Wish: feel or express a strong desire or hope for something that cannot or probably will not happen.

A finicky thought to have, and yet we have all succumbed to feeling this “wish” at some point in our lives.

During my younger years, I would look up to the stars on a clear night and ‘wish upon a star.’ I would wish the stars for many things, and they were almost always materialistic. The main wish I longed for though, I knew would never happen, but I could perhaps do something about it.

I wished I wasn’t Asian.

Now that I’m older, I’m not sure if I’ve become overly sensitive, or just aware. It may just be me, but my life, in a sense, was never normal. In every situation, my race played a huge factor. Whether it was to get into a good college, piano competitions, or in sports, my mother would encourage me to throw in the fact that I was “Asian” so it would better my chances. My looks trumped my credibility/abilities, and in a way, it still does today.

I can’t help but wonder what kind of life mine would be if I weren’t Asian. Would it be the greatest privilege to prance anywhere without judgement; would it be privilege to be able to introduce myself and not have people question my authenticity? A life of no interrogation and no potential mental illness; a life of freedom. That’s the American Dream, is it not? The American Dream for whites.

My mother always warned me, “study hard and make sure you prove yourself to white people, because if you don’t show what they’re already assuming, they will immediately think less of you.” I reluctantly listened to my mother ramble on and on, and thought what she was saying was hogwash, but it’s so real; it’s as real as the bitch face that I have inherited from her.

With every new year, my passion on race becomes stronger. My mother’s words haunt me more and more, and I’ve started to have nightmares.

Only a week or so until 2016, and it seems like people are more ignorant than ever. Shouldn’t the world be progressing?

Yes, I’m quite racist toward my own race. And by being Asian, it’s OK for me to be. But here’s the 411 – everyone is racist to this demographic. Any joke that’s been made or the slightest stereotype remark is racism. It’s far too common, but hardly anyone takes offense/becomes defensive over it, because Asians. If people were making the same remarks in regards to black people – oh hell no.

Some defend their racist remark by blaming the Asian culture, and some don’t even bother and are blatantly rude to Asians, because they as asians obviously don’t understand English.

I used to be a believer and a friend to the Asian society. After sophomore year in high school, my stance changed. My mother would go out of her way to do anything for the church community. If a lady became pregnant, my mother would cook for them, or take international students grocery shopping, every week. All my mother ever did was give.

In 2007, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Not a single soul sent their regards or offered to help in anyway. None of those former pregnant ladies or students reached out to my family. Nothing. Then when my mother beat the cancer and made the fastest recovery ever, all the phone calls started rolling through again, asking her to donate money or help out with church functions or help chauffeur people. It wasn’t just the church, but the entire Asian community used my family for our graciousness, and we never heard a simple ‘thank you.’

After that year, my bitterness toward Asians grew and my anger toward my mother began. I was angry at her for not being aware; I was angry at her for not telling me her prognosis until after the treatment; I was angry at her for letting those ungrateful bastards walk all over her; most importantly, I was angry at her for having such great pride that hopelessly blinded her in the moment. Now, my mother views life better with no friends, and it hurts me to know that she feels this way. I realize why she always starts out our phone conversations with, “whenever I think of you, I can’t help but cry.” I cry too, mom.

I’m glad to know that Americans aren’t alone in their ignorance, and that most countries are just simply more blatant in their racism.

Being Asian never bothered me before, until I traveled Europe and came back to Australia. The level of disrespect was astonishing, and people were offended when I became defensive. Perhaps I’m just not used to the blatant way. The way of someone asking me to repeat after them to ensure that I understood, or asking me why I look the way I do, or how do I speak English so very well. Well mate, I haven’t got a clue; my genes are here to stay, and I hope for humanity’s sake, the date for your castration is set relatively soon.

To set the record straight, I am Asian; no, I am not Filipino, and yes I understand most students there are taught by Americans – hence American accent;  I can understand English, and quite well might I add; I am bilingual; no, I will not prove to you that I know mandarin; I’m glad you find the Asian language ever so fascinating; fuck off, please and thank you.