I remember in primary school, when we were asked to speak about something in a show and tell session, I made up a story cobbled together from a poster of Lord Vishnu I found in our house. Something about a Burmese god who charmed the pythons out of Rangoon. Everyone, including my teacher, believed me, because hey, what other information did they have to go on? I’ve spent my life drawing maps in thin air, pointing, drawing the large land spaces of China and India and miming Myanmar nestled in between. While going through these motions I’ve thought how much easier it would be to be Chinese or Malay, or closer to the distant Indian connection in my family, as at least then I would have more cultural clues to what it means to represent these places. I could walk through a supermarket, pick up a pack of ready-made beef rendang, and roll my eyes at the bastardised recipe, or watch a celebrity cook butcher a gyoza recipe. I wouldn’t have to break down what Burmese food tastes like and appears like using other reference points – like a laksa, but meatier; think of a soupy Malay curry.





Instead of a concrete identity, I just have questions: What do you do when you want to learn more about a country that for so long was adamant that it would let no one in? When your only parental link has spent more of his life here because he understands that this is where he and his family can thrive? Without a notable diaspora, where can you see an example of collective identity? How do you know what you are meant to represent?