Waking Up

Disclaimer: The experiences and opinions shared in this article are solely my own and may not represent the millions of other Asians from various backgrounds who have had different experiences as first or second-generation immigrants in the US. I acknowledge that many people have faced more severe forms of discrimination, bullying, and abuse. This article is a reflection of my personal journey and awakening, and I hope it encourages others to share their stories as well.

It's Asian Heritage Month. Let's explore my identity.

• I am a woman
• I am middle-aged
• I am an Asian-American/Chinese-American/ABC/Chinese
• I am daughter to Pinlo and Ruby Chen
• I am sister to Dave, Joe, and Dorothy
• I am mother to Jesse and Dean
• I was married for 24 years
• I am educated
• I believe in God
• I am blessed

Reminder: I should be an angrier Asian woman

I am low-key angry with myself for not paying attention during the first half of life to the narrative and journey of Asians in America.

I did not look around or listen to what interactions REALLY meant in school, at stores, over the phone, and on the sidewalk. Micro-aggressions? Bullying? I steered clear if I could. Name-calling? I thought that was par for the course. I thought everyone got picked on or put down at some point.

I do know I was one of the lucky ones. I didn't get bullied or made fun of too much. Most of my teachers were nice to me. I was never hyper-aware that I could potentially be treated with prejudice or be considered not enough, different, or less than.

But,

On and off for the last several years, life has taken me on a squiggly, windy road to awakening to who I am, and that I could actually be stereotyped, put in a box, or dismissed. It's not just about me being Grace.

I really should have been and should be angrier, in a just and honorable way, than I was for 50 years. I've just taken life as it's been dished to me and thought little of what its impact has been on me and for my fellow Asians in America.

Let's pause and take note

Until the recent string of Asian hate crimes we have seen in the news, I honestly had not paid attention to what I am sure has been happening everyday, every month, all over our country. Hate.

I am guilty of being ignorant.

"In February and March 2020, Anti-AAPI (Asian-American and Pacific Islander) communities around the country experienced a surge in harassment, bullying, and other acts of hate." (Stop AAPI Hat Year 2 Report)

This small piece of recent history paint a picture of needless, horrific, and sad events centered around hurting a group of people - a minority group in America that I am a part of.

You hurt one of us, you hurt all of us.

I speak (good) English

I've always taken pride in the fact that I "sound" American. I speak and pronounce in a clean, regionally-neutral, accurate American accent that is imperceptibly influenced by my Chinese heritage.

If one were to hear me on the phone for the first time, I would sound like any other American, perhaps even 'white' to the undiscriminating ear.

The American Dream

Let's wind back time to the early 1960's...

My parents, each raised to be kind, honest, educated, and hard-working people, individually landed on the shores of America as 20-somethings. Their hard-earned university degrees from Taiwan meant nothing, so instead they had to fix typewriters, clean hotel rooms, and any odd jobs they could find, just to survive.

Fast-forward to the 1980's, twenty some-odd years after stepping foot in this less-than-welcoming foreign land, our family of 6 moved to a picturesque suburban town in northern New Jersey. My parents' hard work had paid off and my siblings and I reaped the socio-economic benefits.

We had made it.

And what did that actually mean? Let's be real. The American Dream for many immigrant families meant placing oneself in a predominantly white, middle to the upper-middle-class neighborhood.

As a child, I did not understand the enormity of what my and many other 舅舅 and 阿姨 had to endure and sacrifice to usher the future generations into a better life.

I speak English

In school, I was guaranteed to be one of only 2 or 3 Asians in the whole grade. And between the three of us - let's say it's Grace, Raymond, and Ethan - someone was always newly immigrated and had to be taken to English as a Second Language classes each week. I subconsciously set myself apart from my immigrant peers for fear that it would relegate me to a lower social status.

"Thank God I don't need ESL," I used to think. My English is good enough.

If I had no control over my appearance or my name or who my family members were, the one thing I had to give me any sense of belonging with my non-Asian, predominantly white, peers was my ability to speak English well.

In a strange way, I was both hyper-aware of how I was different, but also strangely blind to what boiled down to subtle-but-true racial discrimination.

I speak "white"

I was fluent in not just English, but in the language of the majority, which in my experience, has been predominantly white. I spoke "white" well and still do today. Mind you, I have to put some of these terms in quotations, as I am carefully drawing your attention to a truth that also happens to be sensitive. Controversial, even.

As a teenager, I was never initiated, inducted, or invited to be part of the popular crowd at school, which was predominantly made up of white students.

In classic Grace fashion, I resigned to the fact that I was less popular due to socio-economic status (was my family wealthy enough?), or my unfashionable clothing, or the occasional rice-based lunches that NO one took an interest in.

It was never my first thought that my social status had so much to do with my ethnicity, my skin color, and mono-lid eyes. I naively assumed that being born in the U.S. and speaking English fluently was an automatic shield from racial prejudices.

Still, despite these handicaps, these points deducted from my identity, I managed to blend into the social tapestry of the majority by at least sounding like them. I sounded white.

But, did I blend in?

The price of our journeys

As I grew older, I realized that my quest to sound "white" blinded me to the realities of social differences, discrimination, and passive social rejection. I had become so focused on fitting in and being liked that I lost sight of the richness of my own heritage and the blend of two worlds that made up my identity.

I like being American, but it's more important that I cherish being Asian.

Everything comes with a price. My parents paid the price of hard work, starting from zero, and working tirelessly for decades so that I could have a better life. By living in this better life, I paid the price of getting lost in my identity and worth in the world.

As we look to the future, it's essential to embrace the unique aspects of our identities and learn from the journeys that have shaped us. It's not about blending in but rather learning to celebrate the beauty of our differences and the strength they bring to our communities.

As we celebrate Asian Heritage Month, let us remember the importance of understanding and accepting ourselves, as well as the diverse tapestry of cultures that make up our world.

The work ahead of me

May I be more aware of how I am different, how I am the same, and how each person is valuable in the social tapestry of life.

May I put more thought and attention into my fellow Asian Americans, who truly make me proud.

May I also be more aware of the injustices toward Asians, especially here in the US, and contribute my voice to the collective cries for justice, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Circling back to my identity. I am all of the things I mentioned at the top of this article, but most importantly, I am awake now.