a Chinita by any other name

Things random people on the streets have said in regards to guessed ethnicity

Chinita!! (x 1 million in Costa Rica, x 3 billion in Nicaragua)
China y Japon! (one time in Nicaragua, I got so excited that they mentioned China and Japan that I actually gave the thumbs up.)
Chinita, comiendo un banano (while eating a banana in Nicaragua….what)
Konichiwa! (A for effort)
Aloha! (what..? probably has to do with my blue flowy flowery shirt)
Bonjour le chinois (wait a minute...that's not Spanish)
And sometimes more politely, ¿De donde es usted ?

Some background info. Here in Costa Rica: Thai, Japanese, Vietnamese, Korean, Singaporean, Burmese, Mongolian, etc. etc. etc. = China ( I mean, it's only logical. They all look the same.)

When I travel, it’s usually me and a bunch of gringo kids. Whenever we get an inquiry of where we are from, some skepticism arrives from my response of “the United States.” From Nicaragua to Tanzania, the response is always a lifted eyebrow, a cocked head and a closer look at me. “But that one, that one isn’t from the US.” And so begins the question: “So, what are you?” I’ve got the answer down to a near automatic response. “Half Chinese, half Japanese—born and raised in the States.” And without even having to wait, I already know the next question. “So then you speak Chinese and Japanese?” “….(cue internal sigh)…Neither.”

My lack of mastery or even a vague familiarity with the languages of my ancestors is, unfortunately, a more-fitting-than-I’d-like-to-admit representation of my overall relationship with my ‘ethnic identities.’ My outward appearance seems to spark the nickname Chinita whenever I pass a stranger on the street in Central America.

After more than 4 months of hearing strangers yell out Chinita multiple times a day, I am officially sick of the nickname. (One day on a morning walk, I told my host mom how tired I am of hearing Ticos say “Chinita” randomly and she said, “Surely they’re Nicas! (Nicaraguans) But that, my friends, is a whooole ‘nother issue here in Costa Rica.) Nowadays, whenever I hear Chinita, I feel like yelling that I have a name and Chinita is not it, puta!! Other possibilities include pointing and saying, Mexicano! I have yet to do either and I usually just keep walking, internally cursing. They probably think I usually wear a triangular hat for working in the rice fields and poop fortune cookies and chop suey (neither of which, as you probably know, are actually Chinese).

The PC culture that has been formed in the US, for better or worst is up to debate, doesn’t exist here. Case in point, pulling ones eyes to be little slits or saying “ching chong” is a perfectly acceptable example of referring to Asian people here. (Some Tico friends have done it, with me present, probably expecting me to laugh.) Spark mental reruns to second grade.

When I was in second grade, some girl told me my eyes looked like this:

I said, Oh yeah, yours look like this (pulling my eyes with my fingers) Smart ass at age 7:

While strangers define me by my Asian features, I question how much of my ethnicity actually has to do with who I am. Chinese school scarred me for life. I think it was my first day and I must have been 4 years old. The teacher called me up to the front of the classroom to write a character on the board. I got scolded for writing a stroke in the wrong direction and was subsequently embarrassed in front of the class of kids who really didn't need to be in Chinese school because they were all already fluent. I suspect the teacher thought Claire and I were mentally challenged (or worse, half Japanese--hehe). Chinese school immediately became not my “happy place.” My stubbornness and silliness greatly stunted any hopes of learning Chinese (Cue seven year old Erin purposefully pronouncing every word with the opposite intonation of what it should be). The only thing I retained from Chinese lessons is how to say fish, I love you, how to write rain in Kanji and some other random phrases. (is, sister, American.) Basically my repertoire in Chinese is: “I love you rain fish little Chinese dog is American big sister! Hello! Thank you! No! Dim sum! Fart!”

In high school, Claire and I took a Japanese class together my sophomore year. Why? Partly because it would be fun to have a class with my big sis before she grad-eeated, and partly so we could “connect to our roots,” or at least half of them. We did learn a lot, but the class was mostly spent laughing at the interesting lot of students who study Japanese. (Namely one student who sang Usher’s “YEAH!” to himself (loudly, and replacing all the lyrics with “doo-doo, doo-doo”) while drawing pictures of tanks running down stick figure people.)

It seems like here, there is pretty much no consciousness of a whole side of the world, and a huge chunk of its population. My Spanish professor said that there is usually very little or zero education on Asia in schools. (Although I did meet one Costa Rican kid who is majoring in Chinese.) I guess, who is to say that my consciousness is any more ample than theirs? (I do know that China is not the only country to come out of the Eastern hemisphere.) To be so disconnected from a huge chunk of the world, especially in a world where Kentucky Fried Chicken traverses most latitudinal/longitudinal divisions, is not pura vida or tuanis, mae. (Translation: that's not cool, dude.)

I think living in a foreign country has sparked my interest in learning more languages (not that I am fluent in Spanish by any means). I am enrolled in French next semester (which I really probably should not be considering how packed my schedule needs to be for the next two years) and have a new optimistic hope of *one day* learning Chinese. (Crossing fingers for osmosis.)

When I think about the billion-plus additional people I could possibly talk to if I learn Chinese, that seems preettty cool. Or at least, I could use my (someday) newfound skills in Chinatown (what I call, "The Land Where There's No Such Thing As Personal Space"). How? To politely tell the old Chinese ladies to kindly stop pushing me. There's enough cha siu bao to go around for everyone.