Where's home?

Where's home? That's the most frequently asked question in my day to day survival rounds. Of course, that is followed by Are you Hawaiian?
Any one would think that such interrogation should be a fairly simple question to answer. A no brainer, one that should flow by inertia, one that you recite with your lips before your thought processes anything else. That's not the case for me.
Sometimes I wish I could just hand out a card with my background bio with pictures, maps and a glossary of terms that define my past. But if I did, no one would read it. Instead they would resource to gossip and start creating this persona errata. And that's when I suddenly become Laotian, Samoan, Peruvian, Japanese, Sri Lankan, Filipino, Chinese, Mongolian, and sometimes, believe it or not, Native American. But for the most part, I am defined as Hawaiian by remote guesses.
Its understood that for many caucasian Americans it is difficult to distinguish features and characteristics of the above mentioned. Which I totally comprehend. I can't tell you if my boss is Italian, Czech, Polish, German, French or Irish by her looks. But why so many unacertive guesses? Everytime that I am asked that question, seems like it's a drunk blind folded darts tournament and I am the board.
There is not a possible way for me to answer that question in one simple sentence. Maybe with my broken, limited, incomplete, and accented English I could do so. But I am certain that many English scholars would suffer an acute myocardial infarction and/or a rectal bleed from reading a punctuaction lacking paragraph transformed into one singular sentence explaining where I think home is.
And I don't think that I have ever given the same recited answer. Why should I? Everyone will ask me that question differently anyways. Not everyone knows where the places that conform the answer. Not everyone can decode my accent. And no one, definitely, no one can understand it.
Maybe we as a society tend to network with equals. It's just a natural trend. We try to stablish relationships at various levels with those who might have something in common with us. Gays will find gays. Boricuas will find boricuas. Hawaiians will find hawaiians. Because that is our packing nature and we can't help it.
And that's what I try to do with myself. I try to lean to my Asian side... my fellow Taiwanese inmigrants. But there is some resistance because of my accent when I speak Mandarin and my iliteracy in such language. I wish I would've learned how to write and read Chinese.
So then I lean towards my Spanish speaking side. Which I have to generalize to latinos since I haven't met more than a handful of Costa Ricans in the US the almost 8 years that I have lived here, granted not many Costa Ricans leave the pristine beaches to live in the cold frozen tundras of the northern plains like I did. And shortly after socializing with latinos, I realize I am just another outcast because of my looks.
I am to Mexicans, Nicaraguans, Guatemalans, and other latinos a chino that freakishly speaks perfect Spanish. But they don't trust me because I can be just a poser.
A US born citizen that can't speak perfect English that doesn't fit in middle America
A Taiwanese lost soul that can't read Mandarin
A Costa Rican shadow with almond eyes that speaks perfect Spanish and dances Salsa
A ceviche eating, mango loving, rice fed, hot dog craving, apple pie baking, black bean farting, pot sticker dipping, beer drinking kinda guy that knows how to tango, how to origami, and how to two step.
Home is Costa Rica, where I grew up. Home is New Orleans, where I matured. Home is Taiwan, where my parents call home. Home is San Antonio where I became a man. Home is Minot, where I met my best friends and had my first winter. Home is Omaha, where I bought my first home. Home is Hawaii, where I want to richly live.