Orange Chicken
February 8, 2018
Yellow, Oriental, Ching Chong, Ling Long, Chink
Far too many times have I seen confirmation in your eyes when you ask
“What kind of Asian are you?”
and I say, “I’m Chinese.”
What you don’t see is the voice I repress
the suffocating idea I want so badly to express
that it’s not all I am
Because regardless of the boxes you tell me to check
or the boxes you tell me to fit in
I can be Vietnamese without being a Nguyen.
My knowledge, my accomplishments, are overshadowed by my race
Because the only reason I’m 4.0 is the color of my face
I am not your dictionary.
I am not your calculator.
The only thing that adds up
is your inability to comprehend that I am more than what meets the eye
Even me with my tiny, slanted eyes
I can see how blind you are to who I am inside.
What you don’t see are the teardrops cascading down on my textbook
as I tell myself I’m not good enough
What you don’t see is how growing up
my favorite character was June from Little Einsteins
because she was the only one that looked like me
The only Asian I could see before I turned off the TV and saw my reflection in the screen.
When the stories society spins are rooted in stereotypes as old as archives
it renews the paint stroke of whitewash on the canvas of our lives
I have become complicit in shaming myself for my own heritage
Privilege is what I lack, because “person of color” doesn’t just mean black
In our day and age, with being a minority, I’m no novice
I know to find racism, I’ll visit the oval office.
Stripped of respect
I am a knight with no shield
no power to wield
If all I am good for is overachieving
the reason I’m extra is to level the playing field.