Home Is Where the Heart Is. But Where Is That?

Many of us encountered the usual “Where am I From?” poem back in elementary school—an assignment to write about where we were from and to introduce ourselves to the class. I watched as all my friends traced their ancestry back to their great-great-great grandparents and wrote “I am from Ireland,” even if they’d never stepped foot in the country. They wrote about the flashing billboards in Times Square and window-shopping on Fifth Avenue, reminiscing on their experiences as New Yorkers. They smiled, satisfied with their poems, and turned them in. However, I looked down at my poem and frowned. I wrote about the colorful bento boxes my mom made me each morning before school; the mimosa flowers blooming on the tall trees behind my grandparents’ home in Pegli, Italy; and the daily Chrysler Building vs. Empire State Building debate I had with my dad on my way to school. Yet, in every poem I wrote, I felt like I’d lied about where I was from—or when I had told the truth and I felt guilty—as I was never quite able to explain my multicultural background clearly enough to satisfy me.

My mom has always told me that I am supposed to say I am from Japan and San Marino. Explaining that I’m from Japan is exhausting; I’m met with disbelief because I don’t appear to be “Wasian” enough. Telling people I’m from San Marino feels untruthful because I have never stepped foot in the country before. My dad wasn’t born there nor did my grandparents lived there, leaving me with virtually no connection to the country except for the imprint on my passport. Saying I’m from New York is legally incorrect because my dad is a diplomat, meaning that I was not granted U.S. citizenship. I still find this frustrating—I’ve spent all my life navigating the concrete jungle of New York, yet I’m still considered a guest in my own home city. 

My experiences have made me question other people’s usual answers when they are asked where they are from. Usually, people say that they are from a country—or, if they are multiracial, two countries. They show allegiance to a country by waving its flag and paying its taxes. However, how can anybody have a relationship with a country? A country is a construct, which means it exists between our minds, but it is not an objectively tangible entity. You cannot literally interact with a country; they are made of abstract borders and are not defined, physical structures. I always wondered why people identify themselves as belonging to, or coming from, a country.

A person cannot have a relationship with an entire country; they cannot really identify with every single state, city, and town in that entire nation. I am legally from San Marino, since that is what is on my birth certificate, but I have never seen its famous medieval castles. However, I have a relationship with Pegli, Italy—I go every February to visit my grandparents. I have a relationship with Kumamoto, Japan—I celebrate my birthday every summer with my grandmother. I have a relationship with New York—Christmas walks through Rockefeller Center and cheering with my family when we win occasional Broadway tickets. However, I have never had a relationship with a country as a whole. 

If a person says they come from a country, they usually purport to fit the cultural stereotypes associated with that country for their claim to be “believable.” Many believe if someone comes from Italy, they should look white, and if someone comes from Japan, they should look Asian. When I tell people that half of my bloodline is from Japan, it’s not so surprising when they stare at me in wide-eyed disbelief. That’s a common occurrence when a biracial person walks through their parents’ hometown. If I am Japanese, then why do people stare when I walk down the streets of Kumamoto to the grocery store just five minutes from my grandmother’s place, and why do I receive shocked looks at my very own school in New York City when I explain my Japanese heritage? How am I San Marinese when I have never been there? If I feel at home in Italy, why do I not look white enough to have a casual conversation with somebody? The cultural biases that have developed globally have also led people to feel alienated from what is supposed to be their home. 

People also identify themselves with countries with which they have similar national beliefs and values or ones with which they have a personal connection. This has been a great way, politically, to maintain order among a vast number of people by categorizing them under flags and borders. The patriotism that keeps citizens united under certain governments is achieved through nationalist sentiments, which encourages people to feel pride for the country they legally belong to. Despite the fact that each person expresses their faith and beliefs differently, citizens are able to advance their societies with the idea that they are working for the common good, for “their” country. However, while this article is being read, someone from the U.S. is meeting someone from India, and someone from France is meeting someone from Ghana. As nations are globalized, so are their cultures and their people. The lines between different nationalities have largely faded away, making nationalist constructs less effective at separating groups of people.

Many have heard the phrase “home is where the heart is”—a common idiom whose meaning has been lost in translation throughout time. Many have preconceptions on what people from a certain country should act, look, and be like. However, home is shaped by our experiences and our lives. We are human beings and can move as we please; we can choose to identify with where we feel most at home instead of where we are from or where our ethnicities dictate we should be. We come from the places we connect with, which cannot always be defined by borders.