I am a Burmese-American girl.

I have typical Asian features that mush together like a sticky mask that can’t be taken off no matter how hard I try. I look asian yet I act “American” so it is hard to keep up with my bi-cultural identity.

I’ve always been pushed toward American culture to blend in with kids around me, but at the same time I’m forced to keep my cultural identity and keep my parents’ traditions. It’s an obstacle I’ve faced since childhood.

Growing up in a predominantly white neighborhood with a small Asian population, I didn’t feel comfortable sharing my culture with others and have always kept it hidden inside the confines of my home.

Racial slurs and getting spit at were the usual encounters that began when I stepped off the bus on my way toward my middle school. A group of young boys would call me out on my Asian appearance by calling me a “chinky-eyed cow” and repeatedly holler at me to “go back to China” because they didn’t want their “dogs to be eaten.”

They laughed as if it was the most funny joke in the world; all while not knowing how much impact it would have on me throughout my entire life.

I was furious but I held back because I believed what they were saying and told no one of the encounter. I started to accept the fact that being Asian was something to be ashamed of. I would never invite my non-Asian friends to my house because I was afraid they’d judge me once they saw how different our family lives were. I cringed whenever my dad’s accent would ring loud and clear at parent teacher conferences and how teachers would talk to him loud and slow, as if he was a second grader.

So I changed myself.

I tried to be as “American” as possible. I never hung out with kids my own race and spoke only English at home and school which resulted in forgetting most of my native tongue and only knowing the basics to get by.

The summer after middle school ended, my family and I took a trip to Burma. I fell in love with my culture again, but I realized I was also an outcast in my own country.

I couldn’t engage in full conversations with my elders or my relatives. I’d try to listen intently to each word but all I heard were foreign words that felt familiar yet hard to grasp. I had forgotten everything: how to pronounce certain words, the lyrics to sweet lullabies my grandmother would sing to me when I was a kid, and childhood stories that replaced the absence of not having technology in the village.

The kids near me would giggle and call me “laimi a zahpi mi” which means “I’m only Burmese on the outside.”

This made me so frustrated.

I wasn’t American enough in America and I wasn’t Burmese enough in Burma; I had no idea what identity to take on.

Before I knew it, I was in high school.

While in this place that I would be stuck at for the next four years, I was not used to the populous amount of Burmese students who consumed the hallways. So many of these kids were very “fob” or fresh-off-the-boat. This term pertains to Asians who just arrived to America so they don’t know the trends, how to dress or how to act to fit in.

I would cringe when I saw some of the girls arriving to school in outfits that didn’t match and were more suited for elementary students; some of them even had the tags or labels still on.

It wasn’t so much their clothes that had bothered me, but the girls who sat near me, constantly whispering about another “Burmese kid who doesn’t know how to dress.”

Once during lunch, a Burmese kid who sat at the table in front of me brought a packed lunch from his mom. He was so ecstatic to eat it because he wasn’t accustomed to the food in America yet. The non-Asian students around him commented on the “weird” smell when he opened his container, and were boggled at the sight of his food. They continued to make a series of barfing noises in front of his face, laughing as if it was a harmless joke and not a hurtful slam.

I never saw him bring his lunch again.

These encounters are the reason why I am afraid to fully embrace my culture. I’m always self conscious as I’m constantly worried about how others will perceive me, and I always try so hard to fit in so others will not spot how culturally different I am.

Maybe I will always be this way, or maybe I won’t. But for now, all I know is I am at a crossroads, faced with a very important decision to make.