“I hope you don’t mind my asking, Ms. Jay, are you mixed blood?” is a question that has been casually asked of me twice in the last year at work and other times over the past couple of decades. After a few seconds of going blank, I burst out laughing. Every single time.
The question, of course, has no as the answer. The only thing that makes me laugh is having to answer the question yet again, which is why I end up laughing as though I heard it the first time.
I am reminded of conditioned mindsets. And my giggles are not intended to be disrespectful. Not at all. My delight stems solely from gaining a greater understanding of human minds, not with any sense of criticism but with a harmless amusement. Oh, the human mind can be endlessly fascinating, don’t you think so?
When I laugh out loud, the amiable coworker who posed the question usually gets confused. He would probably believe that my laughter is my attempt to shrug off the offence I felt. The workings of a conditioned human mindset again! But, no, I don’t experience any hurt hearing the question—just a lot more amusement. I must also highlight something here for those who don’t know me well enough, but only my family members and closest friends are aware of—I laugh easily, without holding back, freely, spontaneously, and promptly. I don’t measure my laughter.
They think about me, among many other things, also that I’m easily adaptive, vivacious, and active, and that I take my work too seriously, far more than is necessary. I’ve heard my fellow officers refer often to me as the interpreter who meditates during her lunch breaks and in between assisting cases. They are also amazed at how hard I work every day, diligently cook my meal, though a simple one, and pack my lunch. Also ask me why I don’t prefer cooking weekly in bulk and freezing them into portions. Why wake up early every day to cook right after my work out? Even though they have grown used to my very tiny meal servings and quick lunches, they still don’t understand why I don’t reheat my food in the microwave or keep my lunch in the refrigerator after I reach the office like they all do.
They also believe that I’m generally aloof yet punctual. All of these make some sense to me, but I find it difficult to comprehend a question like that, which demonstrates ignorant confidence combined with confusion brought on by preconceptions.
On that note, I must also add here, as I evolved as a person, I realised that I mostly didn’t, naturally, merge into a single group of friends. It took me more than half my life to know that I’m naturally against groupism or opinionated stubborn leaning towards any particular view in any context. No, not for any particular reasons, but I have stood out distinctly, and I started thinking about it but wasn’t able to conclude concretely why I’ve been like that. Often mistaken to be indecisive, but the truth is I’m open to reviewing and embracing opinions suggested by others a lot more eagerly than what would be expected.
My efforts to mingle in, though seldom, flopped miserably, and I stopped sooner than I started, only to breathe freely. Not only that, I was easily perceived as one of those who attempted to stand out. Subsequently, I learnt in my later years that people deliberate ‘special’ efforts to stand out in a crowd, and I’m yet to explore deeper the psychology behind that deliberation.
Last week, a young colleague asked me if I was mostly in a zen condition. Hastily, with a tinge of guilt, I asked him, “Did I overlook something? Was I absent-minded?” And, he said spontaneously with a smile, “No, lah.”
Furthermore, I am yet to figure out the mysterious reason why my tongue hasn’t been adapting to Singlish. Because I’m a first-generation Singaporean? No, certainly not. Since I’ve been here for 35 years, I naturally enjoy listening to the nativity that comes from the multi-culturally evolved Singlish. All of us Singaporeans do, don’t we? On the other hand, however, I usually don’t understand ideas like ‘If you’re a Singaporean, it is not enough that you understand but should also be able to speak Singlish on a daily basis.’ My admiration for it remains unaffected.
One who speaks Hindi would most probably be a North Indian or a mixed person, and she would appropriately wear glittery gold jewellery, deep-coloured ethnic prints, or traditional clothing and a bindi, or a red dot between her eyebrows; these are some of the commonly perceived inferences folks carry. The person needs to also sport longer hair, most likely plaited, particularly if she has passed her middle age. I believe they are watching me with bewilderment because I don’t have long hair or a dot between my brows, but I speak both Tamil and Hindi to assist officers advising migrant workers, our daily front desk customers.
Other generalisations include that a Tamil speaker should be able to understand Singhalese, anyone who can communicate in Hindi should also be able to speak Punjabi, a vegetarian would eat fish and eggs, and if not, she must be vegan, and so on and so forth. The list is endless. Many of those are based only on a lack of awareness. That is still totally acceptable to me. I have no issues at all. The ignorance of their own ignorance and the heightened confidence that accompany those presumptions are what I just cannot comprehend, which makes me uncomfortable and amused at the same time.
I’ve never understood till today, why I’m perplexed when faced with manipulative ways and thought processes, and also when I encounter preconceived or stereotypical states of mind. This intrigues me, especially for the fiction writer that I am, known for creating credibly strong characters. I have been able to realise that it could be because I live in my fictional world and remain more of an observer in my real realm, although they should rightfully complement one another.
I understand that my appearance and ways deviate a lot from their preconceptions and may even seem queerly odd to them. But is being different a bad thing? “Must I really confine myself to a clear, sharp-edged box? Belong to the regular, mainstream they carry in their head? But, why?” I ask myself: Do all roses in a garden look the same?
Many also tend to think I’m abnormal, but I get one question: what really is normal? What are the parameters? And who gets to define it? And how? Is he/she normal? Who assesses him/her? That’s the paradox of it all.
As long as no other being is affected in any way, don’t we, each of us, every human being, deserve the freedom and opportunity to live life as we wish to? So, I continue to be who I am, exactly as I am. I know, of course I do, that no one is stopping me from doing that. Just saying, lah!
