It was cool to be different, and you were in every way. You were a lefty; everyone was a righty. You liked mustard on your hot dog; neither of your siblings would even touch a condiment. Your skin was darker; everyone around you would burn. You were born in China; your siblings were born in New Jersey. You felt untouchable in terms of unique traits. But you still belonged to a loving family that celebrated the differences you all had.

Yet, once you started elementary school, it wasn't easy to be different anymore. You first learned when a boy teased you in first grade for your eye and mocked, “Aren’t Chinese people supposed to look like this?” as he pulled his eyes with his chubby fingers into slits. Indignantly, you replied no. Your mother told you your eyes were almond shaped, and they were special. But sitting in your seat, you subtly moved your gaze across the desks and found there was no one else with your eyes or your skin or even your nose.

On the playground you were an expert at the monkey bars - you could hang upside down and sit on top, unafraid of the distance between you and the ground. You were invincible, but no one was able to do it with you. Everyone wanted to play tag or soccer, but your lungs failed you after running from one end of the field to the other. So you sat on top of the monkey bars, watching everyone from above.

When you started middle school, insecurity taunted you and crawled from the corners of your mind, voices telling you to keep being quiet. You began feeling left out. You couldn’t fit in because you didn't want to feel that sudden rush of hotness to your cheeks and feel the need to crumble into yourself. You didn't want to make a presence because you didn't want to feel that sudden clenching of your heart as if the blood had been sucked out in made your throat swell. You didn't want to make eye contact in case they saw how you really felt, in case they could peer deep into your eyes and see what ate at your heart. Anxiety would bite at you. But you didn't have the words to know what anxiety even was. You just knew that this horrible crippling feeling would eat at you from deep inside your stomach until you felt you couldn’t appear happy. Even the eyes of your family became increasingly judgemental as you stayed in your room for longer and longer periods of time.

When you started high school, you found a friend group you could fit in with - they were Asian like you - and it made you feel like a part of something. It wasn't the reason you became friends, but it soon felt like one of the main ones. Whenever you asked your friends about not feeling Asian enough, they claimed they felt the same, struggling with the duality of being Asian in a predominantly not Asian society. You rejoiced in being able to belong again and not feel like you were the black sheep. But as you immersed yourself more into the group, it dawned on you that you are once again alone. Yes, they feel disconnected from their culture, like it's in the back burner of their lives; but once they return home, where they grew up with the beep of the rice cooker every morning; listening to their parents speak their mother tongue; hearing the rumbling of the vacuum; they re-assimilate into the Asian lifestyle they are so used to. But you grew up to the smell of bacon and the drawl of Saturday morning cartoons. You didn't fit the Asian stereotype but you could never be normal enough.

You continued looking for a place to belong and found other Chinese adoptees that would gather and have podcasts about how they felt. You were so excited by the prospect of finding people who felt the same, people who felt they truly could not connect with either racial identity. But as you listened, your hopes diminished with every word. They spoke of feeling robbed of their identity, holding burning resentment to their “parents” taking them away from a place they feel they can never return to. Nothing resonated with you until they finally mentioned not belonging, where you're the broken puzzle piece, the one that doesn't quite fit right, and the one that has no place to return to.