more than two halves
I can spot a “hapa” a mile away. I pride myself on this skill. I feel an instant connection when I meet someone I feel might “get me”.
The term hapa was first seen (and is still, to some) as derogatory, and its definition and use continues to evolve. A Hawaiian word for “half”, it is usually used to describe those of multi-race, more specifically, Half Asian Half White individuals. Over the years, more people (myself included) have come to embrace the term. While it is still problematic in some ways, it’s been a way to identify in the in-betweenness.
Growing up in a predominantly Caucasian, wealthy, and elderly city, of which my family and myself did not fully self-identify, I felt my "otherness". There weren’t many times that I felt this in the form of judgement from others, but there were differences and I felt those differences to my teenage core. From my otherness, I learned to fit in. Or rather, how to not stand out.
While super trendy in schools now, I did not want to be seen with lunches containing seaweed, rice balls or anything else that would be seen as weird. My daily breakfast of a type of miso congee was delicious and satiating but so far from your typical North American fare that I would never admit to anyone that this was what I ate. I did not want friends calling or coming over when there were Buddhist meetings or chanting happening at our house, mainly due to the idea of having to explain the otherness of it. And, lastly, it hurt my heart when people could not understand my parents because of their accents. These things were all things I loved and still love, that were/are endearing, that made/make me, me, and yet I became good at hiding the parts I did not want seen.
Back to hapa. Or hafu. Or biracial. Or mixed race. Have I ever found any of them to fit right? Not really. Because they all imply a portion of. Or a binary. But I now know and feel to my bones that I am a whole, my own unique whole. I am a whole of a Japanese father and a French Canadian mother, a combination of which I self identify with strongly - whether it’s using salted dry frozen fish in lieu of teething rings as a child, eating paté Chinois with chopsticks, doing French homework at a kotatsu, or speaking our own Japa-Fren-glish language at home.
It might be that the identity crisis of coming of age comes hand in hand with shying away from who you are and where you come from, by default. But I do feel I wasted enough time in that space that it’s not only time to take all the things I used to be self-conscious of and wear them proudly, but share them with my husband and son, as well as share these stories in community.
There is something so powerful when we can share our experiences, celebrate our uniqueness, and embrace being ourselves. It is freeing and allows us to feel seen and heard and see and hear others. I’m so glad I’m there - as it relates to my cultural and ethnic selves - and got to find my magic in those experiences.