The truth about life is that it is impossible to satisfy everyone. Your lifestyle and your personality will displease some and impress others. However, judgment is at its most black and white when your identity comes with a hyphen; in my case, it is being Asian-American.
The hyphen carries a lot more baggage than given credit. Honoring my Desi culture while assimilating into American culture is just two sides to my own coin. So far, there haven’t been any major, prominent events in my life to challenge my identity. There has been no overt racism towards my Indian side, nor any conspicuous shaming of my American identity by relatives. Instead, it comes in the forms of microaggressions by the school community and disapproval from family.
I remember sitting down at lunch and unpacking my container full of steamy butter chicken and Basmati rice during fifth grade. Two of my friends, sitting on either side of me, glanced over and nodded approvingly.
“Ooh, that looks tasty,” one of the girls said, and I remember flushing with pride. The feeling was squashed moments later as the boy sitting across from me sniffed, wrinkled his nose, and murmured, “That stuff is really smelly.” The pleasant little blush on my cheeks turned beet red and hot. I forced an awkward smile in his direction, looked over my shoulders to make sure nobody had heard him, and bent my head over the food, trying to eat it as fast as possible so that I could pack up and relieve the boy of the foul smell. The insecurity is what sticks with me the most about that moment, albeit in a way free from racism; it was an innocent comment made by an innocent young boy. I only recall feeling embarrassed; the tie between smelly food and being Indian came a year or two later the more I began to recognize the aspect of food in culture, and culture in identity. Since that realization, I could not help but notice every time another stereotypical comment came up in conversation…only now, the kids were older, and flippant little “comments” turned quickly into microaggressions and marginalization.
The flip side to the Asian-American coin is one generally unrecognized by those outside the community. The rest of my family does not deal with the weight of the hyphen. They all consider themselves Indian and only Indian, even if they have picked up small American mannerisms along the way. This is where their strong senses of loyalty to their Desi upbringings come into play; when they adapt to American society, it is impressive. When I do the same, I am revoking my Indian half for the American one. This is the traditional hypocrisy, the double-standard, of Asian Americans. Fairer skin is prized, seen as a favorable American trait, yet my relatives would mock me for wearing light blue jeans. They tease me endlessly for my accent, my clothes, and my supposed disregard for my Indian culture. These seem like harmless things to remark upon, but coupled together, they have confused me and made me feel ostracized, no matter which group I try to fit into. This is the ultimate struggle of the hyphen — this or that? Asian or American?
Still, the impact of the hyphen is also largely dependent on your mindset, as I’ve learned over the past few years. Instead of a burden, I try to look at the hyphen as a unique insight and experience that I am privileged to have. I may take the negative stereotypes from both cultures, but in the end, I am also left with more beauty. Having a hyphen in the label I use to identify myself has helped me be less concerned about having strict definitions and requirements of anything or anyone. Societal constructs are what impose that heaviness on the hyphen, but in fact, it is probably the best thing that has ever happened to me.