CW/TW: mentions of mental health
A settler-immigrant's confession of surviving through cultural-abandonment and conditioned self-assimilation into (colonial-)Canadian society: Taiwan is a homeland deep in memories yet further more distant in the courage/will to remember... Breathing through the in-betweens of cultural/national/ancestral identities/expressions/teachings/learnings of belonging/worth, she is lost within herself. It's not that she's trying to be someone she's not, nor is it because she is uncertain of who she is. It is her art of just trying to be: nothing, and everything, all at once, in a breath...
I believe that in a way, my parents were visionaries the way they prepared our family to be global/transnational citizens. Not only because my true/trans identity was nurtured transnationally, but because I know my parents also planned for future possibilities, as survival. A modern, privileged warfare of bodies/labours in trade for the (North)American dream, and I dare say this because I know of my immigrant status through the Canadian government to be an evidence of the continuous oppression/genocide against its First Nations/Indigenous/Native peoples. Yet the (North)American dream is a lie, and now I couldn't help but wonder of my worth/purpose here on this land... Going back to my roots as healing, I feel the call to confess of my cultural wandering, in order to serve and love my families/communties better.
Taiwan to Singapore: island to island, a subtropical island in East-Asia to a tropical island even smaller in Southeast-Asia. I remember learning "proper" English to be the priority for those years of young, yet I also remember coming home crying, from bullying and social rejection/isolation... Growing up in Taiwan and leaving at the age of 9, looking back I know I began seeking belonging then while introduced to new diversity and multiculturalism with children starting to practice socio-political, categorical call for groupings. It was a private Chinese-speaking/teaching elementary school a long bus ride away that I remembered studying hard to test into. I remembered walking to the bus when it was still dark in the mornings; I would often fall asleep, miss my stop, and get lost but luckily as a 9/10 years old light-skinned "boy" in a strict/lawful society/neighbourhood that I've always had assistance/guidance when needed... Then on a parent-teacher day, I remembered sitting beside my mother with her asking about my issues of making friends and fitting in, and I remembered my teacher saying that there seems to be no issues with my grades and that I was good/obedient in the classroom. I was a "good boy"; contrast to my brother fighting, acting out, and skipping schools, which is why we had to move to Malaysia after too, because he couldn't adapt. Yet reflecting now, I really appreciated my brother's rage and resistance against authority during those times growing up when I was learning submission as survival, even though he was acting out due to the pains of family neglect, social isolation, and cycles of abuse/abandonment. We also must silently admit of the ways our travel stories aligning with our mother's survival: being a woman fleeing from pains of silence, family/work pressures, patterns of domestic violence, marriage instability, and the foundations of her mental illness... Then in Malaysia, more violence and patriarchal power for my brother to cope, and more bullying of daily physical violence and sexual harassment as well as social rejection for my femininity. Tropical, we were in an international elementary school in Kuala Lumpur; I remembered finding joys in the walks to English/Math tutors/classrooms but passionately learning words in Malay to sing its national anthem... I remembered being lonely, but okay with it; I remembered loving my solitude even through the uncertainties of being in-between.
I believe that in a way, my parents were visionaries the way they prepared our family to be global/transnational citizens. Not only because my true/trans identity was nurtured transnationally, but because I know my parents also planned for future possibilities, as survival. A modern, privileged warfare of bodies/labours in trade for the (North)American dream, and I dare say this because I know of my immigrant status through the Canadian government to be an evidence of the continuous oppression/genocide against its First Nations/Indigenous/Native peoples. Yet the (North)American dream is a lie, and now I couldn't help but wonder of my worth/purpose here on this land... Going back to my roots as healing, I feel the call to confess of my cultural wandering, in order to serve and love my families/communties better.
Taiwan to Singapore: island to island, a subtropical island in East-Asia to a tropical island even smaller in Southeast-Asia. I remember learning "proper" English to be the priority for those years of young, yet I also remember coming home crying, from bullying and social rejection/isolation... Growing up in Taiwan and leaving at the age of 9, looking back I know I began seeking belonging then while introduced to new diversity and multiculturalism with children starting to practice socio-political, categorical call for groupings. It was a private Chinese-speaking/teaching elementary school a long bus ride away that I remembered studying hard to test into. I remembered walking to the bus when it was still dark in the mornings; I would often fall asleep, miss my stop, and get lost but luckily as a 9/10 years old light-skinned "boy" in a strict/lawful society/neighbourhood that I've always had assistance/guidance when needed... Then on a parent-teacher day, I remembered sitting beside my mother with her asking about my issues of making friends and fitting in, and I remembered my teacher saying that there seems to be no issues with my grades and that I was good/obedient in the classroom. I was a "good boy"; contrast to my brother fighting, acting out, and skipping schools, which is why we had to move to Malaysia after too, because he couldn't adapt. Yet reflecting now, I really appreciated my brother's rage and resistance against authority during those times growing up when I was learning submission as survival, even though he was acting out due to the pains of family neglect, social isolation, and cycles of abuse/abandonment. We also must silently admit of the ways our travel stories aligning with our mother's survival: being a woman fleeing from pains of silence, family/work pressures, patterns of domestic violence, marriage instability, and the foundations of her mental illness... Then in Malaysia, more violence and patriarchal power for my brother to cope, and more bullying of daily physical violence and sexual harassment as well as social rejection for my femininity. Tropical, we were in an international elementary school in Kuala Lumpur; I remembered finding joys in the walks to English/Math tutors/classrooms but passionately learning words in Malay to sing its national anthem... I remembered being lonely, but okay with it; I remembered loving my solitude even through the uncertainties of being in-between.
"My lonliness keeps me going..."
- Ms. Rajput, 42, transgender woman in India
Through the years of social rejection and violence growing up as a feminine child/"boy" in Asia had me believing that my liberation of truth somehow needs to be credited to Canada as well. However I do come to realize that my trans-journey really is transnational, international, and definitely racially-impacted as well. I have learnt to grow/navigate as a woman/femme from the examples I have witnessed/felt, from the coloured feminine figures/spirits of the pacific oceans: the roots of my being and the waves of my self-identification/realization/actualization. And while the nurturing of my femininity in Asia was a lonely practice, I look back to give thanks for the silent teachings, in which I also give credit to myself, for listening/learning, for planting/watering a seed, for growing/fighting/blooming/surviving...
I remembered promising myself to find belonging in Canada no matter what and to stop being bullied at schools. I remembered sitting in front of our motel's room's TV, watching Disney/Nickelodeon at the age of 12, repeating words I was trying to understand, wishing to wash away any traces of an Asian accent. I remembered embarrassment for miscommunication while helping my parents with the bank, mail, the schools, the house-viewings...etc, but telling myself that it was worth the practice, so I can be more perfect in times of need. Somewhere along the way I realized that I was never able to fit in through gendered behaviours/norms, especially after coming out as gay/queer at 13. I started making friends and finding community as white cis-girls' "gay best friend" in rural suburbia, I remembered flamboyance as my only protection against this colonial-cis-heteronormative patriarchy, I remembered admitting queerness as a way desperate for social-understanding/inclusion, no matter how pitiful/performative... I remembered mistaking white femininity as an ideal/escape, maybe even an ally against the violence at/from home.
Thus the reality of my white/west-washing survival, my psychological abandonment of culture/heritage, and my socio-political assimilation/submission: all for desperate feelings of belonging with communities I'll never feel enough for. Now the title of "immigrant" almost becomes selling-checkmarks as marginalized storytellers, yet how do I represent an experience while denying its substance/impact ? I come to confess of my failure as a community member/representative/storyteller, that I have become so good at solidarity I started to rot in my own solitude... How ironic, that I can participate in conversations/discussions, maybe even practices of other cultures but never my own ? I have gotten so good at becoming/learning/being the "racialized" while denying my own specifications of belonging; I can quote race theories and share artful stories, histories, victories, injustices of all coloured people but of those who actually look like me... It is only grief that I feel as a proud/soft Taiwanese woman, an East-Asian transgender femme, and a Pacific-island girl while reflecting back on my journey of identity. Something, is indeed missing, something I have hidden and buried: the embrace of my own homeland/culture/roots... It was for survival that I traded in my cultural identities/memories, tired of feeling hopeless, misunderstood, and rejected from my own families and those who look like me, I had to abandon and seek for superficial support of false solidarities. Yet now for salvation, I dare to confess in raw and vulnerability, of how I miss being and feeling Asian/Taiwanese: How I will forgive myself for ever thinking I'm less than/unworthy of my culture, how I will continue to represent and realize/actualize of the rich queer/trans expressions in my ancestry, how I shall continue watering my roots, digging for a rediscovery and planting for new possibilities of unity and liberation...
"I walked into the classroom,
feeling like a drop of oil,
staining the perfectly white blouse..."
- Leon Tsai: The Yellow Stain (2016)
Walking out and diving in/deeper: crafting/redefining one's cultural belonging, and honouring/reconnecting with those who came before and those alongside me now... all for those after, and beyond.
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