Who am I?
I am that shy, quiet, nerdy, unathletic freshman girl. Her clothes are anything but chic and she knows nothing about makeup, which one could say is extremely naive for a teenager. I doubt anyone would hardly notice her if she disappeared one day.
I also happened to be Asian. Perpetuation of the classic Asian stereotype is me in a nutshell.
I have seen countless Asian international students, mostly juniors and seniors, in the school. Alone they walk in the halls, only chatting with other Chinese students. They gather in the lunchroom, settling in a separate table towards the back, and occasionally I eavesdrop. The resemblance I pose with them are striking, only difference being I lived in the United States since first grade, which makes it more embarrassing, figuring I should have adjusted to the “American ways” already. An Asian American, though more outsider than American...
“Asians are always so smart,” I overheard some kid mumble. I wanted to tell him that not every asian is a nerd, like me. However, these are words coming from a Asian dork herself, so talk about being convincing.
The easiest way out I saw was to join sports. I desperately wanted to prove that Asians are not, nor am I, what one calls an “Sick man of Asia” (东亚病夫). Hence, I joined tennis, nordic skiing, and track.
Fitness doesn’t come easy, especially for a wimp whose last 14 years were a dedicated nerd, I thought, while thoroughly burnt out after placing in the bottom 10 percent of a nordic ski meet. Still, I persisted, training through the summer and offseason. I searched Amazon for protein shakes and clothes that I see other girls don, like skinny jeans and oversized hoodies. They took over my wish-list that used to be full of novels, journals, and fancy drawing pencils.
Next year in a ski meet, I moved into the top 50 percent.
I think I could smile in my sleep.
Throwing my ski bag on the floor, I trudge wearily to my room and dig out the reams of incomplete homework from my backpack.
“How did the race go today?” My mother asked in Chinese, “I kept your dinner warm.”
“I ate at the ski meet, and there’s another on this Saturday.”
“You haven’t practiced your Chinese in months,” my mother said, her voice brimming with anxiety that makes my skin crawl, “always too busy with your sports meets, and you come home so late.”
Something in me snapped. “If you’d raise me to be at least a little athletic, then none of this would happen!”
She tried to touch my hand, but I dodged.
“Honey, you are perfectly fine the way you are.”
“No. This is all your fault. I’m the ‘Sick man of Asia’ because of you.”
My mother pursed her lip into a thin line, and finally shuffled out of my room in her faded red calico slippers. My gaze lingers on the silhouette of her back, slender, short, and slightly hunched with strands of silver hair.
I shouldn’t have said that.
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Fast forward to 2020….
Since social distancing and online school, it has given me time to ruminate. I am the stereotypical Asian, but is the stereotypical Asian me?
Shy nerd is one of my defining features, but I am also the girl who loves to curl up in her favorite blanket and write short stories while jamming to her musical theater playlist. This is a girl who loves to bake for her family. This is the girl who would binge history videos on Youtube and geek out about 18th century fashion. Since quarantine, she has discovered a passion in gardening.
She moved athletic training down the priority list, but she picked up her Chinese again. The rejuvenation of being immersed in Chinese music, novels, and reading the lyrical poems, that flow like a gurgling stream, syllables velvety and rich with a culture of exhilarating treasures. She didn’t understand the joy of doing things of passion until now.
In addition, she’s still that introvert who’s more comfortable writing short stories than hanging out in a social circle.
As the teenage years slowly draws into a decline, I realize somethings cannot be changed no matter how hard I try. I thought being athletic could resolve my problems, but in reality, physical fitness is a brittle facade for my insecurities. I blamed others, the bond with my loved ones fracture.
Whether I like it or not, the components that construct my very existence are deeply ingrained.
Am I the Chinese stereotype of shy, quiet, nerdy? Yes.
Am I more than that? Also yes.
Will people see beyond the conventional “Asian person” stereotype? I don’t know, but I guess we will find out.
(I am in no way telling you how to live your life, for this is purely a record of my experience)
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