Color Me Twice: Hapa-style

"Hey...what are you?"

I've been asked this question countless times, and even though I'm quite used to it, there's still something awkward about the exchange.  What am I?  I understand that as humans we need to categorize our surroundings.  We see a person and begin to process what their age, gender, race, and class might be. It's how we make sense of the world.  I realize that when a person sees me, they're not sure where to check the race box.  I usually check "other."

Certainly, being an "other" has it perks.  I like that people wonder.  I'll get auditions for a "eurasian," or "mixed-race" role.  I've been told that I "blended really well," which makes me sound like a smoothie, but I'll take a compliment as readily as the next girl.  Despite all this,  my "other-ness" can still be a point of contention.

"Well, you've got a very exotic, ambiguous look...that's very two years ago.  It's not a bad thing, but the novelty has worn off." - Hollywood Agent

I didn't realize my face was out of style.

Recently, a casting director commented that my head shot looked "too white."  "You look more Asian in person, and you don't want to make the casting director look like an idiot when you walk in the room."  I don't know how to look more Asian or less white, or vice versa...Either way, it comes down to that question again: "What are you?"  

At various stages in my life, this question has affected me in different ways.  When I was in second and third grade, I lived on an army base in South Korea.  There were other kids with Korean moms and black or white American military dads, so I never felt like an "other."  It was only when we ventured off the base and into the city of Seoul that my appearance garnered attention.  What I didn't understand was that most everyone in Korea is...well, Korean... and because I looked different, I was kind of an interesting novelty. People would point at me and my brother and giggle, or they'd pinch my cheeks and say something I didn't understand.  "Why are they staring at me?" I'd ask my mom.  "Because they like you," she'd say.  But it didn't make sense to me.  I didn't feel liked; I felt embarrassed.  

It wasn't until a couple years later that I felt I had to define "what" I was.  My family was stationed in El Paso, TX where over 80% of the population is Mexican-American or Mexican.  I wanted what every adolescent wants: to belong.  However, there was dominate culture and language that I was not a part of..  Instead, I was "the Chinese girl."  I wanted to scream, "I'M NOT CHINESE, I'M NOT EVEN ASIAN!"  I didn't feel Asian.  In my mind, I didn't even look Asian.  My mom was Asian, not me.  So what was I?  White?  No.  I'm half...yeah, I'm half-asian.

It's funny to go through life thinking you're half of something.  It doesn't sound complete.    As I've gotten older, I'll often identify myself as Asian.  I make jokes about my Asian-ess and it seems to put people at ease.  Yet, when I visit my mom's side of the family in Korea, I'm the American cousin...I'm white.  And really, I AM that too.  There's a book by Kip Fulbeck that deals with this topic specifically.  It's called Part Asian, 100% Hapa.  "Hapa" is taken from the Hawaiian word for "half" and was once a derogatory term.  It's now a term of pride for many people whose mixed-race heritage includes Asian or Pacific Island descent.

ha•pa (hä’pä) adj. 1. Slang. of mixed ethnic heritage with partial roots in Asian and/or Pacific Islander ancestry. n. 2. Slang. a person of such ancestry. [der./Hawaiian: hapa haole. (half white)]


In Part Asian, 100% Hapa, Kip Fulbeck photographed numerous Hapas and asked the question: "What are you?"  Here's how some of them answered:

My mom was raised in a different culture than me, but because of her, I grew up differently than my dad.  When I look in the mirror, I can see both my parents. I no longer feel angry or embarrassed when someone asks, "What are you?"  I am not one thing or another; I am both; I'm different.  And I'm happy.