What Are You?

By Lora Painter

One lazy Sunday, I went shopping with a friend near the outskirts of Seoul. We stepped into a small boutique and like most American women, we started chatting as we sifted through racks of clothes. When we rang up our purchases, the female shopkeeper seemed astonished and said to me in Korean, ``Wow, your English is really good."

Throwing my friend a surprised look, I kindly said, ``It better be ― I'm an English teacher!"

This situation has not been an isolated incident for me since I have moved to Korea. I encountered a similar scenario once on my way to work.

I live in a large apartment building that's home to quite a few Westerners. One morning, I hopped into my elevator and on the seventh floor, a red-haired, freckled man stepped in and asked me, in Korean, if I too was going to the first-floor.

He had obviously been studying Korean very diligently, so I obliged him and responded in what he assumed to be my native tongue.

A case of mistaken identity yet again, but I wasn't offended. Koreans are kind, hard-working people and I admire many things about them. I was once eloquently told by a camera salesman in Yongsan, ``You have an Asian face," and rightfully so ― I am half Caucasian, half Filipino.

My dark hair, fair skin and short stature may help me blend in with the Asian masses, but beyond appearances, I am clearly a foreigner. My current employment is contingent on the fact that I am foreign, and more specifically, from the U.S.

Because I'm an outsider in a land that's not my own, I now identify with my nationality more than my ethnicity. This shift in identity has helped me synthesize a new outlook on race.

Korea has one of the most ethnically and linguistically homogeneous populations in the world. According to the U.S. Department of State, ``except for a small Chinese community (about 20,000), virtually all Koreans share a common cultural and linguistic heritage."

And these facts are self-evident. Ride the subway on any day to any destination and one would probably be able to count the number of foreigners they see on one hand ― two hands if one is headed to Hongdae on a Saturday night.

But these are the conspicuous foreigners, usually of Caucasian or African descent.

Unlike the tossed-salad-mix of ethnicities found in New York City or Los Angeles, Seoul is rather like a large bowl of jasmine rice with just a few bits of "kim" (dried seaweed) or sesame seeds sprinkled on top. For an inconspicuous and ethnically-ambiguous foreigner like myself, where do I fit in? Am I the kim or a grain of rice?

Growing up, I felt I lived in racial limbo. I wasn't white enough to be white ― any drop of ethnic blood is arguably enough to disqualify one from being considered ``All-American." I also wasn't Asian enough to be Asian ― I was sometimes accused of being ``whitewashed" for not being able to speak Tagalog, even though I was born in the Philippines.

But being excluded from these two groups had some unexpected results.

By not being socially categorized into any particular race because of my unique appearance, I have been able to experience life as a sort of racial chameleon. In California, I was usually mistaken for a Mexican. In New York, I was Middle Eastern. In France, I was Italian. (Yet, in Australia, I was still just a Yank.) Some may consider my racial ambiguity as a blessing, but there are some deep-seated disadvantages.

Society's vagueness regarding my racial status has instilled in me feelings difficult to explain to those whom society can easily categorize. It is often times annoying and embarrassing to be asked, ``What are you?" This type of questioning objectifies a person, removing them from any other personal qualities they may have and tries to boil them down to a set of incongruent stereotypes and prejudices. A person is constituted of more elements than just their race and even the idea of being of more than one race is still gaining acceptance.

With the advent of globalization, many people are identifying themselves as bi- or multiracial. According to the 2000 U.S. Census, 2.4 percent of the U.S. population considers themselves as being of ``two or more races." Less than 3 percent may sound small, but considering that almost 300 million people live in America, it equates to almost 7 million people, or the entire population of Hong Kong.

So, what am I? I choose to be neither the metaphorical sliver of dried seaweed or a grain of rice. I like to believe that such defining and constrictive terms like ``race" and ``ethnicity" are becoming more archaic as our world becomes more amalgamated. I'm many things. I'm me.

The writer has an M.A in journalism from New York University. She is struggling with her aversion to kimchi, but has found solace in her new found love for Bonjuk, a Korean rice porridge restaurant chain. She can be contacted at Lmp385@nyu.edu.