“Ayo, Wasian check!” is the grating Tiktok audio that brings forth a swell of mixed emotions for me. This auditory introduction is then accompanied by a reveal of a half Asian and half white person- and sometimes a visual aid of their parents, too. Comments range from compliments praising their “siren” eyes and high nose bridge or annoyance seeping through from other members of the Asian community bombarded by the “Did you know I’m Wasian?” Wasians…
By the way, I’m Wasian.
Okay, that was for contextual purposes- I swear. However, before delving into the implications behind biracial identities as trends and my own experience with this phenomenon, I want to be sure that I am not misunderstood. In no way have I ever, or will ever, claim that my mixed-race background has forced me into situations of discrimination, racism, or fetishization equal to that of a fully Asian person. This article is a personal piece that details my own nuanced struggles growing up with identity, friendships, external ignorance, and more.
It’s not completely hard to see why being half Asian and half white, or even being half white and half anything else, is considered enviable by others. In a way, we get to dip our toe into the proverbial pool of our non-white heritage and still maintain an inevitable proximity to white privilege.
This extends all the way to physical appearance, as it has now become a commonly held practice to express the beauty of a Wasian person’s “exotic” looks on social media. Even as a child, I remember my parents’ friends and other adults describing me with this word. And yes, while it made me feel like a Dodo bird or a vibrant plant found in the Amazon rainforest, I never thought too hard about it until I got older.
At school, I delt with the typical “Is your mom Chinese? Why are your eyes so small? What are you?” questions. My mom is Korean. My dad is mostly Irish and Dutch. But I never liked having to explain it consistently to kids that not-so-politely theorized about my race in the first place.
So as junior high went on, and friend groups started to solidify, I often noticed a divide between my peers- that is, the Asian kids tended to group together, and I was not usually included in those plans for Japanese karaoke, Korean BBQ, or trips to Chinatown. I didn’t feel any intentional lean to pursue friendships with strictly- or mostly- Asian people. I had friends within that aforementioned group, but I was never embraced fully by it. I knew there was value in building connections with people of similar backgrounds, but I did not force anything that wouldn’t already come naturally just for the added factor of racial similarity.
Despite being raised primarily by my single mother who instilled in me values, cultural customs, and sure, even a palate for Korean cuisine, I was often written off by my Asian peers without a second thought. I’m the first to admit that I have more strides to take in fully connecting to Korean culture, but it hurt to be labeled as “white-washed” or just simply “white” from people who never even had a conversation with me. I always felt more Asian growing up, but that identity was often denied to me by others or placed out of arms’ reach due to my growing fear of social exclusion.
On the other hand, I noticed distance between myself and my white peers when they othered me for my Asian heritage. I’d been teased for the slant of my eyes by a group of white girls before class one morning, taken a friend to sushi before where she made off-handed and offensive comments about the food, and unfortunately listened to the very ignorant remarks that stemmed from my white side of the family regarding Asian people and culture.
It was an impossible tightrope to walk- I was too Asian for one side and too white for another.
This looming cloud of being stuck in the middle permeated every facet of my life, including the way I felt about relationships. I’d been told once by a white boy that he was “really into Korean girls, but only the full ones.” For some native Asian people and Asian-Americans, the idea of dating outside of the race is still taboo, so you can see why I’d anxiously overanalyze the “You look really Korean, though” comment that cute Korean guy made to me a couple months ago.
And don’t get me started on the “Oh, I don’t believe in race mixing” response that’s been hurled at my mother upon showing her colleague a picture of me…
I didn’t feel any pride in being mixed and definitely didn’t think it was worth celebrating on social media. That is, until I came to college and found people of similar backgrounds and experiences. Just the other day, my classmates and I- many of whom are mixed-race- divulged stories of losing our family’s native language through generations, which I previously thought was central only to my own inadequacies. I had a good girl friend of mine tell me she thought it was beautiful that I had two backgrounds to explore throughout my life, which I now feel like I took for granted, trying to squeeze into the strict molds I felt either group had set.
Although I still struggle with my cultural identity and the state of flux I often find myself in, I have a newfound acceptance and appreciation for my dual heritage.
So, yes, I understand that there are Wasian people who don’t understand their proximity to privilege, the nuances of simply existing as a mixed-race person and advocating for a larger, more oppressed collective, and the fact that their constant reminders of being Wasian might be just a tad bit annoying.
But it also saddens me to see so many Wasian people in comment sections easily agreeing with Tiktok think pieces from fully Asian people detailing “why I hate Wasians.” It is okay to be proud of who you are and where you come from. It’s also valid to speak about the different struggles that you have personally experienced as a mixed-race individual. Sharing those emotions does not take away from the larger narrative; rather, it offers another dimension of the conversation.
I’m in my second semester of Korean now and I often have small-talk conversations with my mom and grandma on the phone in their native language- which I always find to be healing in a most sentimental way. Rather than looking at the progress I have yet to make, I am proud of the steps I’ve taken solely for myself, and not for the purpose of proving my identity to an outside force.