I want to start of this blog by telling a story. A story of
my own journey in the United States.
I am an immigrant. I came to the United States in 1999, at the young age of 4.
Despite the vast ocean between Thailand and the United States, my initial
introduction to the states was not overwhelming. San Francisco was teaming with
other Asian immigrants just like my family, and so I settled in naturally to
life in Red Wood City, surrounded by people, who for the most part, looked like
me.
Then on September 11, 2001, everything changed. From that day on, people around us began to look at me and my family differently. Like we were mistaken if we thought we belonged here. Like there was no space for our dirty brown skin.
I was too young to understand what was happening then. But
as the years went by, people’s stares, off-hand remarks, and intentional
remarks began to build in my mind. I began to feel like a foreigner in my own
home. I began to feel ashamed of my Indian heritage.
This shame followed me for a long time. I even thought it
was justified. I was just an immigrant, so new, so unversed in the ways of
whiteness. The way people treated us at airports, or stared at my dad at
grocery stores- it felt like being Indian was a crime. I could not fight my
skin, though with a tube of ‘fair and lovely,’ in hand, I cannot say I did not
try. So, I began distance myself from the more social manifestations of my
culture like going to the temple, learning about Diwali, etc.
It was a destructive effort. I was rejecting myself. A lot of us fear being rejected by others, but imagine how much worse it is to reject yourself. To be so embarrassed about being you, that you put all your efforts into being someone else. To say the least, I wasted a great deal of my adolescence in a losing fight with insecurity, inconfidence, and depression.
It took me long time to overcome these feelings of inferiority
and self-hate. It took a lot of soul searching. A lot of moving forward just to
be pulled back to square one.
However, as time passed, I realized that ‘Whiteness’ does not equal ‘Americanness.’ I was finally able to embrace my heritage without feeling foreign. In fact, today I can tell you that my Indian heritage is a testament to my claim to the American story. A story of immigrants. From African slaves who toiled to build the agricultural empire of the south to Filipino farmers who developed the first flavors of New Orleans. From Hispanic families that cultivated the new west, to Chinese migrant workers, who connected this nation’s coasts with rail. My story is just beginning but that does not make my claim to it any less valid.
Many Asian Americans suffer from these same feelings of
foreignness. We try to reconcile our heritage with notions of whiteness that are
often superimposed on the American identity. However, our efforts will never be
successful, because only embracing our entirety can give us a sense of
belonging. I am an Asian American. 100% Asian 100% American.
