The ethnic butterfly

My story inspired by Winter McPherson...an opposite look at self-acceptance...

 

        I was born in Honolulu, Hawaii. My mother chose to name me, Kena, which means “Hawaiian Princess” in Hawaiian. My mother is Japanese-American and my father is Caucasian, so I had a mixture that was common to Hawaii residents. My mother has told me so many stories about my childhood, that I can almost see that chubby, peaches and cream skin, almond-shaped eyes, blonde hair creature I was in front of me.

      “Unique” was the best way to describe me. While other babies at six months were struggling to crawl, I was up walking around. And to top it all off, I was singing the tune from “Sesame Street” as if I was trying out for a new episode of ‘Baby Idol’! I remember days in Hawaii were spent playing games and tag with other Polynesian friends. One time there was a hurricane, and my Polynesian friends and I got naked and jumped and splashed in mud puddles. I had thrown my church dress to the ground, and boy did I get a spanking!

      I even adopted my own language. I began to speak “Pidgin.” Pidgin is a way many Hawaiian natives speak. For example, they might say, “Can I go to the store, yeah? May I play with my friends, yeah?” So I would always say the word, yeah, after every sentence. Not only did I adopt the language, but my hair was sun-kissed blonde from the tropical sunshine. When I was a baby, a group of Japanese tourists came to take my picture, because they had never seen a blonde, light-skinned baby with Asian eyes. My mom jokes that she was abducted by an Alien, and had me. Hence, my uniqueness is from another planet, which always makes me erupt in laughter.

      I lived in Hawaii until I was three years old, and then we moved to California for three more years. I was popular and ‘fit in’ while living in both Hawaii and California. It was not until I moved to Washington state in first grade, that I began to feel insecure. My best friend’s name was Nancy, and she was your All-American girl, with blonde hair and blue eyes, rosy pink cheeks, and cute as a button. She was more popular than I, due to her looks. The boys delighted in pushing her on the swings, while no one pushed me at all, except one boy, who like the weakest player picked on a team, he was last, and not happy about  it.

      I lived in a very rural part of Eastern Washington, so there were a lot of Mexicans. The Mexican boys use to tease me, and slant their eyes at me, making fun of the way I looked. The ironic part is, they were teased as well, and these are the same boys, now grown up, who look me over a couple times, and hoot, while I am walking by.

     While I rode on the bus, I would see how others would treat Nancy, and I wished I could be blonde and blue-eyed and just like everyone else. My mom had almost named me ‘Stephanie’ and I wished she had. When I played with Barbie dolls I always got the blonde ones, and named them ‘Ashley’ or ‘Kim.’ They would live in their All-American Barbie dream house and all their friends would be white. Not that I wasn’t an American, but I felt like a melting pot of strangeness.

      We moved to the Seattle area when I was nine years old, and people there were more liberal and open, and I grew more into my skin, not feeling like such an outsider. One of my Japanese teachers always made me feel good about my heritage, and one African-American boy in class would always say, “Hey Paula!” talking about Paula Abdul, who was my favorite singer at the time. People said I looked like her because of her hair color and ethnic looks, and I did a lipsync contest to “Straight up” in spandex and neon socks. I was still different, but realized it helped me stand out.

      I moved a lot growing up, and in middle school I attended a very racially diverse school in Tukwila. Half of the school was African-American, and there were many Asians as well. In fact, if you were ‘white’ you were picked on. One time in class this black kid was pointing out all the white kids in the class, and he skimmed over me, and I almost felt ‘safe.’ That was the first time I felt proud of who I was.

       I liked the school, but unfortunately, had to move in the seventh grade, because my mom moved in with a man, my step-dad, who lived in Issaquah, which was a middle-upper class, all-Caucasian neighborhood. It was like a culture-shock. Where are the Blacks? The Asians? The Hispanics? The first day of school a girl had the audacity to come up to me and ask me;

       “What are you?” as if she had never seen a person of any ethnic origin but the white race.

       “A homosapian, what are you?” I replied, which left her in utter confusion. But I was laughing inside. I didn’t have a lot of friends for a while, and I remember eating alone at lunch.

       Eventually, I made friends, and again, I started to feel more secure with who I was, and didn’t really get teased, like I was in third-grade. But it took the rest of that year to feel comfortable in a cookie-cutter school.

       However, many evenings, outside of school, were filled with drawing models in fashion magazines, or other beautiful white woman, with long flowing hair, big eyes, and thin bodies. I think, deep down, I wanted to look that way, and that’s why I had stacks of books filled with what lie deep inside of me. Hoping I could take the pencil, as I could to the paper, and create a new me.

        Luckily, most of my life, after elementary and middle school, I did fit in, and my family always instilled in my head that I was a pretty girl, and I was unique, and that was a good thing.

        To this day when I tell anyone my name they say, “Oh, that’s different, that’s pretty, cute…” Usually people guess I am Hawaiian, or Korean, or Japanese, and I proudly say, “Half Japanese, half white.” I don’t think I look like anyone else, and I certainly do not want to.

        No doubt I still look at a tall, blonde, blue-eyed All-American girl in awe, but not in envy. American is a melting pot of different races and ethnic backgrounds, which I am proud to be a part of.

         I always knew I was different.

         But instead of use it as my shield, I now embrace my uniqueness. There is no one else I would rather be…but me.

          Kena. The chubby, blonde-hair, pale baby who sang and walked ahead of every other baby, who grew up to own her uniqueness, and sing her own song. Her song of self-acceptance.

 

Author's Note

I tried to make it as short as i could, cutting off any rambling. lol cause i do like to talk about myself. anyway, i was inspired by winter mcpherson's story "White like me" and it's funny, cause she always wanted to be like the Hawaiian's, while i wanted to be blonde-hair and blue eyed and tall. funny. hope you guys enjoy it. came from my heart.

Reviews

[Winter McPherson]

Oh goody! I'm the first one to review it! Well, thank you for revealing the struggle of being different. You went from accepted to not accepted and vice versa. Interesting to read about. You are one of those like Mariah Carey - she always says, "I'm a mix."

I loved reading about speaking pigeon and singing at such a young age (I can relate) and yearning to look different.

I loved how you ended it - "who grew up to own her uniqueness, and sing her own song. Her song of self-acceptance."

And what a beautiful song that is!

[emmajoy]

YOU are the YOU you were meant to be, and, as you say, you're unique as unique can be. Anyone can be the custom cut but not everyone can be so special as to end up writing such a wonderfuly post and being such a great friend.

Your autobiog.. is a privilege read, Kena, thank you so much for sharing it. It's a happy, happy pleasure to know you!

[just is]

Wow! This is amazing I mean that, I usally don't read to many stoories but this is touching and beuatiful.

[perfectlymetiKulous]

Oh it's lovely... thank you so much for sharing with me. I feel like I've gotten a glimpse into what your life is/was like, and that was the intent of this piece. Beautifully done.

[Ralphy]

As Kena, you're as sweet as honey on a warm afternoon. To think back in one's life and be able to distill the pain and hold your head up high, is a great thing. Many people get lost in time, depressed and don't return down that avenue�you did well and I know for sure I'm glad to known you. Some of my greatest reviews came from you, your thorough approach, and heartwarming comments. Childhood can be cruel and by now, we should know, but it still ceases to amaze me�Wonderful write and thank you for sharing.

[Nancy Lee Shrader]

A beautiful story of a girl coming of age and learning to love who she is. Thank you so much for sharing.

Well written stroy.

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Wow after reading Winters piece this is a great introspective from another side of culture... it seems any race can be discriminated against depending where they are... it is such a shame that people can't just judge people by their heart and not skin color... you are a fascinating individual and am glad to see you are proud of who you are... so you started with you talent at six months old... well it shows cause you have got great pipes.

[LisetteCanWrite!]

It is good to embrace who we are.. and love who we are and live life for who we are.. your writing shows that you have grown to embrace yourself even through various trials in your life.. being tall and blonde is not a perfect life.. it is cookie-cutter.. there are too many of us... I am not super tall but 5'6 but I am average and from behind I have been mistaken for many different people which can be annoying! Outside shells do not matter... it's what's inside that counts and you are unique and there is only 1 of you in this world!!! Thank you for sharing =)