When I was growing up “mixed race” wasn’t a box you could check on a form. We were lucky to get biracial, which always made me feel like an alien. In my predominantly white hometown of Portland, Oregon, “what are you?” was a question I was asked constantly. My mother taught me to be straight up with people and say; “my dad is from Vietnam and my mom is caucasian,” words I echo to this day, even make films about, when giving up the goods on my ambiguous “light bright and almost white” complexion. Yes, I know what you are thinking when you ask.