Written for Us Two Tea
I am incredibly proud of my heritage. I am beyond grateful that I can communicate well in both English and Mandarin. But I did not always feel this way. Born into a very traditional Taiwanese immigrant family yet raised in an American setting with exposure to American schooling and pop culture, I often found myself suspended in a limbo area with my Asian heritage clashing with my American identity. I felt too American to be fully Asian, yet I was also indirectly shamed as too Asian to be fully American. I say this all in past tense, but if I’m completely honest with myself, I still occasionally feel this way, and recent anti-Asian events have only renewed this dissonance.
I remember elementary school as particularly difficult. Amongst my peers, my birth (sur)name was often the brunt of mockery with Santa Claus jokes and strumpet insinuation. During class roll-call by surname, a couple of different teachers throughout the years would hesitate when they came to my name before calling me – and only me – by my first name, to which I’d blush scarlet and feel my insides squirm uncomfortably. For my lunches, my amazing mother would always wake up extra early to cook my favorite Asian-style meals, lovingly packed in the cutest bento boxes. But the moment I would reveal my lunch in the cafeteria, that was when the chorus of repulsed jeers came through. “You’re eating WORMS!” (udon). “EW that looks disgusting!” (rouyuan). “You’re so gross, you eat fur!” (pork sung). I thank my stars that my best friend at the time envied my lunches and would eagerly trade her fish sticks and tuna sandwiches for my meals per my request, and even though we now joke about this memory, it pains me that I had felt the need to trade lunches. What angers and shames me even more is that not only did I not stand up for myself and my vibrant culture, but I also did not have the heart to tell my mother the truth and instead just casually fabricated interest in bringing western lunches (she still slipped in some pork sung in my sandwiches though, bless her heart).
So now that begs the question – “why didn’t I speak up?” Growing up in a traditional Asian household, the idea of keeping one’s head down and not drawing attention to oneself was drilled into me via examples and lectures. You want to ask for help? Don’t bother; it’ll just signal weakness and shame. They’re making fun of you or someone you know? Put others first, but don’t fuel the fire; better to let it pass quickly and be forgotten. You have a dream you want to achieve that doesn’t exactly align with the “Asian definition of success?” Until you actually reach that goal, you’re left to silently struggle on your own without any encouragement or affirmation.
So exhausting, this constant need to project a “saving face” mask – and yet, we’ve been conditioned to accept it as a natural part of ourselves. Generational Asian values have inexplicitly taught us to subconsciously sacrifice our personal preferences to cater to those around us. We are told to stay humble, to consider repercussions for our speech and actions, to over-internalize the emotional needs of others… all of which leads to denying and devaluing our space in this society. When it comes to discussing racism in America, we are once again conditioned to downplay our trauma for fear of taking up space and diminishing other minority group’s experiences.
But it is because of such conditioning that allows us to be overlooked. Our collective struggles as a minority in America’s proud, celebrated national identity of a “melting pot” is nothing new. This country’s history is riddled with Asian American voice suppression, from the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act and the WWII internment camps to just last year in 2020 when 164 House Republicans voted against a resolution to condemn anti-Asian sentiment, racism, and discrimination. It pains me that our culture is often praised for entertainment, profit, food, trends, and even fetishes, but when the issue of race is brought to the table, it is lightly brushed aside and minimalized.
Even today, I am still learning to verbally speak up for myself and for my community while normalizing vulnerability and outreach. Even now, I still must remind myself not to alter my core identity to satisfy the comfort of others. But through all the learning and reminding, I am seeing change. Slow change, but change nevertheless, and I feel optimistic with our current millennials and Gen-Z that are self-aware and eager for active progression. Change begins with finding one’s voice to start conversations at home and within our circles before it can ripple out into the rest of the world. It took me five years too long to shed the fear of judgment and open up via an essay about low self-esteem and self-injury. Even when I faced cyber harassment in my adulthood, I was told by my parents to silently swallow my discomfort. But eventually I chose not to and instead filed police reports (despite knowing little would come out of it) and penned an article detailing my experience. Both pieces have since been published in a digital youth culture magazine and anthology, and while I am unsure of the quantitative impact of publicly discussing some vulnerabilities deemed as taboo in Asian culture, I at least can feel proud of myself for breaking a conditioned silence.
As they say, “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” but in the meantime, you can count on me to continue exercising my voice through writing while I learn to verbalize more, just as I encourage you to find your voice as well. Here are some ways you can proactively support yourself and our community.
1. Focus
Racism is not a personal attack on you, but a manifestation of ignorance and prejudice. Don’t blame yourself or rationalize. Be objective and focus on taking care of yourself.
2. Interrupt the flow
If you laugh or stay silent, it’s assumed that you agree with what’s been said. And you miss out on an opportunity to create awareness. What could you say? Here’s a list of responses.
3. Find your voice
Don’t convince yourself that you’re overreacting. If it bothers you, talk about it. Share your experience with a supportive group of people who will listen and empathize.
4. Amplify that voice
If you’re active on social media, use your platform to share content that speaks to the experiences of Asian Americans. Spreading awareness is the first step to creating change.
5. Be proud
Learn about the history of Asian Americans and the work they’re doing today. Explore Asian American artists, authors, activists, and entrepreneurs – they’re doing amazing things.
