Sometimes my home smells of freshly baked bread, sometimes I can taste sweet plantain, hot from a pan. I see beautiful African figures, batiks, and Pride flags. It all feels like home, a part of me.
But, when I step outside, I don’t always feel connected to the different facets of my heritage (and rarely all at once). I have grown up often not feeling enough. Not tall enough, pretty enough, Black enough, Indian enough or queer enough.
I’ve tried many labels in my attempt to clarify my identity and belong somewhere (sometimes, anywhere). Most days I feel enough, enough of every part of me, choosing labels that serve me – Black, woman, person of colour, queer, bisexual, neurodivergent.
But a label I had avoided and never felt tied to, is South Asian.
At school, there was an Asian group, a Black group and further divisions. With roots in Tanzania, India and Jamaica, not only was it logistically tricky to choose a group but, emotionally, it pulled me in so many different directions. And truly it felt like I had to choose. I am a product of so many experiences, cultures, traditions (and rebellions) – why should I have to choose? Why should anyone?
At university, I remember being invited to join the Caribbean society, created because the existing Afro-Caribbean society was “too African”, I was told. After this interaction, I didn’t join either and didn’t even consider seeking out an Indian or South Asian society. I was desperate to belong, but I had also decided there were places I didn’t belong and in some ways, that limited me.
The word Asian alone has so many different definitions and associations depending on where you are and who you ask. In Britain, Asian typically refers to India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh. Whereas, in America, the term often means East Asia including China, Korea, Thailand, Japan and Vietnam. So, to me, the word seems to mean everything and nothing in a confusing and frankly alienating way. Especially because growing up, people around me bonded on their shared experience of what it means to grow up Asian. My experiences never matched theirs.
My mum has never identified with the term Asian. She always said that Asia is a vast continent that is too often treated as a monolith when it holds a myriad of cultures and identities. This always comforted me and reduced the pressure to ‘be Asian’. I should add that I am rarely recognised as ‘looking South Asian’ (whatever that means) and whilst perception and validation aren’t everything, sometimes it’s nice (and sometimes it’s harmful) to be categorised.
This amorphous concept of ‘Asian’ has often felt unclear and unwelcoming to the intersectionalities of my identity. If I am honest with myself, perhaps I’ve fought so hard to be accepted by certain communities, that I haven’t explored all those available to me.