Writing this, I’ve realised how many memories have just been shoved into the darkest corners of my brain. It’s not that my past has been lost, but it just feels irrelevant.
Imagine growing up hating your own skin. Being one of, maybe, four Asians in my grade didn’t give me that satisfaction of belonging, so I sank into the label everyone had indirectly given me. Being told by your (former) best friend, “you’re ugly, no offence”, because you didn’t possess their enviable blond hair and blue eyes. Do you have any idea what a comment like that can do to a child?
Meanwhile, there were those popular kids who seemed so free-spirited. I wanted to be them, but I couldn’t. I was a kid with hobbies like anyone else, but I would only be known for being smart, or Asian. For so long I struggled with who I was – I hated being Asian.
Writing this, I’ve realised how many memories have just been shoved into the darkest corners of my brain. It’s not that my past has been lost, but it just feels irrelevant. Don’t think that’s a bad thing. I’m living out my life appreciating my heritage and the perspectives that come with it. The exposure to other ABC’s when I reached high school helped me come to terms with who I am. Others like me may not have been so lucky; I think it’s a shame that some people still don’t want anything to do with their Asian side.
So to those who are still figuring everything out, I ask: who are you? And who are you living for?