@ai6yr

"What are you?"

That was the question I heard all too often. It was a question designed to identify my race and ethnicity. At face value, it was intrusive — but beneath the surface, it was inherently cruel.

Every time I heard it, I was being reminded that I didn't fit neatly into their boxes. It forced me to parse out my heritage, weighing which parts of myself were acceptable or understandable to a stranger, and which parts I needed to hide to keep things comfortable. It wasn't an invitation to connect; it was a demand to categorize.

As a multiracial individual — mostly Asian and Caucasian — I had to size someone up before answering, because the wrong answer had real-life consequences. I could answer simply, "I am human," but that answer was a signal in itself.

Being Asian in America was its own challenge, but being the so-called "wrong" type of Asian was also a challenge among other Asians. I knew what it was like to have people who were white, Hispanic, Black, and Asian treat you poorly simply because of my heritage, or because I wasn't one thing or the other, but multiracial.

Discrimination, racism, and general hate is an awful thing. No one should be exposed to such an awful thing.