Yesterday marked one month since my arrival in Hong Kong, SAR China.
For those who don’t know, I am currently doing a semester abroad as part of my degree, and among the universities I selected, Hong Kong University chose me. Coincidentally (I don’t believe in coincidences), I happen to be half Italian and half Chinese, and this is my very first time in Asia. Growing up in the Italy of 10-20 years ago, I quickly learnt that the shape of my eyes and the olive colour of my skin weren’t considered things to be proud of. There was an occurrence— ’a harmless joke’, I believe it was called at the time—that shaped my brain and my beliefs in a way that it shouldn’t have: on my first day of primary school, I was so excited to finally gain education not only through my personal interests but also as a full-time occupation at school (you can tell I was one of the cool kids.) My new teacher greeted me with a simple “do you speak Italian, child? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The irony of the comment is that by the time I was six, I was perfectly able to have a conversation and discuss different topics in Italian, while I did not know a single word of Mandarin. Nevertheless, my surname, one of the most common Chinese surnames, was enough for her to ask that question, which she obviously didn’t ask other Italian students. That statement, and many more afterwards, led me to put even more effort into studying Italian grammar and literature, which resulted in me participating in the Italian Olympics (we’re talking essays, not sports) in 2016. However, while doing everything in my power to fit into my home country, I unconsciously pushed away all things related to Chinese culture. I never learnt Mandarin, which resulted in me not being able to have a conversation with my father. I never read books about Chinese traditions, clothing, or culinary specialties, and I never even asked for information concerning much of my family’s whereabouts in China.
I recently learnt that my behaviour resulted from a phenomenon called ‘internalised racism’. When I realised this, I decided it was time to open the door to this part of myself I had always hidden, and to start embracing it. Therefore, when the opportunity to go to Hong Kong was presented to me, I seized the opportunity.
The emotional journey that Hong Kong has been so far has exceeded my expectations. Whenever I see a little girl walking or riding the metro to go to school with her friends, I can’t help but compare myself to her and envy the fact that she is not the recipient of strange looks from people or of comments such as “go back to your country.” The other day I was at a restaurant when a song started playing, and I found myself humming the words of unknown meaning to me. Thanks to Siri, I sent the song to my mum, only to find out it was a Chinese song she used to sing when putting me to sleep when I was a kid.
As much as Hong Kong is healing my inner child and helping me discover my culture, it has also made me feel like I don’t fit in, once again. I found it hilarious when I told a few locals that I was half-Chinese, and they replied that they would never have guessed it. I spent 18 years in Italy trying to convince people that I was Italian when they could only see the Chinese in me, and now I am trying to convince people that I am indeed Chinese when they can only see the Italian. I thought coming here would give me reassurance of the identity I’m looking for, but the conclusion I have come to is that I will never feel like I truly fit in, whichever place I am in. I am not part of only one culture, and there is no point in forcing myself to give up some of the things I love just to fit in.
My comfort food will always be pizza and pasta, and I move my hands a lot when I talk. If that makes me Italian, so be it.
In the three years I have lived in Scotland, I have learnt to love hash browns and to go outside wearing a T-shirt as soon as a single ray of sunshine hits the building roofs. If that makes me Scottish, so be it.
I will always have almond-shaped eyes and enjoy dumplings at breakfast, noon, and dinner (and also be an academic overachiever, but that’s for another time.) If that makes me Chinese, so be it.
I cannot be constrained to a single place or a single culture, nor do I want to be.
This article is specifically for all the mixed-race folks out there, the ones who grew up in a country different from their homeland, and for whoever never fit in. If you have ever felt inadequate, alien, or incompatible, I understand you. However, it is no reason to reject what makes you unique; instead, think of how lucky you are to claim different cultures as yours, to learn more languages and to embrace traditions from various parts of the world.
Here is a quote from one of my favourite cartoons Balto, which I have watched countless times and never took seriously, until I understood what Boris the goose was saying to Balto when struggling to find his place and identity in the world: “Not a dog. Not a wolf. All he knows is what he’s not. If only he could see what he is.”
Have a Yellow Week, everyone.