Written & photographed by Tim Chin

I think at some point, every 2nd Generation immigrant is questioned about their identity. No better example comes from the cliché, “Where do you come from?”. We are asked this from childhood and are often confused by the follow-up question, “No, where are you REALLY from?”. As we grew older, it became a complex emotional response that I, at least, almost never vocalized. In my mind, there are competing voices that scream conflicting answers, “Canada! Of course!”, “Do you mean, what’s my ethnicity???”, “You must only be asking, because, I don’t look like you”, “Don’t deny your roots, be a proud Asian!”. Usually, it comes out as a diplomatic “Canada, but I’m Chinese if that’s what you’re asking”. I usually move on with a pursed smile and, admittedly, perhaps a bit of judgment in my heart. 

Towards the end of 2016, I was renewing my son’s passport at the local Service Canada. When it came to my turn to present the application, the agent looked at me, looked at the forms I had filled out, and then handed it back to me.

“We can’t accept this, you need to bring your child in.”
“I’m sorry, was something filled out incorrectly?”
“No, we just can’t accept your application. You need to return with your child”
“Can you explain to me why?”
“We need you to verify this child is not in China”

“EXCUSE ME? - why would I be renewing a passport, for my own child, who you think could be in CHINA? This is a renewal, not a new even application!  You know you can’t say things like that, right?”

I nearly lost it. Up until then, I think I was aware of the casual racism that exists around us, but this was one of the first times I had it blatantly directed at me.

“Uhhh…. We need to…. uh … make sure this child is not somewhere else, but we reserve the right to ask for additional information“, trying to legitimize his request, without owning his mistake. Turning beet red in the face, the agent was clearly embarrassed when his bias was pointed out to him. His colleague sitting just the next chair over and witnessing this exchange, shot daggers with her eyes at me while shaking her head, clearly disagreeing with my assertion of profiling. 

After I asked to speak to a manager, Passport Canada eventually phoned me a couple days later to apologize, and ensure that the agent in question would be pulled aside and educated. 

I had largely forgotten about this incident until just this past November when my brother told me of an incident he had while waiting in line behind an individual at Canadian Tire. My brother took a step backwards to give more space when he noticed the man was not masked. Turning around, the man looked at him and said, “You’re the reason for all this, it’s because of you we all have to wear masks”.

The people further back in line, stepped in and spoke up against the man, “Where’s your mask?”, “Why don’t you get out of there then, you can’t say stuff like that”, “Think about all the people who died!”.

After a less than gentle escort out of the store, the man left babbling more nonsense with an elevated voice. 

The recent wave of reports of racist attacks against Asians has caused me to wonder when I walk my kids to school, how many people do I cross think, “They don’t belong here”? I spoke to a friend of mine, in the lead up to Lunar New Year who refused to decorate her house for fear of being targeted. This is our reality in 2021. 

As I write this, we are about 2 months removed from Lunar New Year, and I am finally starting to emotionally digest what that meant for our little family in this season. In a typical, non-pandemic year, we would show up at my in-law’s home where a feast would be prepared tirelessly by Angela’s mom.  With isolation measures separating us from our family, we found ourselves, on one hand missing very much the company of our family and the comfort of tradition, and, on the other hand coming to the realization that, being 2nd generation immigrants, our connection to our roots are firmly held through our parents. That is to say, we didn’t know how to make the traditional dishes that gave us so much comfort, because they were always made for us. But because we didn’t want to risk their exposure, we decided to attempt, for the first time, to literally make it on our own. 

When we departed, on this small adventure of discovering all the aisles in the Asian grocery store we never go down, I began to sense that this was a deeply meaningful and profound experience. And as I was FaceTiming my mom from said aisle, I started to realize that, at one point, some time ago, our parents moved to this strange land, separated from their families and were by themselves forced to make it on their own. But, our parents brought their dishes with them, and intrinsically also, their roots. Through an in-built devoted tenacity they nourished us and tethered us to them. Food is Identity. 

As protests ripple throughout North America, and reports and stories of Asian hate increase, so too do the stories of support and acceptance like those who stood behind my brother at Canadian Tire, and the woman who called me from the passport office to apologize. We have found a community in this 2nd generation diaspora, who are longing to connect with a culture that defined our upbringing. The irony of the necessitated isolation of this pandemic is the overwhelming sense that we are, in fact, not alone. This year, by some unintentional force of nature, is our moment where we embrace who we are.