Legally, I am an American citizen. My family and I gave up our Sri Lankan citizenship and haven’t completed our applications for dual citizenship yet. But my legal citizenship does not capture my experience as a Sri Lankan-American, as someone who must constantly negotiate my citizenship and my sense of self. “Citizenship” is a concept that is often discussed in academic and political circles, but for me and so many others around the globe, there is a more personal meaning to it. Every day, I feel that there is a dissonance between my legal citizenship and my sense of self-identity and belonging. Although I was born in Sri Lanka and am an American citizen, I feel neither fully American nor fully Sri Lankan. I believe citizenship, in the cultural sense, is tied to a feeling of belonging, something I don’t feel in Sri Lanka or America.
There is a disconnect within my identity. For me, being an American and an immigrant means bringing my culture to the states. However, I don’t feel Sri Lankan all the time because of how different I am from other Sri Lankans. Mainly, I don’t feel Sri Lankan because other Sri Lankans perceive me as an “other.” The way I am looked at, the fact that I involuntarily speak with an American accent, and the way I try to understand my culture means that oftentimes people don’t always label me as a full or real Sri Lankan.
I was born in Sri Lanka and raised in Las Vegas. My first language is Sinhala, but my English is much better; I always speak Sinhala with a heavy American accent. When I go to Sri Lanka, everyone asks me where I’m from. Funnily enough, they ask me that in America, too. In Sri Lanka, my relatives question whether I eat traditional food every day. In America, my friends and peers question whether I eat anything but traditional food.
Comparing myself to Sri Lankans at home makes me question my identity. My sister and I got sarees well before my cousins who live in Sri Lanka did, even though we’re all in the same age group. The Sri Lankan Vegas community goes to parties for Sri Lankan New Years and Sri Lankan Independence Day, while my family in Sri Lanka just sleeps in on their day off. We eat rice and curry everyday, but my cousins prefer pasta and bread. I know more about Sri Lankan news than some of my family members. My sister and I have a Spotify playlist of Sinhala songs, while my cousins have playlists of American pop music. And, if you look at the groupchat my cousins and I share, you can see that it was once named “Sri Lankans vs Americans.” Being away from the physical land of Sri Lanka creates an intensification of culture. I am hyperaware that many of my traits are a product of Sri Lankan culture, but being in America makes me feel like I need to prove that I have a reason to also celebrate the culture.
Recently, while visiting Sigiri, a Sri Lankan restaurant in New York, my identity crisis struck me. It was 4pm and I was ready to quickly grab something before coming back to Princeton. While walking down 1st Avenue, I saw a Sri Lankan flag and an American flag outside of a building. I walked into a small restaurant with art and maps on the walls, and I immediately knew that the art came from Sri Lanka. I heard the sound of the restaurant staff speaking Sinhala, although not directed at me. Instead, I was greeted in English. I was a little hurt. I wanted to tell them that I am Sri Lankan too, that I am from where they are from. But I didn’t know how to do so without making it obvious that I wanted to be accepted. So I called my dad.
My dad was actually very embarrassing. I had my headphones in, ready to talk to him, and I even made sure to speak to him in Sinhala. I thought that would be enough to show that I am Sri Lankan, but my dad had a different idea in mind. He practically started to beg me to hand my phone to a worker, so that he could talk to them. He wanted to make sure they knew that I was Sinhalese, so that the food would be spicy (if a Sri Lankan doesn’t know you’re Sri Lankan they will make the food less spicy—we know that our spice tolerance is basically unmatched).
I knew my dad’s plan was going to end badly, but because I love him, I took my headphones out, turned to a waiter, and said, “I’m really sorry but my dad hasn’t been to New York before and wants to say hello.” The worker looked so confused and just muttered a “hi” back. Then my dad started talking quickly and completely in Sinhala. The waiter realized what my dad was doing and came closer, looking both annoyed and unamused. My dad told him that we live in Las Vegas, but are from Sri Lanka, that I love Sri Lankan food (so make it spicy), that I go to school in New Jersey and was visiting New York for the day, and that they should make me falooda—a drink made of rose syrup, sabja seeds, vermicelli, and milk—because he wanted me to try what he grew up drinking in Sri Lanka.
I was so embarrassed.
My dad basically told my life story to a waiter who was not much older than I am, and who was obviously confused about why my dad was talking so much. Now, if he was old enough to be an uncle it would make sense. Sri Lankan adults are protective of children and usually make sure to act like second parents if they know your real parents aren’t with you. But the waiter was basically just an older brother who didn’t care about my story and probably didn’t think anything of my being Sri Lankan, considering he still talked to me in English afterwards. I wanted to leave the restaurant, and in all honesty, I don’t want to go back to the restaurant again because of how embarrassed I felt.
The restaurant did, however, make the food with spices fit for a Sri Lankan and I got the falooda. (I definitely do recommend the restaurant if you are in the city. The food was great and I doubt anyone else will have an identity crisis while eating there.)
The owner heard that I was Sri Lankan and talked to me about where I live and about other Sri Lankans that I know on the East Coast. He talked to me in English, but he at least acknowledged that I am Sri Lankan. I partly blame myself; I didn’t want him to hear my American accent butchering Sinhala, so I continued speaking in English.
I think my dad wanted to prove to those complete strangers that his daughter is Sri Lankan, not American. His daughter has an American accent and grew up in the states, but she is Sri Lankan. My identity, in his eyes, is not the same as my citizenship. But, the situation made me feel like even less of a Sri Lankan. Yes, the food was made for a Sri Lankan, but the conversation only highlighted how American I was. I wasn’t Sri Lankan enough to be at the restaurant alone, and I wasn’t American enough to just be a tourist.
I feel out of place. I do identify as Sri Lankan, but I don’t usually feel accepted in the culture. I also don’t ever identify as just American. I am either Sri Lankan or Sri Lankan-American. And it is only around others who identify like me that I feel accepted. I feel accepted around those who are told they are not enough of an identity—with those who don’t feel like they belong because others act like we don’t.
For me, being an American is not a cultural identity but a legal one—in contrast, being Sri Lankan is part of my cultural identity. And being Sri Lankan-American means navigating the tricky relationship between being hyperaware of my culture and understanding that the country I grew up in shaped how in touch with my roots I am today.
A Note from the Author:
My heart hurts for what recently happened to my country. This article was written prior to the bombings in Sri Lanka, and my only hope is that my country unites and overcomes this tragedy.
We need support. I know that Princeton’s environment makes us feel secluded from the world, but these events cracked my perception of the ‘orange bubble.’ If anyone would like to help, donations can be given to Sri Lanka Red Cross or the Asia Pacific office of the Red Cross and Red Crescent. If you are still figuring out summer plans, I recommend you look at the organization Volunteer Sri Lanka. We are a small island but filled with character, life, and culture. Prayers, donations, and aid will be greatly appreciated.
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