Misidentification
It hurts when people misunderstand me because I carry so much baggage in being misidentified. Being misidentified is my life-story. Assumptions based on my looks are what have led to misidentifying who I am and me getting hurt by that. In Japan， so， people thought that I couldn’t speak Japanese or that somehow (and often completely unjustifiably) my Japanese or understanding of Japanese culture would be inferior to a “pure” Japanese. In the Jewish community， because I don’t look like your stereotypical Eastern European Jew， people have guessed that either I or my parents converted， or that I was adopted (that was an interesting twist). Somehow in New York though， most people guessed right: From my last name and behavior， they guessed that my mom was Jewish and that my dad was Japanese. Sometimes I was asked if my dad converted (of which the answer is a flat no)， but that was a legitimate question that one could not know the answer to without asking. So， that didn’t bother me. Though I must admit that often the moment when people were processing the information on my background， there was always a moment of suspense as to whether they would guess right or not.
It’s nice that conversion is so common， in terms of adding to the diversity， but I really don’t like it when that contributes to my being misidentified again. This is why I can’t live in suburbia where people are not used to racially mixed kids and adults. Again， I’m suburbia bashing， but it just makes me sad and resentful of this place. I just don’t want to have to deal with it， you know....
© Rakuten Group, Inc.
