“You play the piano? But that’s not special. All Asians play piano.”

This is a specific memory that has firmly lodged itself into my mind. For the first time in my life, I was struck with the thought that my finesse on the keyboard was perhaps not so remarkable due to its prevalence among people of my ethnicity. Many similar occurrences were to follow. My friends would often make humorous remarks upon my stir fry vegetable and noodle lunches. If I received an A on a paper, it was attributed to the fact that I was Asian, as if brains came naturally for me, no effort required whatsoever. The longer the taunting continued, the more I despised the fact that I was Chinese. Although seemingly harmless by nature, these remarks set me apart from everyone else. As a result, an inferior complex built up inside me. I was plagued with the internal struggle to discover who I was.

Growing up in a predominantly white community, my straight black hair and almond eyes stood out against lush streams of blonde hair and Caucasian features. I stuck out like a sore thumb, and desperately wanted to fit in. In attempts to mask my Asian appearance, I would rim my eyes with massive loads of liner and mascara every morning before heading off to school, inadvertently earning me the nickname of ‘little panda’ by my mother, to my great vexation. While my mother treated the plight I was undertaking with humor, my father was perplexed by my behavior. In his eyes, I was a banana; yellow on the outside, but white on the inside. He fell to undertaking the heavy task of ‘retrieving’ me from the great depths into which I had sunken, periodically lamenting that he should never have left our native country of Taiwan in order to raise me to become the good Chinese girl he wanted me to be. The more my father prevailed in his efforts, the more I fought back, pushing him further and further away until we were no more than two strangers living under the same roof. A wall had formed between us; a cold forbearing barrier that I did not care to break. Put simply, I was ashamed of myself. I felt like an outcast, and I wanted to break all ties that would connect me to my Asian background.

As time passed on, I started to realize that I was striving to emulate someone who I simply could not be, nor ever would be. For in the core of my existence, I would forever be Chinese. It was a defining part of my character and all attempts to mask it only kept me from myself. The journey to actualization dragged on for a long time, but ultimately, the fog lifted, and clarity seeped through. Little by little, I started to embrace my Chinese background. It was very much a part of me, and to deny it would be to reject myself altogether.

It is with great pride that I can now say that I fully embrace my Chinese ethnicity. I am the first generation of a motley of both American and Chinese traits, from which both cultures I have learned and gained immensely from. The two cultures, often so diverse that they are viewed on opposite ends of the spectrum, have instilled in me valuable traits that I simply could not have acquired from one alone. For example, while I am frugal, I do not scrounge, but instead select appropriate occasions upon which to splurge. While I am studious and push myself academically, I do not lock myself up in my room until nightfall on Friday nights, perusing 600 page textbooks. Instead, I make sure to allocate time to socialize and take part in extracurricular activities. I have managed to find a balance between the two cultures, thus achieving peace within myself.

Currently, I still play piano. Every time my fingers draw out a melody from the smooth, white keys, I am reminded of the brief remark on my piano playing made several years back. What has changed between these few years, however, is that I now do so with optimism and appreciation, inwardly giving thanks to the abundant opportunities my experience with both Chinese and American cultures have brought me and are certain to bring to me in the future.
I am proud to be a Chinese American.