on being asian...

So I just finished reading this week New York magazine's cover story, an eloquent-but-obvious commentary on how our Confucian-rooted culture paves the way for a life of repressed passivity. While a lot of what he says is true—we're taught not to rock the boat, to put our heads down and work—the piece has a bittersweet tone. You feel like being Asian was a burden for this guy. While I definitely had my share of culture identity crises, I'm so thankful that I'm Chinese-American. Here are just a few reasons why:

1. I don't shy away from work. Sometimes Erik jokes that my childhood stories sound like child slavery. As a kid, I pretty much spent my weekends mowing our lawn and raking leaves; school days were occupied with studying, playing sports, and practicing piano. Although it did suck some of the time, I know that I'll never fail at something that matters to me because I'll keep toiling away.
2. My parents sacrificed everything for me. It's no wonder that the pressure was laid on thick: We represented our parents' hopes and dreams for the American life. It was heavy, but my parents always went beyond so that I could have a better life. That taught me an important lesson: selflessness and whole-hearted love. (Granted, it did take me a long time to realize this because of the whole repressed-emotion thing.)
3. I identify with so many people. Being first-generation is like being part of a shared community. Whether you're from Africa or Eastern Europe, we can relate with stories about how our parents embarrassed us with their traditional culture.
4. I'm happy being me. Growing up Asian in the South was no cakewalk. But that struggle helped me become the person I am today: Someone who's not afraid to be the "other" in the room, who understands what it's like to be handed a racial slur (it happens more frequently than you think), who straddles Chinese and American cultures. Those things have given me the confidence to stick up for myself and find my own version of happiness. In the end, not having a mold to follow forced me to carve out a life that is distinctly my own.