I Am Mixed

By Natalie Keiko Lortz, UC Davis ’20

Art and Design Team 

What is my heritage? When I was younger, this question was answered for me. My father, a Japanese-German American, blew my mind one day when he told me I was Japanese and white. To be more specific, I was Japanese, German, British, and Scotch-Irish. Excited by this overflow of information, I began telling all my friends in first grade the next day. When I got home, I enthusiastically started telling my dad about all their reactions, clearly exuding pride for being a part of the cultures that I was not previously aware of my connected history with it. Other than my father, the glorious truth bearer he was, and my sister, whom he told at the same time, I didn’t talk to anyone else in my family about it.

Eventually, while hanging out with my mom and my sister, as first graders do, it dawned on me that my mom might not be privileged with this information regarding my ancestry. Did she know that I, her daughter, was this beautiful, diverse mix of countries? Probably not, I figured–– and I couldn’t wait to tell her.

“Mom, guess what?” I said smugly.

“What?” my mom responded.

“Did you know that I am Japanese, German, British, and Scotch-Irish?” I asked with a self-satisfied smile, expecting the same explosive reaction I received from my mono-ethnic classmates.

Unimpressed, my mom said, “Yeah, I know. Did you know that you’re Chinese?”

Shocked, dumbfounded, and disturbed, I did not know what to say––until my sister spoke for me.

“NOOOOOOOOO,” she wailed. Not skipping a beat, I joined in her wail of despair.

“I don’t want to be Chinese!” my sister continued.

At that moment, I felt like being Chinese did not encompass the same cool, abundant mix that my dad declared me as. It did not readily register in my brain that I could be both or all those things. And I can only assume my sister felt the same. It’s not that I hated the concept of being Chinese. Rather, I understood that being Chinese meant I could no longer be Japanese, German, British, and Scotch-Irish as well. Later that night, my parents sat my sister and me down to discuss the situation. They did a great job of explaining and establishing a foundation of confidence in our young minds by saying that we should be proud to come from a multi-faceted legacy.

They asserted, “Most people are not as lucky. Most people are just one thing, but you, girls, are many things.” That simple explanation was good enough for me. From then on, I took pride in my diverse and complex family heritage and saw my family as a combination of different cultures.

Unfortunately, as I grew older, the concept of being multi-racial got more complicated the more I discussed this with people.

A part of having a cultural identity, especially as a mixed-race individual, is an element of wanting to be accepted or recognized, whether by your friends, acquaintances, or even your own family.

For my Chinese side of the family, I am “Chinese, but not really.”  Often, I am “too white” to be Chinese. Since I was born with my father’s German last name and did not inherit my mother’s maiden name, like most of my cousins, there is an identifiable difference between us. Likewise, I am known as the “little Chinese girl” on my dad’s side of the family due to my Asian passing appearance. Initially, it was saddening that the people I care about most, and who have known me the longest, failed to address me in a way that embraced my heritage. Furthermore, many acquaintances have told me that I am “not full [Asian],” and they could tell that I was probably “something else.” On the other hand, others outright refused to believe me when I gave them my family background.

In those conversations, when one element was magnified, in favor of the others, it felt as if only certain parts of me were acceptable. Even when people acknowledged me for being something more than just Asian, it felt like I became less of a human and more like a puzzle. For a long time, I rarely felt like people recognized or celebrated who I am. If anything, I often felt torn between my parents. When I praised one race, the other felt neglected. It was hard to find moments when I could embrace my whole culture.

After years of being described in the same way, enough was enough. I realized that I am not too much of one thing, not enough of another, or both. I am something else entirely, I told myself.

I am mixed. I am dynamic. And I am enough as I am.

That is just a fact.

Other multiracial individuals may choose to identify with one race due to the cultural makeup of the environment they grew up in, their appearance, and how that relates to their ethnicities.

I feel so strongly about identifying myself as multi-racial in all situations because, in a way, I think to deny myself as multi-racial, would also be to deny my predecessors and their vibrant genealogy that lives within me. Personally, the only reason to identify any other way would be to appease others’ ideas of who or what I am, rather than fully accept my composition. My radical acceptance does not stop people from questioning or doubting my ethnic makeup, however. Thankfully, rather than be frustrated with some people, I understand their questioning, seeing as I felt the same when I first learned about my ethnicities. Granted, I was six at the time, but we all grow at different rates. Nevertheless, I am a proud, multifarious person, and I encourage others to step into the “multi-racial” category, and not to feel pressure to stick with one identity while dissolving the other. Dismissal does not negate the truth, and I look forward to celebrating other diverse backgrounds besides my own.