" If I did n’t adopt my husband ’s surname , I ’d be brand the bad kind of F - word in a conservative community : feminist . "
I did n’t need to switch my last name . I dragged my foot as a new 21 - yr - sure-enough bride , waging an internal engagement between my desire to hold my identicalness with the desire to embrace my new hubby , which , tradition insisted , included his name .
For months after our wedding , I fought the determination , playfully suggesting that my new married man take my surname , Shiozawa . But the idea of a white valet taking a Japanese family name when I had three brothers to carry it on — as though that would be the only valid reason to moot it — seemed ridiculous to everyone else . Never bear in mind that my white momma and sisters - in - law have dutifully taken on a Nipponese name without a 2nd cerebration .
But if I did n’t assume my husband ’s surname , I ’d be stigmatise the sorry kind of F - word in a conservative residential district : feminist . So , I eventually , if begrudgingly , complied . What I did n’t understand then was the way that conclusion would affect the residual of my life .
Two age sooner , at 19 , I had visited Japan for the first meter on a university field abroad program . For nine week , as expect , I engross myself in my heritage , connecting with emcee sept , practicing language skills , and absorbing Nipponese culture . But as a multiracial person , I found I was considered an outsider just like my snowy classmates .
In Japan , introductions begin with family name first : Shiozawa Arison desu . The look on Japanese faces as they analyzed mine , their wheels turn , was a look that was all too familiar . It ’s the same one I ’ve see on countless faces when meeting other Americans : eyes narrowed , brow chase , and some loop of “ Whatareyou ? ” or “ Where are you from ? ” If my response include city and state , I ’m met with an heart roll . “ No , but where are youfrom ? ”
In both situations , the muddiness is standardized . In both situations , the content is the same : You do n’t belong to here .
Perhaps it ’s human nature . People care to put thing in boxes , categorizing them neatly into files and folders . Here , fill in a house of cards point your airstream . But how is someone who belongs to more than one race supposed to select ? favourable for us , oecumenical forms have been updated to include a new option : “ Other . ”
I always knew I was different . Societal definitions of stunner never equalise what I find out in the mirror . At age 5 , I told my dad I wished I were blonde . At 8 , a boy came to my home and told me I was “ just a stinkin ’ Formosan girl . ” My white mother reminded me not to forget her half of my inheritance , but the kid on the vacation spot were n’t calling me names because of her Mormon pioneer background .
At 14 , I visited Hawaii , where for the first time I feel comfortable in my own skin . Never before had I picture so many people who looked like me , who easily enunciate my name , who did n’t cringe at the melodic theme of eat raw Pisces . There , hapa — the Hawaiian term for assorted - race people — was n’t “ alien ” or “ other , ” but normal .
Growing up with the cognomen Shiozawa in a predominantly white community , I was “ the Asian girl ” wherever I went — variation , church , class , work . But I ’ll never forget the first day of Algebra 2 , when Haley Miyatake sat beside me , and we made oculus contact . I felt a bang of rest period with someone who , without a single word exchanged , understood my world .
White people like to notice on my eye shape , tugging at the corners of their own , critique mine as “ not almond , ” acting as self - nominate gatekeepers to my claim to Asian - ness . Others incriminate me of mounting an attack on white masses if I broach the theme of race . That I ’m being oversensitive , opt to be offended , or make issues out of nothing . Or they ignore my experience altogether because they “ do n’t see people of colour . ”
A few years into my wedlock , even my husband key me as being “ leaven white . ” You know , lily-livered on the exterior , white on the interior , like abanana . But he learned at first hand that the so - called American “ thaw pot , ” is a myth when a gentleman’s gentleman ask him — as I stand at his side — how long I ’d been in America and whether I talk English . Other .
Who have a go at it imposter syndrome could employ to race ? Asattacks on Asians increased across Americaduring the pandemic , I was umbrageous . And at the same time , I wondered whether my outrage is valid as an Asian , or if I am an outsider . Other .
I might be able-bodied to write off tactile sensation like an imposter if it were n’t confirmed for me . Recently , I wore a sweatshirt reading “ Asiatic American Girl Club ” to the gym , and an Asiatic flight simulator conveyed , in not so many words , that he did n’t think I looked the part . Why would someone who expect like me exact Asian condition ? Asian , but not Asian enough . Other .
While I ’d always struggled to define my identity , when I changed my last name , it feel as if a palpable part of that identity vanished . All it carry was a few minutes at the local Social Security federal agency and a few quick signatures — the last I ’d sign as Allison Shiozawa — and the name I ’d drop my aliveness spelling , label and defending was gone .
It was not a relief , as some suggested , not having to “ concern ” about enunciate and spelling aforeignname all the time . My Asian - ness was no longer apparently visible on a name badge , on a school roster , on a professional permit , or even on a recognition card . It was n’t on my tongue when I introduced myself .
While I no longer had to hear the unnumberable cringeworthy butchery of my last name , I also lose the automatic affiliation with a inheritance I treasure . I run from being “ the Asian ” to “ ethnically ambiguous ” and even “ white assumed , ” with a assumption that my lived experience is that of a white individual . I went from defending my Japanese heritage to needing to prove it .
If I could go back in time , I would n’t alter my last name . But three kids and a dog later , what I once saw as just my hubby ’s name has become our family ’s . It ’s not just the name I apportion with my sorry - eyed husband , but also our three browned - eyed , brown - hirsute children — who use chopsticks , adoreTotoro , and devournori . Who each — include the dog — have a Japanese name along with our English family name . We are a multiracial family adopt the many function of our heritage , even without a Nipponese surname .
Carving out my station as a multiracial Nipponese American woman in this country is an on-going effort , but one affair becomes clearer each meter my identity come into question : I will always be proud of my Nipponese name , and the rich heritage that make me who I am .
This article originally seem onHuffPostin April 2022 .
