"Asians Can't Drive"

Hi. My name is Melissa--in school, outside of school, and on social media. Technically, it's only an alias--the name printed on my birth certificate is Chau which means "pearl" in Vietnamese. It's not French, nor is it pronounced like Ciao (when my peers say, "Ciao, Chau" and the two RHYME, oh boy). And it's definitely not Ling-ling or Ching-Chong; it's so irritating when someone says, "Yo, what's up, Ching-Chong?" I'm obviously going to take offense, even if it was only meant as a joke.

My name has always been a touchy subject for me; among Jacks and Emilys, Chau sticks out a lot. When teachers do attendance for the first time, I always sigh a little when they hesitate on my name. Over the years, I've gotten used to it and have been able to anticipate their hesitation, saying "here" in time to save them and me the embarrassment. A teacher once called for a "Mr. Nong"--needless to say, it took a moment for me to register who that was supposed to be.

I finally convinced my parents to let me change my name this summer permanently to Melissa. It costs a couple hundred bucks, but I was willing; I needed to rid myself of this "embarrassment." But I thought about it for a long time these past few weeks, and I decided that I didn't want to change it even though it was going to trouble me in the future. My name is a reminder of who I am, and I didn't want to lose my ethnic identity. Part of me still wants to change it, but I know I'll feel a bit regretful if I actually did. I want to grow and feel proud of my name.

My family and I moved to America in 2004 from Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam when I was two years old. In Vietnam, my parents both completed a college education (my dad attended Vietnam's second best university) and had good jobs but moved to the US for family and educational (for me) reasons. Like all immigrants coming to America, the move was hard. They ran around signing up for odd jobs (since Americans don't accept degrees from Vietnamese colleges), like washing dishes and working machines, to make enough money to provide for me. Obviously, these jobs don't get paid very much despite the long hours and hard labor. We stayed in a little brick house apartment with my grandparents for some time; they had one dirty little room, my family had the other dirty little room. Arguments sparked often; my dad wanted to go back, and this country of dreams no longer seemed like what was in the rumors.

Since then, we've had to do our best to assimilate to the American culture. Growing up in a place where white was the majority, I sort of rejected my Southeast Asian-ness to fit in. English is my better language, I followed all the cool trends, I didn't pray at the Buddhist temples, and I, myself, even joked about the Asian stereotypes. But it was never enough; my appearance alone was enough to make me different even though I wasn't really.

My dad always pressured me to excel in school, to be strong, work hard, and try my absolute best to, you know, be the absolute best. I didn't really mind--I liked the acknowledgement I got from my parents for my accomplishments. But despite the efforts I put out, my classmates pinned my success on my being Asian, as if that had anything to do with it. "Of course you got an A, you're Asian" and "You got a 100%, didn't you? Your parents would disown you otherwise." It's like they think I'm forced to study by my parents; I wonder if it ever crossed their minds that I simply like learning? When you see your parents come home sore and weary, and you know that their lives could have been better in their home country, yet they had come to America (for who?) for you, well ask me again why I study so hard.

You've probably heard of the typical stereotypes:

We've all got small eyes, love rice, have that accent, get straight A's, can't drive, have strict parents that want us to be a doctor/lawyer, and we're all Chinese. Some of these might be a joke, but it's still insulting to our culture. For a highly educated country, the broad generalizations that are made--it's baffling, the ignorance and disrespect that people dare to show. And the way the statements are said with that cheeky smile, it's like people expect us to agree and laugh at ourselves. And I'm guilty of laughing despite my humiliation. Like in class very recently, someone mentioned how in some parts of the world, people eat dogs and all these heads whipped around to stare at me. It's expected, of course but why did I expect that? And what can I do but roll my eyes and laugh--they're my friends, right?

My mom does nails and excels at her job. And besides that, she's also one of the hardest-working mothers out there. I'm immensely proud of her but when asked about my mom's career--and it makes me feel so guilty to admit--I'm always a bit reluctant to answer. She doesn't really enjoy being a nail technician but going back to college isn't really an option with our circumstances. But despite her hard work, her job is treated as a joke; you can find countless comments and top-notch jokes demeaning Vietnamese nail technicians and their accents. Please, there's even a stand-up comedy act with 17 million views on YouTube attacking them. Admittedly, her English isn't the greatest, but it's her second language (third if you count that she learned Mandarin in secondary school for several years). But she tries her best to get better at speaking English; she goes out and buys books and watches videos to learn how to improve her grammar and pronunciation. So it's annoying when other people, specifically people who are not Asian (and probably can only speak one language) and don't really understand how difficult it is or don't care, mock it.

Caucasian is the norm here in America; the amount of racial slurs being said against white people is in no way as daily as any other race. And this nasty stereotyping can be found everywhere: in the workplace, at school, in public, online--even though we belong here in America just as much as anyone else. When I bring up this problem to my white friends, they'll defend themselves in the most strategic ways. They'll make it seem like they are faced with it, too, make it seem like they have it just as hard, make it seem like what I say isn't true, that it's just my imagination blowing it up to epic proportions. Reject it, say I'm biased and a sore loser (honestly, I might be), but the truth, whether pleasant or sickening, remains the truth. Sometimes, I feel like the only people who can really sympathize with me are the people like me = non-Caucasians who are the butt of the jokes. Things like racism - it's hard to recognize if it's not your problem.

I hope I'm not misunderstood; I really do love living in America, and I have a lot of heart to give to people, all people. America is my home just as much as Vietnam is; I'm proud of being an American as much as I am proud of being Vietnamese. I'm just sick of ignoring my roots in order to fit in. I'm sick of people saying the food I eat is gross and weird. I'm sick of society being able to make racial slurs and shaming my culture and my people without batting an eye. I'm sick of pretending that I'm okay with being insulted for my ethnic identity or that I'm okay with others being insulted because of theirs. It's a matter of learning acceptance and respect. For ethnic equality, I think we can all do a little better.