I’m 22 years old, and I’m coming to realize that this Taylor Swift year comes with a bit of an ever-looming reality that, especially as a woman, I should start thinking about whether or not I want to start structuring my future around the expectation that I will start my own family. And in this planning stage, I’m starting to realize that at some point, if I do decide to have children, I’m going to have to raise them. Which sounds ridiculous because that’s what parents are supposed to do. Parent. Guide. Provide.
Except now when I think about my future children, I start to worry a little. The past few years of my life have been a constant internal struggle about my own identity. The continuous wavering of my confidence in my identity as an Asian female is an indication of how difficult the issue of navigating an Asian-American can be for someone who is of a mature age.
The problem is that many times times, I don’t even feel Asian.
As I’ve written previously, I find myself in a grey area with my hyphenated identity. I’m Asian-American. I’m neither full Asian, nor full American. This is a struggle that I deal with personally and internally.
But when it is time for me to teach my children, what will I lean to?
Of course, my answer must include a number of factors—most importantly, the background of this mysterious future partner. If I ultimately decide to have children and my partner happens to not be Chinese, or even Asian, how Chinese will my children be? Should I attempt to teach them Mandarin? Do I want them to check off the “Asian/Pacific Islander” box on official forms?
What about if my partner is also Asian, but not ethnically Chinese? At face value, my children would clearly look Asian. However, to assume that my family’s experiences and background are perfectly aligned with, say, those of a Japanese family, would be ill-informed in that I would be failing to recognize differences in nuanced traditions and cultures developed over each of our countries’ steeped histories. How will I navigate explaining these details to a child?
And even if I happen to raise a family with another American-Born-Chinese (ABC), there are still so many questions to grapple with. Do I give them Chinese names? Do I enroll them in Chinese school? Do I tell them to treat their elders with that extra degree of reverence? Do I expect them to root for China during the Olympics at all?
Regardless of other factors, my children are going to be biologically Asian when they inherit a family background, genes and appearances of a Chinese individual. But it is up to me, their mother, to decide how much of the culture I wish to instill in them—and at this point in time, I wouldn’t know how to begin. I currently live in so much personal confusion that I wouldn’t know how to guide another person through this world as an Asian-American. I myself don’t feel like I am a completely adequate bearer of the title of “Asian.”
While I contemplate this hypothetical, I also have to recognize that this concern of mine is playing out in the lives of others every day. I’m lucky to have had real, eye-opening conversations with some of my half-Asian and other mixed-raced friends. This concept of embodying racial intersectionality is something that many of them think about just as often as I think about my Asian-American-ness. As Americans continue to intermingle beyond racial boundaries, these issues become more and more confusing while simultaneously becoming more and more ubiquitous. I greatly admire the mixed-race men and women of this generation, who have acted as pioneers in navigating this space.
Labeling oneself as an Asian-American is meant to signify the existence not only between two spaces, but also between two generations. I am starting to develop deep pride in being Asian, and I almost fear that Asian-ness in my family will continue to splinter away with each generational division. But I also recognize that I cannot expect every person carrying any fraction of my DNA who comes after me to 100 percent love being Asian. After all, that is an expectation to which I don’t even hold myself.
I recognize how this may be an overinflation of an issue that isn’t necessarily mine to begin with. It will be up to my children to ultimately determine how much they want to define themselves by their Asian identity.
And honestly, I don’t even root for China during the Olympics. I pretty much always root America, because I still see myself as American first and foremost. By the nature of living in the States, I imagine my children will be the same way. But I want to try and help my future children understand and feel comfortable with their Asian identities in whatever way I can, particularly knowing how much being ethnically Chinese occupies my own consciousness as I move throughout this world.
By having an Asian mother, my children inevitably will have to face stereotypes, expectations—and perhaps even hate—from the outside world, as well as from within themselves. Right now, I believe this reality to be true. Perhaps by the time they are grown, the perceptions they face will be different. Regardless, I am committed to equipping them with the tools to handle their identity the best that they can.
Then again, I am but 22 years old. The best thing I can probably do for my future children is to become confident and comfortable in my own, gloriously Asian skin first.
Amy Wang is a Trinity senior. Her column typically runs on alternate Mondays.
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Amy Wang is a Trinity senior. Her column runs on alternate Thursdays.