Self-Reflection: Biracial Insecurities

Ever since the Black Lives Matter movement, I’ve been reflecting.

No, it’s not just a movement but a revolution.

I pray that these protests will gain so much momentum that I can finally see some change in the nation I once falsely believed was equal.

However, that’s a different subject.

I have a confession.

I am upset and utterly frustrated with myself.

It’s to the point where every time I think about this subject, I get teary.

But, where do I begin?

THE PAST

A fact about me: Both of my parents are Vietnamese. Unlike my dad, my mom is mixed with Black and Vietnamese. Numerically, I am 75% Vietnamese and 25% Black.

I have repeated this fact about 124359 times now. It’s probably a subject someone likes to ask me when they look at me or hear me speak my own language. It’s also one of the topics I personally dislike to answer all the time.

As someone who went to a minority elementary, middle and high school, I was constantly asked, “what are you,” “can I touch your hair,” and “why do you look like that”. Let me tell you, these questions drive me crazy. The younger and naive me would answer them as if they were trying to actually get to know me. Now that I think about it, those who ask those questions aren’t even in my life anymore.

It’s not their fault though. We were all immature during those times. For the most part, I was the most immature.

In my mind, I focused on one thing: it’s either you’re this or that. I always have to pick and choose whether I am Asian or Black, never both. It was a choice apparently. Whenever I befriend a black person, I was made fun of for “talking like a white person.” On the other hand, my own Asian friends would call me “quậy” which means rowdy or disruptive. At some point, I felt like I belonged in my own group, a loner.

But, I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to be somebody and fit in. I decided it was better for people to paint the picture that I am Asian, never Black. I remember a teacher would talk about slavery and asked me from the perspective that I was a black person to which I said: “Miss, I don’t know. I’m Asian not Black. I think you should ask someone else.” Every time I hung out with my “friends”, I sucked up the racial insult of, “why are you so dark, you’re black” all the damn time. It’s exhausting.

One of the most hurtful experiences I ever faced was when my aunt tried to sabotage my own relationship with my cousin, who is my best friend in the entire world. This didn’t only happen once but many times. The most recent is during Thanksgiving. So what did she do? My own aunt (dad-side sister) would make ridiculous accusations to make me look bad just because she hated black people. I tried to brush it off, really I did. I would say I hate her too to lift off the sadness or say she hated everyone in my family, but it wasn’t true. She truly hated me. It hurts. It hurts that your own family member would pit against you for something that is out of your own control.

THE NOW

Attending my dream college was like escaping from the past and starting over a new leaf. The University of Texas at Austin is filled with diversity, or so I thought. Yes, minds are different but not appearances and not races. I appreciate the institution for providing me the best of the best opportunity and education. However, everyone was either White or Asian. I rarely saw minorities in my class. It was like searching for brown color M&Ms in the candy package. How did I handle it? Well the first half of college, I continued to play my role as the Asian person. The last half I actually ignored the racial comments, and started researching and conversing with my Black friend about her experiences. By the end of college, I made one Black friend. She doesn’t know how much I am truly impacted by her insightful perspective when we have our deep talks. It gets me thinking about how I needed to self-reflect more. I needed to learn more about me. The “25% of myself” that I practically ignored all these years.

Then lockdown happened.

Then thousands of people in several states came together to fight for a civil change.

It gave me time to think. Deeply think. It gave me time to talk to many people about this topic. Even my closest friends.

Now here I am. I am going to believe. I am going to believe that there will be change. I will pray hard. Extremely hard for people to be open minded and see the goodness of Black people and minorities.

Let me share with you one last thing: A fact actually.

After graduating in May, I am facing the new challenge of entering the Advertising Industry. This industry that is known to be dominated by White men and diversity isn’t great either, so wish me luck. I am aiming to find an agency that can accept 100% of me rather than 75%.