I have no qualms telling others that I was left on the side of a dirt road as a newborn baby. For many in the United States, the image is appalling. However, for most adopted Chinese-Americans it’s a harsh reality. Growing up I had the disadvantage of balancing between two cultures: the one I was born into, and the one I grew up in.
As an adopted Chinese living under a Caucasian mother there were many cultural ideals that I could never uphold. However, my sixth grade teacher showed me that I didn’t have to. She levied my confidence and helped me to pursue my passion of writing. Writing released me from the expectations others placed on me. It allowed me to express myself and explore the world without consequence. Furthermore, when I discovered photography I was able to capture the vast sea of emotions and perspectives that surrounded me. The silent beauty I found in the mixture of words and images created a unique blend of identities that I saw reflected in myself.
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They allowed me to understand that people have a combination of identities layered on top of each other. Through my interests of writing and photography I realized my struggle was never overcoming my cultural identities, but accepting them for what they were. When I took a photo or wrote I was not simply the miska (white) girl, or the introvert who barely speaks. I was the Chinese-Caucasian-country-city-quiet-loud girl and that would never change.
Finding my identity was never hard. Yet, accepting it was. Ripped between two worlds I was never sure which one I would be able to fit into. The truth was I fit into neither and both. I am a person who has many unique characteristics, and without them I would never truly be myself. Therefore, I believe my cultural identity and the role of my interests are essential in my life, because without them, I would be