It’s An Honor Just to Be Asian

By Claudia Tran, Associate (Kansas City)

It is hard to explain the complex and uneven relationship I have with my ethnicity. I have recognized, especially as I age, that being Asian is so intrinsically part of my being that even the times when I worked so hard to deny, ignore, and distance myself from it are part of my identity, and should be acknowledged and included in my history.

Growing up in mainly White, middle America was, and remains to this day, a good childhood. Both my parents had good jobs and worked very hard. They provided for my brother and I in ways that I recognize now were far beyond those of our peers. They spoke English well even before I was born, and the hardships that other Asian-Americans face–needing to translate English to Vietnamese or cultural boundaries–were practically non-existent for me. My parents gave me an American name, preventing prejudice at first glance. They let me speak English at home and exclusively, which allowed my speech to flourish without any hint at an accent. They studied and observed and worked tirelessly to make sure that even though my high school was different from theirs, they would understand it and help us succeed in it.

If the biggest troubles you faced as a first-generation teenager were that your parents did not allow you to take part in the senior class water-gun fight (because, they were correct, you could have been arrested) and made you wait a few years to attend school dances, your problems were indeed few and far between. I am incredibly lucky.

Of course, when you are a teenager, discipline and dictatorship look somewhat the same, so I fought back, desperately wishing to be as “free” as my Caucasian peers, with less pressure to succeed and more grace, in my mind, to fail and still be loved. (I was, of course, wildly off-base–an Asian parent’s love is not reflected in whether or not you succeed; an Asian parent’s love is reflected in their overwhelmingly strong belief that with hard work and effort, you will always be able to succeed.) As I went from high school and into college, I often made subtle and sometimes obvious attempts to separate myself from my minority status. I went to great lengths to participate in American activities and to shun Asian ones. I wore what everyone else wore, followed trends and brands that everyone else followed. I joined a sorority. I maintained almost exclusively Caucasian friendships and relationships. I joked so frequently about being bad at math that I talked myself into being bad at math–and actually, I can do math just fine.

I found myself addressing my Asian-ness head-on in social settings, often cracking jokes about myself at my own expense, attempting to ease what I felt was the obvious elephant in the room: that I was, more often than not, the only minority among people with very little minority experience, and if not that, at the very least the only Asian. I allowed people around me to make racially insensitive jokes, and I shied away from, rather than confronted, obviously problematic Asian commentary. I worked so hard–insanely hard–to make people feel comfortable around me, instead of feeling comfortable with myself.

For a long time, I was fighting a losing battle. You see, no matter how much makeup you wear, or how many “Hi, I’m Asian but not the type of Asian who can do your math homework for you” jokes you make, you never quite fit in. No one ever confuses you for your blonde friend or your brunette friend. The first thing anyone sees about you will always be that you are Asian. You are always different, no matter how the same you try to be. But if you’re really lucky, one day you will wake up and you will realize that being the same isn’t what matters. Being different is a privilege.

As the world recovers from the chaos and troubles that COVID-19 has presented, I worry about the next generation of young Asian-Americans who, like me, are just trying to fit into a society that already knows at first glance that we are “different.” I worry that they will make the same mistakes I did–that they will run away from, rather than to, their Asian heritage and culture. I worry that they, like I once did and sometimes still do, will take for granted not just the immeasurable things our parents do for us now but the incredible things they did for us even before we were born–coming to a new and different country just for a better life. I worry that young Asian-Americans will face backlash. I worry that they will live in fear. I worry that the progress we have made is not enough.

Spending your entire life trying to be the same, as I have largely done, only takes you further away from the truth: that we all, despite our differences, deserve to be here regardless of who we are and where we come from. That we all give value to a society that would die in homogeneity if not for the ability of diverse minds and people to push us past boundaries we could not reach before. And that it is in our differences where we thrive, not our desire to be the same.

I hope that as we go into what is hopefully “post-COVID-19,” Asians do not suffer. I hope that we do not feel unwelcome in a place so many of us truly and rightfully call home. And I hope most of all that we feel comfortable in who we are and the value we bring. Because, of course, “it’s an honor just to be Asian.” (Sandra Oh).