Depending on who you talk to, being Asian American can mean many things. For me, it’s “Southeast Asian” including India as well as Myanmar (Burma), the Philippines, and a variety of other islands thrown in. Both of my parents were Indian immigrants with similar Indian and European ancestry termed “Anglo-Indians.” The culture is not widely known and has only gotten smaller since India gained independence in 1947. After the British rule ended, most of the AI population migrated to Australia, the UK and other European Nations, and Canada, with only a fraction to the US. For most of my life, none of the places I’ve ever lived were anywhere near other AI communities, and even when I had an occasional Asian classmate, we shared little else than being children of immigrants all trying to rise above discrimination and isolation from the White culture surrounding us. People tend to take one look at me and the color of my skin and start guessing what I am before WHO I am. And when they can’t place my exact ethnicity, I've had to endure all sorts of strange comments and some downright ignorance.
People from all walks of life and races have spoken to me in Spanish, Arabic, or Hindi, or assume I'm mixed (Black and White). Some are shocked when I speak English like the average American, lacking the British accent my parents and other relatives possessed. I've been asked if I believe in multiple gods, and if I happen to know someone's Indian friend/doctor/professor - or pretty much any other Indian-looking person they are reminded of upon meeting me. Not everyone has been willing to coexist with me, however. There was a boy in my 5th grade class who teased me daily by making Native American war-cry noises because I wore braids in my hair. Then there was the time a classmate told me I should be with people "of my own kind," in response to my dating a White boy. And, just as hurtful, I had a friend I was only allowed to play with when her grandmother wasn't visiting because she didn't tolerate colored people.
Honestly, I choose not to dwell on the negatives, because I remain proud of being an Asian American and of the many ways in which Asians have helped make this country better. My husband and I encourage our daughter to be who she is inspired to be and not settle for anything less. In fact, she hopes that by my sharing my story here, it will inspire other Asians to not repress who they are out of fear or shame, and instead share their rich heritage in a changing society. While Asian Americans may be as diverse as the many nations they represent, all of our experiences are still similar and thus everyone’s voices deserve to be heard - and not just this month, but every day.
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