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.

Fear of the Other


A side experience of this adventure has been
seeing how people react to one's

Zorig, Hongoroo, & Amgaa

seemingly outlandish plans. Yesterday morning I announced to my entire faculty that I won't be returning in the fall and provided a very short version of Zorig and I's story. And then revealed our plans for the future. Overwhelming it was received well and I've only heard people wish me well on my next chapter in life.

However, it hasn't always gone so smoothly. I think Americans, as a general group of people, are skeptical of "others" and fearful of what life outside of the USA provides, or not. For example, here is a list of various responses and questions I've gotten over the past few weeks as I've shared my future plans with friends, family, and acquaintances:

• How exciting!
• Do they have running water? Electricity? (of course!)
• Will you be living in a ger? (not living, though perhaps we will have one in the backyard for entertainment purposes and we'll stay in them sometimes when we travel)
• You know, Heather, women may not be treated as well over there, so I hope you are careful. Mongolia is not the US. (This seems obvious to me!)
• What will you be able to do for work? (Not sure yet....but hopefully work for an International School in Ulaanbaatar)
• Do you have to give up your US citizenship? (of course not!)
• Do you have to marry him to go there? (this depends on whether I get a work VISA, etc...but of course we plan to marry!)
• Mongolia? Really? Is that part of China or Russia? (neither, it's an independent country)
• Have you had him checked out? Are you sure he is who he says he is? (this one shocked me most of all and I was left nearly speechless)
• Where will you live? (in an apartment in Ulaanbaatar and a house just outside of city)
• You are one ballsy chick! (one of my favorites! haha)

That is just a smattering of the various responses I've received. I can say that it has gotten easier to own the truth with each time that it is presented. It feels good to be done with announcing/telling everyone at this point in time. Now I simply live into the future we have imagined together and begun to solidify the plans with our daily actions.

Now I'd like to share a tiny example of how differently Mongolians see the world and interact with one another. This past Saturday we drove to Denver with some of the purchases Zorig needed to ship home to UB. In downtown Denver I found myself in the basement of a Nail Salon (where Mongolian women were doing nails and which I assume was owned and run by Mongolians from that community in Denver--did you know that Denver has the largest population of Mongolians living in the US?) getting his boxes and gear weighed and priced by a Mongolian man, let's call him T, that has been living in Denver for four years. There were no labels on the boxes or bags. Z and T talked in Mongolian while I drank tea and tried dried yogurt (from Mongolia--not sure if I liked it or not). Then we said goodbye and left.

In the car I asked about the lacking labels and about the absent exchange of money. He simply said that T would put the labels on, take pictures of the boxes, and get them shipped. Also that payment would be made to the account he was given on a tiny slip of paper. There was no hesitation about knowing that his gear would make it to his friend in UB. No doubt from T that Z would make the payment in the coming days. If T said he would do x, y, and z, then it would be done. I was mystified. Here in America, we attach our own labels and we take our own pictures and create piles of documentation to track each and every item. And we certainly wouldn't leave unmarked belongings in a basement of people we had just met in person and tracked down via the internet only days before.

Mongolians trust one another and have faith in one another. They are forthright and honest. I think I would liken them to what Americans might have been like with one another prior to WWII. In the past 70+ years we've become isolationist within our own nation. We teach "stranger danger" and we expect the worst from those different from us. The OTHER is something to fear, to be concerned about, or to distrust. It's not that I didn't know this before meeting Zorig, but spending three weeks in Mongolia and then watching how he operates during these seven weeks of his visit, it has become abundantly obvious to me that I am moving to a place where people are yet trustful of one another, where they have faith in the goodness of one another, and where people say what they mean and mean what they say. I find it inspiring, refreshing, and exciting.

At the top is a picture of Zorig, Hongoroo (our driver for the fishing trip), and Amgaa (our local area fishing guide). Dad and I spent six amazing days with these men. They were always kind, thoughtful, and happy to be present and in the moment with us. Granted, my entire life has changed since that trip occurred, but the way they interacted with one another, with us, and with everyone we met along the way, will always be a bright and lovely memory to me. It's how I want to be.

Getting back to my Roots

Zorig and I in the Michigan snow over New Year's.

While I progressed through this Fall and began to imagine a new and wholly different future for myself, I have been surprised at how much of this new future is a return to my roots. I grew up hunting and fishing in Northern Michigan. Snow has always felt comforting to me and nothing beats that first heavy snow of the year that quiets the earth and everything around us. Being outdoors has always had a grounding or centering effect on my soul/spirit.

Somewhere along the path of my life, I fell prey to the "city life" and the trappings of the American way of life. I allowed myself to be pulled further and further away from the great outdoors. I surrounded myself with "stuff" and to busy myself with indoor pursuits and city pastimes. Don't misunderstand me, I do not mean that any of these options are bad---but they are NOT what feeds my soul or spirit or heart. And so, I got lost along the way. There were moments of clarity, when I would be out hiking and would strike that chord deep inside of myself. I could feel peace and freedom. But then I would return to my home and the suburbs and that feeling of being centered and free would fall away from me, just as the dust fell from my boots. Lost in the wind.

In Michigan, I grew up on the 45th parallel. In Ulaanbaatar (capital city of Mongolia and called UB for short), I will be on the 47th parallel.  UB is THE coldest capital in the world. While I'm certain I will have to acclimate to my new home and it's depth of cold, I know that if I'd met a man in Costa Rica there would be no way in hell this adventure would be happening. But the cold does not scare me. So I wear a turtleneck. And mittens. And a hat. :)
I can do cold. 

Now I know what you are thinking.....wait, you're going to live in the capital city? With 1.5M people in it? How is that getting back to your roots? To the great outdoors? Allow me to explain. It's true that we will live in an apartment in UB and I will hope to work at a school in the city. HOWEVER, we will also have a home outside the city, "in the countryside" as they say in Mongolia. Anything that isn't in the city.....is in the countryside. Also, when hunting and fishing and traveling within Mongolia you often stay in ger camps or make your own camp with tents. I will have ample opportunity to leave the big city behind me and be on the steppe or in the mountains. As UB is the second most polluted capital city in the world, I've told Zorig that getting me to the countryside most weekends and breaks is required. He has agreed to accommodate this request.

While I have not spent much time as an adult hunting and fishing, my fondest memories from childhood are of doing those things with my father. Zorig and I talk about traveling to hunt and fish. We play it out in conversations. Hunting in the mountains on horseback (he has already purchased me a saddle!) and then making camp and cooking our quarry over an open fire. Surrounded with a few good friends, we'll drink beer and vodka, eat our kill, and share in stories and laughter. All of this on the expansive land of a country that knows no fences. And light pollution? What is that? I can't wait to sleep on the steppe, under a sky full of stars, and with the sound of wolves howling in the distance. 

And no, I'm not naive.....I know that city life has softened me. That first trip or two won't be so easy, I'm sure. It will take a little getting used to, especially at 40+ when aches and pains are too often our companions. BUT.....isn't the beauty of being human the ability to change our minds? To change our course in life? 

As the song "Rewind" by Stereophonics says, "It's your time. It's your day. It's never too late to change lanes," and "If you could rewind your time, would you change your life?" While we all know it's impossible to rewind a life, we do, in each and every moment, make a choice about the course of our life. My life is completely different than it was six months ago. And it will be all together different again in another six months. I know some heads are spinning thinking about how much has changed. Sometimes I can feel the ripple effect of so many changes.....BUT, I can also say that I've never been happier. I've never been more excited to see what the future holds. I've never been more in love. I've never felt so loved by another human being. I've never been more eager to see what's around the next bend. And at the top of it all, I've never been more anxious to discover who I will become as I travel this new road.

This Wicked Roller Coaster Ride

While I began to think and dream of a life in Mongolia back in September, it has become real for me in a new way this past week as I shared my plans with my bosses and some co-workers. 

Me in Hustai National Park

No one is quite sure what to say to, "I'm moving to Mongolia." And who can blame them? People up and move to California, or Pennsylvania, or even Florida. But Mongolia? I suspect some Americans aren't even sure where to locate Mongolia on a map, let alone make it home. But in about 167 days I will pack my few remaining belongings and board a plane to cross the Pacific and begin the next chapter of my life.

While I would say I am not a traditional female with emotions that swing in huge ways, this fall and winter have allowed me to ride a roller coaster of feelings and emotions. First there was the falling in love with a man that was 6,000 miles and an ocean away. It didn't happen all at once, but rather over some days and weeks in which we began to know one another on a deeper level. For me, it was the fact that he was honest and forthright in all things. Whatever he felt or thought, he said. No hesitation. No games. No masks. No, "if I say this, she will think that, and then what?" No chess game to manipulate or control. Just honest, raw truth and candor. And so I fell in love. He is the man I've waited my whole life for......

Then came the real problem....where to make a life together. He made plans to visit me in USA over the Christmas holiday. We called this "Stage 2" of the relationship; Stage 1 being the six days we spent together on the fishing trip. Stage 3 would be my summer 2015 visit and Stage 4 was what came afterwards. However, some time in October the stages disappeared into the ether. I would move to UB (short for Ulaanbaatar, the capital city) in summer of 2015 and our life together would begin.  Some have asked why he doesn't come to the US. All I can say is that I knew in my gut and heart that him coming to my country would slowly kill off the strong spirit I so love and admire in him. He can't do all that he is accustomed to doing in Mongolia, in the US. I think my job skills and experience are more adaptable there. And so I go. I know in every fiber of my being that this is the right choice for us, the right way for us to pursue a life of love and adventure together. I will become his wife and a mother to his teenage son. I will learn a second language (Mongolian). 

Throughout the fall, I would walk across my school campus and ponder the fact that this *could* be my last autumn in America. It was a thought that brought on feelings of both excitement for the unknown and melancholy at that which will be lost, left behind. Nowadays, with the decision made and this new future imminent, my feelings oscillate momentarily from excitement to fear. It is, I think, simply the nature of making such a huge and overwhelming change to one's life. It is not a ride that can be avoided, nor can I get off of it. I will be on it until I arrive in UB in July. And so I spend my days learning to embrace the curves, the jerks, the loops, and the moments when my stomach drops out. In each of those moments one thing always rises to the surface--I am alive and living life to the fullest. 

This is the space in which I hope to keep track of my journey. I hope you might join me along the way and share your comments and thoughts when you want. I am blessed with an amazing family and a host of incredible friends. Thank goodness for technology that we may all stay in contact as time marches on.