Though I probably already mentioned this, I get a lot of ‘what kind of Asian are you?’ from various strangers. Most recently a customs agent told me I look like his old (prior, not age) Japanese roommate.
In fact, one of my most fond memories (they are few and far between) from my 21st birthday celebration was being hit on and having said [asian] dude say, verbatim, “so, what kind of Asian are you?”
He lost interest immediately after I said, “I’m not.” Who does that?!?
Anyways, this questioning often left me wondering if maybe, just maybe, I was adopted. You see, I am actually part Native American. And my parents were always like, the documentation proving that was lost, which could have totally been their way of covering up the fact that they really got me from overseas. My cheekbones are apparently reminiscent to those of Asian descent – but of which country, no one is ever all too sure.
Since I’m a little bit crazy (you are too), this adoption-theory was totally plausible to me. At 28, I still hadn’t seen a picture of my mother pregnant or in the hospital or me swaddled in anything. Plus, people always say things like, “omg you must get your Native American genes from your dad” except that I don’t. My mom is a blonde-hair, blue-eyed all American lady. And since the supposed gene comes from her side, this really left room for doubt.
Anyways This morning when I wasn’t working because of an ‘IT disruption’ day (a whole other story) I was digging around in my storage unit and found two lone pictures in my grandma’s old dresser (don’t ask). The first was me at 4-months looking really, really Asian. Like big time Japanese. And the second was my mom, in the hospital bed holding me!
I feel like I should carry it around in my wallet so I can say, “see! Not adopted, thanks for asking” to random strangers. A passport of my heritage, if you will.
(And yes, I realize a photo is not a) a passport or b) documentation of my descent – but thanks for thinking so little of me, asshat.)