Since I was a little girl, my mom has told me this mantra. For my parents, the prerogative of “Work hard, play hard” was not an option for them. They came to the United States with no money in their pockets, immigrants who wanted to achieve the American Dream. As a little girl I'd call my dad 小蜜蜂, little bee, as he never stopped working. He would wake up at 6 in the morning, working his two jobs till late into the night. It was his adherence to the larger, unspoken expectation that immigrants had to work themselves to near-death to prove they belonged.
“It was his adherence to the larger, unspoken expectation that immigrants had to work themselves to near-death to prove they belonged.”
I remember long car rides where my mom would tell me, “Sydney, in this country, you have to push twice as hard, work twice as hard to get the same opportunities as white people.” For the hour my white peers put forth, I'd have to put in two. When other people sweat for one hour, I'd have to sweat for two. I carried the repetition of my family’s mantra: work hard, study hard, work hard, study hard.
"Our family has no legacy," my mom said. 只能靠你自己 - you can only rely on yourself.
My mom has always believed in the power of voice. From a young age, I was put in writing classes, writing summer camps, writing workshops, and public speaking courses, debate camp, improv classes. She said to me, "In this country, you have to know how to speak, and how to write. So your voice can be heard."
So last summer, I started Rice & Spice. I wanted - I needed - a space for Asian Americans like me, where we could share our stories, share our art, share our legacy. I wanted us to be seen; I wanted to break through all the stereotypes, where people could see us - not as cardboard cutouts boxed into a monolith- but as activists, writers, artists, people.
“She said to me, ‘In this country, you have to know how to speak, and how to write. So your voice can be heard.’”
For the past year, we have been harassed, shoved, shot, stabbed, and killed. The wave of hate crimes acted as a wake up call for our nation, but Anti-Asian sentiments are not new. Our entire existence in America has been shoe-boxed into the model minority myth. Our women are exotic, and our men are emasculated. We are constantly fighting the preconceived stereotypes shoved onto us. Yet our white friends, teachers, family members, classmates, and colleagues continue to promote micro-aggressions, because America refuses to acknowledge anti-Asian hate as what it is - racism.
In mid-March, my mom took me to a local Stop Asian Hate Protest. She took out a sharpie and cardboard poster, saying to me, “You’re fighting for your future. Our generation has kept our heads down, but your generation can be different.”
Looking at the photos I took of that protest, there’s a little girl, barely the age of five, who’s sitting at the feet of her sister, clutching a cardboard rectangle sharpied with ”#StopHateCrimes.” There’s an older lady, decked out in a black “Phenomenally Asian” shirt with a matching beanie. There’s a dad, standing above the crowd, waving his poster as the sun glints off his glasses. And we’re standing. We’re shouting. We’re fighting. Upon interviewing one of the women there, I asked what she wanted people to know. She told me, “We matter. We want everyone to know that we are here, and we belong here.”
While we are marginalised, gaslit, scapegoated, hypersexualised, mocked, forgotten, I am still so proud to be Asian American. There is no phrase or sentence that I can encapsulate the Asian American experience in. It’s not bound by one set perspective. The fabric of the Asian identity is woven by so many different cultures stitched together into the very frame of America. To fully stand against Anti-Asian hate, we must uphold pan-Asian solidarity. During a time of fear and flagrant xenophobia, the ability to empathise with a marginalized community testifies to our human character. In a society that trembles under white male oppression, we are undergoing an American reckoning, one where we must find strength in togetherness.
“While we are marginalised, gaslit, scapegoated, hypersexualised, mocked, forgotten, I am still so proud to be Asian American.”
So this Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month, celebrate our roots. Remember our history. Mourn the lost. And keep fighting.
My mom told me, 只能靠你自己, where you can only rely on yourself. But I don’t just have myself. I have us, and together, we can build our legacy.
