In the middle of a hot New York City summer, and after sitting in the uncomfortable seat on the airplane for more than fifteen hours, a young boy finally arrives at JFK airport. He is not familiar with everything in America: He doesn’t understand English, doesn’t know what Easter is, and doesn’t even know where his new home is going to be. Strange things are coming at him like waves of wind. He is unsure whether it is the jet lag or the countless number of unknown things in this new environment that make him uncomfortable. However, he is still excited to be able to experience American life instead of just watching it in Hollywood movies. He decides that he will learn more about American culture in order to truly become an American. 

In the next few years, like a hungry kid at the dinner table ready to fulfill his appetite, he tries to learn everything that is considered part of the American culture: Language, food, and certain habits. He tries his best to learn English grammar, vocabulary, and pronunciation. Then, he tries some classic American food like New York Pizza, hamburgers, and hot dogs. He also tries to watch sports like football and basketball, but he didn’t like those that much. 

He can feel that he is becoming more American. However, he can also feel that he is losing something. 

“Do you remember how to write the word eagle in Chinese?” His friend asks him as they work on Mandarin homework one day.

“You first write this thing that looks like a square root. Then, you…” He closes his eyes and tries to imagine the word in his head. The word is floating above him, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t catch it. “I don’t remember the next part… Let me search for it on my phone. The last time I wrote Chinese was years ago.”

His friend looks at him with confusion. “How can someone forget writing a language?”

“Well, unlike languages like English and Spanish that have only 26 letters of the alphabet, Chinese has no alphabet. Instead, every word is totally different! It is possible that I forgot it!” He doesn’t realize that he is yelling until he finishes the sentence. He isn’t even sure why he is so suddenly mad just because his friend asked a question.

In response,  his friend strikes what is his greatest weakness: “Are you really Chinese?” 

“I...” He is not sure why, but he can feel an invisible knife is stabbing his heart. He is suddenly wordless and unable to counter back.

Maybe it means that I am an American now. He comforts himself with that childish thought. He is trying to run away from his reality because he isn’t brave enough to face it directly. 

Like a sponge in the ocean, he is absorbing the American culture and becoming more like an American. However, no matter how much water a sponge absorbs, there will still be an infinite sum of water left in the ocean; he will never be able to absorb it all.

“It’s Thanksgiving next week. What are you going to do? We’re going to eat a big fat turkey!” His friend’s eyes are shining as he says this.

“Nothing. My family doesn’t celebrate it.” 

“How? You are not a real American!”

“What do you mean by that?” He looks at his friend with confusion. How can his friend so quickly deny all the work he did to fit in?

“Every American celebrates it! It’s a huge part of American culture!” his friend tells him proudly. 

  Like the last piece that makes the Jenga collapse, his dream of being an American, already unstable and shaky, collapses instantly. He finally realizes that there is no way that he will ever fully be an American. There is too much to learn, too much for him to cover. Furthermore, what he did do in his efforts to become an American had left him disconnected from his Chinese identity. He is neither an American or Chinese now, but if he isn’t any of them, who is he? Where does he belong? 

A phrase in Cantonese pops up into his head: 两头不到岸. Its literal meaning is a situation where a person cannot reach either side of the sea because they are too far from it. What a perfect phrase that describes his situation, he thinks.

Terrible things always come in pairs. On his way back home, the sky is pouring water down with its giant bucket, but he doesn’t care about that. It is nothing compared to his broken dream. 

He arrives home with his head down and all his clothes soaked. He looks exactly like someone that tried to swim across the sea.

“What happened?” his mother asks him, “You forgot to bring your umbrella?”

“Who are we? Chinese? Or American? I can’t find myself being recognized on either side.” Water is running down from his head and onto his shoulders.

“Before I answer your question, dry yourself up first, or you will be sick.” She hands him a towel. “We are neither of them...”

“How could it be? Doesn’t that mean we are nothing and homeless?” 

“Why are you trying to be one thing only? Combine them. We are both Chinese and American, but we are neither Chinese nor American. We are Chinese Americans.”

As the boy tries to swim across the sea, he finds himself “两头不到岸.”  However, this phrase excludes an important truth: Seas may be so large that a person is unable to reach the shores, but the shores aren’t the only safe harbor out there. The boy arrives at a strange place that is far from both shores: an island. In the sea that this boy swims, there are countless islands, and the island that the boy finds and lands on is between the Chinese shore and the American shore. It is both Chinese and American, but neither Chinese nor American. Its name is “Chinese American.”