And I suppose if you were brought up to conform to society and suppress your originality, then yes — you can say I passed through life acting as the person I thought I was supposed to be.

My parents, well technically my mom, desperately wanted me to fit in with the crowd. She threw me into a plethora of activities which I quickly dropped one by one, once I saw other Asian families enroll their kids. I didn’t want to conform. I excelled in school, in sports, in music, and I never got a say in what I wanted to do. My ideals and interests were taken, compressed into a little cube and tossed away. My mom was molding me into the daughter she always wanted, and I simply wasn’t; I’m still not.

When I announced to them I was quitting piano performance and going into journalism, they freaked out. They slowly came to terms with it, but would still insert the occasional, “wouldn’t it be a great idea if you went for a masters in piano?” Then I dropped another bomb on them saying I was accepted into nursing school, thinking surely they’d be happy for me finally. Wrong. I didn’t talk to them for months because they wouldn’t accept this second change. I received more backlash for this switch than the first. Should I take this negativity as a sign? Perhaps my parents know me too well that they know I’d fail and they’re saving me the time and money with their lack of support? Guess I won’t fully know until I cross the finish line.

Who am I? Am I American, or am I Taiwanese? I’m not recognized in either country, so where will I be able to live without having my citizenship be questioned on a daily basis?

Since my kid years, I was constantly ridiculed for my legal name. It was a decade of badgering that eventually spun into self-hate. I grew up feeling so ashamed of my name and the language I use to communicate with my parents. I used to anticipate roll call to prevent the teacher in saying my legal name; I’d beat them to the punch. I’ve had my ponytail yanked and my head smashed against lockers for just being me, and when I told my mom about my day – how scared I was to go back – she didn’t believe me. No one believed me. 

This wouldn’t be as traumatizing if it were just those people, but I was even taunted by my own (extended) family. I was pampered to hate myself and my heritage since I could comprehend “hate.” I suppose that’s the core reason as to why I am so sensitive when it comes to racial topics; why I am defensive when asked the infamous question of where I’m from.

I envy people who can live so freely in their body and in society. When I see a gaggle of Asian girls, I often wonder if I look like them. Would I fit into this particular grouping? Do I look that Asian to the outsider? Because I genuinely don’t think I do…? – (perhaps I have a warped sense of reality) – I obviously know I aesthetically look the part, but what if I were paler and not as tan? If I had a slim and not athletic build… does my face scream oriental? Could you tell that I’m Asian from behind? Would people interact with me differently if I didn’t look the way I did? Would life be different if I weren’t Asian? How differently would you act toward me by knowing the type of Asian I am? Just to satisfy your curiosity? Lucky for you, I enjoy disappointing people – just confirm with my parents. This stream of consciousness is what hits me every.single.morning.

So when that driver hit me in the middle of the night and left me to die in the streets, I really wish I did pass. I think about the incident every day and wish I didn’t have to. I wish my life just ended then and there. Now, not only did I physically suffer, but have to pay (financially) because someone wasn’t paying attention on the road; tell me how that is fair? It isn’t, and life simply just works that way. But here’s to the future right? Even though it’s incredibly bleak for nearly everyone.

I avoid mirrors nowadays. Whenever I look into one, I just see the face of a traumatic accident; the face of torment; the face that doesn’t need to be seen. I know I may come off as this happy, positive gal, but I’m truly screaming on the inside. Will my life get better? It will; patience is the main ingredient. Everything will be okay…