'From where?' The international student label

I arrived at Yale one humid August afternoon three years ago, exhausted from a trip halfway around the world. I collapsed on a wooden bench in the Silliman courtyard and stared at the sky. I felt a wonderful sense of accomplishment; I was finally here. Little did I realize that the hardest part of coming to Yale was still ahead of me.

Yale is a strange sort of vacation from the outside world. Nowhere else will you find yourself thrown together with people from 70 different countries. In this extraordinary environment, the question, "Where are you from?" took on special significance for me. So, how exactly was I supposed to answer?

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. Yet my history was far more complex. 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.

For the first few months, I tried to oblige people and explain where exactly "home" was: "I am from El Salvador, but I grew up in Hong Kong." But this manufactured 12-word response was, again, a mere glimpse into the complexity of my background. "International" is perhaps too broad, yet reassuringly abstract—it hides the fact that not even I understand the origins of my self-perception. As I met dozens of curious Yalies, I began to reexamine my cultural label. I realized that I did not really know myself as well as I thought, and began to uncover the specter I had once regarded as my identity.

I knew I was Latina—but not entirely. I was also from Asia. I joined the Hong Kong Society, since I shared the same appreciation for the Special Administrative Region as did the other members. I continued studying Mandarin at the intermediate level, and discovered there were others in the class who shared my deep interest in the language. I was assigned an ethnic counselor, although I wasn't exactly sure why and how I related to such a person.

Although I was worried about being accepted as either Asian or Hispanic, this concern soon proved itself baseless. The diversity and freedom of choice at Yale allows me to find my particular niche without forcing me to join one exclusive group. I discovered friends eating in my residential college, sitting beside me in lecture, hanging out at parties, and dancing at large on-campus celebrations. I befriended individuals and never felt the need to associate myself solely with any preset identity.

I felt liberated; as soon as I stopped worrying about summarizing my identity with one or two words, I could focus on what Yale truly is: a refuge for individuals, a center for exploration, and a sanctuary for knowledge. Yale is all these things because of its students, all unique and striving for the opportunity to discover themselves. Of course even in the Yale community, it is impossible to completely divorce yourself from predetermined cultural stereotypes or identities. Ultimately, however, I have realized that culture is only one lens through which we view ourselves.

Although I do not limit myself to a single ethnic association, this does not mean that I do not still seek to understand myself in terms of cultural definitions. Through all those long 4 a.m. conversations with others who come from various distinct backgrounds, I realize that there are often more similarities than there are differences. Talking with others has played an essential role in my attempt to understand myself. Language unites, and my goal to speak Mandarin fluently, alongside Spanish and English, is evidence of my own struggle to embrace my entire heritage.

When I arrived at Yale, I carried a passport emblazoned with stamps from around the globe. In my suitcase was a Chinese dress, neatly folded next to a pair of sandals made in El Salvador. When I went home for the summer nine months later, I had a new collection of memorabilia. Snapple bottles and CDs from Midwestern rock bands sat next to my favorite clothes from Hong Kong. In my mind, memories of 25-cent burgers at the Doodle mixed with memories of South America. I had assimilated the culture of yet another country, and my identity was redefined yet again.

Graphic by Todd Lynch.

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