The first day of second grade was the day that I became aware of who I was as the other kids became aware of me. It was the day that I looked at my eyes, and instead of seeing them as just eyes for the first time I saw how much darker and more narrow they were compared to my classmates. It was the day when I finally heard the snickers from my classmates staring at my Chinese snack of red bean cookies or dried peas. It was the day I finally saw the stares that I got when I said something. And by the end of the week, I had started throwing out the Chinese snacks my grandmother had packed for me to eat at school, and I stopped talking in class. And whenever my stomach would growl or I had to bite my lip to stop myself from shouting the answer, I had to remind myself over and over that this was for the best.

        The one time during the school day where I felt like I could be myself was recess. I would play by myself as I made drawings of butterflies and wrote messages on the ground with the school boxes of colored chalk. My grandmother would always yell at me when she picked me up from school after noticing my black tights tainted with pink and blue and red chalk, but I didn’t care. During the next few weeks, I was always alone as I drew and wrote and was a child. It was so blissful that I don’t even remember ever being lonely. Then one day, the most beautiful girl showed up and recess, the last place where I could be myself, was taken away from me, too.

Her name was Ana and like me, she was Chinese. She was also tall, almost taller than me and her shiny black hair was incredibly long, all the way down past her chest. Rumors spread that she was a model, an actor, a singer. That she had come into school a month after it had already started because of a commercial. Regardless, at the age of seven, she looked like the most beautiful girl in the world and all of us admired her. Even to this day, I still remember her and her pale, smooth skin. Her hair. Her warm eyes. The way her clear, American accent made her sound like an angel in contrast to my Chinglish one. She was everything that I desired to be, for she was just so… American. White.  

Normal.

Around a week or so after she first came into our class, I finally got the nerve to approach Ana during recess. She was sitting on a bench alone, drawing in a large notebook with colored crayons. As I went up to her, she saw me and smiled so warmly that it melted my heart.

“Hi!” she said as I sat down on the bench. “My name is Ana. What’s yours?”

“I’m Louise.”

“Cool name. Do you want to draw with me?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Yes! Yes!”

As we both got to know each other, I felt more and more comfortable being Chinese. Here, right in front of me, was another girl – the only girl - who understood what it meant to have different shaped eyes. Different hair. Who spoke a different language. I sometimes wanted to cry out of joy because with her, I wasn’t alone anymore. There was no reason for me to continue having the insecurities that I’ve been having since my first day of school. So for the next few months, we were inseparable as we played together, ate together, talked together and had playdates at each other’s houses. I remember a game that Anna had introduced to me: we pretended to have two different identities, with one at school and one at home. At school, we would speak in English and ate American food and were “American.” Then at home, we would speak Chinese and eat rice and other dishes and watched children tv shows in Chinese as we were now “Chinese.”

                                                ***

Our very first (and last) sleepover is what I remember the most about the game. We were at my house, laying on my bedroom floor with our sleeping bags and our flashlights. We were giggling about something that I don’t remember now, but the next thing that I said I won’t ever forget.

“Ana, my grandma made some pumpkin desserts for snack tomorrow and I want to eat it at school! Do you want me to bring you some?”

Ana instantly shot up, and turned off her flashlight. In the dark, I couldn’t tell what her expression was but I didn’t have to, for her voice gave it away.

“Don’t do it, or else you’re going to lose the game because you’re being Chinese,” she said in a clear warning tone. “And then I’ll have to stop being your friend.”

Confused by her response, I sat up, too. “But you’ve eaten them plenty of times at our house. Why not at school?”

“Are you stupid? It’s because something that Chinese people eat, so we can’t eat it at school because we’re American at school.”

“Why can’t we be both?”

“Why can’t you just not eat the snack? It’s like you don’t even want to be friends.”

I realized then that if I said anything more, it would just make everything worse. So I rolled over on my side and holding back my tears, drifted off to sleep.

She started to drift away after that.

                                                            ***

It first started when I decided to eat my Chinese snack the day after the sleepover. Originally, I was planning on throwing it out as I always did, but as that day as I leaned over the trashcan I realized I was really hungry that enough was enough. So going back to my table, I pulled out the plastic bag filled with the pumpkin dessert I began to eat. However, two or three bites in I noticed from across the room Ana eyeing me with an expression that I couldn’t quite read. When I saw her I rubbed my stomach, which indicated that I was hungry. As I did so, a boy approached my table.

“What’s that?” he asked as he pointed at my snack.  

“It’s made of pumpkin,” I said hesitantly.

“Let me try it.” Before I could stop him, he grabbed it out of my hands and took a large bite before dramatically spitting it back onto the table. “That’s disgusting!”

I sat there, quiet as everyone who had been watching the spectacle snickered to themselves. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ana turn back around and quietly eat her goldfish. My face burned with shame and embarrassment, just like the first day of school, as I threw away my snack.

 I didn’t make that mistake again, but it didn’t really matter because from that day forward, Ana and I grew distant. She started avoiding me during lunch, and playing with the other girls during recess. We stopped going to each other’s houses and drawing with each other. The one thing that did not stop, however, was her game. I watched her closely as she constantly dressed in the newest trends, as she ate her lunchables and shared her snack with the other kids. I compared her to me, with my Chinglish accent and lack of reading proficiency.

So here I was, again. Alone, questioning every move that I made. Every time I spoke. Wondering why I couldn’t just be born white and American and why I had to be the way I was. Why I couldn’t have just not eaten my snack that day and continued on as Ana’s friend.

Then Chinese New Year came around, and everything fell apart.

***

In my family and in many others, during Chinese New Year traditionally the men would wear a silk red suit and the women would wear a 旗袍 (Qípáo), which was a red dress often embroidered in gold and buttoned all the way up to the neck. That dress was what I wore to school on the day, as much as I begged my parents not to because as expected, my classmates did not take it well. Throughout the entire day I was tugged on, pushed, glared at, and insulted. Ana, of course, didn't say a word but I was actually doing just fine without her until recess, when some boy ripped a small part of my dress right in front of Ana and she just walked away.

"Why are you doing this?" I had screamed, furious. "You're supposed to be my friend!"

Ana turned around. "Stop screaming before you make things worse for yourself."

"No! I won't because I don't understand. What did I do wrong?"

As a small crowd gathered around us, I felt Ana's growing rage towards me as she narrowed her eyes.

"Look at what you're wearing, how you talk, what you eat. You're weird."

"No, I'm not-"

Just then, out of nowhere, a piece of white chalk hit me straight in the chest. I screamed as I attempted to dust it off. Laughter rang through my ears as tears welled in my eyes and spilled onto the ground. I suddenly felt more pieces hitting my body as I threw my hands to defend my face. I was completely trapped, with nowhere to go. Quickly wiping away my tears, I looked up and saw Ana standing there and in that moment, no one else existed besides her and I. Our eyes locked, and for a fleeting moment I believed that she would make everything stop. That she would be able to come forward and that maybe, just maybe, I would be okay if she did.

She didn’t do that. Instead, she too threw a piece of chalk and this time, I made no effort to defend myself.

***

I didn’t understand what she did back then. How could I? I thought it was us against the world, until that day when she decided to join the world against me. I thought that I was the lone oppressed, and she the only oppressor. But as I grew up, and as I now begin to know and challenge my place in society I also have realized how much we're willing to sacrifice to be included. So while I still hate her with everything I have, I understand now. I understand the position that she was put in. I understand the choice she had to make. I understand that if she wanted to be with me she would have been alone, even more than she already was. She saved herself, and to be honest had I been in her position that day I would have done the same thing.

 The thing is, she and I can try to be American all we want. We can try to hide our own culture and our skin color, we can try to speak only in English and proudly pledge to the American flag. We can do all of that and more, but in the end we will still be an Asian-American. Not American. Asian-American. That is our difference and inevitably, our loss of power. That, if nothing else, is a struggle that we will share. I hope that she has learned that, and accepted it as so.