The Journey to Self Definition by Cassaundra Lui (pg

The Journey to Self Definition

By Cassaundra Lui

My mother is Black. My father is Asian. That makes me half Black, half Asian…right? Growing up, it was always my mom, my dad, and myself. From a young age, I was exposed to situations that initiated my struggles with racial and ethnic identity. Evidently I inherited my father’s Chinese genes more prominently than I did my mother’s Trinidadian genes. With my dark hair that is often worn straight, my nose that lacks a defined bridge, and my droopy eyelids, at first glance, it is understandable to assume I am fully Asian, however this is hardly factual. When I was younger, I remember strangers mistaking my mother as my babysitter and assuming my Asian aunt was my guardian instead. I recall several people asking me, “Are you Filipino?” , which only heightened my confusion. Being from such a diverse family, it was inevitable to have people judge us. However, the judgment only progressed when my family of three became a family of two, and so did my skepticism about who I truly was. - 5 -

At the age of nine, my parents got divorced, leaving just me and my mom. Though the pain of my father leaving was profound, my relationship with my mother flourished beyond expectations. We began doing everything together; from spending Saturdays at the mall to running errands every Sunday, we became inseparable. However, with my father out of the picture and the visible discrepancies between me and my mother, the severity of my identity crisis began to consume me. As I grew older, I took notice of the way my mom and I were treated compared to other single-mother families. To this day, when we go out in public, we continue to receive inappropriate remarks regarding our relationship. At restaurants, it is typical for waiters to ask if we want two bills instead of one, which could be because they assume we are not related. Furthermore, when I go to the liquor store with my mom, she gets asked for proof of identification to ensure she is of age to consume alcohol, yet she never gets carded when she is alone. Presumably, this occurs out of the assumption that we are friends rather than mother and daughter. We commonly get mistaken and occasionally asked if we are “sisters” or “friends”, and though this may appear as a compliment, we both know it has nothing to do with how young my mother really looks. Gradually, as my struggles with racial identity intensified, I was left questioning my relationship with my mother. I recall asking her if I was adopted because I found it impossible to believe someone who looks like her could be related to me. It hurt my mother to discover that her only child was struggling to believe we were related, and it hurt me even more to have such doubts running through my mind.

The way my mother and I were treated not only affected the way I viewed our relationship, but the way I perceived myself too. As I developed, so did my insecurities with my physical appearance. In addition to coping with the strong disapproval I had for my facial features and body image, I undertook the stress of trying to make myself appear more “mixed” to convince those who were doubting my ethnicity, that I was biracial. Having people tell me, “You’re not Black” and “You’re fully Asian” did not seem to bother me at first, but later began to agitate me beyond my control. Receiving this disrespectful commentary from people who had no real significance in my life was painful enough, but hearing it come from friends who had met my family in the past was beyond me.

Additionally, I had trouble dealing with others’ perceptions of me. I was well aware that people referred to me as “Cassaundra, that Asian girl”, which was incredibly aggravating. Similar to many other people of colour, I have experienced a considerable amount of racism in the past. Looking back, I remember someone telling me they were going to call me “Cassandra” instead of Cassaundra, because Cassaundra is too Asian to pronounce. I have had people use anti-Asian racist stereotypes against me, such as asking me to do their math homework for them because supposedly all Asians are successful in the subject. Noticeably, all the racism I have encountered has been centered around me being Asian, not Black or mixed. It came to a point in my life where the influence of people’s perceptions of me was so powerful, I was left asking myself, “Am I even Black?”, “Am I fully Asian?”. With forceful determination to have my Blackness acknowledged, I drove myself mad attempting to prove myself through my physical appearance. I would spend a fortune on curly hair products, aggressively scrunching my hair until my fingers were sore to enhance as much of my curl pattern as possible. I would sit out in the sun for several hours during the summertime to acquire the perfect tan. I would try to emphasize the fullness of my lips by pouting and pushing them out as far as physically possible. I would even compare myself to other Chinese people to demonstrate that I look different from them. At this point, it was recognizable that I was not only attempting to convince others I was mixed, but myself too. Every time someone would disregard my Blackness, I would cry out of frustration, as it seemed nothing I did could be enough to convince people to believe me. Correspondingly, when people would acknowledge my Blackness, it felt like I won the lottery.

A common problem among biracial people is feeling the need to switch identities between certain groups of people. Growing up in a predominantly White area, it was difficult for me to meet other people of colour. Instead, the majority of my friends were generally White. As a result, I adapted certain customs and habits that could be considered “whitewashed”. When I am surrounded by White people, I often feel excluded and find myself playing it safe by avoiding certain topics during conversations to bypass any possibility of awkwardness. However, when I am around people of colour, I still lack that sense of inclusion, feeling like I am too whitewashed to associate myself with them.

Similarly, once my parents got divorced and I started visiting my extended families separately, I noticed the divide between myself and them. It felt as though I was not Asian enough for my father’s side and not Black enough for my mother’s. With my mother’s family, it was hard for me to feel like I belonged, as it was apparent that I looked and acted so differently from them. With my father’s family, I repeatedly felt neglected. I have observed that my half White cousins receive kinder treatment than I usually do. Likely, this relates to my relatives' biased opinions against Black people and their preference for White people. Such incidents enhanced my disorientation, as it only made it harder for me to establish my true identity while it was constantly changing.

In our contemporary society that seemingly encourages diversity and inclusivity, I find it absurd how we continuously and unconsciously pick and choose how to identify certain people. The ignorance of society has influenced us to internally assume people’s backgrounds solely based on their physical appearances. The colour of our skin or the texture of our hair should not be evidence enough to determine who and what we are. When it came to me and my mother, I knew we would be treated differently if we looked otherwise, given that factors of anti-Black and anti-Asian racism were involved. I knew that if a White mother and Asian daughter were seen together in public, people would assume she was her adoptive parent and not her nanny. I knew that if a White mother and White daughter who lacked a resemblance were seen together in public, people would still assume they were related and not “friends”. I knew that if I was always with my father instead of my mother, no one would insinuate we were anything but that of family, simply because we share more visible similarities. It was important to me that people acknowledged the entirety of my mixed race. When people chose to ignore it, they chose to ignore me. I allowed others' words and opinions to overpower and control my dignity. After years of struggling to define myself, I still continue to face difficulties with understanding who I truly am. Despite this, I have begun to realize that I am not the problem; society and its flawed system is. It does not and should not matter what others believe to be true, because the only person who knows the absoluteness of my life is me. My mother is Black. My father is Asian. That makes me half Black, half Asian, and that is indisputable.