I’m from Wisconsin. Really.

People ask me how to pronounce my name all the time. It’s almost a daily occurrence and entirely understandable. My name is not phonetic nor is it common in the suburban Midwestern town where I grew up (it’s pronounced twee-lawn, by the way).

The follow-up question that sometimes irks me is, “Where are you from?”

My answer: Wisconsin: the land of beer, cheese and the best football team on the planet, the Green Bay Packers. That’s where I was born, that’s where I grew up and that’s the place I’ll always call home. The “Dairy State” is most definitely where I’m from, but then I get a second follow-up question: “No, where are you really from?” I always respond by saying that my parents are Vietnamese … because I’m not from Vietnam.

I grew up in Germantown, where the population is 92 percent white. As I learned to speak English in school, I taught my parents to speak English at home. I played the familial role of an American ambassador of sorts, explaining to my parents how my friends celebrated Easter (my parents are Buddhist), filling out paperwork in English for them and helping them study for their naturalization tests.

To many people, the “where are you from” question seems innocent enough. It’s solely curiosity; it’s just getting to know someone a little better. Some people are bothered by the question; others don’t mind at all. It’s a difficult subject to navigate because there’s no right or wrong way, and each person feels a little differently about it. It’s an issue because it encompasses race, nationality and identity. You can racially be one thing, but have a different nationality and identify as a blend of ethnicities.

It’s brought up so often I find myself asking internally, “Does it really matter?” You’ve now just pointed out that I’m not white — that I don’t look like the quintessential American citizen.

But that’s what irks me. The thing is, I do look like the quintessential American citizen.

There’s the misconception that “true” Americans are only white.  The U.S. Census Bureau debunks that notion: Only 63 percent of Americans are non-Latino whites. America is a melting pot.

In response to the most direct form of the question: “What kind of Asian are you?,” I’ll smile and say that I’m the kind from Wisconsin, the kind that likes ketchup, the kind that has a J. Crew addiction and the kind that’s just as American as you.

Follow @tweelawn on Twitter.