I’m Sick of Your Microaggressions

second year anna van eekeren

Growing up, I’ve never felt like I’ve belonged, having been adopted from China at eleven months and raised by white parents in the conservative suburbs of Georgia – a concept more foreign to my myopic peers than my distinct Eastern female appearance. If anything, my pitiful collection of traditional Chinese figurines, paper fans, and hong bao situated on my bookshelf as well as the occasional visits to Atlanta’s meager Chinatown displayed a stronger connection to my heritage than I ever did.

As one of the only Asian students at our predominantly white elementary school, both my adopted sister and I struggled to relate to our classmates, a consequence of our introverted, distant demeanors and ethnic makeup, and dreaded public interactions involving our family, as these left us riddled with embarrassment over something we couldn’t control. After all, we looked virtually alien compared to our Dutch father, with his tall stature, blonde hair, and poster-crisp blue eyes, or our mother from a rich European background, with her socially desired olive skin, warm brown eyes, and dark, molten hair.

“Oh, those are your parents? Why don’t you look like them?”

“Are you guys even sisters?”

“Where are you really from?”

These are just some of the stinging phrases hurled at us by ignorant classmates, accompanied by penetrating, accusatory glances and vicious double takes in stores from white women – actions that mask the underlying million-dollar inquiry every adoptee ponders:

Why were you unwanted?

The logical and optimistic reasoning my mom insists on reiterating despite my jaded cynicism and immature refusal to accept its possibility – no doubt a coping/defense mechanism – is that to avoid lethal consequences of breaking China’s One Child Policy, many families were forced to give up their children – mostly daughters because yay traditional beliefs – to orphanages.

I prefer mine: I was abandoned and shouldn’t even exist – my Enneagram Type 4 individuality complex is shaking right now, and yes, I acknowledge everyone’s qualms about incessant labeling, as titles and personality tests confine individuals to basic descriptions that can apply to anyone, but I think most people fear vulnerability and introspection and avoid it at all costs, whereas I indulge in it, perhaps too much. Either way, both are unhealthy, as this is nothing more than a glimpse into a shadow of my life, a shattered reflection of a fleeting narrative that’s both highly self-aware and indifferent to criticism, but I digress.

Alas, Karen and her demon spawn don’t ever consider the impact of their condescending attitudes on developing youth, searing moments like this into mind and leaving one with seeping resentment and fluctuating levels of self-esteem that torrent the recesses of tainted memory.

Still, I tried to assimilate, as any grotesquely naïve kid would. I attempted to participate during group activities such as tag or arts and crafts. I imitated their styles and begged my mom to get me “fashionable

clothes” from Justice, Abercrombie and Fitch, Hollister, American Eagle – any of those extremely straight, bland brands I’d hurl at the sight of now but were of the utmost importance then. I brought Chinese jellies and ramen packages to celebrate Chinese New Year, and my classmates greedily accepted them with sharpened hands and cruel remarks, as America lures immigrants with gleaming promises and glistening images that shatter under scrutinized light.

I never brought in anything afterward and stopped trying to fit in.

A decade later, I’m still reconciling with my identity and figuring myself out, as any college student is. My creative writing professor – in a genuine effort to provide support and constructive feedback – commented that my writing is too bitter, unreliable, and won’t resonate well with audiences of different upbringings, missing my point entirely. A detached, objective part of me recognizes the validity of their statements, but the empowered side laughs and argues, “Who gives a fuck?”

If this is what I’ve endured and what many minorities experience, then why shouldn’t I – we – be allowed to convey our perspectives as blatantly, candidly, and bluntly as possible? What gives someone the right to diminish our value, space, and identity? Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t express, what I can and can’t do with my life? Reality check, not everything is for you or should be. Not everyone will agree or relate to what I say, and that’s fine. That’s the beauty of diversity and autonomy. But, if you can’t comprehend that – if you are so narrow-minded, entitled, and insecure that you overtly refuse to understand anything unless it directly pertains to you, and you oppress, invalidate, or otherwise restrict the civil rights of others – then you are part of the problem. I do not have to listen to you. I do not owe you anything, and I do not have to live in your falsely constructed society.

I know change isn’t absolute or linear. I’m aware that people are shaped by various factors and backgrounds, but as a queer atheist Asian American in 2022, I’m enraged, and justifiably so.

I’m disgusted at society’s glaring subjugation and dehumanization of Asians in response to Covid-19 – a prejudicial plague as devastating as the systemic racism and pandemic that spurred it – as well as the numerous instances of discrimination, xenophobia, homophobia, and capitalistic notions perpetuated by bigoted individuals, corrupt media corporations, and constant cycles of misinformation and deceit.

I’m infuriated at watching society regress and the sheer audacity, willful incredulity, complete lack of empathy, and utter disregard for the social interest – until it immediately affects them, of course – that some people have.

I’m exhausted of having to explain myself and justify my own existence because certain individuals don’t believe I deserve fundamental human rights and it’s not my responsibility – it’s never the minorities’ role – to educate others on intersectionality, but if I don’t speak or act, if I remain silent and passive, then nothing will change, and that’s both depressing and inspiring.

I’m drained from living in a world designed exclusively for the dominant white cis heterosexual Christian group that, intentionally or not, reinforces these embedded structural issues and inhibits meaningful representation of marginalized groups.

And I’m fucking sick of your microaggressions.

To my fellow persons of color, LGBTQ+ identifying individuals, and similarly impassioned minorities, I hear you. I stand with you. You are not alone. You are valid. You are worthy and deserving of all the love and affection and beauty and wonder that renders life and this world.

Take up your space. Own it. Embrace your identity to the fullest. Explore your interests and pursue your ambitions. Find out what you enjoy and desire from life. Live for yourself, not anyone else. Recognize how far you’ve come, how much you’ve grown, everything you’ve been through and achieved, and everything you still want to learn and discover and experience. And please, please don’t ever let someone silence your voice. Never stop fighting for your rights, values, and justice. Never stop burning and being true to yourself.

Take a deep breath. You’ve got this.

The Chapel BellMarch 28, 2022