Fukumoto is a Japanese name. But when people look at me, they know I’m not just Japanese – just look at that picture up there. I have thick, frizzy hair, double eyelids and don’t consider myself petite. I ask people to guess what my other half is – many say Italian, Hawaiian or Filipino. Many simply give up. But when I insist upon ordering Mexican food with my inherited Spanish accent (it’s “en-chee-lah-dah”, not “en-chuh-lah-dah”), they realize there must be a little Mexican in me. I’ve only met two Japanese/Mexican (Japxican or Mexicanese, if you will) people other than my brother and sister, so I understand when I’m asked what it’s like to be biracial – and with an uncommon pairing of races, nonetheless.
On the surface, being hapa (half-asian, part-asian) is nothing short of awesome. Two races means two completely unique cultures, two awesome, guilty-pleasure cuisines, two very different hats to wear. I’ve found that I can only enjoy the fruits of being biracial until I’m smacked with the one bubble limit in the “race” section of any identification form. This problem first manifested in a big way when I was filling out college applications. Many apps suggested I “check all that apply,” but the ones that didn’t forced me to choose. I struggled with the thought of people potentially judging me by my “double-minority” status, but at the same time wanted to offer them a glimpse of my heritage. Most of the time I penciled in “other” and wrote both in.
Many biracial students get caught in this little identity pickle. My personality psych book calls it biculturalism – the feeling of having two distinct personalities, one for each culture. Do we have two personalities? I certainly feel like I do. If I go to a Mexican restaurant, I critique the authenticity of the carne asada and Spanish rice. When I’m out eating sushi, I question the quality of the sashimi because seafood tastes better when it’s freshly caught, not delivered in bulk.
I have been asked if I could choose a side, so I went on a quest at the start of college to see if I leaned (even slightly) toward either of my two halves. The question has lingered in the back of my mind: Even after I took classes in Japanese and Latin American culture. I still couldn’t choose. But biracial students have more to consider than food preferences, physical features and language skills if they want to “choose a side.” Religion can make you sway either way. A friend from high school has a Japanese mother and Jewish father; she was raised Jewish and had a bat mitzvah that served kosher meat and white rice. Does her religion draw her away from her Japanese ancestry? Religion was never an issue for me, but it might be for my children. If my mixed-race children are piled with more than one religion, how will they identify themselves?
Maybe I’m fine being in cultural limbo. Maybe I can just be Mexicanese. Maybe I’ll have to settle for the fact that I just can’t eat my chorizo with chopsticks. But with that I will add this – sayonara y ¡buena suerte en sus exámenes!
