Thirty-one years ago, my parents decided to embark on a journey to America whilst leaving their native China behind. They were in pursuit of the “American Dream” or as I like to say, “Get Rich.” They decided to settle down in Arizona of all places. Shortly thereafter, God blessed them with an angel—the birth of yours truly. My parents’ decision to leave their motherland and venture towards a foreign land is why I call myself an ABC—an American-Born Chinese.
Throughout much of my life, the label of “ABC” has brought me both discomfort and joy. Recently with the Corona crisis, I’ve been especially uncomfortable being an ABC. During these COVID months, America has witnessed an alarming increase in hate crimes against Asians, social media has been plastered with posts of Asians being physically or verbally harassed, and there have been rising sentiments of anger directed towards the Asian community, specifically the Chinese. Additionally, our own President has stooped to a new low by constantly referencing the virus as the “Kung Flu” and the “Chinese Virus” rather than using its scientific name of COVID-19. His racially charged rhetoric is tied to this influx of racism and hatred against the mainland Chinese people as well as ABCs. I feel uncomfortable being in my own skin after witnessing the sheer savagery of some of the attacks and listening to all the racial slurs being spewed out. I can’t afford to stay silent and continue watching this dehumanizing behavior. I want to discuss my difficult journey as an ABC and why it’s so important for ABCs to intervene in this horrid situation.
An ABC is an American citizen who holds Chinese heritage. Early on in my life, I hated this duality of being both Chinese and American and I just wanted to choose one side and stick with it forever. For instance, preschool was prime time for my desire to be American and to ditch my Chinese roots. For starters, my preschool class was predominantly white and only two of us weren’t. At first, it was shocking to see how I was so different from my peers in terms of physical attributes such as the stark contrast in hair color and it made me feel self-conscious. Beyond the physical differences, I quickly noticed how all my fellow peers were far more articulate and were on the verge of forming lengthy sentences. Meanwhile, I was still having difficultly comprehending our teacher’s basic instructions. My parents spoke primarily Mandarin at home, occasionally sprinkling in English so my perception of language was based mostly upon Mandarin. My lack of an English-speaking environment contributed to my feelings of being inferior to everyone, but I must admit, I did speak some mighty Mandarin for my age. My amazement at my classmates’ language skills and superior appearance quickly turned into extreme envy. I attributed my inferiority complex with my Chinese origins which left me feeling isolated from everyone. I felt resentment. I was furious that I wasn’t “normal” and I wanted to rid any traces of being the “special” Chinese kid. I had an abundance of ideas about accomplishing “normalization” such as bleaching my hair and skin, but my mother just laughed and said, “Silly boy.” I was disappointed that my mother didn’t share my enthusiasm for bleaching my body parts. In hindsight, I thank my mother for never letting me bleach myself as looking like a clown would’ve haunted me forever. Additionally, my mother packed me Chinese food every day for lunch. I remember always sitting alone much to my dismay and I would constantly peer at what my classmates were eating. I remember most of them eating sandwiches, specifically PBJ’s. Back then, I had no clue what they were eating but it looked like this perfectly circular sandwich with some darkish goo oozing out of it. Despite its unaesthetic appeal, I wanted to eat it no matter what because it was what the Americans were eating, but I was stuck poking at my chow mein. Every day, I would eat less and less of my meal and I spent so much time playing with my food that one of the lunch monitors who felt sorry for me came over to my lonely table. She told me how delicious my lunch looked but I took her words as an insult. I thought that she was just as disgusted with my meal and that she was mocking my Chinese noodles. At that moment, I was mortified with my Chinese food and my scorn for it continues to this day. Clearly, I didn’t find much success with my scheme and I miserably gave up, accepting the fact that I wasn’t competent enough to be like my American counterparts.
Time slowly healed my inferiority complex. My grasp of English improved dramatically. By the end of my preschool year, I was reading and writing better than most of the classmates I had envied at the beginning of the year. I also received the invitation to sit at the “cool” table during lunchtime and even though I was still chomping down on chow mein, I felt happy and accepted. Change was occurring and it made me far more receptive to being an ABC. I wasn’t excessively proud of being one but I maintained a somewhat neutral stance on it. With that, I proceeded to enter the next step in the education hierarchy—middle school.
During middle school, my parents also decided to enroll me in “Chinese school” where I spent my Saturday mornings learning Chinese at a campus located an hour away. I barely learned anything as I was half-awake for the most time but I did notice that everyone there was an ABC. All the students were exactly like me in the sense that they could speak Mandarin as well as English, ate Chinese food, and they even looked like me. I swear one of them could’ve been my doppelgänger. I felt so connected with this group, far more than my preschool class. Every ABC around me related to me on such a substantial scale, encompassing a multitude of things ranging from food choices to being bilingual whereas the connection between my old group and myself was mostly our ability to speak English. Additionally, Chinese school taught me a great deal about Chinese culture, diving into traditions such as Chinese New Year and the Dragon Boat Festival. I found the existence of mythical, ferocious-looking dragons in Chinese culture far cooler than an overweight, possibly diabetic man who has an addiction to cookies and milk, otherwise known as Santa. Being around so many ABCs and hearing the awe-inspiring stories of Chinese culture, I had a newfound respect for my Chinese heritage and I finally felt proud of being an ABC.
The culmination of all my life experiences has made me delighted to be an ABC. This duality of both Chinese and American, which used to divide me, now strengthens me. It has given me a more comprehensive look at life and provided me with an abundance of knowledge about different cultures and lifestyles. Unfortunately, the current Corona crisis has pitted Americans and Chinese towards an intense standoff. It’s difficult for me to support either side; I represent both. It feels as if I’m battling myself right now. However, ABCs can change this hostility. Most ABCs, having lived in America for most of their lives, should make the effort in communicating with our non-Asian acquaintances about the current situation. We need to share our fascination and wonderment about China with our non-Asian contacts and also speak the truth among all the misinformation being spread about the virus. It’s crucial that everyone understand that China is merely the origin of this wild virus and isn’t responsible for its creation. Through constant communication, we can mitigate their vexation against us and move towards a friendship rather than stay mortal enemies. Additionally, our non-Asian acquaintances might be inclined to share our opinions with others thus reaching a much larger audience. Being an ABC, we should feel a sense of duty to ensure peace among Sino-American relations due to the overwhelming influence both America and China have had on our lives. Ensuring this stability will help current and future ABCs to feel proud of their duality for years to come and not ever feel forced to pick a side.
