I had a very culture-oriented upbringing. Yet, living in New York City solicited a very suffocating atmosphere of intolerance. Particularly in the streets and schools, prejudice and racial thought ran rampant.
From the playground to the classrooms, I found it hard to distance myself from the volley of racial stereotypes. In 6th grade, a group of girls asked me, "How big do you your eyes open?" I opened my yes. They laughed and asked, "That's it?" That night I practiced opening my eyes bigger.
In 7th grade, some boys on my lunch table asked me, "How does dog taste?" I'm not sure what was more disturbing, their insensitivity (or bigotry) or my sudden loss of appetite. Situations like this were common, especially during lunch. Being one of the only Asian Americans in the school, the other kids expected me to sit alone. In a school of diversity, I was a stranger.
I befriended some kids earlier that year. They asked me every conceivable race related question; "How do you use chopsticks" or "How often do you eat rice". Each question was asked with sincere curiosity with good intentions so I learned to correct them gently. But like them, I began questioning my own identity. here was a need to justify my high grades and my love of (dumplings?), that it wasn't the result of living in Chinatown or being raised by Asian immigrant parents. My argument fell on deaf ears.
Initially, I rejected the implication of me being Asian. I distanced myself from answering the question "What are you" and innately buried my identity deep within me. I played along with the jokes kids laughed at. My small eyes, my subpar P.E. performance and my "love" for math. I truly believed that by advocating and encouraging these labels, I would somehow be an exception to the mockery;that I would somehow be the "cool asian". The ones who were thick skinned and knew how to take a joke!
Looking back, I realize how toxic and harmful it was for my identity. I chose to believe in what the masses were chanting and subconsciously absorbed their bigoted thinking. Racial stereotypes limits our way of thinking. It sets a standard on what a person can and can't do.
A person isn't characterized by the glow of their skin or how adept they are at solving math equations; How people see me does not define what kind of person I am. My background certainly is vital, but it is not who I am as a whole. My love of music, literature and culture is no less real than my small eyes and yellow skin.
From the playground to the classrooms, I found it hard to distance myself from the volley of racial stereotypes. In 6th grade, a group of girls asked me, "How big do you your eyes open?" I opened my yes. They laughed and asked, "That's it?" That night I practiced opening my eyes bigger.
In 7th grade, some boys on my lunch table asked me, "How does dog taste?" I'm not sure what was more disturbing, their insensitivity (or bigotry) or my sudden loss of appetite. Situations like this were common, especially during lunch. Being one of the only Asian Americans in the school, the other kids expected me to sit alone. In a school of diversity, I was a stranger.
I befriended some kids earlier that year. They asked me every conceivable race related question; "How do you use chopsticks" or "How often do you eat rice". Each question was asked with sincere curiosity with good intentions so I learned to correct them gently. But like them, I began questioning my own identity. here was a need to justify my high grades and my love of (dumplings?), that it wasn't the result of living in Chinatown or being raised by Asian immigrant parents. My argument fell on deaf ears.
Initially, I rejected the implication of me being Asian. I distanced myself from answering the question "What are you" and innately buried my identity deep within me. I played along with the jokes kids laughed at. My small eyes, my subpar P.E. performance and my "love" for math. I truly believed that by advocating and encouraging these labels, I would somehow be an exception to the mockery;that I would somehow be the "cool asian". The ones who were thick skinned and knew how to take a joke!
Looking back, I realize how toxic and harmful it was for my identity. I chose to believe in what the masses were chanting and subconsciously absorbed their bigoted thinking. Racial stereotypes limits our way of thinking. It sets a standard on what a person can and can't do.
A person isn't characterized by the glow of their skin or how adept they are at solving math equations; How people see me does not define what kind of person I am. My background certainly is vital, but it is not who I am as a whole. My love of music, literature and culture is no less real than my small eyes and yellow skin.
