I often get asked where I come from. It might have something to do with the rather peculiar blend of Oriental appearance, slightly-Australian twang and a sprinkling of freckles thrown in for good measure.
On an energetic day, my most comprehensive answer is: “Australian-Malaysian-Chinese” or: “I live in Australia, but my parents are Malaysian-Chinese”. When feeling less social, I can only manage to grunt: “It’s a really long story”, with enough of an evasive sigh to make it clear that the story will not be told - on this day at least.
While some families hand down, through the generations, valuable antique heirlooms or some talent such good sporting genes, my loved ones seem to have a particular knack for movement. So it was that my maternal and paternal grandparents, whom I know ridiculously little about, left China for Malaysia before my parents were born. When I was hitting my teens, my folks migrated to Australia.
To make matters more complicated, my father’s occupation involved working in different countries. This explains why I was born in Bangkok, while my brother ended up with Ethiopia (yes, in Africa). Growing up in international schools with kids who were pretty much in the same boat as me, it never really occurred to me that my life was anything out of the ordinary. Now I know differently.
Who am I?
It’s impossible to measure the effect this gypsy childhood has had. All I know is that for years, I lived out the cliché of “searching for one’s roots”. I was, in turns, besotted, bewildered, frustrated and intrigued by the questions “Who am I? To which tribe do I belong? Where can I dig a stake in the ground?”
I tried to find the answers the only way I knew how at the time - to continue the dance of motion and migration. If I wasn’t changing countries, it was houses, or jobs or friendships.
In my mid-twenties, I visited the motherland - China. There were many wondrous, unspeakable moments in that journey. But I also remember the humiliation of not being to speak Mandarin or Cantonese despite the expectations. As someone so painfully pointed out to me, “You’re Chinese, but you’re not really Chinese.”
Throughout that trip, I could not shake the feeling of being an alien in a land which I had imagined would somehow be more intimate and familiar. Secretly, any allegiance I may have had to China vanished. In one encounter with some Tibetans in a far-flung corner of the country, I even apologised profusely for my Chinese ancestry as if I was somehow partly responsible for the terrible atrocities inflicted on their people.
This year, after too long an absence (23 years, in fact), I had a homecoming of a different kind - this time in Malaysia. In this tropical land obsessed with food, traffic conditions, shopping and modernisation, I had reunion after reunion with more than 50 extended family members. Some I recognized from stories my parents had told me. Some I dimly remembered from years back. With others, it was like meeting total strangers. It didn’t seem to matter. I was somehow, unquestionably, part of this gigantic web of people called “family”. In fact, these blood ties that bound me to them had always been there all these years, even without my knowing.
It was a remarkable and emotional time. In many ways, this journey put to rest many inner murmurings about place and belonging. But even now, as these words tumble out, I’m aware that a different understanding is emerging.
We want the same things
It is a deeper knowing that where we are born, where we come from, what we call ourselves, what jobs we choose, what kind of house we live in, what clothes we wear, what we look like or how old we are truly inconsequential. These labels we choose for ourselves and others come from our minds and create divisions where none should exist. Conflicts with people around us stem from these thoughts, as do wars between nations.
In my years of travel, I have learned this much. Whether it’s a Bedouin from Cairo, a weather-beaten grandma from Barcelona, a cabbie from New York or an artist from Berlin, all human beings struggle and yearn for the same things.
We want our families and friends to be happy. We want to have a roof over their heads and enough food to eat. We want to laugh a little. We want to play a little amid our lives of work and busy-ness.
This simple truth that we are all connected is hard for us to swallow. Bu human beings - in fact, all living beings - come from the same mysterious source which bears many names: God, the Divine Spirit, Universal Truth, Supreme Enlightenment, the Infinite, etc.
So perhaps the next time I am asked, “Where do you come from?”, my standard response of “Australian-Malaysian-Chinese” may be accompanied by a silent internal answer: “I am a citizen of the world and follower of truth.”