By Jeannine Chiang. Ethnic Media Services.
“You’re Korean, right? I mean, you don’t look very Chinese. That’s a compliment, by the way,” my classmate said with a chuckle, nudging her friend. I had recently transferred to a new, mostly white high school.
I soon realized that this was not going to be an easy transition.
I remember the intense sidelong glances as the children around me turned their heads and looked down at the jade pendant my grandmother gave me for good luck.
This was shortly after schools reopened following the pandemic shutdown, and terms like “kung flu” were still floating around school hallways. It seemed to me that even here in the Bay Area, where Asians make up a large percentage of the population, being Chinese — or even just looking Chinese — was like having a target on your back.
Growing up in Millbrae, a small, Asian-majority suburb just south of San Francisco, I never felt out of place. There were a few occasions when a classmate would insist that “this is America” and that I should speak English, but those experiences were few and far between.
It was when my family moved to the South and I enrolled in a new, predominantly white high school that I began to understand for the first time that, in order to fit in among my new peers, I would have to “Americanize” my identity.
The challenges began in the cafeteria. I would hear my classmates comment on my lunch box, which often contained homemade dumplings and stir-fried noodles. The ritual of each day’s lunch was a reminder that I was different, like an outsider wearing a distinctive cultural badge.
I felt self-conscious and eventually asked my mom to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The sugary, fruity snack eventually became my new normal.
Constantly negotiating my identity was a manifestation of my struggle to fit in and be accepted. I realized I was trying to cover up the parts of my culture that might seem “too different.” My native language became a clandestine code that I whispered quietly to avoid further alienation.
I hid my ancestry for fear that its vivid hues would contrast with the dull tone of my surroundings. And I wasn't alone. A study last year found that 1 in 5 Asians tries to hide parts of his identity to adapt to it.
For me, that struggle became a mental war that I fought silently, grappling – like most teenagers – with the desire to fit in while also trying to hold on to my cultural roots.
My mother was born in Hangzhou, China, and immigrated to California to attend college. And even though my brother and I were born in San Francisco, we spoke primarily Mandarin at home. As I grew older, I began to understand what my mother gave up by coming to America: her friends, her family, her culture. And now, here I was, trying to hide that culture from the other students around me at school.
I felt ashamed. But I still tried to fit in. I felt like a chameleon, always changing to fit the expectations of everyone around me, whether at home or at school.
I'm in high school now and when I talk to my international friends from China here, they share similar stories, about how other students address them because of their backgrounds or their accent, something they can't understand, or just hide in a lunch box. Instead of celebrating the richness of culture and experience they bring to the student body, they focus on those very traits.
Bullying is on the rise in the U.S.: 20 percent of students in kindergarten through 12th grade say they have been bullied at least once. Identity is often a contributing factor, with students singled out for nationality, ethnicity or gender.
In a diverse community like the Bay Area, it is crucial for schools to promote understanding and appreciation of different cultures, fostering an environment where everyone feels accepted and valued regardless of their accent or cultural background.
My experience reminds me that there is still work to be done in the fight against racism. It takes a group effort to eliminate prejudices, confront preconceived ideas and create an atmosphere where each person can flourish in their true selves.
But it also taught me to see my differences as a unique strength and not a weakness. By challenging dominant narratives, I found allies who supported me and ended the taboo surrounding the experiences of people who feel excluded.
By working together, we have created a school community that embraces diversity and fosters a more welcoming atmosphere for all. Rather than being a victim of prejudice, I am an example of the strength that comes from embracing one's individuality.
Jeannine Chiang is a high school student. She wrote this story for a special series examining the intersection of bullying and race in California led by EMS in partnership with California Ethnic Media, part of EMS's Stop the Hate initiative, made possible by funding from the California State Library in partnership with the California State Library Commission on Asian and Pacific Islander American Affairs. The views expressed on this website and other materials produced by EMS do not necessarily reflect the official policies of CSL, CAPIAA, or the California government.
This publication was supported in whole or part by funding provided by the State of California, administered by the CaliFornia State Library.
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