The sun was shining brightly sending out beams of cheerfulness and hope, after nearly a week of gloomy rainfall. The day began like any other school day: wake up, brush teeth, get dressed and go to school. I sat through what seemed like a life-time of knowledge about dividing fractions and its many real life applications. Which was a long and convoluted list, in which I can no longer remember. Every couple of minutes I would glance at the clock as though by constantly looking I could somehow magically make time go by faster.
The clock hit twelve thirty, which meant that it was time for recess; oh yes glorious recess. Those thirty precious minutes of pure freedom where we could play and run free. Recess was the place where the wildest dreams could be achieved and nothing was impossible.
The classroom was emptied of students in a mere matter of seconds that would've only been rivaled by the speed of light. We scrambled down the desolate hallways like enraged bulls desperate to escape from the confines of the school towards the bright and hopeful sun.
Once outside, I glanced around looking for my friend. I found her near the side of the school holding a jump rope and waving all while yelling, “Hey! Over here!” “It’s so nice today.” I said. “Yeah it really is, it’s almost like summer. I can’t believe it was raining all last week,” she replied.
We started swinging the rope and slowly got into a steady rhythm. In between the “thwacks” that the rope made every time it hit the blacktop, we began to chanting, “Strawberry shortcake, huckleberry pie. Who’s gonna be your lucky guy?... a, b, c, d…” Soon other people began asking to join in on the jump roping and crowded around us.
A few kids on the sides waiting for their turn began whispering and giggling to each other all while making glances at me. I was puzzled at their behavior but I did not react. Except at that exact moment, one of them came up to me and began asking me a barrage of questions. “So are you like Chinese or something?” he asked. “Yeah, I am but I’m also American,” I replied not thinking much of it. “Well, I heard that they eat dogs and cats in China is that true? Have you ever eaten a dog? I’m not racist but.. what does ching chang chong mean?” he asked again.
I was confused. I couldn't understand why those words hurt even though I knew they weren't true. Maybe it was the fact that those words were said without any intent of malice or hatred but instead with a frightening casualness.
Then another voice then piped in and said, “You’re Chinese, you can’t possibly be American. You don’t even look American.” “I… I..I,” I paused I didn't know what to say. I felt my throat start to tighten, it was like all the air in the world had suddenly been sucked out of the atmosphere. The gentle and hopeful sun had transformed into a blistering heat and I felt like a trapped ant underneath a magnifier, slowly being scorched alive.
Tears were starting to form behind my eyes. But I didn't cry. I couldn't cry, I had to be indifferent. I refused to let them see that those words actually mattered. That those words actually did hurt. I couldn't let them see that I was different. I just wanted to belong. I laughed awkwardly and said, “Of… of course I am.” I could tell that they weren't convinced nor did they really care for my response.
Their questions made me feel as though I was just some zoo attraction to be “oohed” and “aahed” at. In their eyes, I wasn't a person I was just my ethnicity. To them I was something “exotic”, something to be observed, and scrutinized.
For the first time, I felt ashamed of my own heritage. I no longer wanted to be Chinese-American. I just wanted to belong and not have to feel as though I was a constant outsider. The thoughts of “Why did I have to be Asian?” and “Why couldn't I just have been normal?” crept into my mind and have stayed ever since.
As if being “white” was the only standard needed to qualify for being a “normal” American and anything else was considered to be exotic and foreign.
I didn't realize that the words being said were in all actuality toxic and a damaging byproduct of a problematic society. But now I know that my heritage is not a thing to be ashamed of. I am proud of being Chinese-American. Instead society is the one that should be ashamed of itself. America prides itself on being a melting pot of cultures. Yet the ideal American is still described as being white, blue-eyed, and having blonde hair? I’m tired of answering the question “Where are you really from?” and hearing comments of “Go back to where you came from.”
Society has instilled these harmful beliefs of a preconceived perceptions of the world, of what normalcy should be defined as within the youth through the usage of media and entertainment; that portray a “normal” world being one filled with white people who are all heterosexual and blatantly offensive stereotypes of people who are different. Reinforcing that idea of a world void of any real representation of the different people in the world, ultimately closes the minds of youths to any ideas about inclusiveness or acceptance of others and leaves those being misrepresented feeling invisible and unimportant.