Jay Stoneking

“Passing” is a double-edged sword of privilege. It’s a special kind of isolation that is hard to navigate. I am mixed and grew up most with my immigrant Vietnamese family. It was easy to catch my mom and aunts and uncles gossiping when I’d hear my name stand out awkwardly in a sea of Vietnamese from the kitchen. Growing up, it didn’t matter whether I spoke the language or that I didn’t look like any of them. It was enough to exist with them to feel at home in Vietnamese spaces. But away from them, I am invisible. I have always had an American first name and an American last name, completely disconnected from my closest family. I look mixed to me, but hardly ever mixed looking enough to others to be seen as Vietnamese or even Asian at all. Often people would say, “I didn’t realize you were Asian” or they’ll fish for my ethnicity when I mention being mixed or Asian American. It always hurts, even when I laugh it off; usually the person is Asian too. When I changed my name as an adult, I wanted to fold my heritage into my new name in some way but couldn’t bring myself to do it. It felt dishonest, as if I was appropriating from my own culture. Some days I wish I had, just to be more visible among my own community. Other days I feel grateful I don’t have to navigate racism the same way the rest of my family do.

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