Culture wears a striped wool sweater, has long hair running down its spine, and gives better hugs than you can imagine. It’s not always perfect, though. It’s clumsy, trips over nothing, and has a lazy eye. At times, you’re embarrassed to show it to other people. But, at the end of the day, culture embraces you for who you are, shapes who you become, and gives you a community of people that are just like you. This is how I feel about being a Chinese-American.

Living in suburbia, I’ve been teased for my culture for as long as I can remember. In elementary school, kids made fun of me for bringing grass jelly drinks to school. These drinks were a pleasant blend of sugar and water, with small black cubes of jelly floating about within. On a hot valley day, where you could see the heat distorting the air, they were the perfect remedy for a dry tongue and an ideal pairing with a ham-and-cheese Lunchables. To everyone else, though, it was a strange liquid. They weren’t used to seeing something other than your typical Coke, milk, or water. As such, I was teased for bringing something out of the ordinary to school. I stopped bringing grass jelly drinks to school and asked my mom for a can of Coke instead.

All the Smith’s, Johnson’s, and Jones’s made me feel like an outsider for my Chinese last name. I remember a distinct moment from my childhood in which I met a fellow Chinese-American. This may seem like nothing out of the ordinary for you city-folk, but it was quite a rare thing in suburban Vacaville. I asked him what his name was, and he told me his first name, a typical American one. I asked him for his last name, hoping for a chance to connect. Reluctantly and quietly, he said “Cha”. I realized that it was scary to say your last name as a Chinese-American. The other kids already had plenty of teasing methods in their arsenal, such as stretching their eyes at the outer corners, speaking in bad Chinese accents, and making fun of the things you brought to school. I didn’t want them to have yet another weapon to use against me.

In many ways, my culture was embarrassing. It just wasn’t something that I wanted to show off to others. I hated being Chinese, and I can’t count how many times I wished I was white, just like the other kids. However hard I tried, though, I couldn’t bring myself to stop enjoying my culture. For example, my extended family celebrates the Lunar New Year. Having my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents all gathered under a single roof, indulging in mooncakes and each other, is my favorite Chinese tradition. We would tune the television to CCTV and watch the Chinese celebrate in China while we did the same. For me, Lunar New Year was a celebration in which I could connect with my culture without the slightest bit of shame.

All in all, I’m proud to be the second child of two Chinese immigrants who struck gold in the holiday goods importing business, and I’m happy that my heritage is strong and gives me a good slap on the back whenever I’m in need of some extra motivation. Just like a loving parent, culture embarrasses you by yelling they love you when they drop you off at school. But at the end of the day, culture gives you a place to call home, a family to love, and memories to cherish.