Where are you from? I get this too, but not in the way you might assume. When I am asked, I respond with where the soil smells like truth, like home. You cannot irradicate the smell of that first connection. When people hear me speak and see my mannerisms, confusion arises. In The UK they assume I am an American, in Canada they assume I am Irish, in Ireland they assume I am Australian. In Japan they just call me white or foreigner. In Spain they are sure I am from London.

But when asked, I unabashedly say I am from Barotseland, - Northern Rhodesia, - Zambia, - wanting to return to Barotseland. Most people are totally puzzled. They lack the geography to label and thereby negate me. This disconcerts them and fifty percent of the time, when it dawns on them (slowly) that Zambia is in Africa, they say something ridiculous, which they find amusing, such as you're not black?

Buffoons walk among us.

When they ask my ethnicity I respond with the obvious Irish, British, Jewish married to a Japanese... you should see the confusion my children suffer. Yet my children, like myself, do not grow strident or suffer indignation. We enjoy our heritage and the diversity of heritage in the people we encounter. We do not impose on them and their impositions slide from us. When I become protectionist about the sanctity of my personal heritage, I dilute the joy of my humanity.

I enjoyed your article and apologize for the length of response.