Am I Asian Pacific American? The question I asked myself before sitting down to write this blog. How would I properly address the issues that affect my ethnicity if I’m not even sure how I identify myself? Before I begin figuring out where I fit I must go wash my hands. There is still some residual muruku (chakri) on them from my midmorning snack. Before I continue I must turn over my aloo samosas that are baking in the oven. Before I continue I should remove my shoes and place them next to the door. Wait! My kettle is whistling it’s time for afternoon tea. Before I continue I will put my traditionally named child to bed and begin to write about what it is like to be an Asian Pacific American woman.  I still wasn’t quite sure where to begin.

I got into my Asian made automobile and drove to a distinctly non-traditional job. I am not an engineer or a doctor. Not even a nurse or anything to do with computers. However I do daydream about designing large skyscrapers then rushing off to perform open heart surgery all while investing my wages in a small convenience store. On the contrary I am a writer. Almost every day of my life I am paid to imagine and create dialogue that evokes emotions; Emotions that aren’t confined to race or gender.

At work I am seated at a large oval shaped table in a plain conference room. A room filled with several Caucasian men. All of them have a look of extreme gravitas. I am noticeably out of place. Almost as if I was wearing a pink princess gown, holding a bowl of rice after I recently went for a spray tan. In this room ideas are hashed out, concepts are brought together and brilliant minds create. All the while I encourage my counterparts to try something new. Take a chance on a brilliant actor and create characters that are a representation of the real world. In television minorities are typically cast as sidekicks or disgruntled neighbors. Imagine C.S. Lee, the snappy and often inappropriate partner of serial killer Dexter Morgan, cast as a police chief or even a serial killer in his own right? Is that possible? Would Americans believe that? Would they look past his appearance and appreciate a Yale graduate’s performance? Honestly, I don’t know. With a diverse government in place and more opportunities than ever for minorities in America there is something to be said for our public representation.

My thoughts have left me feeling overwhelmed.  Fantastic notions of equality in television coupled with questions about who I really am. Am I just American, Asian Pacific American, Bi-racial American, I could go on. Then it dawns on me that I am…me. I am the daughter of hardworking immigrant parents. I come from a large family of successful thinkers and doers; trailblazers. I am distinctly unique and different.  There is a lot of work to be done. A portion of that can and will begin with me. As my opportunities grow I am obligated to elevate the public representation of my diverse background. 

My meeting ends and I get back into my Asian made automobile. I drive rather safely to my middle-class neighborhood. When I arrive home I am greeted by my Asian Pacific American female mail carrier. We exchange pleasantries. I look to her and say thank you. Thank you for choosing an atypical career. Thank you for being different. Thank you for being a woman in a male dominated field. She looks at me, smiles and says, “I wasn’t smart enough to be a doctor.”