Personal Narrative: Being Asian In A Racially Homogenous School

I was late for school, and my father had to walk me in to class so that my teacher would know the reason for my tardiness. My dad opened the door to my classroom, and there was a hush of silence. Everyone's eyes were fixed on my father and me. He told the teacher why I was late, gave me a kiss goodbye and left for work. As I sat down at my seat, all of my so-called friends called me names and teased me. The students teased me not because I was late, but because my father was black. They were too young to understand. All of this time, they thought that I was white, because I had fare skin like them, therefore I had to be white. Growing up having a white mother and a black father was tough. To

I'm a student from another school the main school I went to was Potomac State College in West Virginia. It's a predominally white school and it was a couple of African Americans and greater part whites. The sum prejudice I continued at that school was sufficient for me to go to HBCU. I got shot at and called a wide range of names because of the shade of my skin. I wasn't generally glad where I inhabited as well. It was nation situated; the closes store was 1 hour away. It takes a while to go anyplace. It simply wasn't the spot for a city young lady like me.

Growing up as an african american male it was hard to identify my character throughout my educational career. At a very young age my dad alway wanted me to succeed in life, but in the back of my mind I always thought “ Am I really cut out to becoming successful”. I grew up in a culturally diverse suburban area. Growing up in the suburban area I made unbreakable bonds that will forever exist.

As the appearance of Asian American students on college campuses become more prominent, the need for cultural competence and inclusiveness is higher than ever. Being aware and knowledgeable about the matters in the Asian American community can provide these students with well-equipped tools to help them succeed in higher education.

What it feels to be mixed race during a fight for black lives?. It’s very hard when it comes to being mixed, but that’s life it never comes easy. As for me being mixed I know how it feels never allowed to be our own person in a sense. I feel you shouldn’t have to say, “I’m Black” or “I’m White”, being forced to pick a side, never allowed to stand in the middle with my own ideas.

When my mother decided to quit her accounting job to homeschool me (and the other future siblings that were not in existence at this point) it was hard. Being a homeschooled black family was even more isolating since it was rare to find another black family that homeschooled. At this point in our lives, she had never been surrounded with diversity so stepping outside of her comfort zone and joining an all-white homeschooled group was a brave step. But little did she know that her hopes of a positive experience would be crushed due to prejudice. I was too young to recognize all of the prejudice that the other moms held against her, but I can only accept it as a bigoted reality that some may choose to live in.

It is a significant struggle for many first or second generation of Asian-American who need to fit in two different culture and expectations sets, especially for who born from early 1980s to late 1990s. On one side, we have to get into the American culture. On other side, we are encouraged to preserve our traditional personality and keep our Asian ethnicities alive. Fail to keep either side of expectations can lead to rejection or culture crisis.

Living in Chicago in the 21st century is not a necessarily easy thing. Everyday, I live with the fear that a loved one of mines could be taken away from me at any moment. Or the fact that my life could be taken away just from walking out of my front door. I dream of going to college and making something of myself. Often, other students tell me I can not achieve my dreams because I am an African American student. I pushed and struggle so hard to prove these students wrong. Because I am African American, many people view me as just a number. And that number is 33.1%; which is the college graduation rate for Black males. I would like to be one of the many people that will increase this percent. Recently, I was given the opportunity to take part

Sitting in a circle, most of those who were staring at me also looked like me – black hair, squinted eyes, and yellow skin. Not twenty minutes ago, I paced around the heart of a predominantly white college campus. Now, I was introducing myself to the members of Asian Students United (ASU). While I was never a part of ASU, I asked one of the organization’s executive board (eboard) members – Tien, who happened to a Facebook friend – if I could attend a couple of their meetings to conduct research on Asian American identity. He delightfully agreed. After all, from an outsider perspective, I would fit right in. At these meetings, I participated in many of their activities, which included making a quilt and participating in discussions. Yet, I was always observant and somewhat detached because this was all new to me, making me an observer-participant. This allowed me to observe a range of details; however, because I was so new, such details may have been unimportant to those whom I studied. On the other hand, my Vietnamese church was all too familiar. As a full participant in the church and a former participant in Youth for Christ (YFC), I was pressed to critically observe and dissect these interactions. While I still asked the group leader for a chance to observe YFC meetings, data from this second site may be more biased toward the way I have known people in this institution from prior years. As a tradeoff, though, being a participant-observer may have allowed me to note more

I felt the eyes of the other students burning holes through my skin. There was no escaping from reading in front of class, not this time. My voice stuttered, my palms sweated, and my face turned red as I looked at the blurred words on the page. I tried and failed to make sense of the book in front me. I wished, I was invisible.

It was a day like all others, wake up have breakfast and walk to school, “I’m tired of this mom”, “i’m sorry Hon but we can't do nothing about it” she answered, so i got smart and decided to argue with my mom, from my house to the school is 8 miles there is a white school 3 blocks from my house but they don’t want us to go there. It takes me about 9 minutes to run a mile, it takes me about 1 hour or more to get to school, the other problem is we have 400 kids in a school meant to serve 180, it is ridiculous but then again there is nothing we can do about it, when i got to school there were 3 men in suits talking to the principal, i know it was none of my business but i decided to go ask what was going on, “we are looking for people who want

Inside the home, I learned the importance of respect in Korean culture. Outside the home, I have never missed the annual LGBT pride parade. At school, I’m a member of a local southern baptist church and my classmates are from Nigeria to Finland. My friends range from families in homeless shelters to families from African royalty. I’ve spent numerous nights in Atlanta’s shelter for women and children, and I’ve also flown in private jets for

In one sunny afternoon, I returned home from school to witnessed a bizarre situation in my compound. On this blessed day, when I entered my compound, I found a fat bull with gigantic horns tied to an electric pole right at the center of the compound. As I packed my car and opened its door to exit, I unexpectedly saw the bull terribly lifting up an old-man who was on his bicycle and brutally crashing them against the stony ground. It began trampling over the man on whom the bicycle laid as well. The huge, gigantic cow became very aggressive and nobody could dare near it. Within some few minutes, butchers in the area who were known experts in overpowering dreaded bulls immediately arrived at the scene.They encircled the animal, and within a twinkle

Growing up as an Asian American, I often struggle to identify my own cultural identity. Being the first generation of both my mother and father’s side of the family, I more than often get confused between American and Asian culture when applying them to society or at home. While being raised at home, I am largely influenced by culture and traditions from Asian parents and relatives. However, when I go to school or someplace else, I am heavily judged for practicing part of my Asian culture because it is entirely different than western or American. With that being noted, I began to learn and adapt to the western culture in hopes of fitting with society as well of trying to keep my Asian culture intact. As can be seen, this situation I dealt with is the same problem the whole Asian American community faces. Mainly focusing on younger generations like me for example, the Asian American community struggles to adapt to the western culture because they were raised with an Asian influence. Wishing to fit in society and be part of the social norms, the Asian Americans community faces issues that identify their cultural identity.

A real epiphany came to me when a friend of mine told me that she wanted to learn Korean. When I asked her why she said that she just loved Korean pop music and dramas so much that she wanted to learn some of the language to appreciate the culture more. This made me realize that coming from a different background is a blessing and not an embarrassment. Why would I purposely avoid my culture and try to be Americanized? As I go back to the Korean culture of which I avoided, I realized that there is no such thing as being “Americanized”. In the only place that will be a minority-majority nation by the mid-century, the US has a distinct identity for accepting other people's cultures. As I taught myself Korean, made Korean foods with my parents, and watched KPop videos online, I felt more appreciative, but more importantly, I felt more secure as a person. I had no right to run from who I was. My parents were the ones who were harassed for being first-generation immigrants, not