As an Asian American, I was always taught that I was a bit different, but I never knew why.
I had never been called Asian American or Asian American culture.
I was taught that Asian Americans were all a bunch of people who wanted to be seen as Asian, that Asians were white.
I never felt that Asian people had any special history or identities.
But when I started attending college, it dawned on me that I had been raised in a country that taught me nothing about Asian Americans.
The history of my people is not a history, but a history of whiteness.
I grew up in a world where whiteness is an accepted and accepted way to be, and I had to struggle to make sense of my own identity and history.
And that was a big challenge.
I came to realize that Asian American people don’t have to be ashamed to be who they are.
We aren’t “just” people.
When I moved to New York City, I realized that Asians weren’t the only ones who were struggling with whiteness and Asian Americanness.
As a person of color, I also had to confront the idea that I, too, am Asian.
I am not an “Asian American” that is only Asian.
As I started to see myself reflected in Asian American art and culture, I started seeing myself reflected as Asian American too.
And I started learning how Asian American artists, writers, directors, and musicians can be Asian American.
I began to see that Asian America is a collective.
I started discovering that Asian and Asian Americans can be the same person.
I became a fan of Asian American writers and filmmakers and artists, but most importantly, I began seeing myself in the characters that they created.
In the end, it was the friendship that I forged with my friends, family, and fans that made me realize I am Asian American and that I am a part of Asian culture.
So I want to make it clear that I’m not a racist.
I love my friends.
I have the best friends I’ve ever had.
I can’t imagine living without them.
I will always love my family.
I won’t be able to say that I have an Asian heritage because I have always felt that my Asianness was an internal, unique quality that I didn’t share with others.
But when I was growing up in the US, my parents raised me with a lot of expectations that were unrealistic.
And in the end it was my relationship with my family and friends that helped me realize that I wasn’t really Asian.
My parents raised us to believe that Asian was an identity that came from one person, so when I realized the truth, it opened up a whole new world for me.
I came to understand that Asianness is not just an identity.
It’s a life story that can be told.