The Exhaustion of Being Othered

I just started a book this morning. I’m 1/4 of the way through it and can barely put it down.

I didn’t expect to feel this way about it. I picked it up because there are so few books about Burma/Myanmar or written by authors from there, and I want to understand more about my children’s family, and their heritage. So when I googled for books about Myanmar, this one came up and I grabbed it. It didn’t sound novel-like or like an ordinary memoir, so I wasn’t sure I’d like it – those are the two things I usually read.

It’s breathtaking. Not in the “it’s delightful” way, but in the “oooh, goddamn. I never understood that before but probably should have” way, and in an “oh my god that’s got to be impossibly hard” sort of way.

This is the book.

It’s full of random family stories, then there are these moments when it’s insanely powerful. It’s weirdly written in blocks of text but I’ve adjusted to that quickly.

One of the things that hit me so hard this morning is her writing around always being asked what her ethnicity is, everywhere she goes. This is something my girls already deal with. And I mean everywhere. We get asked in stores by complete strangers, at the gas station, and at their school, and by their doctors.

“Where are they from?”

“[Our city]” I respond.

“No, but where are they from from.”

“They’re Burmese,” I always answer. I always feel obligated to answer, like it’s somehow the asker’s right to know. But I always feel yucky about it, like I’ve just violated my children’s privacy somehow by answering for them. They might not want me to answer if they understood all the nuances.

The author says her mother muses, “do you ask your white customers that question?”

“She felt that what happened with the salesman had been her fault. She must have signaled to him in some way that she was willing to answer his questions, that she was at his service.”

Names for Light
by Thirii Mayo Kyaw Myint

Oof. How grinding it must feel to always be asked that personal question everywhere, to be singled out when with a crowd of white people. It’s like “hey, you, I notice you’re different, so I get to ask your ethnicity when I’d shy away from doing that to white people because it’s a very personal question. And you’re obligated to give me this very personal information about yourself.”

And then if she answers, the author’s mother would be told about Burmese restaurants the questioner has been to, and warped little bits they know (very little) about the political situation in Myanmar. Knowing it’s well intentioned makes it worse somehow because it makes her feel guilty for resenting it so much.

Too, we have to answer the inevitable question with a country name, not an actual ethnicity, because no one in the West understands the complexities of ethnicities in that region of the world, myself included. I don’t even know my children’s ethnicity. I know the country their family escaped, where they fled to, and their religion (Muslim), but not their ethnicity. Their country and religion combined are enough for them to have been treated with horrific cruelty by their government and its people of other faiths. I want to ask their uncle but don’t want to offend. I want to know, though, so my girls can grow up understanding as much as possible about their heritage, and to be proud of it.

Also, I will never ever again ask someone who looks “different” where they are “from.” If they want to share that info they can, otherwise it’s not something I’m entitled to know.

I want more books. More books and more books. I want histories that address the invasion of Burma by the Japanese, and the English. I want to know how the country’s boundaries were drawn by whom, and how it’s governments have risen and fallen and been overtaken by military juntas.

But most of all, I want to know about the individual experiences of Burmese people who have lived through war and strife and refugee camps and life in the US being treated as the Other. After all, those are the family histories and experiences of my kids.

Already on my to-read pile:

I’m about 1/3 of the way through this. It’s good. It’s also very troubling.
This is up next.

If you have book recommendations, please drop them in the comments below.

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