President Trump is accelerating a trend that began before his election: Americans making Asia great again. Of all the backpackers one sees in the Hong Kong International Airport, Americans are the easiest to spot: Backpacks often worn in front, traveling in packs of three and the unmistakable higher-decibel pitch, twang or “like.” I should know: I spent years as one of them, a New Yorker not known for his soft voice. I’m not a backpacker anymore, but I’m still in Asia, which makes me a “repat.” I was born in India, spent my childhood in the UAE and emigrated to America, settling in Queens and later Westchester. My family became U.S. citizens in 1993. Even after graduating from Georgetown and working in New York and in think tanks and the Pentagon, I had no inkling — and didn’t until well into my 30s — that I would live again outside the U.S. Yet for the past six years, I’ve been living in Singapore, the tiny city-state featured in Kevin Kwan’s hit novel and movie Crazy Rich Asians. This is the only home my kids know. Despite occasional sabbaticals in Europe or the U.S., it’s hard to conceive of us permanently returning “home.” For most of my life, I’ve been classified as an “Asian-American.” Now I feel like an American-Asian. |