Artwork by Keira Whitbread

“What are you?”

The most recent time I had to explain my ethnicity was to a customer at the retail store I work at. I already knew all about her: she was married with two young kids, had recently joined a walking group and was indulging in some retail therapy on her lunch break. Her blonde hair was very put together, swept neatly in a tidy bun, with two single strands falling around her face. Her work attire matched her well-kept hair style: her suit looked like it was ironed and pressed and even her handbag was a classic, black structured tote. She was the type of woman who categorised the cereals in her pantry in alphabetical order. Albeit she was very friendly and an easy customer to look after. As I was processing her sale she stopped, her eyes narrowing in on me and asked “What are you?”

This question tends to come up a lot in my everyday life. Usually it’s people trying to guess where I’m from. Figuring out my background becomes a game of Cluedo for strangers and I admittedly take a lot of pride whenever they’re wrong. 

“I’m Malaysian” I replied giving her my retail smile. 

“Oh really. You don’t look like it!”

I haven’t worked out whether this is a compliment yet. 

“Yeah, I was born in Malaysia but my mum and dad are Chinese and Indian.” 

“Oh! But you’re Malaysian?” 

At this point I could tell she was already losing interest in my background now that her purchase had gone through and I was passing her the bag over the counter. So I went for the easy answer and told her yes, ready to be done with this conversation.  

“You know, I would’ve thought you were from Thailand!” 

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Coming from three different cultural backgrounds means it can be difficult to identify as just one overarching ethnicity. Within Malaysian communities, it’s not unheard of to be Chinese-Malaysian or Indian-Malaysian as its population is made up mostly of Malays, Chinese and Indians. Individuals who are the epitome of all three however, are few and far between. As someone who is all three, I find it hard to fully embrace both sides of my identity without somewhat displacing the other. When I’m involved in the traditions and practices of the Chinese part of me such as Chinese New Year, I unconsciously reject the Indian side of me in order to embody and play the part of Chinese Emma. Despite this, my blended identity means that I cannot fully belong to one cultural group because of the notion that I’m not enough of one or the other. 

When collecting data, The Australian Bureau of Statistics gathers information on distinct ancestries as opposed to ethnicity or race. Respondents of the data collected could select only two ancestries that applied to their identity. 

Growing up in Malaysia and having moved to Australia, I’m always asked many questions about my cultural background. I’ve started to think that I should get cards printed with the frequently asked questions people ask about my ethnicity and pass them out whenever I meet new people. 

Why do you celebrate Chinese New Year? You’re not Chinese.

Yes I am. I am also Indian.

So then why don’t you celebrate Deepavali?

Because that’s a Hindu tradition and I’m just Indian. 

What do you mean you can’t speak Tamil or Hokkien?

Sometimes Asian parents don’t always teach their kids the languages they can speak. It happens. 

I learned fairly quickly in life that I’m some sort of cultural hybrid – an individual raised within multiple cultures and therefore identify with many. Explaining this concept to people has become more routine than brushing my teeth. It’s not something people understand very easily. 

Some of my Western friends never really quite understood the idea. 

So you’re Malaysian? 

Well yes, but my dad is Indian and my mum is Chinese.

But you’re Malaysian right?

I always found it difficult to say “Yes! I’m Malaysian” because a passing statement like that could never really encapsulate how much my Chinese and Indian upbringing impacts my identity. So then I’d run off into this spiel about how my father’s ancestors are from India and my mother’s ancestors are from China and how they both settled in Malaysia many years ago.

Despite my eloquent explanations about immigration and colonialism, the conversation would ultimately end when the person said, “But as a whole you’re Malaysian right? Like if you had to pick one thing?” 

I would sigh and say, “Yeah, sure.”

It’s not just people who fall outside my race who don’t understand. Explaining to my Indian friends in Australia who are born in India that I’m not only Malaysian-Indian but I’m also half-Indian, made me some sort of trope. Alas most of them questioned how and why I don’t know how to speak any dialects of the Indian language. Most of the Indian food I eat comes with a Malaysian twist so other Indian kids in the playground would typecast it as “fake Indian food”. Being born with a Western name, meant that I was hailed as a “coconut”. Worst yet, most Indians are outraged when I tell them I’ve seen maybe three Bollywood films in my life (sorry to any Bollywood lovers out there but it’s just not my thing). At one time an Indian friend remarked that I was “not really Indian” because the only Bollywood actor I could confidently name is Shah Rukh Khan. 

Being visibly dark-skinned meant that I sometimes felt like an outsider when it came to identifying as Chinese. It’s the physical part of me I cannot be rid of in order to feel more Chinese. Most people don’t believe me when I tell them. My Year Eight science teacher flat out accused me of lying to him when I told him I was half Chinese. It wasn’t a classroom discussion I thought I would have. We were supposed to be discussing protons and electrons. 

Other Chinese people could not recognise or acknowledge me as Chinese. My mama would take me out with her to the markets in Malaysia when I was younger. The ladies at the stalls would ask my grandmother who I was, “ini anak siapa?” They couldn’t hide the surprise when they realised I was her granddaughter. 

The long explanatory conversations detailing my heritage to people who don’t understand it, leaves me feeling exasperated. It’s a burden that often goes unspoken. It’s a responsibility that people put on me to explain my identity as if I am the sole representative of all Asians like me. The longer people don’t grasp the concept, the more I’m trying to prove that I’m Asian enough. That I’m Indian enough. That I’m Chinese enough. I want to be enough of one culture without having to ignore or prove the rest of my identity. I live in some sort of liminal cultural space that involves me repositioning my mind and mannerisms in order to fit into a particular culture when I need to. 

For anyone, illustrating our identity to others can be a burdensome process. We spend our money on DNA kits, travelling to the countries of our ancestors, or trying to find biological parents. Not everyone can check just one race on their immigration form. It’s a simple process of printing out a pretty label and putting it on my forehead for all to see. I would need a few more labels. 

I can somewhat understand people’s need to slot me into a category or categories, to box me into a culture. It’s also in my nature to categorise and label things in order to make sense of things easily (you should see my laptop’s desktop file system). Personally, though, there’s a more flexible way to explain who I am. 

I’m half Indian and Chinese but born in Malaysia. I know exactly which Chinese New Year cookies to look for at the Asian grocers every year. But I’ll have to order them in English because I can’t speak Cantonese. Take me out to eat food and I’ll surely prefer to eat a curry laksa over a burger. I look great in an Indian lehenga. But don’t ask me how to pleat a saari. Even if it appears that I’ve got a lot of gaps in my culture, I’m just enough of all the different cultures that make me who I am.