“What Are You?” - Answering a Question I Never Chose

It usually comes with a tilted head and a friendly smile. In a grocery line, on a first day, from a stranger who feels entitled to know. "What are you?" Three small words that have followed me my whole life — and that, for a long time, I felt I had to answer.

The question sounds innocent. Curious, even. But underneath it is a quiet demand: explain your face. Account for yourself. Give me the breakdown so I know how to file you. As a kid, I got good at it. I'd offer up my percentages like a report card and then watch the person's face to see if I'd passed — if my answer had satisfied them enough to let me go back to just being a person.

I handed out fractions of myself and waited to see if the sum was acceptable.

Adolescence made it heavier. That's the age when you want, more than almost anything, to belong somewhere completely — to walk into a room and simply match. Instead I felt like I was forever standing in a doorway: welcome in a few different rooms, fully at home in none. When you're adopted and biracial, the doorway can feel like your permanent address.

The question was never really mine

It took me years to understand something that seems obvious now: "What are you?" was their question, not my obligation. My identity was never a debt I owed to strangers, payable on demand in percentages. I didn't have to hand anyone a spreadsheet of my heritage just because they were curious about my cheekbones.

These days, when someone asks, I don't feel the old scramble. I can answer if I want to, on my terms, or I can smile and let the question sit there unanswered, which is its own kind of freedom. Because the true answer was never a list of fractions anyway.

What am I? I'm whole. I'm a blend. I'm a person — and that has always been more than enough.

— Michaela

A phrase to keep in your pocket

If you get asked "what are you?" and don't feel like explaining, you're allowed to say: "I'm a whole person — but I'm happy to tell you about my family if you actually want to know me." It hands the moment back to you, warmly, without the report card.