I Believe in Purple

I believe in mixing paint. Different strokes, different colours, styles and combinations. I believe that humans are just like art. Like you. Like me. Mixed to be unique. For me, I’m a mixture of red, and blue. Purple. I believe in the purple. 

 

Just like I believe in big turkey dinners on Thanksgiving. In Santa coming down the chimney and the Easter Bunny laying out chocolate eggs. And how I also believe in wearing red for well wishes as the Lunar New Year approaches – not on January 1, but when the moon phases shift. 

 

Both pieces of culture I believe in. My name is Cass, and my name is Kai Wei San. One half Asian. One half white. But together what am I? I was confused. But frankly, the truth was I didn’t know where I belonged. I didn’t know what lane was mine to stay in. As I swerve but can never stay. Though my Duolingo streak is long, it can’t compensate for my predominantly white complexion, larger build and butchered Mandarin. Knowing that no matter where I settle, I don’t belong.

 

My grandma, who we called Mama, came to visit from Singapore when I was younger, and she would spend time cooking authentic dishes that would put Shawnigan ling cod nights to shame. When little me brought my food to school for lunch, I would open my thermos to a loud cry of disgust and gagging. “Ew! What is that smell?” I didn’t understand it. I didn’t know why my lunch was different. But I learned to fit in. I went home and begged for “normal lunches.”

 

But my Mama would laugh and call me “white-boned.” Picking apart my horrible spice tolerance. Making me eat hotter chilies to “improve.” Surprise! I still select mild everywhere I go. I always felt self-conscious of my “white-washed” accent to speak Mandarin, even though my parents dedicated thousands of dollars in schooling for me to learn. But no matter how much money they spent it couldn’t hide the fact that I wasn’t fully Chinese. The phrase “我的中文很不 好” – meaning “My Mandarin is bad” – was my favourite saying. It's more than just when I would go to dim sum with my family and the waiter would instinctively lay a fork down beside me. It’s like a “hey I know you aren’t Asian enough to use chopsticks; let me just do you a solid.” It pissed me off. It was a slap. Cass, you’re not Asian enough. 

 

I bet many of you didn’t even know I was Asian. That’s how much my complexion has disconnected me from my culture. When people ask, “What are you?” The question left me uncomfortable as I didn’t know myself. Was I red, or was I blue? What was I? 

 

Like art. Once the paints are combined, they can never blend back. I am a mix of paints. I am both white and Asian, and I don’t mix back into any stock bottle, and nor do I want to. But isn’t that what makes things beautiful? Think of artwork with just primary colours and yawn at the blandness that it brings. Because in art we see the picture that goes beyond separation. 

 

So it doesn’t have to be one way or another. I can believe in the power of fruit and the colour red while also believing in breakfast for dinner and seasonal traditions. My name is Cass Kehler. My name is Kai Wei Shan. I’m proud of being in the in-between and the unique pieces of culture from both sides have made up who I am. And who I am, I am very proud to be. This I believe.