A Lonely Planet When You're A Fish Out Of Water

Today, while I was screening a Chinese-made film titled 24 City, it really hit me how homogenized that country's citizens are. I kept trying to put myself into the picture and wondering how I would fit in living somewhere where everyone looked like everyone else, except me. Certainly, I have felt that before in America, especially whenever I've attended a particular event that didn't draw other folks of color. But on a daily basis for the rest of my life? I'd be crazed.

I remember visiting Japan with my mother and sister years ago. We spent nearly a month traveling in Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka, Nara, etc. At first, it was absolutely fascinating to attempt deciphering the language that I heard all around me. Even with a Japanese mother from Japan, I only know mostly nouns so I was trying to pick up on entire phrases. But after awhile, to my shock, I began to miss the sound of English which I only heard whenever my sister and I were having a conversation. Most of the time, she and I were together. So, I did have someone to talk to without having to search for the correct Japanese words to communicate. Still, there was a deep sense of loneliness that enveloped me whenever we were out in public and I couldn't understand anyone else around me. That's a picture of my sister in Tokyo, above.

Being that one different person in any group can be an uncomfortable experience. But most monoracial people don't have to deal with that situation unless they travel outside of their communities. Not long ago, I asked a good friend of mine--who happens to be a monoracial Caucasian man--if he wanted to attend a black arts festival in Atlanta with me. Now, I've known this friend for years. We often talk politics and he considers himself extremely liberal and progressive. Besides visiting each other in our respective home states, we've also travelled to other distant locales to attend various events. So, I was totally unprepared when he answered my question with, "No. I don't think I'd be comfortable at a black festival." I was stunned and replied, "So how do you think I should feel? I have to be a person of color every day when I walk out my door, and where I live 75% of the population is white. Should I just stay in the house so I don't have to feel uncomfortable?" My friend didn't answer. I really don't believe he understood what I was getting at, and it really saddened me because if someone as bright and aware as he is doesn't get it, then there's no hope for the rest of humankind. Or, is there?

Hey, we're moving closer to making our Watermelon Sushi film. In June, we'll be auditioning talent for the principal roles. So, if you live in L.A., please be sure to send your reels, resumes and headshots according to the breakdowns on the Hip Hapa Homeez group page at Facebook. That way, we can schedule you for an audition. Most likely, auditions will be held in Hollywood and the fabulous nissei rapper Miwa Lyric will be on hand to assist (www.miwalyric.com).

Shout-outs to Lily Anne Welty for sending the DVD about Japanese/black kids in Japan. I'll report on it as soon as I watch it. btw, if you're in Asia and you're AfroAsian and you're interested in being interviewed by Lily Anne, let me know. She's on a search for biracial babies born between the 1940's through the 1960's.

Mahalo nui loa also to Paulette Thompson for remembering that The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai had "good" aliens that were all of color and "bad" aliens that were all monoracial Caucasians named John. Paulette also sent me two links that I'll try to post next time. One of her comments was that actress Meg Tilly was born Margaret Chan, but after her white mother divorced her Chinese American father, Meg was taught to keep her Asian ethnicity a secret. The other is about a woman in an interracial relationship.

Now, here's an interesting article that flips the script. It's about a black family who adopted a white child.

http://www.newsweek.com/id/194886/page/1

In honor of my transracial adoptee buddy, Anjulie, I have posted her beautiful-ness, above.

One Love!

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

Obama Triggers Flashback To Germany

Yesterday, on That Day, I was scheduled to speak about biracial issues at a local high school. But when the kids tramped in, all they wanted to do was watch the streaming of the inauguration. As their teacher frantically fiddled with a computer, I tried to get the students'

attention. But, they were having none of it. Instead, I heard incessant complaining about why the streaming wasn't already happening. "I better not miss my president," one aggressive young lady warned us. After ten minutes of clicking keys, the teacher gave up and herded the kids into the cafeteria to watch the big screen TV with other students. Meanwhile, she and I headed to the library.

During the ceremony, I went over in my mind all the interesting paths that I've seemingly crossed with Obama. There's the fact that his mother attended Mercer Island High School near Seattle where I've resided on and off for a number of years. As a child, Obama lived in Honolulu. Well, I've lived in Honolulu, too--twice. My buddy, Lucy, currently lives in Kailua where the Obama's vacationed recently and where I visited Lucy's home last fall. Obama went to Occidental College in Eagle Rock. Several years ago, I spoke to a class there about biracial issues. I also met Anjulie, a transracial adoptee from Seattle, who has since become my good pal because she was in the class that I spoke to that day. And, I have a close friend who lives in Eagle Rock which is also the location of a newspaper that I used to write film reviews for. As for the inauguration, I'm acquainted with the poet who read the poem since she's a good friend of a friend. I seem to know a lot of folks in Chicago who knew Obama, too. And, the list goes on. Crossing paths these days is not so extraordinary given the world of social networking sites and instant communications. Still, it's something to ponder. Will I make the ultimate crossing with Mr. O with an invite to the White House? Now, that would be a trip!

While I watched Obama yesterday, I--of course--thought a lot about his biracial heritage. Later in the day, I appeared on the Mixed Chicks Chat special podcast to add my two cents about the subject. I had to admit that I was disappointed that Mr. O himself has said little about being mixed. Sure, he's referred to himself as a "mutt" and has revealed information about growing up with white grandparents, but it's not like he's in constant conversation about what it's like being biracial. Certainly, I don't expect him to push aside his presidential duties to focus on the multiracial agenda. Yet, I wish he'd do more.

For one thing, 2010 will be only the second time in the history of the U.S. Census that those of us who identify with more than one race group will be able to check more than one box. Think about it. For most of my life (which has been a l-o-o-o-ng one at this point), I've had to deny one of my parents. And, because the One Drop Rule for African Americans has been so prevalent, the person I had to pretend didn't exist inside of me was my Japanese mother. Even though she's influenced me more than any other living being on this planet, I, in effect, have had to announce to the world that she was no part of me. So, yes. I do believe that Mr. O could be a little louder about us biracial babies. Let's see if he does so once we get past all the economic and international problems we currently face.

Thinking about Obama, I also realized that most of the time when monoracial people use the term "biracial", they mean people who are half white and half black. That took me back to the time when my family lived in Germany where my father was stationed for three years. After moving back to the states, we ended up in an all-white neighborhood where no one would speak to us much less allow their children to interact with my sister and me. It was a lonely time for us, but she and I made good use of our solitude by nurturing our creativity.

But the really interesting thing to me now that I'm older and can look back is how white folks in Germany were nothing like the white neighbors in our Washington state home. For one thing, a lot of German kids then had black fathers. And the white Germans we knew were very friendly. Was it because they lost the war? The white American soldiers that worked with my father were friendly, too. Was it because of the Army?

As much as I prefer the idea of pure peace, I realize that having armed forces is a necessary thing. One of the benefits of being in the Army is that everyone is pretty much equal. Being forced together makes people learn tolerance. In civilian life, our white neighbors had the option of ignoring us, but in the military we all had to get along.

In these photos, clockwise: A soldier friend of my dad's visits us in Germany and sits my sister on his lap. Next, I believe this woman's name was PeeWee. She was German, and I don't remember whether or not she had a family. It seems everyone liked having my sister sit on their lap. In the next photo, we're having a picnic with a girl name Bridget, her German mother, Carmen (in the center, who is biracial), her German mother, my sister and me. The last photo is of me playing in the snow with two friends. I don't recall if they were German or American, but they never called me any derogatory names like our Washington neighbors did.

Until next time, I am...

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

Hapa*Teez Hollahs!

Important Announcement:

Hapa*Teez is searching for models who have purchased one of its t-shirts. If that describes you, hollah back at hiphapa@comcast.net. We'd like to post a photo of you wearing your t-shirt both on this blog and on the upcoming, updated version of the Watermelon Sushi website.

Now, on to some news about us blendies. This week, Essence magazine posted an online article about biracial actress Karyn Parsons. You may remember her from tv's The Fresh Prince playing the clueless and self-absorbed Hillary. However, Parsons comes across in the interview as the complete opposite of her spoiled character. Instead of being the airhead that Hillary was, Parsons appears to be quite intelligent as she discusses motherhood and what inspired her to write a book about black history. Although her second husband is white like her father, Parsons has a strong sense of her mother's African roots. Yet, the readers' comments that followed her story were incredible. Evidently, there are a lot of angry feelings in the community among mono-racial people who just don't get the biracial experience. While it's true that slavery of Africans by Europeans is to blame for the color-struck attitudes among some of us, we've reached a time in history when we should know that and move beyond it. Some readers even questioned Parsons' right, given her mixed-race heritage, to address black issues! Unbelievable. Yet, in a way, some of their attitudes are understandable given the horrific incidents that still occur to some blacks today.

For instance, several days later, I read about the murder of an African American woman by a hitman who was hired by her Indian husband's father. That's right, Indian as in India. Now, I know you've seen some Indians who are as African-looking as folks from the Continent. And, it's clear that the geographical locations of the subcontinent and Africa are close enough that it's plausible there were travelers bouncing from one locale to another mixing and mingling. Yet this lighter-skinned Indian man felt that his brown African American daughter-in-law was so beneath his son--even after she gave birth to his granddaughter--that he hired someone to kill her. How can hatred, fostered by differences in skin color, still exist in the year 2008? Why do we still have a caste system based on something that no one can help?

Was I on the receiving end of any good news this week? Sure, there were plenty of kind people out there who encouraged and supported my hip hapa agenda. Thanks to Anjulie and Jamilla, Kim of Tacoma, Jaz of the International Black Film Festival of Nashville, rapper Miwa Lyric, Michelle of the WWII War Brides Association, Ms. Lucy of Kailua, the Mixed Chicks, Kahlil Crawford (pictured above), and many more folks that I've probably inadvertently omitted (apologies!).

In spite of the tragedies and continued misunderstandings that abound about biracial, blended, hapa, mixed-race, multi-cultural and multiracial folks, we're moving forward, kids.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

Tissue, Toilet Paper, Miwa And Anjulie

Several days ago, my good friend Miwa Lyric presented me with a gift that she had brought all the way from Japan. Nestled inside a small, plastic, pink pouch was a package of thin tissue paper for removing oil from ladies' faces. Both cute and functional, the tissues sparked a conversation regarding various Japanese customs.

A third person sitting with us that day had never been to Japan, and was surprised to hear that Japanese public toilets offer no paper towels with which to dry one's hands. Instead, Japanese carry their own private handkerchiefs with which they pat their wet hands. When you think about it, using one's own hanky is much more sanitary considering that one avoids dispensing a paper towel from a machine that's dripping with the mixture of water and germs left by the previous person. Which brings me to this...what is up with Asians and toilet paper?

At first, I thought it was just our family. I mean, my mother literally walks around with a roll of toilet paper that she uses primarily to blow her nose. She's always had bad sinuses so she's always been stuffed up. But, what's wrong with using a box of tissues? Is she just being thrifty (in only the way that Asians can be) by not purchasing tissues because she already has toilet paper in the house?

One day as I was riding a bus, I happened to look down at the car next to us. There, through the back window I spotted a roll of toilet paper sitting on the rear dashboard. "Hmm," I said to myself silently. "I bet they're Asian." When the bus pulled up ahead of the car, I could see clearly that the family was Asian. Big surprise.

Speaking of surprises, I recently saw a thought-provoking indie film that posed many intelligent questions. Medicine for Melancholy is about two African Americans who find themselves facing each other following a drunken one-night stand. At one point, the male questions the female about relationships and wonders why blacks seem to always cling to whites when it comes to interracial pairings. Why, he asked, don't we ever see a black woman with an Asian man? I wonder that a lot myself. If you know, please drop me a comment.

And, thanks everyone for your support. If you bought a Hapa*Teez t-shirt, please let me know if you'd like to submit a photo of yourself wearing one for this blog as well as for the Watermelon Sushi website.

As for the photo above, that's my sweet buddy Anjulie, a transracial adoptee whom I met several years ago at Occidental College. She'll be visiting this week and filling me in on all her mad adventures. This pix was taken while she was touring Ghana.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi