When people ask you where you're from, what do you tell them?

This is a question I get asked a lot.  When I get asked, it makes me angry because just by looking at me, people make the assumption that I am a foreigner — that I don’t belong.  There is a bit of ignorance that I associate with that question.  Just because I am Asian, does that mean that I’m not American?  I could have been born here. That question always makes me exhausted because I feel a need to educate them and then tell my story. However, with other adoptees, when asked where we were from, we knew exactly what the other person meant.  I just told them, “Madison, Wisconsin,” or, “San Francisco.”

~Kelly Jackson

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It doesn’t bother me when people ask me where I am from because I am proud to say I am from Taipei, Taiwan.  Then they usually ask me when I came here because I have no Chinese accent.  I tell them I came at the age of one, on my first birthday.  I rarely go into the fact that I am adopted.  In fact, more series of questions usually follow, like, “Are your parents here or in Taiwan?”  That one always makes me laugh because I would figure your parents would be with you.  I tell them my parents are here in Seattle and yet avoid going much into my personal story.  Sometimes, it is just awkward to share the story of my beginnings with everyone who asks the question, “Where are you from?” I am not ashamed at all, yet I feel it is sometimes inappropriate to go deep into answers with such a simple question.

~Lin Shih

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When people ask me where I’m from, I first ask them to guess.  I am always curious if they can distinguish which Asian country.  I admit that I can’t always make those distinctions, but I’ve definitely improved on making educated guesses as to which background other people come from.  If they can’t guess, then I tell them I was born in Viet Nam, was adopted by a family in the U.S. and have lived in Milwaukee all of my life except for those first 4 months in Saigon.

~ Timothy Hoye

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In general, when people ask me where I am from, I usually say, “La Jolla,” or, “San Diego, California.”  I guess it is part of the dry sense of humor that I was raised with.  Coming from a family with five older brothers and no sisters, I had to learn to fend for myself.  When they hear my response, they say what is expected: “No, where are you REALLY from?”  If I wasn’t so aware of the average person’s patience, I would say “Well, I’m really from San Diego, no lyin’.”  I do, however, realize that what they really want to know is where I am originally from.  It’s funny how in this day and age, no matter how racially diverse we have become, if you’re still anything but white, you will be twice as likely to be asked this question.  People assume that the average white person originates from “White Land” and has a smaller likelihood of coming from somewhere interesting.  I see this as an ongoing theme inherent in American society. 

 I must acknowledge that the answer to the question, “Where are you from?” has taken on differing meanings for me as I have grown up.  I remember being a teenager and taking offense at the person asking me this question, thinking, why should it really matter where I’m from?  It’s who I am that really counts.  I also remember being confused at the question, not really knowing, myself, where I was from and lacking an identity and place of origin.  My sense of rootedness had also surfaced as problematic in my mind, because I could not relate to any one place.

 As I have gotten older, I have realized more and more how this question arises out of a simple innocence and curiosity, wanting to know more about Americans who look different from the standard white American.  I am now very proud of where I am from, although the fact still remains that I do not know exactly where I am from in Viet Nam.  Just this summer, after the 25th anniversary reunion in Estes Park, Colorado, at twenty-seven years old, I learned for the very first time that I had been in another orphanage called Providence Orphanage at Rach Gia (approximately 50 miles south of the Cambodian border), previous to being at To Am in Saigon.  I also learned that it was probable that I was half Vietnamese and half Cambodian.  I would have never guessed, growing up as “white” (more fair-skinned), that I was Cambodian.  With this knowledge, I have a much stronger sense of self and am happy to share this with people who have never heard of adoptees from Viet Nam.

 I now have a different attitude when someone asks me this question.  It gives me one more opportunity to ask myself, “OK, how do I want to answer this question today?”  I have the advantage of being able to maintain my “white” identity.  Or sometimes it’s just easier not to have to explain.  At the same time, I also have the opportunity to explore myself and share with others.  Throughout my life, when I have been asked this question and answered, nine times out of ten, people do not really know how to respond.  They don’t know whether to be sympathetic, supportive or nothing at all.  We, as Vietnamese adoptees, are such a rare breed.  We need to be proud of where we come from and where we have gone in our lives.  We have much more awareness of people like us and of people different from ourselves.  Often times, people are afraid to ask me about where I am from, lest they offend.  

 In the future, please don’t hesitate to ask!

~Lia McCormick

People don’t usually ask me where I’m from.  If they do, I just say, “Seattle,” but they might ask what nationality I am.  Even if they think that I am Asian, they never seem to mention being Korean first.  I am half Korean and half something else (Caucasian), but most people think I look Hawaiian or something similar.  In fact, most Koreans appear shocked when I tell them I was born in Seoul.  I have learned over the years that, to a Korean, you either are or you aren’t a Korean — there is no half.

 I try not to be offended when someone asks.  In fact, I look at it as an opportunity to tell someone my nationality and background.  It gives me a good excuse to tell the person about being adopted and to put a positive spin on the adoption process, at least from my perspective.  Although adoptions have become very prevalent over the years, it seems that there are always those that have never met an adoptee and really have no understanding of how a family can raise “someone else’s child” as their own.  We always seem to hear stories about problems with raising an adopted child, but I don’t hear enough stories about all the ones where nothing happened.

~Tomothy Holm

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