As a graduation gift to myself, I spent part of the summer traveling through Southeast Asia: Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos, and Myanmar. Although I consider myself a pretty seasoned traveler, having explored five major continents on my own, I was unprepared for the unique experience of being mistaken as and treated like a local throughout this most recent trip. It was at times rewarding—the immediate acceptance with warmth and familiarity was invigorating and made me feel like I really, truly belonged—but it was also isolating and made me homesick for the first time in all of my travels. This double-edged sword created an emotional journey as I tried to reconcile the two extremes; I had never before experienced so much internal turmoil when I traveled.
I was constantly mistaken for a Southeast Asian woman because of my appearance. I am an American-born Taiwanese female who tans easily. During the unbearably hot temperatures of the summer, my skin darkened considerably to match the skin of the natives. My tanned Asian features combined with traditional, conservative clothing helped me fit right in! My first memorable experience occurred when I went on a quad-biking adventure through the countryside in Siem Reap, Cambodia that ended in a beautiful sunset over lush green rice paddy fields. I was the only Asian in a group of Caucasian tourists, and we were led by a group of locals. The team leads were so warm and friendly, and they gravitated towards me on the road, staying near as if protecting me. They asked if I was Cambodian, and even when I explained my true origin they continued to treat me as if I was one of their close friends. There was a wonderful sense of camaraderie—the laughter, the jokes, and the realness. I felt like I was among family.
I was constantly mistaken for a Southeast Asian woman because of my appearance. I am an American-born Taiwanese female who tans easily. During the unbearably hot temperatures of the summer, my skin darkened considerably to match the skin of the natives. My tanned Asian features combined with traditional, conservative clothing helped me fit right in! My first memorable experience occurred when I went on a quad-biking adventure through the countryside in Siem Reap, Cambodia that ended in a beautiful sunset over lush green rice paddy fields. I was the only Asian in a group of Caucasian tourists, and we were led by a group of locals. The team leads were so warm and friendly, and they gravitated towards me on the road, staying near as if protecting me. They asked if I was Cambodian, and even when I explained my true origin they continued to treat me as if I was one of their close friends. There was a wonderful sense of camaraderie—the laughter, the jokes, and the realness. I felt like I was among family.
The feeling of belonging continued the next day when I explored Kbal Spean, an Angkor archaeological site with intricately carved riverbeds. I met a Cambodian local man who treated me like his daughter: hugging me, pulling me up difficult rocky terrain, and pointing out and explaining hidden carvings. He showed me spots where masses of gorgeous bright-blue, yellow, and orange butterflies swirled in the air and we relaxed next to a small waterfall. The contrast in treatment was clearly evident when contrasted with the Caucasian Australian that I was with; the man pretty much ignored her. While I did not want my friend to feel left out, I did enjoy cultivating a friendship with my Cambodian “dad”.
My Southeast Asian appearance helped me ease my way into native life. Locals were friendlier and reached out more. Yet, I would often catch them eying me curiously, wanting to bombard me with questions about America. Since I looked Cambodian, I was the perfect imaginative vehicle for the natives to live vicariously through. While I have never been so accepted into a place, I have also never been more aware of the privilege that I was born into. I may have looked like a native, but I knew that I was fundamentally different—and not because I was any better. I was just lucky. I felt conflicted: I related more to the natives than to the other tourists, but still did not belong to either group. My American background relegated me to the gray area between the two. I wanted to belong and felt like I could, but also knew that I could never truly fit in. These thoughts ultimately culminated in a recurring and upsetting feeling: I do not belong here.
The language barrier was another isolating factor. I was approached in all five countries by locals who smiled and chatted with me in their native language before registering my blank face. I loved that I looked so much like them that they would easily converse with me like any other friend, but because of my lack of Southeast Asian abilities, I was unable to communicate with these friendly faces. Being so close to people that could be like family but being unable to converse made me homesick. Again, I had the thought: I do not belong here.
All in all, my time traveling through Southeast Asia was an experience unlike any other. In all other countries I have traveled through, I knew that I was an outsider. I was not treated like I belonged and did not feel any sort of familial connection with the people. In Southeast Asia, I looked like a native and was treated like one. I had a taste of what life in those countries could be like, and I loved it! But, because of my fundamental difference from the people and my inability to speak the language, I knew that I could not have such a life. I was too emotionally invested in the people and culture of Southeast Asia; my desire for complete acceptance contrasted with the feeling that I did not belong, which made travel there more emotional (and made me more philosophical) than travel in any other country.
~burn bright~
Jess
p.s. I do not want any of you to think that I did not have a good time traveling through Southeast Asia. I had some incredible experiences, saw amazing creations, and met awesome people. I just had some contemplative thoughts that I wanted to express.