Quapa

Not quite Hapa - my mixed-up feelings about my mixed-up heritage

In Hawaii the mixing of ethnicities is common enough that a pidgin was created for it - Hapa. As in “hapa this, hapa that”. Probably helps to say it aloud with a rolling intonation. My father is Hapa - half Japanese and half Caucasian, born in Kailua on Oahu. I am a quarter-Japanese, so I made up my own word for it - Quapa

My grandmother is in the center - Chieko Hironaka (nee Moulder). I am on the far right with the unfortunate polyester suit and the even more unfortunate bowl cut.

Hey! It was the 70’s!

Genetics are weird, so the fact is, I look 100% Caucasian. Gaijin. Nothing to be done. But it has always left me with a weird identity.

Back in the 60’s, the memories of WWII were still pretty fresh. Some of my friends didn’t react well when they found out I was part Japanese. A goddamn Nip! I’d killed their uncle. Or one of my relatives did! The fact that I didn’t look Japanese made it worse. Like I was hiding it.

Only nobody in my family did anything except get interred by their own adopted country. My grandmother was born in Hawaii in the early 1900’s. Her family was long gone before the war. Doesn’t matter to racists though.

DNA aside, I grew up in middle America, raised more or less how you would expect with just a few quirks. Like enjoying fried rice for breakfast.

I’ll never forget my first sleepover with a friend. That morning I was asked what I’d like for breakfast. “Fried rice!” I said. The poor mom was nonplussed and offered cereal or pancakes. I think I had the cereal.

I got to visit Japan for the first time in the mid-90’s, not long after Japan’s economic bubble had popped. Didn’t matter, it was still amazing, intense and utterly foreign to my experience.

Over the following years I went back many times, exploring more of the country and settling in. At least as much as a foreign visitor can. Presenting as gaijin meant there were no expectations. My limited, halting Japanese was viewed as a delight, not the failure it would have been if I actually looked the part.

Similarly, my fumbling of the business card ritual and poor bowing were no big deal. And I got better at both. Bend at the fucking waist Moulder! Head bobbing is not going to cut it.

The fact is that I loved it. Jet lag karaoke is a thing. Too much sake is definitely a thing. Sunken heated tables are also a thing that we desperately need here.

Over twenty years ago, I was offered an ex-pat assignment in Tokyo. We went over and looked at schools and flats, and I was even introduced as the new manager for our remote office. I was 90% sold on the idea.

But I couldn’t get past how truly difficult this would be for our young children. A change that might benefit me would be a genuine hardship for them.

I declined.

And to this day I am haunted by it. One of life’s great forks in the road. And I don’t know if I chose correctly.