We’re all Imposters
I got into the elevator behind the maid.
“¿Cuál tierra?” she asked me.
“Cinco,” I replied.
And then she took off into telling me about her day in Spanish. She told me how she couldn’t wait for her lunch break and how she feels bad that I live on the 5th floor since it gets so hot up there without AC. I smiled and nodded along, inserting a few sí’s here and there to indicate I was listening. As much as I understood her, I didn’t think I had enough vocabulary to fully reply. When I’m in situations like this, I debate with myself if it would be more awkward to tell her I’m not what she thinks I am or to just nod along and pretend. I went with the nodding along in this situation.
I don’t think I specifically look Latina. Maybe it’s something in my eyes. A part of me wished that I was a part of the Latinx community. It was so welcoming and made me feel like I was a part of something, but then I’d remember that I was nothing but an imposter.
I had some friends over at my house for a small get together. One of them had never been to my house, and I wasn’t all that close to him.
“There’s a lot of Asian decorations…” he said.
“Yeah, my mom put those up,” I said.
“Hm,” he said.
Several minutes later we walked into the kitchen. “Why is your calendar in Chinese?”
I shrugged. “My mom got it for free from Walgreens.”
I knew the look he was giving me. It happens whenever I try to take part in Chinese culture without the presence of my mother.
I ignored him and he let it go, but I could tell in that instant, he’d made up his mind about me and my family.
Later that night, my parents came home and the look on his face was priceless. He looked from my mom and then to me. His eyes sang an unspoken apology. That’s right, my family doesn’t take part in cultural appropriation.
“Why did you join Hawai’i club if you’re not Hawaiian?”
I flashed back to trying to join Chinese club. One person referred to me as “that white girl.” I never went back.
“To be honest, it’s filled with a bunch of half Asians, and I feel more at home there than anywhere else.”
My friend nodded in understanding.
I still felt like an imposter in Hawai’i club, but at least I looked the part.
I was talking with my friend at a track meet. My dad walked up and said a quick good luck before heading to his seat.
My friend tensed up when he approached.
After he left, I gave her a weird look.
“That was your dad?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“You look nothing like him. Are you adopted?” she asked.
“No.”
She gave me a doubtful look.
“My mom is Chinese. I look nothing like her, either.” I hated having to explain.
My mom was dropping my sister and me off at a summer camp and was talking to the counselors while my sister and I started to interact with the other kids.
One of the counselors pointed at me and said, “She looks more Asian.”
I turned to my sister. “What does that mean?”
She shrugged. “It’s just that you look more Asian than I do.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I asked.
“No.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“No.”
“Then why does it matter?”
“I don’t know.” She seemed annoyed.
I stayed up late that night wondering what made me look more Asian. I supposed it was the coloring. I had darker skin, hair, and eyes. As I got older, though, I got paler and I somewhat felt like I had shed a part of my Chineseness as a result.
I sat with my dad in the car.
“So you’re really enjoying Hawai’i club, huh?” he said.
“Yup.”
There was an awkward silence where I could tell he was trying to form his words.
“Did you ever think about partaking in something Irish?” he asked.
I was relieved that I finally had an answer to that. “I joined the Irish Dancers Club last week, and it’s been really fun.”
My dad smiled.
I didn’t tell him how when I looked in the dance studio mirror, it was pretty obvious that I looked different from the rest of the group. Once performances started, I was sure I’d look like an imposter on stage.
“Do you feel more Asian or white?” my roommate said.
I looked up at her from my desk. “Do I have to choose?”
“Most of the people I know choose.”
I guess this was an unspoken rule I was never told about. “I’m both,” I said. And then I thought to myself, but also neither.
I don’t fully take part in either culture, so in a sense, I’m not a full-fledged member of either community. I don’t speak or look Chinese, I barely know anything about Irish culture. Then again, the more I think about it, the more I realize that we’re all imposters. Whether it’s with a culture, a social group, family, etc. We’re all just pretending to fit in. So is it really that bad to be an imposter?
Photo by Samantha Chandra.
