Today, I was told I was more japanese than a japanese. A japanese girl told me this. I don’t know why she said it or what it means but it kind of makes me happy and a little confused. This isn’t the first time someone has told me I was a different race than I was. When I was little, my siblings used to tell me I was adopted or that I was not biologically related to the rest of them because I was japanese. Fucked up, I know. I blame my mom for giving me that bowl haircut in combination with my pale skin, affinity for japanese cartoons and the color pink. They told me they just took me at the beach from one of the many japanese families that come to Guam for vacation. A small part of me believed them. I was 5!
Now, Lyndon’s mom (japanese) tells him that he looks more japanese when she sees us together. He’s actually japanese. Several times at work people have said ‘You’re japanese, aren’t you?’ or ‘Ask Esther, she’s japanese, right?’ Despite how latino my whole name sounds.
Peculiar. I feel like most of the time no one can figure out what ethic race I belong to and they seem surprised to learn I’m filippino. ‘Full?? No. That can’t be true.’ What. The. Heck.
