Doris Lam

I related to many struggles Asian-Americans face for most of my life- the isolation at school from being the minority, the torn sense of identity between cultures, and even the lack of representation in Hollywood movies (until Crazy Rich Asians, of course).

But here’s the twist: I’m not Asian American. I haven’t even lived in a city where I’ve been considered a minority.

For a brief six years during my childhood, we moved to Richmond, a city in Canada where more than half of the population is Chinese. We reimmigrated back to Hong Kong to be closer to family, and I was enrolled in a new local school.

I was the Chinese girl with a “Western” English accent, the girl who played with Nepali and Filipino kids instead of the Chinese kids during recess. The kid who was summoned by the teacher mid English class to move from the elementary to the advanced class because they misjudged my English abilities.

Yet back home, my traditional Chinese parents were desperate to turn me into a textbook, “proper” Chinese kid, enrolling me in Chinese tutorial classes at Kumon after school and teaching me Chinese mannerisms. The more I rebelled, the stricter they became.

Plus, it felt good to be special. Who doesn’t like to stand out from the crowd?

Unluckily for me, being different wasn’t as glamorous as my eight-year-old self thought. Once I reached high school and college, I realized my non-Chinese friends had their own community gatherings and my Chinese friends liked having conversations in actual Cantonese rather than my West-meets-East attempt at Cantonese. I didn’t fit in either of the categories; I was the odd one out.

Desperate to find a group of friends like me, I went down the Facebook rabbit hole. I discovered a silver lining-- international schools. That night, I found a whole world of schools where third-culture kids enrolled. I was yearning for a sense of belonging and felt as if I had finally found my home.

...But as my teenage self would quote from John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars, “Life isn’t a wish granting factory.” My parents couldn’t afford the expensive monthly price tag of international schools. So there I was, back where I started.

Now that I’m in college, I’ve come to terms with my identity. I’ve befriended other misfits such as my best friend, who is half-Chinese and half-Italian. Her caucasian appearance will have you fooled: not only does she not speak a word of Italian, but her Cantonese is also ten times better than mine.

Even so, I never stopped looking for opportunities to connect with other third-culture kids. When my boyfriend added me to a Facebook group called “Subtle Asian Traits” a few weeks ago, I was ecstatic.

Created by six Asian-Australian high school friends who met in Chinese school, the group started out as a small page for them to post memes about their daily life, said the page’s administrator, 18-year-old Anne Gu.

The group is hilarious, welcoming, and helped free some of my childhood guilt. Imagine my relief when I learnt that I wasn’t the only one who went against my parents’ pleas about learning Chinese, only to regret it as I got older. On behalf of myself and the ten thousand people who pressed “Like” on the meme: I’m sorry, Chinese moms and dads.

However, the group’s dramatic influx of members in a few months uncovered a darker reality: Westernized Asian teenagers and young adults have been subconsciously seeking out communities where their complaints and experiences can be discussed and empathized with in a light-hearted way- whether it’s serious topics such as being shamed by the family for being in a relationship with a Caucasian partner, or trivial matters such as liking spaghetti more than rice. Now that we’ve found a community, we’re making up for lost time by spending each and every free minute tagging friends in the comments and editing memes to post.

In countries outside of Asia, Asian exclusive groups aren’t a new concept. Universities in America have societies, sororities and fraternities for Asian students. Back in Richmond, my mom would frequent the Chinese community centre where she made friends with other Hong Kong immigrants in Canada, and often signed me up for Chinese summer camps.

But in Hong Kong, the choices are limited, and the “misfits” are hard to find. Perhaps it’s because most of us are talented chameleons, blending in with locals while eavesdropping on expats on the trains. Maybe I’m not trying hard enough to find my fellow Subtle Asian Traits family members. And maybe, I don’t need to.

If I were 17 again, the group might have been my new silver lining, but after a few years of trial and error, I’ve come to the conclusion that you won’t be able to find a sense of identity anywhere if you don’t accept yourself for your quirks and differences.

At the end of the day, Subtle Asian Traits is a great platform to have a laugh, procrastinate, and connect with others. Just don’t be disappointed if you’re there looking for an escape from an identity crisis.

It took me over a decade to be comfortable enough posting #HomeKong unironically on my Dragon’s Back hiking photo. Whether it’s because I’ve grown thicker skin for Hong Kong’s unapologetic culture, or if I’ve really accepted Hong Kong as my home, is up for interpretation.

Written for my JMSC Feature Writing course at HKU, December 2018.