I am Sana.

Originally written by Sana Mitsuki on August 30th, 2019.

Five decades ago, a Malaysian-born Tamil travelled to India to marry an Indian woman. Their firstborn is my father. A few years after that, a girl was born into a big family to a Malaysian-born Hakka man and a Bidayuh woman. That girl is my mother.

For a long time now, my brother and I have found it a bit of a hassle to explain our racial background, so we tend to succumb to introducing ourselves as Chindians. But in reality, that is not all that we are. I was born in Sarawak General, and besides my parents, I was raised by a Bidayuh grandmother. Since it takes a village to raise a child, I was also raised by a Bidayuh aunt, many Hakka-Bidayuh aunts and uncles, an Indian grandmother, and many Tamil aunts and uncles. 

Growing up, I spoke a lot of English (since my dad is an English teacher), a lot of Bahasa Melayu Sarawak, barely-there Tamil, and mediocre Mandarin—thanks to a Chinese babysitter and 幼儿园. Although my brother speaks better Mandarin and superior Hokkien, the experiences we’ve had regarding inquiries about our racial background are rather similar. We either simply introduce ourselves as Chindians or endure an entire conversation about our racial background—i.e., our life. 

Looking the way we do and surprising people by speaking a language they didn’t expect often leads to interesting encounters with strangers. We get questions like: “Oh, you’re not Malay? You speak good Malay.” “Why does your name sound Indian?” “Why can you speak Mandarin?” Honestly, I have no problem explaining my racial background. In fact, I welcome it—because understanding leads to acceptance. 

But there are situations in which talking about your racial background is not ideal for the conversation—like a job interview. And it happened to me. I was fully prepared to talk about dental-related things, but the interviewers were only interested in my racial background. Of course, talking about myself is easy, and when it was over, the interviewers were smiling. But I couldn’t help feeling both happy and disappointed. Visiting another country gives us this unique freedom of introducing ourselves as Malaysians. 

I revel in that freedom. I revel in the simplicity of saying, “Hi, I am Sana and I am Malaysian.” The worry and anxiety of people misunderstanding my racial background go out the window—because it doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t have to go into the details of who my grandmother is or what my mother cooks for dinner. 

However, after experiencing both sides of the coin, I have not come to detest one and love the other. I do wish that talking about my race were simpler. But from experience, I realize that being Tamil, Hakka, and Bidayuh makes me Malaysian. This country—and the unique way it has allowed opportunities for people like my brother and me to exist—is more than a coincidence. Therefore, calling Malaysia a melting pot of culture is apt. It amazes me how well we are in touch with our roots and, at the same time, are perfectly Malaysian—nasi lemak and all. 

Five decades ago, my grandparents crossed lands for marriage. Today, I cross cultures every time I say my name. That is not a burden—it is a bridge.

Through this blog, I hope to take you along that bridge. Sometimes we’ll walk through language, sometimes through food, memory, or even awkward encounters. I won’t always have neat answers, but I promise to show you what it’s like to live at the intersection—where histories, cultures, and stories meet. 

So, to finish off, allow me to introduce myself again: 

I am the early morning walk with my Sumbuk to Kenyalang Market to buy kolo mee. 

I am the anticipation of which colour liquid pottu my Atta would draw on my forehead before kindergarten. 

I am the enticing smell of bih bengoi made by my Sembah, which my mother would bring home from her trips to Kuching. 

I am the book nook my father built under the staircase—his own memory of the “English Corner” created by James Ravi in The Return by K.S. Maniam. 

I am also the quiet anxiousness of eating in public during Ramadan, because I look Malay in a country where race can shape perception. 

I am the sum of all that and more, wrapped in a person you can simply call Sana. 

Welcome to my collection of personal essays.