I do not live the typical Asian American life. I reside in a state of limbo, somewhere between being full American and full Asian.
My well-off, Wisconsin bred parents are not what people expect when they see me from the outside. From the exterior, it’s easy to assume that my parents (or at least one of them) are Asian. However, from the inside, I am actually an adopted child to white parents. My assimilation process happened in the blink of an eye. I was adopted at 2 ½ speaking Cantonese, however by the time I started kindergarten (near my fifth birthday), I was already speaking, reading, and writing in English above proficiency. Dumplings and meat fried in copious amounts of oil were quickly substituted for hot dogs and ice cream. My life, honestly, has been packaged in a neat, pretty box with a satin ribbon on top. I am fortunate that my adoptive family can support my passions and give me the opportunities that I’ve had. Prior to moving to California, I was not as cognizant of this truly lucky box I’ve been given. I was not aware that I had the privilege of a white child in America. Nevertheless, my new environment and new …show more content…
It was a friend’s house, and when I entered, my head was on a full swivel as I tried to take in all that was around me. The ornate Buddha in the corner looked similar to what I had seen on the cover of books; the neatly folded and piled blankets for meditation were in the corner; the faint smell of incense was coming from all corners of the room. To me it seemed like all these stereotypes in my head were all present in this one little house. I felt a weird sense of home there, because I recognized a lot of the Asian decorations in the house, but at the same time I felt so out of place because I only understood that decoration as an aesthetic entity. I realized how close and, at the same time, how far I am from my Asian culture because I grew up as an adopted
My well-off, Wisconsin bred parents are not what people expect when they see me from the outside. From the exterior, it’s easy to assume that my parents (or at least one of them) are Asian. However, from the inside, I am actually an adopted child to white parents. My assimilation process happened in the blink of an eye. I was adopted at 2 ½ speaking Cantonese, however by the time I started kindergarten (near my fifth birthday), I was already speaking, reading, and writing in English above proficiency. Dumplings and meat fried in copious amounts of oil were quickly substituted for hot dogs and ice cream. My life, honestly, has been packaged in a neat, pretty box with a satin ribbon on top. I am fortunate that my adoptive family can support my passions and give me the opportunities that I’ve had. Prior to moving to California, I was not as cognizant of this truly lucky box I’ve been given. I was not aware that I had the privilege of a white child in America. Nevertheless, my new environment and new …show more content…
It was a friend’s house, and when I entered, my head was on a full swivel as I tried to take in all that was around me. The ornate Buddha in the corner looked similar to what I had seen on the cover of books; the neatly folded and piled blankets for meditation were in the corner; the faint smell of incense was coming from all corners of the room. To me it seemed like all these stereotypes in my head were all present in this one little house. I felt a weird sense of home there, because I recognized a lot of the Asian decorations in the house, but at the same time I felt so out of place because I only understood that decoration as an aesthetic entity. I realized how close and, at the same time, how far I am from my Asian culture because I grew up as an adopted