Between Two Worlds: Finding Identity and Belonging As A 2nd-Generation Asian in New Zealand

There is a quiet complexity in growing up between cultures—one that is often unseen, rarely explained, and deeply felt. For Evangeline, this complexity began early, not as a clear conflict, but as a subtle tension between who she was expected to be and who she naturally was becoming.

Born in New Zealand to Chinese immigrant parents, she was shaped by two distinct cultural frameworks. On one side, there were Eastern values—modesty, restraint, and the importance of not standing out. On the other hand, Western expectations encouraged self-expression, individuality, and speaking up. These were not abstract ideas; they showed up in everyday life, in school, at home, and within herself.

As a naturally expressive person, this created an internal contradiction. Speaking up felt right, but also wrong. Each time she voiced her thoughts, there was a lingering sense of guilt, as though she had crossed an invisible line. Over time, this tension became internalised, shaping how she related to herself and others.

This was not the only pressure she carried. Academic expectations, social belonging, and cultural identity all intersected during her teenage years—a period already known for its intensity. Within her peer groups, there was a sense of comparison and expectation. At the same time, outside of those groups, there was a desire to fit into a broader social environment that operated under different rules.

She found herself navigating multiple worlds without a clear guide.

And in that space, something began to build.

At first, it was not fully understood. There was no clear language for what she was experiencing—only a persistent sense that something was not right. Thoughts became overwhelming. Emotions felt confusing, undefined. She describes it not as understanding her emotions, but simply “feeling bad,” without knowing why or how to name it.

This lack of language is significant.

Because without language, there is no way to process.
Without recognition, there is no way to respond.

For Evangeline, this meant navigating much of her early emotional life alone. It was only through external exposure—learning about mental health concepts online—that she began to recognise that what she was experiencing had a name, and that support might exist.

Even then, reaching out was not straightforward.

Within her cultural context, mental health was not something openly discussed. There was no established pathway, no shared understanding within the family. Seeking help felt like stepping outside of what was familiar—and more than that, it carried a sense of failure.

So she sought support quietly.

Through school, through professionals, and eventually through therapy, she began to encounter something new: the idea that emotions could be identified, named, and understood. What had once been an indistinct feeling became something more structured—anger, sadness, guilt, fear. This process of naming was not just educational; it was transformative.

It allowed her to begin making sense of her internal world.

At the same time, another layer of complexity emerged—the relationship with her parents. When they eventually became aware of her struggles, their response was not grounded in understanding, but in uncertainty. Questions, frustration, even anger—responses that, in hindsight, were rooted not in rejection, but in fear and lack of knowledge.

This dynamic placed Evangeline in an unexpected position.

While still navigating her own mental health, she also became an educator—helping her parents understand concepts they had never been exposed to. Explaining what mental health meant. How it felt. What support looked like.

It was not an easy role to take on.

But over time, something shifted.

Through ongoing conversations and shared learning, the relationship evolved. What began as confusion gradually gave way to understanding. Her parents, once unsure, began to grow alongside her—eventually even supporting others in similar situations.

This transformation highlights something important: that understanding is not fixed, but can be developed, even across generational and cultural gaps.

Alongside this personal journey, Evangeline’s academic path began to take shape. Her decision to study psychology was not only intellectual—it was deeply connected to her lived experience. She wanted to understand not just mental health, but the cultural dimensions that shape it. The ways identity, family, and societal expectations influence how people experience and express emotional distress.

In particular, she became interested in the experiences of Asian communities in New Zealand—groups that are often underrepresented in both research and practice. Her work reflects a desire to bridge this gap, to create understanding where there has been silence.

Yet even as she moves toward this goal, she acknowledges that identity itself remains complex.

There is no simple resolution.

One of the most difficult realisations, she notes, is that she may never fully “fit” into a single category—not entirely Chinese, not entirely Kiwi. This recognition, while painful, becomes a turning point. Rather than trying to resolve the tension, she begins to accept it.

And in doing so, she reframes it.

What once felt like fragmentation becomes multiplicity.
What once felt like not belonging becomes the ability to belong in different ways.

This is not a neat conclusion.

It is an ongoing process.

Evangeline’s story does not end with certainty or clarity. Instead, it offers something more grounded in reality: the understanding that identity, emotional awareness, and personal growth are not destinations, but continuous movements.

There will always be tensions.
There will always be questions.
There will always be moments of uncertainty.

But within that, there is also space.

Space to learn.
To adapt.
To redefine what it means to belong.

And perhaps most importantly—

To understand that being between worlds is not a limitation.

But a way of seeing more than one.

Full Podcast: Between Two Worlds: Finding Identity and Belonging As A 2nd-Generation Asian in New Zealand