It has been said that everyone belongs somewhere. Somehow, they will fit in quite nicely into particular group, whether it be cultural or just social. That may be the case in most instances but there will always be someone who feels out of place.

For as long as I can remember, I have always felt like a fish out of water, no matter which group of people I interact with. While some people seem polite enough, I always feel that I don’t quite belong in their social group. In my case, my uneasiness stems purely from my Asian ancestry. Admittedly, if I had been born in an Asian country, things would be different.

It is no secret to those who know me well that my circle of friends have mainly been Westerners. Due to my upbringing and my reluctance to embrace it, I have never really felt comfortable amongst Asians. The reason? They almost always assume that I have the same love for the culture and language as they do and are not willing to accommodate any variances to their pride. On the other hand, while I prefer the company of Westerners, there will always be someone in the group who will unintentionally make reference to my genetics.

Now, one might think that living in Singapore for 6 years would alleviate some of the insecurities of socialising with other Asians. Theoretically, that would be the logical conclusion. However, as mentioned in the previous chapters, the housing estate I grew up in consisted of families from non-Asian countries. While my primary schooling was surrounded by Asian classmates, the majority of my neighbours in the housing estate weren’t and hence much of my childhood was equivalent to a Western upbringing.

One of the most prominent memories I have of such an event was my return visit to Malaysia in 2004 with my mother. The purpose of the visit (apart from medical reasons) was to visit relatives whom I hadn’t seen in over ten years. I must admit it had been a rather interesting experience as my intention was to re-establish relationships with my relatives on both sides of my parents’ family. I had spent the first two days staying with my cousins on my father’s side in Kuala Lumpur and the next week or so with those on my mother’s side in Malacca two hours drive away, west of the Malaysian capital.

The first two days with my paternal relatives was overwhelming to say the least with most of them making sure they came to see me before I caught up with my mother who was staying with her brother at the time. My uncle explained that it was because I had spent so much time in Australia and most of my relatives had never been outside Malaysia so I was something of a fascination to them. At the time, it felt like I had gain some form of celebrity status. However, as always, I felt uncomfortable with the situation. On one hand, I felt appreciated that my relatives were interested in what I had been up to and what Australia was actually like. On the other hand, it showed that I was once again an outcast amongst my own family because all they were interested in was the Australian life, not me. I would later discover that my uncle sent his child to study in Sydney based on the information I’d told him about Australia.

I had one cousin wanted to keep in touch with me in order to practise his English. So, we came to an arrangement. He would write to me in English and I was reply in Mandarin as I needed to practise my Mandarin as much as he need to practice his English. This exchange started off well after I returned Australia. He wrote in English in his first correspondence and, as agreed, I replied in Mandarin. Then it went sour. His next reply letter was also in Mandarin. When I complained he had broken his part of the agreement, he returned saying that his father (my father’s older brother) disagreed with his correspondence in English and that my father was a bad parent for not teaching my siblings Mandarin. That ended the correspondence.

Other cousin wanted to keep in touch purely because I was living in Australia. According to the rest of the family, she had a “mental illness” because of her fascination with Western culture. Apparently, when she was told I was coming, she had to see me. We exchanged postal addresses but I never heard from her.

My visit to my mother’s side of the family was an entirely different experience and not one I would like to repeat any time soon. To put simply, the majority of my maternal cousins could not speak or write English – nor did they have any desire to. In fact, they didn’t even speak Mandarin – my only form of communication with my relatives in Malaysia. Instead, their primary and only language was Hokkien, a Chinese dialect spoken by most members of my mother’s family, including my mother. If I felt I was a fish out of water amongst my paternal relatives, my maternal relatives brought that to a new level. One of my cousins had recently given birth to a boy which my other cousins seem much more interested in. In fact, they completely ignored my presence, even though we were in the same room.

My mother was of no assistance whatsoever. Instead of introducing me to my cousins in a language they understood, she immersed herself in conversation with her own siblings for what seemed like hours. I still remember her encouraging me to mingle my cousins and try to get to know them better which was impossible, seeing as we didn’t speak the same language. Instead, I retreated to our temporary room in my uncle’s house and read a book, feeling absolutely miserable and bored.

Sometimes some of the most hurtful comments come from those who are supposed to be your friends and claim to understand who you are. During the first attempted move-out from the family home, tensions between my parents and I were high. My parents had expertly played race card on me and I was feeling defeat and extremely frustrated by the events that had passed. So much so, that I – quite foolishly – announced that I hated being Asian on social media.

In hindsight, I’m not entirely sure what I had expected from such an outburst but, in the hours that followed, those who called themselves friends took it upon themselves to offer support, only for that to have an opposite effect. The last thing anyone wants to hear from someone else is how they are supposed to feel about themselves or live their life.

One associate announced that I should be “proud of who I am”, giving very little thought into the consequences surrounding my rejection of my Asian heritage. He himself was Fijian and who had a close relationship to his family. Another associate (a Vietnamese living in Australia) actually insisted that I had not fully grasped the understanding of my position in society and that I should accept myself for who I was. To paraphrase her words, “once you understand this, you will feel a lot happier about your life”.

In both cases, they were proud of their cultural heritage. Needless to say, neither of these comments assisted in the reconciliation of mine seeing as I never fully felt that I belonged in the culture in the first place. That incident taught me that instant announcements on the internet don’t always help.