It was a beautiful sunlit morning, and our class was confined in a classroom taking a Math test our teacher gave us. There was nothing in that test that I didn't know: there were some fractions to solve, some proportions to do, and some graphs to draw. I felt quite confident, because I had studied for the test and cramming everything before the test actually did me good, as the blank with the test questions did not look so daunting to me. I quickly skimmed through all the tasks to determine the value of work I was to do, and looked at the clock hung above the whiteboard. The clock read "10:00", and the teacher said we had until the end of the period to turn in the completed test, which gave us all one hour to work on those Math tasks. I decided to start from the task that seemed the most difficult to me: graphs. I was very good at fractions and proportions, yet understanding how graphs work required much more concentration and work from me than other tasks. I spent around half an hour completing the three tasks that involved graphs and decided to take a sip from my water bottle before I move on to fractions. I looked up from my test to see a panicky, reddish face of my classmate Mike who was sitting at the desk in front of me. He looked around to see our teacher being busy with setting up the TV set for the next class, then turned back to me and asked me quietly "Are you done yet?". I tried to keep my voice as low as possible not to be caught red-handed by the teacher who strongly advised us not to consult with each other in the beginning of the class. "No," I said "I've only done these graphs and have the rest to solve". The panicky look magically vanished from my classmate's face: "I thought you were done already!" Mike said matter-of-factly and hastily turned away. I never gave it a second thought, and went back to doing the test. About twenty minutes later, I had already double-checked my calculations and was ready to turn the test in. I hesitated about one of the graphs I drew, but I knew I did it to the best of my ability. After all, those long evenings of studying for the test had to give me at least some knowledge base, and I knew that I did what I could to prepare myself for it. The instant I put my pencil away, there was Mike's face in front of me again. He lifted his sheet of paper off the desk and it revealed that he had not even half of the test done. I looked at him without saying anything. Was he going to complain that the teacher gave us too little time to complete all the tasks? Or was he somehow boycotting the tasks he did not want to do? Not for a second did I think that Mike simply couldn't complete the remaining tasks because he did not know how. I mean, I saw him wonderfully recite a Robert Frost's poem in our English class, our teacher actually applauded him! I also saw him being great at our Agricultural class when we were working in a greenhouse on the school ground. I perceived him as an intelligent young man, capable of performing different tasks of various degrees of difficulty and never asking for help from anyone. I knew that Mike came from an upper middle-class American family, and his facial features bore a slight tint of Native American heritage. To my mind, there was nothing Mike could not do, as if, in my eyes, the world lay next to Mike and he could catch any opportunity he wanted without even trying. I was different, of course. My parents taught me that nothing in this life comes easy, and that one has to work hard in order to achieve something. In my understanding, I did not have any inborn talents – everything I knew or could do, I had to learn for.
These thoughts were streaming through my mind, and the clock above the whiteboard kept ticking the minutes until we had to turn in our tests away. Finally, Mark took a deep breath and said “Could you help me with these graphs?” and pointed to the task he had not completed. Curiously enough, this was the very task I was feeling uneasy about, the task I did not think I got correctly. I whispered “Look, I am not sure whether I” and Mike interrupted me “Oh, please. You are good at it, you must help me. I barely have anything to turn in!” he exclaimed. I hesitated. Yes, I had those graphs done, and yet I was not sure I did them properly – graphs were my weakest side in Math, and I could not jeopardize my classmate's test grade by giving him wrong answers. Also, cheating was against my principles. I said “Mike, I can help you figure it all out after the class”. Mike turned away angrily and did not say a word. A few minutes later, the teacher walked through the aisles and collected our tests. The bell rang, and our class was dismissed.
I was walking down the hall when Mike approached me from behind. He snatched my school bag out of my hands and said out loud “As if you really bad at Math, you Asian!”. His face was reddish again, but this time not from embarrassment, but from the anger I could feel was boiling up in him. I reached forward for my bag, but he was holding it firmly. My voice shaking a little bit, I said “Mike, I can help you figure out those graphs when you have some free time, but I was not sure I did them correctly on test. Graphs are not my forte”. “What are you mumbling there?” Mike said, “You are Asian, for God's sake, don't you kid me into thinking you made some mistakes in the test. I can bet you anything you will get an A, unlike me. It wouldn't hurt you to help me, what is wrong with you?”. He pushed my bag at me and walked away.
I stood there, trembling from the disappointment I felt rushing all over my senses. Mike assumed that I was good at Math just because I am Asian, and not because I spent hours studying for the test. He also assumed I did not help him because I feared that his grade would beat mine, as if I was grown up in the environment of constant competition. That day, I faced the truth: my identity in the eyes of the others is forever connected to the stereotyped portrayals of the people of Asian descent. Someone may call such prejudiced view racist, but I call it an adapted cultural identity stereotype. I can debunk it by being the best version of me, so that those who view me in the light of the stereotypes can also see the side of me that is unique and prime, devoid of any prejudiced views.
Story 2.
If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me a general question directly connected to the racial imaginary they have of me, I would give that dollar back to them so that they stopped.
“Are you good at cooking rice?” - “I am just as good at cooking rice as you are at making pancakes with maple syrup”.
“Are your parents too strict on you?” - “In our culture, we place great emphasis on morals and code of conduct, but I will not be grounded for the “Asian F” – American B – on my Math test”. “Are you a Math genius?” - “I am just as good at Math as any other student who has put in an ample time into studying”. “Are you from South or North Korea?” - “Definitely South. Have you ever inquired on how North Korea works?”
“Is Naruto your favorite manga?” - “No, Naruto is not the only manga available to Asians”.
“Can you show us some Karate?” - “I probably could, except I have never learned it”.
“Can you show us some Japanese hieroglyphs?” - “Korean is my native tongue. Shall I show you some hangul?”
“Have you ever been into a car accident?” - “My eyes may be narrower than yours, but my vision is perfect. Driving skills do not really depend on one's facial structure, I don't think”.
No, in all honesty, I do not take their questions personally. I understand what it is like to have some preconceived notions about someone else's culture and base one's judgment off the racial imaginary foundation they have had instilled in their mind since childhood. I had some stereotypes about Americans too when I first landed my foot on the American soil. Some of those stereotypes got debunked later down the road, and some have been reconfirmed, but viewing another culture with such a narrow vision does more good than bad. Operating by some long-standing cultural stereotypes sets one for some clarity and simplicity, whereas navigating in the blind sets one in for a surprise, either pleasant or unpleasant. From another hand, how is one supposed to broaden their horizons and embrace the full beauty of a foreign culture if their vision is blurred by the racial imaginary myths they have been fed with by media and through other channels since their childhood? That is why I do not take those racial imaginary-based stereotypes personally. After all, they do not limit my vision of my own culture, but rather demonstrate the limits of another person's world perception.
I came to the United States when I was 17 years old. That age is around the edge of the adolescent years, which means I had already certain views and opinions firmly formed in my mind. Being introduced to American culture did not feel like something I had been completely ready for, but rather felt like being thrown in a pond with no swimming supplies and forced to navigate in the deep waters without any rescue ships around. I had the support from my family, but during high school, I was left alone eye to eye with my American peers who viewed me as some exotic animal. There were other Asians in my high school, but in 1 to 10 proportion, so we were definitely a minority. I soon realized that I was the one to somehow debunk the wrongful stereotypes and confirm the good ones. For example, I diligently did my homework to assimilate into the academic setting better and gain a reputation of a conscientious student. My excellent grades might have confirmed the known stereotype that Asians are good at everything, and I felt proud that my race is considered to be some group of the human beings blessed with an enormous intellectual potential. Yet, little did my American classmates know how much time I spent every day tirelessly studying and catching up on the American educational system peculiarities. Some of my American classmates were genuinely surprised to learn that I spoke neither Chinese (Mandarin) nor Japanese, as they thought that those languages were spoken by any Asian since birth. I took the honor to explain the differences those languages had, as well as to show how mutually unintelligible Korean language was from those two. I thought to myself “I am in no way embarrassing myself, I am simply enlightening the people who have never inquired deeply into the technicalities of Asian languages”. Coming to the United States, I also thought that all Americans spoke English, not being aware how different English was in different areas of the United States, let alone the huge gap between British English and American English. I reflected upon my limited knowledge regarding different variants and dialects of just one language – English – and I suddenly felt that Americans not being able to distinguish between Asian languages that look and sound pretty much the same to a foreign ear was self-evident. Therefore, instead of being angry and upset because of the racial imaginary the question about my language bore, I realized that I was the one to debunk the stereotype and have it all explained to the person who asked.
Now that I think about it, all those racial imaginary-based questions helped me a lot in shaping my own identity in the foreign environment. Getting those general and, to my mind, primitive questions thrown at me by the representatives of the culture which was at first just as foreign to me as mine was to them helped me built a base upon which I revisited and partially constructed my own identity. I knew the gaps I had to fill in those people's perception of Asian culture, and I knew the expectations they had for me, so I did my best to live up to them because that is what my identity required. Racial imaginary at times has nothing to do with outright racism, but comes directly from the preconceived notions of the culture one knows little about and has their views of it formed by long-standing myths and legends. However, in the setting where two foreign cultures clash, racial imaginary can actually do them good in terms of serving as the foundation upon which both cultures develop their cultural identity further and debunk the false stereotypes. This is how I view it, and it has helped me become a better carrier of my culture. After all, being offended is destructive, whereas catching the opportunities to develop and grow is always beneficial for one's identity.
