The journey of navigating my Taiwanese identity

Amid all the mindless, funny moments we’ve shared since kindergarten, that was the last thing I expected — but I quickly learned that apparently, I was quite the talker. From animated retellings during snack time about my grandfather fighting alongside the Republic of China’s former president, Chiang Kai-shek, in the civil war against the Chinese Communist Party, to presenting a slideshow in eighth grade on Taiwan’s designated Olympic name, “Chinese Taipei,” I was, for lack of a better term, passionate. 

Even then, I didn’t realize how complicated it would become to hold onto that identity.

“I don’t think any other second grader was as politically conscious as you were back then,” my friend had added, smiling. 

That statement held some amount of truth. Growing up, I would read my “Magic Treehouse” books in my parents’ bedroom as TVBS News, one of Taiwan’s top news channels, blasted from the speakers of my mom’s computer. Without fail, I would eventually put down my book and watch, enraptured by clips of the newest typhoon rain patterns, features on my favorite night market foods, updates on the Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company, and, most fascinating of all, the latest tensions between China and Taiwan. 

Since I was 6 months old, I have been traveling to Taiwan nearly every year, visiting family and gorging on local cuisine for the entirety of summer break. This island isn’t simply a distant place 6,469 miles away; it quickly became my second home. It’s strange — whenever I’m back home in the States and recognize a Taiwanese accent, a part of me relaxes instantly, like something familiar has quietly settled back into its rightful place. 

So when I see news of China infringing upon the rights of Taiwanese legislators like Puma Shen for simply preparing Taiwanese citizens in case of a Chinese invasion, or China’s Ministry of Defense warning Japan of suffering “a crushing defeat” if it intervenes militarily on behalf of Taiwan in the event of a Chinese attack, I am concerned. 

I am concerned for the safety of my 78-year-old grandmother, who is still too frightened to talk about Taiwanese politics over the phone with my mom. I am concerned for my aunt, who bought properties in Japan and Thailand to escape in case of conflict. I am concerned about the reported 64% of Taiwanese citizens who perceive China’s territorial ambitions as a “serious threat,” according to a survey conducted by the Institute for National Defense and Security Research.  

In those moments of perpetual fear, I find myself in need to do something. Anything. But even when I’m back home, finishing up my college applications on Common App and seeing the two options for students who identify as Taiwanese — “Taiwan” and “Taiwan, province of China” — I am disturbed. It’s that same unsettling feeling I get when my friends joke about China taking over Taiwan and ignore my comments until I acknowledge that Taiwan is a part of China. It’s as if people don’t realize that real-world issues affect real human beings. 

Frankly, it’s insensitive. But is that any surprise? 

Even now, I struggle to voice my Taiwanese identity. Oftentimes, when people make immediate assumptions that I’m Chinese based on my appearance or name, it seems silly to clarify that I’m Taiwanese because they either don’t know Taiwan or will instantly refer to China’s claims over the island. 

But when I reflect on the days when my younger self would passionately express opinions without a flicker of doubt, I am reminded of the power in standing my ground. Through that strength, I hope to uplift the people of my second home, encouraging them to face challenges and uncertainty through courage and hope. 

If that’s by channeling your own bossy, opinionated second grade selves, so be it. 

Iny Li is a senior at Burlingame High School. Student News appears in the weekend edition. You can email Student News at news@smdailyjournal.com.