Living in Liminal Space

By Tammy

DESCRIBE WHAT YOU’RE BRINGING: _____.  The cursor blinked back at me and I hesitated momentarily before typing “Japanese curry.” I was preparing to bring a meal to someone post-surgery—someone I was still getting to know. I think she knows I’m Chinese—she asked if I made any Chinese dishes when we spoke over the phone—but we really hadn’t talked much about our family ancestry. I knew her family liked Chinese food, but in the end, making a Japanese curry dish was going to be easier (plus the quality of the dish wouldn’t be much impacted upon reheating). Yet, in those seconds of hesitation, I fretted… 

Did my specifying “Japanese” matter? (Yes, I had decided.)

Would this naming result in confusion about my actual ethnicity? (I wasn’t sure…) 

What is the difference between a Japanese and Chinese curry anyway? (This I would need to google.)  

Is my uncertainty about that answer ok? (Yes, I reminded myself, once again shoving the feeling of being an imposter aside.)  

What does this say about my Chinese-ness? (Nothing. I don’t have to justify being Chinese to anyone. I just AM.)  

Sigh.

Why do I suddenly feel on the verge of tears? (This will have to be filed under “unpack later” when I have more time.)

Welcome to the inner workings of my mind and a glimpse into the complexities of being Asian in America. A glimpse, nothing more. My experience certainly can’t be generalized for all Asian Americans or even all Chinese Americans. However, I am a second generation immigrant of Han Chinese descent. My grandparents fled China after the Chinese Civil War, with each side resettling in two very different countries: my paternal side in Taiwan, and my maternal side in Mauritius. In fact, my mother identifies as Mauritian first and foremost. So, while “Chinese” is an accurate description of my ethnic heritage and often the simplest way to describe my cultural background, it is incomplete.  

The inability to fit into neat national and cultural categories has largely defined my existence. Friends and family in China, Taiwan, and Mauritius see me as American. And yet, to many Americans, I am still seen as “other.” Despite my perfect mid-western accent and natural born citizenship, they see a foreigner. This bothers me less than it used to, but I know the perception is still there.

In his article, The Silenced Minority writer Andrew Y. Lee describes this kind of existence as living in liminal space—of always being on a threshold, never fully in one category or the other.  When convenient, Asian Americans are the model minority, lauded for a strong work ethic and emphasis on family. But when needing a scapegoat, Asian Americans become the “Chinese virus,” where even people who look Chinese become objects of violence, fear and scorn. 

Growing up, I unknowingly succumbed to the false flattery of the “model minority” label, unable to disentangle the praise from the inherent lie. Truth be told, I am still extricating myself from it.  But I know this: I will not be used as a pawn to uphold America’s racial hierarchy. I refuse to be subjugated any longer. 

This is why, as a Chinese Mauritian American Christian, I’m grateful for Lee’s piece and for the collection of articles found in Keeping the Faith: Reflections on Politics and Christianity in the Era of Trump & Beyond. Described by the editors as an “anthology of dissent,” this collection of essays are “cross-generational, multiethnic, and located at different places on the *political spectrum.” We need to keep broadening the conversation around race and politics in this country. We cannot isolate our conversations to black-white binaries or single-issue perspectives. This country is far more complex than that and we deserve better.

* In all fairness, I should note that despite variances in political leanings, each contributor has determined they will not be voting for Donald Trump in November. That fact alone might cause a supporter of Trump to cry “foul play!” and bring on a barrage of critique, though I suspect those inclined to reading this blog and to supporting ARG have drawn the same conclusion as the book’s contributors, or—at the very least—are still wrestling with how best to vote their conscience.