On For(a)ging (For) Identity in the Absence of Example

2011. Eagan, Minnesota.

“Where have you been? Living under a rock?”

A slight affront.

This was my coworker’s response after I admitted that I didn’t know what she was talking about. She was about my age, but more confident, blonde, and with deep, Midwestern roots.

Sure. That “rock” you speak of is the shelter my parents bought with their blood, sweat and tears. And I don’t mean that only figuratively. They left behind everything they knew, along with deceased family members that they were never able to commemorate, to give us a better life. That meant acclimating to a new culture. It meant beginning anew as displaced members of society. But we were safe, and we had opportunity, and that’s what mattered.

I became quiet and slowly saw myself out — a subtle exit for one unprepared to deal with shame.

Though trivial, even trivial instances add up, especially a lifetime of them.

Esteem is a fragile thing. It’s the voice in our heads that suggest how we should estimate ourselves, manifesting at every turn. Founded in pride, it pushes us to move forward. Founded in shame, it pulls us to retreat.

Like you, my esteem is shaped by my upbringing, my environment, my (re)actions, my collective experience.

Like you, it is influenced by what I do on my downtime — indulging in books, television and film — relating to characters and comparing their experiences against my own, because this is how I draw inspiration, dialogue (/monologue), clarity and meaning.

But perhaps unlike you, I didn’t know how it felt to be represented as the central character. It’s as though I’m not even the center of my own universe—someone else is, and I am just that somebody’s someone. Because in the absence of Asian-Americans at the forefront of film, it becomes ridiculously easy to heed that voice that tells us to retreat. 

I knew this was a problem, but it was one to which I became unwittingly desensitized, because there were few things in my life that gave me clarity in my heritage.

Fortunately, I’m lucky to know other Asian-Americans who did NOT retreat, showing me what was possible and leading by an example that I now determinedly follow. Not everyone is that fortunate though.

I suppose there’s a silver lining in all this. Without example, one can choose to create their own. This requires discipline, intention, and an awareness of what it’d otherwise be like to remain on autopilot. Perhaps, though, one must be lucky enough, privileged enough, to be afforded the opportunities that build on these traits—opportunities that teach a person how to think critically, act strategically, and ultimately, become an empowered individual.

This is why Crazy, Rich Asians struck a chord with me.

It felt oddly comforting to be wholly represented — oddly, because it was entirely new to me; what I had been missing, all these years, suddenly became palpable.