stories my Taiwan raised cousins would tell. To be able to visit a place, where I am not constantly reminded of my slanted eyes, my flat cheekbones, my yellow skin. To be able to walk past a reflective surface with a throng of people, and not feel shock that my face is the only Asian face that looks back. To finally feel like I belong.
But...
Then I discovered that the Taiwan I wanted to experience, I am twenty years too American to discover. My accent is flawed, my voice no longer held the pure lyrical quality of native Chinese. My actions too bold, my thoughts too foreign, my beliefs too new. Although I tried to fight it, after three weeks, I had to admit defeat. No matter how I dressed, no matter where I went, I was nothing more than a tourist.
My eyes, face, hair, body and genes are Chinese, but my mind is too American. I could not accept the mindset of the women, whose sole purpose is to snare a rich husband. I could not accept the lack of professional respect the men gave me. I could not live with the smog, the dirty streets, the insane drivers. I could not live with their crazy politics, nor with the unconscionable lack of due process, and over ambitious school systems. I could not live in this world, my last bastion of belonging. My last chance to fit in. An American mind, trapped in a Chinese body...
And my soul...that is neither and both.
I am neither Chinese, nor American, but a mixture of the two. I have been lucky enough to gleen the best of both societies, but I can never really feel comfortable in either. Neither Chinese nor American, I am accepted by neither, nor rejected. Forever in limbo, without a country to call my own...