Where are you from?

A self-documentary on origins

by Leanne Yanabu

When people ask me where I'm from, I tend to want to give these very elaborate answers which don't address the real need or curiosity of the inquirer.

I start to analyze the question in depth. (This is what you get when you have an undergraduate degree in philosophy.) I start to think, "Well, where am I from, really?" I mean, it's not entirely wrong to say I'm from Japan, or China for that matter. Certainly my recent ancestors came from Japan. If you go back far enough, I could claim to be from Africa, which is where anthropologists say the entire human race evolved.

Or, to go in a different route, I could say I'm from a union between some of my mom's cells and some of my dad's cells, and give a whole lecture on conception. But I'm not that snotty.

"Where are you from?" Hmmm. Where are you from? Isn't that a metaphysical question? Like most simple but large questions turn out to be, in the end? Doesn't that get into religious beliefs and philosophical arguments? I mean, really, where are you from? God? Dust? God dust? Are we from nothing, returning to nothing? Are we from holy material, or mundane? Isn't to ask, "Where are you from?" ultimately asking, "What are you?" And isn't this a heavy question to ponder while you're absently shaking hands with someone you've just met?

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