It’s a weird feeling to belong to neither here nor there. It’s a recurring thought that no mixed girl can ever run away from, no matter how hard she tries. I’m what I suppose most people would consider triracial: Vietnamese, Portuguese, and African American. Funny enough, I never thought of it until I came to college and had the dire need to fit in with a group. College is supposed to be where you find your “tribe,” but I still haven’t. It’s only ever one or the other, and I feel the urgency to choose. What an odd feeling to be in the space between.
I grew up in California and Colorado for the majority of my upbringing. The experiences I had growing up in two culturally different households stick with me. My dad and I lived in a one-bedroom apartment, whilst later in the week, I would go to my mom’s and enjoy a bath in my own bathroom. I realize now that there were even clear divides in minority groups. Nonetheless, my parents never stressed culture down my neck, I lived as I pleased. I wore my hair curly with an ao dai to Vietnamese New Year’s. I grooved to Motown with my AvĂł, eating dumplings at school lunch even if people told me they stank. I’d tell kids at school I was “indeed related to Michael Jackson” (I’m not). And tried to fully gaslight myself into thinking I knew how to speak Vietnamese.Â
I still do these things; I really haven’t changed that much. Often, I find myself oscillating between these identities and choosing which I identify with on a day-to-day basis. It’s weird, but sometimes I feel like listening to Portuguese music one day and then reading works by Black poets. My diet primarily consists of Asian cuisine, on a good day, Vietnamese. I feel a connection to different parts of myself every day. It’s a confusing experience being mixed because I don’t question my identity until I catch glimpses of people from my communities and wonder why I can’t just be like them to make sense of myself. I wonder why my hair can’t be straight to match my pale skin, or why my skin can’t be darker to match my curly hair. I wonder why I can’t just order a basic pho in Vietnamese instead of saying “I’ll have the number 14.” I always have to confront the space between.Â
The great void that is college really knows how to divvy up people into specific cliques. A great majority are cultural, whether we like to admit it or not. I can’t imagine what a wonderful feeling it must be to find the right fit, as we all deserve to. Currently, I’ve been trying to understand every facet of my identity and invite in the confusion. But coming to college, I have felt this urgency to connect, especially as I enter early adulthood. Maybe it’s the freshman blues, or maybe it’s my frontal lobe finally developing and screaming to connect with people who share similar experiences.
Oftentimes, this part of myself is just so confusing that I find it easier to just identify as Tatum. When I feel that way, I remind myself of how rewarding it is. I have a unique experience that many do not get. Being in the space between, where I am not just one identity, but rather a mosaic of them all, produces a special kind of outlook on life. I see myself as a combination of all identities, yet I see the cracks within the mosaic. Nonetheless, the courage to continue being uncertain with myself glues the spaces in between. This courage allows me to exist not as something incomplete but as something evolving as I discover more parts of myself.Â