The complexities of the 'international student' label

I carried passports emblazoned with international ink; in my suitcase was a Chinese dress folded neatly next to a pair of sandals made in El Salvador. After living this past year in the United States, my collection of memories and memorabilia has increased again. Now there are bottles of Snapple, 25-cent burgers at the Doodle, and bands from the Midwest all deeply grounded in American soil, previously foreign to my worn traveling shoes.

I arrived at Yale one humid afternoon last August only to realize that I did not know myself. Or rather, I uncovered the specter that I had formerly regarded as my identity. As indicated in the Old Campus directory, I was Vanessa Herrera from Hong Kong. A description had been assigned to me, easily summarized by the five lines of my address. It was not until I began to meet other curious minds that I had to reexamine my cultural label. Exhausted from the airplane and car rides, a chance to sit on a wooden bench at Silliman and to stare at the blueness of the sky was most welcome. With the expanse overhead, under the shadow of a tree, I began to ponder the questions of identity that continue to arise within me.

College is a different type of vacation from the outside world. The question, "where are you from?" has never held so much significance, despite its superficiality. My answer the first few months was a paradox: "I am from El Salvador, but I grew up in Hong Kong." Indeed, this manufactured 12-word response was a mere glimpse into the complexity of my background. "International" is perhaps too broad, yet abstract enough to hide the fact that not even I understand where my conception of myself originated from. It was both frustrating and intriguing for me to introduce myself to others, only to hear that they were from this state, and that town, and thus expected a reciprocal echo in that precise format. But what if I don't really know where I am from? Is that such a difficult notion to comprehend? It took me nearly four months and a series of 4 a.m. conversations to realize that it is really not the name of your hometown or ethnicity that matters the most. Rather, it is the contribution that you make to society through your diverse experiences that reflects the blended cultures that constitute your identity.

As soon as I stopped worrying about one-word summaries, I could focus on what Yale truly is: a haven for individuals, an environment saturated in history, knowledge, and the craving of it. Yale is all these things because of its students, each unique and worthy of the opportunity to discover herself. However, even in the Yale community, it is impossible to completely divorce oneself from the cultural stereotypes and identities predetermined by existing world views.

I knew I was Latino, but not entirely. I was assigned an ethnic counselor, although I wasn't exactly sure why and how I related to such a person. I joined the Hong Kong society, since I shared the same appreci-ation for the Special Administrative Region as did the other members. I continued studying Mandarin at the intermediate level, and discovered that there were others in the class with the same genuine interest in the language.

Initially I was worried about not being accepted wholly into either cultural group, Asian or Hispanic, but this concern was soon dispelled. The diversity at Yale and the freedom of choice allows me to find a particular niche without having to join just one exclusive group. I found friends within my residential college, sitting beside me in lecture, and at social gatherings held before large, on-campus festivities. I befriended individuals and never felt the need to associate myself solely with any preset identity.

I do not limit myself to one ethnic association, nor do I ever plan to. However, this does not mean that I do not still seek to understand myself in terms of cultural definitions. Through dialogue with others who come from various distinct backgrounds, I realize that there are often more similarities than there are disparities. Discourse has played an essential role in my attempt to understand myself. Language unites, and my goal to one day speak Mandarin fluently, alongside Spanish and English, is evidence of my own effort to eradicate the lines that now divide people.

My journey through Yale will last three more years. The travelers I have met thus far will pass through the stone pathways, like grains of sand through the proverbial an hourglass. Yet each grain is an individual, sharing qualities with his fellow particles, but never losing her sense of self. Cultural identity is a question one must investigate thoroughly, but should never become the only mirror through which one views oneself.

Graphic by Todd Lynch.

Back to Unity in Diversity...