I
You sit down by yourself on the corner of a table. The buzz of the lunch period simmers away as you pull out your lunch box and set out a tin of rice and a few side dishes. Someone looks over, laughs, and whispers something to a friend. You hear the snickers. You feel the heat rushing to your cheeks already, but there is nothing you can do to stop the storm. They move closer and sit by you. You look down and wince.
What you got there, dog?
You ignore them but you can still hear the laughter.
That looks so weird. Are you really going to eat that?
You take out your chopsticks and start eating. You can feel their eyes on you. You are different, everyone knows it, and there is nowhere to hide.
At a deli, you’re asked your name by the cashier. You speak it to him. He stands there momentarily before handing you the piece of paper and a pen to write it yourself.
Later, when your order is ready, another man takes a glance at the paper with your name on it.
I’m not gonna even try to fuckin’ pronounce this, he mutters.
Who ordered the Italian on wheat?
II
Test results got posted today, top of the class again. Your mum smiles at you. She pastes the certificate on the kitchen wall. You’re sitting in the front of the accelerated math class. Homework is being passed back. You feel a sense of relief. 100. You live another day. You hear the whispers from behind you.
Of course he got an A, he’s Asian.
You don’t know how to feel. It’s a compliment but something doesn’t sit quite right. You stay silent as always. Later that week, you receive a message asking for pictures of the homework. It’s from the guy on the baseball team.
He’s been nice to you, right?
You want to be his friend, so you send it to him. He says hi to you the next day and lets you sit by him at lunch. You meet his friends. They don’t know your name but they have the picture. Like clockwork, you get his text next week, and the next.
They still don’t know your name.
You are standing outside your old middle school, thoughts racing, clutching a piece of paper tightly to your chest. The bus comes around the loop as usual, but the familiar feeling of dread creeps in. You look around, it’s smiles all around, it's always smiles all around. You know what will happen when you get off the bus: the minutes will drag on by but march ever constantly towards the inevitable.
You open the front door, greeted by the smell of old newspaper and jasmine rice. You hear your father call to you. You know what’s coming. You want to fade away. You stand still hoping to turn invisible on the spot. You put the piece of paper down on the table and quickly retreat to your bed. You hear his footsteps coming up the stairs. The world starts getting blurry. All you can say is you tried your best, but it wasn’t enough, it never was. Everything fades to black as the pain soothes you to sleep.
Tomorrow will be different you say, next time it will be better, he nods, but who are you trying to convince?
A bowl of cut fruit and a mug of jasmine tea, warm and fragrant, set carefully on your desk. It was unspoken, but you understood every silent word.
$100
From mom. On the kitchen counter. Club fees.
The next day, from you, on the kitchen counter, an A on your Calculus exam.
Years of habit have constrained the way you convey appreciation to the sole letter A and the numbers 90-100. For her: cubically cut honeydews and apples, along with the financial means for you to chase your wildest dreams.
A silent exchange of love.
You open another email and a video pops up. Finally, you see the word “Congratulations!” fill your screen, so you rush downstairs and scream out the news. This is the American Dream. Everyone is smiling, everything is perfect. You’re sitting in the only terminal of your hometown airport as your family waves through the glass. You smile back and give them one final wave before stepping into the gate. Can you outgrow family? You step into the unknown, yet something holds you back. Trapped on the other side of the looking glass is all that you have known, people you have loved. A crowd forms. You see familiar faces, you hear your grandma’s voice speak out - it’s muffled by the glass.
Why can’t they come along?
But you know you are the only one who can step through, so you do.
It’s the right thing to do, right?
III
Long, long ago, you used to dream about being an actor. Every time you watched movies you would pay special attention to the actors that looked like you. But over time, you were disappointed. Because you would always be:
Nerdy
Unattractive
Nonconfrontational
Weak
Emasculated
Submissive
Apologetic
Unassertive
…
Steady beeping ticks melt the minutes away. The sterile scent of cleaning solution is pungent, repulsive, and calming all at once. White coats rush back and forth, paying no mind to you. Someone calls your name and you follow them to a small room. She goes on about the usual checkup procedure, rushing through taking your vitals.
What brings you in today?
Lightheadedness, nausea, and fainting spells you tell her. All symptoms of heart failure.
She quickly takes a glance at a clipboard.
You’re fine.
She sends you home with a bottle of Tylenol.
Time passes, it eats at you.
One night, you wake up clutching your chest, the world is fading and your heart is stopping.
It feels good.
You feel yourself thinking it shouldn’t be like this.
You smell the familiar scent of sterilizing agent again.
Who could have seen this coming?
You find yourself in a crowded college pregame before setting out a party. The air is dense, filled with the heat of numerous bodies packed in a cramped townhouse living room and the smell of cheap, pungent alcohol. You end up in the kitchen. There you find another man, apparently seeking a quieter environment too. He immediately approaches you and comments on the ethnicity that you both share.
He says your face seems quite familiar. He asks if you’re a part of the Asian American student club on campus.
No, not yet, you say.
You should, he replies.
Are you worried about it being too Asian?
Puzzled, you say no.
You had never pondered such a question before, nor expected it.
Don’t worry, he says. The club’s more American than Asian, so you should fit right in.
Suddenly, you feel as if the two sides of your Asian Americanness are at war.
You’re too American. You’re not Asian enough.