Where are you from?

America.

No, where are you originally from?

A question that chases me during sleep, I wake up with beads of sweat running down my face. When traveling, it’s expected for people to ask where you’re from, because typically, they’re interested in the country in which your passport states. A simple question that holds great hostility is used one too many times on people who don’t have a blatant appearance. As an Asian, I feel like I could speak for the race, that we get this question more often than we would like. As Margaret Cho said in this past Golden Globes -“I am from this culture. I am from this tribe. And so I’m able to comment on it… I’m not playing the race card. I’m playing the rice card.” Can I get an amen, sista?

This question goes to the core of stereotyping. If you speak english fluently, sans accent, and look non-American, then people go berzerk. For Asian-Americans, we’re deceptive you see, but god forbid us for not rolling our L’s. I mean, what does “American” entail? Who gave the definition of what an American looks like? Take a look around the United States and analyze the demographic across the country. Is there a blatant color that dominates one state? No. America to foreigners is portrayed like a mut. A mix of every single race imaginable; it is what makes America so enticing. Who deemed that an American looks like what Hitler wanted.

While I was sipping on a long drink in Finland, I was surrounded by a group of Nepalese men, who at the time, I had no idea were from Nepal but didn’t care to ask. As I was in mid-sip, one man turned to me in attempt to socialize and asked me that coveted question. I answered that I am from America, and he didn’t believe me because I’m Asian. I guess my dyed blonde hair didn’t fool him. As he continued to pry, I side-eyed him and repeated myself, but thought “my mother’s vagina.” Now that I think about it, I probably should have said my initial thought.

What is the difference between the words: background, ethnicity, race, and citizen? My background at the moment is a tech center; my ethnicity is Asian; my race is also Asian; I’m a citizen of the United States. Oh, you want to know what kind of Asian I am? Does the answer boost your life in some way? You sure won’t get awarded a ribbon for guessing the correct type of Asian I am. Oh the game of semantics. I should do a social experiment on this, but almost always, it’s men who come up to me and inquire about “what” I am.

 “you’re Japanese aren’t you?”

No, I’m not.

“Yes, you are.”

Oh is that so? Are you my daddy?

This similar scenario happened to my friend, Jasmine. At first glance, you would think Jas is an exotic Australian beauty, but you’d never guess that she’s half Jamaican. There was one instance when a man asked about her appearance and she told him about her Jamaican side. He responds, “you can’t just go around saying you’re black!” Talk about a Mean Girls deja-vu. As if he knew her genetic make-up.

Can we all just stop asking what people are and just get to know them as if there is still an ounce of humanity left? It may seem like a daunting task, but it’s 2015. We owe it to ourselves.