“Split”: Challenges as a First- Gen Asian American
Where is home?
Growing up I never experienced the comfort of grandma’s home-cooked meals or the joy of hanging out with my cousins. The biggest struggle of being first-gen was that I never saw my blood family members, as they were all in Indonesia (except for my parents of course). On top of all of this, I was an only child so I felt lonely most of the time. This void affected me drastically when I was younger. When I was in preschool, I used to call my preschool teacher my grandma. She asked my mom if there was any reason for this, and when my mom told her that I’ve never met my grandma, she was heartbroken.
But this all changed when I went to Indonesia for the first time in 2013. I’ll never forget the first time I met my grandma. I went to Indonesia without my mom, so I had no idea what to expect or how to prepare. When we arrived at her house, I was greeted by tons of plants. The orchids were stunning and all of the pothos, monsteras, and snake plants welcomed me into her garden. I then rang the doorbell, and my grandma opened the door and hugged me so tight. I’ve never had a more comforting hug than the one she gave me at that moment. She then gave me a cup of jasmine tea and showed all the food she made for my arrival. I was overwhelmed with emotions. All I could think of was how I’ve been missing the experience of this unconditional love for the first 11 years of my life. I couldn’t believe that someone that never met me could welcome me so quickly with open arms.
I remember she made two of my favorite things, rendang and fried tempeh. It was the best Indonesian food I’ve ever had. My mom isn’t the best cook, so I was in shock when I learned that my Grandma was skilled at cooking. She explained to me that this type of fried tempeh is called ‘mendoan’. It’s a type of fried food from Banyumas, Central Java. Mendoan is a non-crispy version of fried tempeh, as the word ‘Mendo’ means half-cooked in Javanese.
The next day I met my aunts for the first time. They were so sweet and took me shopping and always made sure my stomach was full. My cousins in Purwokerto were all boys, so I was the star of the show. My one aunt took me on a shopping spree and spoiled me so much, her excuse being that she never had a daughter.
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On my way back to Philadelphia, I felt bittersweet. I was excited to see my parents and friends, but I was also leaving a newly-discovered part of myself in Indonesia.
In the United States, I’ll have to go back to being mistaken for being Chinese or Vietnamese and hearing responses like, “Aren’t Indonesia and China the same thing?”
Fast forward many years, in 2018 I discovered an Indonesian singer, NIKI. Over time, I used NIKI as a segue for me to tell people that I was Indonesian. I would mention her popular songs, and many people could develop a sense of what Indonesia was. One of NIKI’s songs, “Split”, is about her struggles finding her sense of belongingness in both Indonesia and America, hence feeling split between two worlds. NIKI quickly became one of my role models because I can relate to her struggles as an Indonesian American woman living in the United States.
Discovering NIKI has helped me better understand the importance of representation. I’ve become proud of my identity, and her influence has boosted my confidence as I pursue my studies and career. I’m glad that her talent has allowed Indonesia to be more prominent in the music industry and the Asian American community as a whole. This is just one of the many examples of why representation is crucial. In any context, representation shapes our understanding of the world and opens our minds to new ideas.
