I’m really bored with the “what are you?” question. Had encounters a couple of hours ago. I don’t normally blow up as I’m used to it — well, I’m not that used to it, but it’s one of those things.
Admittedly, I was already tired and cranky. So when it happened, it just blew my fuse. I didn’t take it out on them, thank goodness, but I’m seriously sick of it.
Earlier I went to Waitrose to pick up some comfort food (it’s my day off) and while waiting in a queue, a woman behind me tapped my shoulder.
“Excuse me, but I hope you don’t mind, but… when my daughter and I saw you earlier… (false laugh)….we couldn’t determine… (false laugh)…you know?”
Her daughter, about 30, was standing next to her, smiling at me. I smiled back. I knew what they wanted to know, but I seriously wasn’t in the mood so I just smiled and shrugged, as if I didn’t know she was talking about.
“Half-Iranian?” she prompted, arching her eyebrows while she smiled encouragingly. “We’re Iranian, see.”
“Oh, right. I’m sorry, I’m not half-Iranian,” I answered, making a show of moving forward in the queue. “Excuse me.”
Regardless, the daughter said, “I was telling her you don’t look Iranian. I was right! (smirks at her mother, then looks at me) So, what are you?”
I gave up and answered, “Scottish white and a bit of East Asian.”
The daughter asked, “East Asian?”
“A bit of Chinese.”
Both women’s smiles froze as they studied my face. The daughter finally said, “We would have never guessed.”
The mother nodded and said, “Are you sure?”
The daughter elbowed her and said, “Her eyes. They look little Asiatic, do they not?” The mother actually leaned forward to peer at my “Asiatic eyes”.
I was about to shove her for getting too close when she said, “Oh! Yes! So, you do have the Chinese in you. But, you say you’re Scottish white?”
Thankfully, it was my turn to go up to the counter so I apologised and left them behind.
Then I had to return the mites’ library books so I went down the road and into the library. While waiting to check the books in, two women in front of me chatted about their children. The taller blonde woman stepped backward, almost bumping into me. She apologised and I said no worries. The other woman laughed and told the blonde she was so clumsy. We all laughed politely. They returned to chatting. My phone rang and I left the library to answer the call. After a minute or so, I went back in. Both women glanced at my approach and smiled.
After a few seconds, I noticed the short brunette gave the blonde a pointed look. The blonde then turned and asked, “Were you born here?”
Oh, fanfuckingtastic.
Me: Yes.
Blonde: Oh.
Brunette: What’s your race?
Me: My what? (Honestly, it was the first time I had that question!)
Brunette: You’re not English, are you?
Me: Oh, ethnicity. Uhh, I’m Scottish white and a bit of Chinese.
Blonde & Brunette: Ooooh.
Blonde: I have a Chinese neighbour and you look nothing like her.
Me: …
Brunette: Yes, yes.
Me: I’m not Chinese, but I do have a Chinese ancestor.
Blonde: You don’t look Chinese.
Me: I know. I’m mixed race. Scottish white, mostly.
Brunette: What’s ‘Scottish white’?
Me: Norse Gael stock, basically.
Blonde: Are you really from Scotland? I have never seen anyone like you from Scotland.
Brunette: There’s that singer. K T Tunstall.
Blonde: She’s adopted.
Me: Her mother is half-white and half-Chinese. We have people of different ethnicities up there. Have been for a few centuries. *patronising smile* (I’m sorry, but I was bad-tempered)
Brunette: Well. You don’t look Chinese at all.
Me: I don’t look quite white either. (fake laugh)
Brunette: What’s your real race?
While I’m bored with being asked what I am, it’s the negative reaction to my reply that sets me off.
It never fails to bring up these feelings from those teen years when I stumbled around in the dark, trying to find an answer that would satisfy enquirers the most. It used to upset me that I couldn’t classify myself as white because I don’t look anything like the “classic white face”. And I couldn’t classify myself as ethnically Chinese because I don’t look it as well. All pigeon holes were square and there were none for a circle. What to do? I remember one time I found it so frustrating that I seriously considered the idea of telling a lie about being adopted, just so I didn’t have to answer.
It’s annoying that I’m not allowed to forget those years, thanks to strangers’ need to know what I am. Especially when they don’t find my answer satisfying, doubt my answer. I can’t get over this. What am I supposed to say to that? “You’re right, my family got their family tree totally wrong. Whatever you think I am, I’m sure you’re right. What? You think I’m half-Japanese and half-Italian? OK. Excuse while I go and correct our family tree.”?
Honestly, it pisses me off that some think it’s perfectly all right to go up and ask about a person’s ethnic background. I just can’t believe there are people who actually think it’s within their rights to go up and ask. And actually have the gall to doubt the answer.
I ought to wear a t-shirt: “Don’t ask me what I am, or I’ll claw your face.”
For your information, my preferred reaction is “I see. Thank you.” A simple acceptance is ideal. Don’t question my answer. Don’t doubt my answer. Don’t tell me I don’t look like what I say I am. Please, just accept my answer and move on.
Or, better yet, don’t come up and ask. It’s honestly none of your business.
I feel better now that I got it all off my chest. Sorry about that. It’s just that it’s the fifth time I was asked this week, and it’s only Thursday. No wonder why I prefer to stay at home. 
Gah. I’ll need to relax and maybe watch a favourite film. The Fifth Element?
I am afraid I would earn your ire because I might tell you that your accent is Scottish. I have got ‘Really, have I?’ from an Irish man when I told him he had an Irish accent. Something makes me want to comment on accents. Because your dentist should be nice to you my old one indulged me when I told him he had a Kiwi accent and we talked about rugby for a little while each visit. I asked my new dentist the other day where his accent came from, he said Egypt and I filed that away under the people I have met who come from Egypt – 3.
I have close mixed-race family members where people wonder “what they are”. But complete strangers do not come up to them asking these questions. It’s considered completely rude and inappropriate here.
Admittedly we’re in a largish city in Canada where there are all kinds of people, so I can’t speak for all of Canada.
Jorrie, I live in a largish Canadian city and usually people do not ask but……my grandsons are mixed race and the people at work will ask the weirdest questions like will their skin get darker? How the heck do I know?
When racial background comes up I tell people that like most Canadians I am a Heinz 57 or mutt. Some people laugh others get very offended.
@Wendy
I don’t think I’d get irate because you thought I had a Scottish accent because I’m rarely asked about it, but I imagine people who are asked often about their accents would. I mean, imagine there are ten Wendys per day asking you about your accent. You’d get tired of it fast.
@Jorrie
At parties or social events, new acquaintances would somehow worm a “subtle” question in, ranging from ‘Where were your parents born?’ to ‘Can you speak Thai?’
I suspect your relatives did have some strangers coming up and ask. I would be very surprised (and dead envious) if they never had this experience because it’s a common experience, especially for people with racially ambivalent faces. A friend once had a traffic warden, while writing her a ticket for illegal parking, asked “Are you mixed? I’ve never seen an (South) Asian with blue eyes before.”
@Talthor
LOL! The weirdest question I had (I was twelve so I didn’t get “it”) was “Do you like playing with Ping Pong balls?” It was years before I discovered the significance of that question. What a crass question to ask a minor. Nowadays, “Are you their biological/real/adopted mother?” But the most frequent question is – blunt people: “What are you?” and ‘polite’ people: “Where were you born?” So tedious.
My gran didn’t like it when I joked I was a mongrel. She pointed out there have been only three ethnicities in our entire family tree for three centuries, so ‘mongrel’ would be misleading. Silly, but I do try not to use it out of respect for her.
With new acquaintances, it does still happen. I suspect not too often and not too tactlessly, as it doesn’t bother my daughter. My husband used to get it a lot, but it’s dropped off. (Greek? Middle Eastern? Jewish? Uh, no, German/Indian. Indian the subcontinent, not First Nations.)
There were a couple of times when the kids were younger that I got overly enthusiastic compliments about my kids’ complexions, which I tried not to get too annoyed by.
At least with my husband it doesn’t happen with complete strangers anymore. When he was younger, yeah, for sure.
Then again, maybe men get asked less than women?
@Jorrie
That’s actually a good point. I forgot until now that during one conversation, I found out my brother and uncle were rarely asked. Uncle did comment when he used to be asked a lot when he was a child, but it tapered out when he grew older.
Also, Will was rarely asked about the mites whereas I am often told how “adorably exotic” the mites (especially the oldest) look, that they look or don’t look like me, or whether I’m their real mother (this annoys me the most).
I think you’re right – age might have something to do with it, too. I think the most intense period was twice, during my early teens and my twenties. I still get asked now, but not as often as I was at both times. Approachability? Hm.