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Tainted triumph (Opinion)

Confessions of an imperfect Asian

December 3, 2015

No, I don’t have all A’s. No, I’m not Chinese. No, math isn’t my best subject and, no, I don’t want to become a doctor. Shocker.

I get teased a lot. It’s become so familiar that I usually just shrug my shoulders and mumble off a light reply to keep the conversation going. I’ve felt it, being picked apart in a mental metal detector summing up my abilities as a byproduct of the ‘model minority myth.’

The truth is, I’m a three-dimensional person stuck in a one-dimensional stereotype. When a trait as important as intelligence is stapled to the packet of characteristics of a race and painted over as a compliment, it becomes more than just a stereotype. It’s ignorant and insulting. When I tell people I’m not a math and science person, I feel the undertones of swift, curious glances. Sour disappointment seeps in as I fumble for an explanation to defend a stereotype I don’t want to uphold. Incidents like these stack up. Jokes get old. My culture can’t fit into a mere checklist of model minority qualifications.

Yes, according to Asian-Nation.org, 42 percent of all Asian American adults have at least a college degree, which is the highest out of all major ethnic groups. But the fact that not every Asian is the same can be lost in the sea of standards. People who aren’t affected by this stereotype are becoming more and more comfortable with the mindset that Asians are smart. Even if a stereotype can be perceived as positive, it still peels off the layers of identity we are born with.

Lumping all of us together as a race that has no needs or struggles is stripping us of our right to be individual people. No matter how much effort I put in, when I get the grade, trophy, or honorable mention, the common reaction will be typical: “It’s because she’s Asian.” Sometimes visitors stop and stare at a certificate hung on my wall and don’t even spare me the chance to share my earned pride. They fast forward to a curt nod and tight smile, and, again, my chest squeezes with the weight of handcuffed accomplishment. My achievements are being ripped away from the hours of practice I put in and stitched onto a patch of scribbled expectations I didn’t volunteer to be responsible for.

These pressures sit heavy on my shoulders like an all nighter I don’t think I’ll recover from. The A’s that dot my transcript are from sheer effort, not from easy expectations. Not from my race.

My race can’t take credit for my performance; my culture can’t explain success. It’s time to see all races and ethnic groups for what they are – diverse individuals worthy of more than just stereotypes slapped onto their skin color.

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