The Interracial Relationship

While I was in high school I made an unofficial pact with myself--to attempt to date someone from each race. To be open-minded. To expose myself to what a person from a different race could teach me. And because I've always been someone that likes to shock people from time to time--might as well be honest here, right?

 

Zorig and my Father in Michigan

In my teenage mind I'm sure I just intended to date someone from the major racial groups (black, Hispanic, white, Asian). I made good on that personal challenge during my high school and college years (and even kissed a Norwegian soldier in Sarajevo while on deployment). With one exception--I had never dated someone of Asian descent. This wasn't because I didn't try. I always had an eye out for someone who could help me "check that box," so to speak, but alas never met or encountered one that I found myself attracted to. When I told my girlfriend, Julia, about this recently in light of events, she simply replied, "well, Heather, that's what you get for putting that out into the universe." And so it is that I now plan my future with the first Asian man I've ever been attracted to. How lucky am I that he also found me attractive?!?!


As I began to tell girlfriends about this man and our story, they each had a variety of responses. Julie commented, as we hiked along the trail in Red Rock Canyon Open Space, "You know Heather, this means you are in an interracial relationship." This is something she would mention because she is married to her high school sweetheart who happens to be black. She's been "dealing" with peoples opinions and thoughts about interracial relationships for many years--my experience has only just begun. And I am finding it surprising, to say the least.

For example, Z came along with me to campus on Tuesday where we ate dinner in the dining hall before going to the basketball game. While we were collecting our food, a male student (whom I've known since his freshman year and who is now a junior) from Taiwan, approached me and asked, "Mrs. D, is that your husband?" I said, "not yet, but he will be." The student seemed surprised to learn this news and my interpretation of his reaction was that he was surprised to hear that I, a white woman, would be marrying an Asian man. 

The following day, during a small group discussion with two groups of advisees I shared my news about meeting a man in Mongolia, that we were engaged, and that I would be moving there come summer. The two Asian boys in the room had looks of surprise and shock on their faces. This is not to say that the others in the room were NOT surprised by my news, but the Asian students' surprise seemed to be more about my making a life with an Asian, whereas the other students were surprised I would leave FVS and move so far. My interpretation (which could be wrong, of course) is that Asians are more surprised by this interracial relationship than my fellow whites are.

Z tells me that when we are in public--at the mall, in the airport, at a restaurant--that he thinks people assume he's Chinese. I confess that I'm not good at noticing the distinctions between individuals, whether male or female, from Asian countries. It's known as the Other Race or Cross Race Effect and I know I am guilty of it.

For a small example, here is a picture of my four advisees. Two are obviously white while the other two are of Asian descent. I know what country they are each from because I have their data, but do you know what countries they hail from?

It's true that names can give us clues as to the country of origin.....but that is something I've only begun to learn. And shoot.....it hasn't been all that long since some Americans referred to Asians as being Oriental! I don't know that if I encountered a Mongolian here in America that I would have any idea that he/she was Mongolian. I fear I would probably say China, just as Z says people assume of him.

Just this past Sunday we went out for Vietnamese Pho (one of Z's favorite meals from what I can tell). The owner/manager came back with Z's card after running it to pay the bill (while Z was in the restroom). He said he noticed the card said Bank of Mongolia and asked, was he really from there? (How else would he get the card.....I wanted to say, but didn't.) I said yes, that he was visiting for a few weeks and then I'd be moving to Mongolia in the summer. Again.....there was a pause and the look of surprise, after which he asked if we were married. I said, not yet. He seemed most intrigued and then told me about the Mongolia episode of Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern (mentioned in my post titled The Pressure to Conform). Even going far enough as to load the episode on his phone and play the first few minutes for Z and I. Why? He wanted to know how real the information was. Very real, of course.

The Pressure to Conform

I've spent a lot of time lately thinking about the need to conform. This first becomes keenly important to us in our teen years when we are either working hard to fit in or battling to stand out (and often both simultaneously). It's part of Erikson's stages of psychosocial development and in the teen years we sort out Identity vs. Role Confusion. I remember clearly wanting both--a group of people to hang out with that were like me (I had this briefly in Gaylord, MI, during my freshman year) and then doing so many things to stand apart, to be different (getting a tattoo at 17, wearing black lipstick and bold clothes, joining the Army at 17, etc). There was always the constant push and pull of wanting to be like those around me and feel part of a community, while also wanting to be sure of my uniqueness. 

The Nonconformist

In high school I created this silkscreen of seahorses and titled it "The Nonconformist." It hangs in my bathroom now and is the impetus for this blog post. As I looked at it this morning, I thought, "jeez, I fought to NOT conform then, and now I'm fighting the need to conform. It's never-ending--this cycle."

Nowadays I care a lot less about what others think of me. I wear the clothes I find comfortable, drive a car that meets my needs (good gas mileage), and don't feel the pressure to purchase *stuff* to keep up with the Joneses, as we say here in America. That said, these past few weeks have taught me about a different need for conformity. 

I first became aware of it while Zorig and I were visiting my father in Michigan for New Years. He had been in the US just over a week at that point. After being at my dad's about a day and a half, Z took over the kitchen. He needed soup. At first I tried to tell him he couldn't take over a kitchen, that we don't do that here, that he's a guest, etc, etc. It took me a couple hours to right my brain. I tried to put myself in his shoes and I thought, after a week of eating American style foods, he was probably missing his own. (And I suddenly saw myself experiencing the flipside of this once I'm in UB---desperately craving a burger and fries.) I thought.....he's NOT American, so why am I wanting him to act American? 

Of course it all boils down to the reality that I want him to be accepted and liked. But if so many of the things I like and love about him are how he is different from Americans, then why am I wanting to put him in a box to be like everyone else I know? If I just let him be himself then everyone else will see what I see. Our society puts a lot of pressure on us. To achieve. To accomplish. To want the same stuff as those around us. To share our political viewpoint. To convince others that our way of thinking or seeing the world is the right way. The list goes on and on.

All this to say that this new relationship, this love, is pushing me to analyze and really think about WHY I feel the things I do and WHERE do those feelings come from. And perhaps more importantly, how will I deal with the pressure to conform once I am living in Asia, in Mongolia. I will be a Westerner, an American, living in UB. I will want to maintain those aspects of myself that are my identity, of course, but I will also want to be accepted by Z's family and friends. I won't want to be in a restaurant eating noodle soup with all of his friends and worrying that they are talking about how I won't slurp it (they slurp because it makes it taste better--he says). I don't want to be seen as the snobby white woman. So will I learn to slurp? And will I observe their way of dress and begin to conform, consciously or unconsciously? Will I be able to NOT react negatively to some of the foods they eat and love? (For a crash course, watch the Mongolia episode of Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern, it's on Netflix.) 

These are ultimately cultural differences. Will they be difficult to work through? Perhaps. Are they insurmountable odds? Of course not. Will they take conscious and intentional work? Yes. This is far different than any other relationship I've been a part of. It will require different growth and development. It will require an open-mind and a desire to understand. I suspect I will fail here and there and make missteps. However, my commitment is strong and I'm excited to see what I will learn about the world and about myself through the cultural assimilation that lies ahead of me. While I will always be a strong and independent individual, there is something exciting about knowing that my boundaries are going to be stretched, that I will not have a comfort zone to retreat to (at times), and that I will grow in ways I have never predicted. Take that, Conformity!

Discovering how my Features stand out

New Year's Eve

 




















While I can't imagine what it will be like to be a Westerner in UB, in Mongolia, I am beginning to learn what features of mine will stand out and be noticed by Mongolians. While I've always felt pretty ordinary in the US--brown hair, brown eyes, medium build--I will not be normal or ordinary there.

First, not only is my nose long, but it is also SHARP with all of its angles. Today Zorig will meet my older sister Fawn and I'll be curious to see what he thinks of her nose. :)  Asian noses, according to him, are short and rounded (not sharp!).

Secondly, apparently I have a "skinny face." It's true that I've lost some weight since this past summer, but nothing drastic. Here I think it's the simple difference between the bone structures of Westerners and Asians (again, Asian is a huge racial group and I'm aware of differences and varieties, forgive me for the generalization). For most of my life I've been told by people that I remind them of someone. Did I go to their high school? Or college? Or work with them at X or Y? Alas, I've not recognized any of them or had mutual connections. I think it's simply that I have common features and a bit of the girl-next-door attitude that is familiar to many. Sometimes Z simply touches my cheeks simultaneously and comments on my skinny face. I find it strange to have a part of me that is so commonplace to be perceived as rare and desirable.

Third, I have deep set eyes. Looking at Asian features, this makes sense to me, and yet, it's not something I ever really considered or spent time thinking about. When I was in high school I thought to myself that I wanted to be open-minded and set a goal to date someone from every race (obviously not EVERY....but the major categories at least). All through high school and college, I kept an eye out for an Asian man that I was attracted to. None ever appeared. Until July 30th of 2014. When Zorig left the room that night after being introduced to us, I turned to my father and commented that he was an attractive man. It was an off-handed comment and I certainly never expected anything to develop between him and I. And yet.....so much has. :)

Finally, there is the reality that I am a "white woman." Of course I know that I check the Caucasian box when I fill out paperwork. However, I've never been called a "white woman" until this relationship. I've found it both strange and strangely exciting. I do not consider Asians to be "of color," but Zorig refers to them as being yellow. I can tell you that when we met this summer I was jealous of how evenly he tanned. I thought my arms would be darker than his with all of my freckles, but alas, they are not. He is correct and my skin appears quite white next to his.

I do ponder what it will be like to walk the streets of UB. How often will I be stared at (probably a lot when I attempt to speak Mongolian!) or watched. We often talk about how people will be curious about us. I've always enjoyed shocking and surprising people--intentionally so as a teenager, now it just seems to be a product of who I've become. So be it.

I think perhaps it's a good experience to discover what it feels like to be different from, to stand out, to realize that to someone, somewhere in the world, your ordinary, everyday features, can seem exotic and rare.