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My mom used to call me a Banana. I’m yellow on the outside, but I’m white on the inside. Being Canadian is pretty different than growing up in Hong Kong where my parents are from. There are many expectations that are different from each country to country. Often times, us Bananas feel like we don’t fit into either. We’re lost in the Ocean somewhere between North America and Asia. Being a black sheep is one thing, but being a banana is another.
Sultry make up, and bright red lipstick is not a very Chinese-good girl look. You want to look extremely natural in your make up. Almost as if you aren’t wearing any. That isn’t the only beauty standard though. To my Hong Kong relatives I’m probably overweight. Chinese girls should be skinny, and look like sticks. You are also supposed to be more demure. You don’t want to be vulgar, and you should marry well.
I also tan very easily which in Chinese culture speaks to my status. Back in the olden days, those who were more tan worked in the farms, and those with porcelain skin lived the rich life. This is why I have a mix of friends who envy my ability to tan, and laugh that I’m constantly trying to hide under the shade to protect myself from tanning.
Growing up Asian, means that you have a lot of expectations too. You take the Asian 6 Pack: The 3 sciences, and the 3 maths. You should become a doctor, or an engineer, or maybe a lawyer. You should not go into the liberal arts. That is a complete no. I’m somewhat of a black sheep. I took an Asian 5 pack, but I was never great at any of those. I come from a family of engineers, doctors, and masters-holders. It’s hard not to feel a little left out at times. It’s like I never quiet ripened. I just stayed banana. It’s funny because I think that my “yellow-ness” somehow makes my creative friends think that I am so intellectual, while my inner “White-ness” makes my intellectual friends think that i’m a creative. So who the hell am I?
Sometimes I think about my middle name. I’ve been creating my portfolio, and a lot of people keep asking me why my logo has a “GY” in the middle. So I go onto explain that my Chinese name is my middle name. This is something that is extremely common for Asian-Canadians. I never try to hide my Chinese name because my grandfather gave it to me. As far as I know, he gave all of the Kwong babies their Chinese names. Our names are also incredibly accurate. Mine means somewhere a long the lines of a Princess, and royalty. Someone who commands attention. Voila, I’m a Picky Princess. When my grandpa passed away a few years ago, it was the hardest summer of my life. Using my middle name lets me stay close to him.
That’s something that I think is very prominent in Asian culture. We have strong family values, and our elders are our leaders. It was pretty difficult communicating with my grandpa due to my failure to learn my own native language, but he always knew how much I loved him. This is one of the things that’s most difficult about growing up Banana. You want to communicate with your family, but sometimes you just can’t.
This also lends itself to one of my biggest worries. That I won’t be “Asian” enough for my future in laws. There are certain expectations that should be met when you’re an Asian girl. You’re kind of torn between following this North American ideal of love, and your traditional cultural views of love.
Ever since I went to visit my grandmother’s home country of Taiwan on an AIESEC internship a few years back, I started to become prouder of my background. No, a Taiwanese person is NOT a Chinese person. Taiwan is independent from a Chinese person, and they will get upset if you insist they are the same. They also speak different languages (Taiwanese vs Mandarin). My parents came from Hong Kong while it was still under British rule, so they consider themselves from Hong Kong not from China. So when someone asks me what my background is, I always say that I’m a 1/4 Taiwanese, and 3/4 Cantonese, but that I’m born in Canada. This was even hard for my AIESEC NCCU in Taiwan to grasp. They couldn’t understand why I was Canadian, but why I wasn’t caucasian.
I’m really proud to be Canadian. I am. It just sometimes all gets a little bit blurry. Especially when it’s already hard enough for you to grasp, let alone someone who isn’t a Banana.
