I get asked time and again if I speak Japanese. I suppose it is a natural question from those that see my full Asian face, and think “she must speak her native tongue”. But, to answer the question, I don’t speak Japanese. My parents don’t speak it. Oh, and to add to the shock and awe, my grandparents don’t speak it, either. This surprises everyone, sometimes even my Asian American acquaintances.

I am fifth generation Japanese American.

Due to my family’s long history in the United States, I grew up with little understanding of what it meant to be Asian American. I spent my formative years trying to fit into a Caucasian mold, and disassociating myself from being Asian American. But with my long ethnic last name, stick straight hair, and almond shaped eyes who was I fooling?

Then I moved to the east coast for college, and I lived in places with a practically non-existent Asian American community. I found the ignorance and racism that I experienced appalling. Some of it was the result of a lack of exposure and understanding of different Asian American cultures. For example, many people I encountered believed every Asian person to be Chinese. Perhaps this was due to the one and only Chinese restaurant in town?

This bothered me greatly. I ended up taking a college course on the World War II Internment. It changed my life. I learned a lot more about what happened to my grandparents and great-grandparents. I accepted a summer internship working for the Japanese American National Museum in Los Angeles. Eventually, I worked on Capitol Hill for the Asian American community.    

For the first time in my life, I was truly confident in my identity as an Asian American woman.

I realize now that prior to my cultural awakening, I was invisible. I was presenting myself to the outside world as someone who didn’t care enough to know nor understand her own ethnicity. If I didn’t understand my background, how could I expect others to?

Today, as a married woman in my late twenties, I find myself re-visiting what it means to be Japanese American. I wonder what my future unborn children will understand about their identity. Will they go through what I experienced? Will they be proud of who they are? I hope so.

Originally, I wanted to write this post about the loss of my identity as a Japanese American woman due, in part, to my marriage to a Korean American man. But then I realized that marrying my husband has little to nothing to do with the loss of my own cultural identity. I have spent so many years interpreting my personal experiences, talking to my family, and educating myself. Why would I ever think that because I married outside of my culture that I would lose the identity I have worked so hard to understand?

I am constantly evolving as a woman, a daughter, a wife, a person. Being Asian American lies within each of those identities. I am proud to say that it is an inextricable part of who I am for life.

What hurdles and successes have you faced in understanding your Asian American identity?