Who I am is partly a response to how I’m seen
A messy, worthwhile journey
It was one of those days where I was lost in thought, so, as I went to cross the street, I was extremely startled by a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and saw a boy staring at me. “Excuse me,” he started. “Are you mixed?”
At that time, I had been living in America for about 5 years, having moved from Egypt at the age of 18. I had been asked many questions, including: Do you still have a Pharaoh? Do you speak Egyptian? How do you know English so well? And, did you grow up in the desert?
But this boy’s question caught me off guard.
I immediately answered, without hesitation. “Yes.” And that was that. He thanked me and I watched him walk back to his group of friends.
Notwithstanding the awkwardness of the question, the whole scenario seemed odd. Was this a teenage boy’s poor attempt to flirt? Or maybe it had been a dare? I guess I look mixed? I wasn’t offended by the question — technically, I am ‘mixed’ — but it made me think about how others perceive me, and how I perceive myself.
As a kid, I was very conscious of being half Egyptian, half American (with some Icelandic roots). I remember a particular day in elementary school, back during my family’s two-year stint in small town America. We had been discussing something about family trees in class when my hand shot up eagerly. Before the teacher had a chance to call on me, I blurted out, “My ancestors are the Vikings and the Pharaohs!”
The memory makes me cringe even now. But, at that point, I was beaming with pride. If I’m truly being honest, I still like the idea of that combination.
When someone asks me where I’m from, I sometimes panic or nervously laugh. Sometimes, I make a funny joke to change the subject, or give a chronological timeline of my life, starting from my birthplace to current residence. Usually, I say that I grew up in Egypt and that I am half Egyptian half American.
At some point, I realized that the hyphenated term Egyptian-American is understood as someone with Egyptian parents, raised in America. Half-half, on the other hand, implies that my parents come from different countries. It’s a weird distinction to make, but I figure it’s the more accurate term. I intentionally say Egyptian first because I was raised there and it feels like the Egyptian part deserves a little more emphasis.
I have to think about things like this.
The question obviously still throws me off, despite a lifetime of answering it. I find myself wondering why that is one of the first things people ask. Is it because they can’t figure out where I am from because I don’t look or talk like I’m from here? Is it because it’s the default question you ask people when you first meet?
Personally, I would rather find out naturally if it comes up in conversation, or wait for someone to divulge that information if or when they so wish. But that’s just me and I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way. For me, and others with similar ‘mixed’ identities, though, it is an overwhelming question with no clear-cut answer.
It definitely doesn’t get any easier to answer that question. If anything, it gets harder. Some part of me enjoys it, but, mostly, the question forces me to present a coherent image of myself, one that makes sense to others, whether it’s ‘mixed’ or ‘half’ or whatever.
It’s essentially an impossible task and not one I should have to undertake. Writing this, I realize that who I am is also partly a response of how I’m seen, which decries simplistic reductionism. Because, you see, it doesn’t always have to make sense. It’s not coherent, it’s messy, and it’s me.
