It’s a term that wasn’t a part of my regular vocabulary until I started travelling long term. Western, western world, westernized society, western thinking, westerner – all these derivatives of being a part of a developed, anglophone society; seen by the rest of the world as filled with opportunity, freedom, money and as I recently learned – white people.

I have come across many people during my travels (mostly Asians; east, south, southeast) who dared to challenge my answer when they asked where I came from.

“Canada” I would answer proudly.

“…but you’re Asian” or “…but you look Asian” were the answers I got 8 times out of 10.

“Yes…” I would say through gritted teeth. “And I am from Canada.”

“But how?” they would ask. Sometimes they would follow it with “But where are you REALLY from?”

Guys, if only I had a dollar for every time this happened…

To many people living in non-white countries and those who have not travelled to places such as Canada or the US, being western to them means being white. Because I have Oriental skin and black hair, some people believe that I cannot be from Canada or cannot “really” be from Canada. Or perhaps they believe that where my parents are from would take precedence over my Canadian-ness.

Whatever that means. I think all of that is bullshit. Am I less Canadian because I am not white? Are white Canadians more Canadian than me and my family?

While no one has really said it to me that way, that’s how I feel after our awkward exchange. And while I have my reserved feelings for when this happens, I also have to acknowledge that some people grew up in a monocultural society, haven’t travelled that much or just have very skewed views from popular media.

But I want to make it clear for the purpose of this post – I am and will always be Canadian. I didn’t step foot into Laos, my motherland, until I was 27 years old. Canada is the only home I’ve ever known and truly makes me who I am today.

What does it mean to be Western?

This has been something that I have been trying to figure out an answer to for some time. I never really knew how “Western” I was until I started travelling long term. Where I am from influences my accent, my fluency of English, the way I talk, walk and how my mind works. The Westernized environment in which I studied, worked and grew up in; the people I was surrounded by, the politics, news and society influences my beliefs, my no-questions-asked embrace of different skin colours, backgrounds, religions and sexual orientations, and of course, my feminist strongholds.

I thought that when I was in Asia, I was Asian. But I was not. I was Western. By going to a beach in Thailand or Indonesia in a bikini to lay in the sun with an English novel, I was Western. By carrying a big backpack on my shoulders while wearing shorts and a tank top, I was Western. By ordering a cheeseburger or pizza (sometimes you get sick of local cuisine), I was Western. No matter how much I looked like the locals, I was Western. No matter how many times a local Thai would start speaking to me in Thai or a tourist in Taiwan asks me for directions in Mandarin, I am Western as soon as I answer them. My fluent and “good English” as some call it, separated me from the rest. When I am in Asia, I am not Asian. I am Western.

I cannot easily start a conversation with someone from Asia about feminist values. Our cultures don’t align when it comes to beliefs about things like equal pay and opportunity, abortion and rape. My views would come off as too strong and too liberal and the last thing I would want is to offend someone I don’t know that well or that I had just met, especially if they have little to no stance on these issues in their countries. Or if their countries have dated beliefs (example, that a rape victim is to be blamed for what she was wearing. DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED).

But when I am at home in Canada, I am not Western; I am Asian. My lack of whiteness, of blond hair and blue eyes, of having 5+ generations before me in Canada, of having an uncle, grandfather or great grandfather as a veteran… I sometimes seem to be part of the Other. Although my birth certificate and passport shows that I was born in North York, Ontario and both stating my anglo name (my Chinese name is not documented anywhere, it was simply given to me), I am not “Canadian enough” for some who have had generations before them in the country — yes, I have been told this before. My black hair and Oriental skin, my parents and grandparents being immigrants all amount to me being Asian-Canadian; the hyphen being absolutely mandatory as I cannot just simply be stand alone Canadian.

A bit of relevant sidetrack: While my parents and grandparents are from Laos, they are of Chinese heritage. To simplify it, I just say my family is Lao-Chinese. However, I strictly will never say I am Chinese. Some of my family members just say they are Chinese. My defence is that we are not from China. My parents and grandparents are from Laos with the exception of my paternal grandfather being from China but spent most of his life in Laos and Canada. If I say I am Chinese, people will assume my family is from China. This is wrong, therefore I will always say Lao-Chinese.

I got into an argument with someone about this. He said that I was making my identity up and taking out a part I did not like. Because I refuse to say “I am Chinese” he was saying that I am, in ways, falsifying my identity. My response? First off, I determine my identity. Secondly, only 1 person in my family was born in China. No one else was. When I visit China, when I meet Chinese people, I do not feel a connection, a sameness except for understanding a little bit of what they are saying. And to add to that argument, I don’t feel a sameness when I visit Laos or Thailand either, though I have to say it’s definitely more compared to China.

The only people I truly feel a sameness with, in terms of background, ethnicity and upbringing are kids of family friends who like me, grew up in a Western country, who have parents of Lao-Chinese background who were immigrants. Mind you, this is a very small group of people.

Back to being on the road: I sometimes felt judged when I’d meet new people while travelling, namely those from other anglo or European countries. I think a lot of people assumed by looking at me that I was from China or Hong Kong or Japan and thus expected me to talk to them with one of those corresponding accents. However when they hear my clear Canadian/North American accent, suddenly some of them seem more keen on talking to me. “OH you’re from CANADA.” Suddenly, I feel more accepted since I am fluent in English. And that should be wrong, right? But it’s just the way it is.

In no way do I intend this post to be about divisive feelings (I think we have enough of that right now in the world). Travel and cross cultural experiences are meant to bring people together; that is why I travel in the first place – to experience humanity in places and ways my home country could not show me. However, travel teaches you many things at the same time. One of the things I can take away is that while identity isn’t always a simple answer, it belongs to you, no matter what you may be told or how many different assumptions are made of you by others.

Your identity is for you to define, add and subtract to, shape and mould and change as you grow in different ways.

Regardless of who asks me where I am from, I will always proudly say I am from Canada. I feel pride when I hold my Canadian passport while going through immigration. I beam when people respond with how much they loved travelling through Canada or that it is on their list. I knowingly agree when I have friends tell me how lucky I am to be from Canada.

The past year has been a learning and discovery experience of sorts for me. Shaping my identity and finding out who I am; not in the hippie kind of way but in the true finding my place in the world way. I don’t have anything against those who questioned me on where I was from but rather am grateful to have encountered their ignorance. It has helped me further figure out my distinctiveness of being Western because above all, that is who I am no matter what anyone says.