My aunt thinks I am white

I am visiting with my white aunt who is married to my mom's brother, and she goes "How come all this stuff you are doing is so ASIAN, actually I think she said so ORIENTAL? I mean you aren't asian you are white!" And I hadn't heard that in a while you know, not since someone in high school said, oh kate you are just as white as us, or since in college some guy was talking about the 'horries' and I was like 'what's a horrie?" and he goes "You know, horizontal eyes like indonesians and malaysians" and I was like ummmmm "I am Indonesian" and he goes no you're American, and I go actually I'm Canadian. And then the whole thing was such a waste of time I just swigged another VB beer and shut the hell up. But yeah, my aunt goes "You are not oriental I dont think of you like that and you shouldn't either" which made me blink and think 'Is that a compliment?' She went on about it and said you dont want everyone to think of you as just asian, especially since you are white!" and i thought of all the roles I dont get seen for and I became that bitter asian actor that I try not to be because where does that get us really....But for a moment I was back in those rooms selfconscious about my headshot, aware that I wasnt the norm and wasnt at all on my producer's radar as anything other than a splash of color, so to hear this relative of mine now deny what I have been forced to become, racialised, politicised, and sort of mindlessly tell me that I should embrace my whiteness, the same whiteness that I cannot access to get that cool job on a tv drama that I CRAVE, this left me where so many Hapa kids are. In between. Unwelcome as either an asian person ("but I dont think of you as Oriental!!! Why are you talking all the time about asian stuff?") or as a white person ("We're not going ethnic on this one"). Note to self. Tell everyone to shut the fuck up and keep being a vital involved american artist. Colorraceidentitypoliticsgender unimportant. We all just got to keep busy and reflect the world. I hereby donate all the names and labels and angst about "Who I am???" to the cultural studies departments of Universities far far away from where I practice art and allow myself to be informed by whatever whimsy I choose. My opinion I own. My racial i.d. I choose and choose to talk about if I feel like it, and question if I feel like it, and ignore if I feel like it. What am I? Well today I am tired. Tomorrow I may be an A/PI activist. And on the weekend I may be a bargain shopper.