An Obvious Realization

"Oh yeah, wait, where did you say you're from again?" A man questions as I wait to gather my belongings at the airport. 

  I chat too much with surrounding people in airports. 

 "Boston," I answered. 

"Er, yes, but where are you from?" 

My stomach turned. At this point, I realize what the man is asking. He doesn't care that I'm from Massachusetts. 

"Oh, um, well, I was born in China…." 

The man's facial expression seemed to relax. I studied his face. Ah, that makes sense. 

"But my parents are white, you see- they have blue eyes and brown hair and are Jewish actually. "I defensively rambled. 

The man stared at me, confused. 

"I'm adopted." 

I finished my poor elevator pitch in a huff. 

"Oh! That's interesting. Good for you."  

At age 22, I studied myself hard in the airport mirror. First, I looked at the more prominent features, examining my long dark hair and almond-shaped eyes. 

I was born in China in 1996 and brought to the United States in 1997. I am part of the community of Chinese girls that American-Caucasian families adopted. At age 22, I moved from my home state of Massachusetts to Quito, Ecuador, to pursue my dream of teaching. At age 22, I realized I couldn't shelter my identity.  

I grew up in the small town of North Attleboro, demographically made up of primarily white people. Objectively I look Asian. I have the statue and features that stick me out in a crowd. It was easy to forget where I came from in a white community. 

Coming out of the bathroom, I heard the conveyor belt ring. The man I had a short interaction with started to wave at me. He was kind enough to help me lift my suitcase and continue to make conversation. I felt exhausted at this point. I wasn't listening to what he was saying. I was primarily focused on our previous 1 - minute encounter.  

I sometimes think about why I was adopted. I often give credit to the one-child policy.

 In 1945 World War II ended. As a result of the war, China encouraged families to have as many children as possible to sustain the economy. By the late 1970s, China's population was skyrocketing, reaching almost 1 billion people. As a result, the leader, Deng Xiaoping, began to create plans to minimize the rapid growth rate. After a few voluntary programs, on September 25, 1980, the Central Committee of the Chinese Communist Party published a letter declaring what many of us now know as the one-child policy. The policy limited the majority of the families in China to one child. 

In my head, this is the most sensible reason why I was put up for adoption. It makes sense. 

It's not that I never knew I was Asian and that my parents were white. I even attended adoption events and Mandarin school up until age 10. I often rebelled against them. I think I was pretending that part of me didn't exist. I also didn't realize how sheltered I was. My dad was an editor for the local newspaper. I was pretty well known in the small town I grew up in by adults his age. He often wrote about my sister and I's adoption. His readers watched me grow up in the light of the articles he wrote. People just knew the story. It seemed simple. 

I had a few elementary peers ask me about my parents. 

They would ask questions like, "are they your real parents? Is she your real sister?" I don't think I fully understood the question because I would always answer, "I mean, yeah, they're alive, of course, they're real." I think their parents explained to them the situation, so I didn't have to. I didn't hear about it a lot. I never came forward to how I was feeling towards everything. I buried it often. It wasn't until I moved to Ecuador that I realized I couldn't hide my identity anymore. I couldn't shove it down and bury it. 

The first week in Ecuador, I took an uber. 

I greeted him by saying hola. My American accent gave it away that I am not from there. He glanced at me once, then quickly again. 

"¿De dónde eres?" he asked (Where are you from) 

“Los Estados Unidos” (The United States)

He didn't answer; he stared at me. 

Before I give him the chance to answer, I quickly add. 

“Pero yo nací en china” (but I was born in China). 

Ahhhhhh, he nodded his head. It's clear that things were starting to make sense to him. 

I didn't know enough Spanish to keep up with the taxi conversation at that time, so our conversation ended. I just stared out the window. I think back to the encounter I had with the man at the airport when I first arrived. I started to wonder if It's always been like this. Suppose it's always going to feel like this. 

At age 25, I am coming to terms with processing who I am. I am learning to combine the unknown elements and parts I have always had. I don't think I have to push one aside anymore, but rather embrace and learn from every aspect that makes up me.