This is the manual we all received
When we were born
Asian:
Step 1: Look the part.
You know what I mean.
Pale skin.
Thin almond eyes.
Slick black hair.
Skinny and short.
Tiny feet.
You’re a white man’s wet dream.
Until you don’t want him.
Then you’re ugly—
Then it’s
Dirty yellow skin.
Slanty, beady eyes.
Dull hair.
Big ugly teeth.
The face of a rat.
And the kids on the playground
Will stretch out their eyes
Everytime you pass by.
And you will hate the face
Your mother gave you.
Step 2: Talk the part.
You say, “Ching chong.”
That’s how white people talk to you, too.
You tell the white man, “Me love you long time.”
You talk funny
Because you can’t speak English well,
So for that you are deliciously exotic.
But you’re also stupid.
So you need him.
He’s your only voice.
Step 3: Act the part.
You have a tiger mom
Who won’t get off your back.
And boy, isn’t she awful?
Your mother
Who gave everything for you?
Who learned to live in a new, cruel world
And would do anything for you
To survive it?
You have to hate her.
But you also have to do what you’re told.
Because you’re submissive.
And weak.
And that’s how the white man likes you.
And the food you like to eat is gross,
So you’ll have to learn to eat something else
Besides bats and dogs,
Or else the kids in the cafeteria
Will laugh at you
And plug their noses
When you unpack the lunch
That your mom woke up early to make you,
And you’ll have to shamefully pack it back up
And make up an excuse for later
When you have to tell your mom
Why you didn’t eat today
As you avoid her gaze
Because you know her eyes look worried,
So you lock your eyes
On her pained hands instead.
And your clothes,
Like those rice hats
And chopsticks in your hair,
Or strange robes and dresses—
They’re too weird.
Wear something normal.
But when white people wear those things,
It’s okay.
Don’t roll your eyes at them.
You should be honored
That they would even deign
To want to look like you.
Step 4: Never. Ever. Step over white people.
You’re better than other people of color
Because you’re smarter
And you work hard
To be as white as possible.
But you’re still like a pet
To the white man.
You’re only smart
So you can do tricks for him,
So you can protect him
From your own people.
But he will never be there for you.
That’s not his job.
One wrong bite,
And it’s back to where you came from.
If you followed these instructions,
You should have accomplished your goal.
So congratulations!
You aren’t Asian anymore—
But remember,
You’ll never be white.
Still,
You must be so happy.
This is what you wanted all along.
***
This is the manual we all received
When we were born
Asian.
And we tried to follow it to a T,
But it didn’t work,
Did it?
Because we’re still Asian.
And how could we
Have not wanted to be,
When it’s such a beautiful thing?
So what if that manual looked different?
What if we had been taught
To love our Asianess?
What if we still can be?
And what if we can teach others?
Then I propose
We write a new manual.
Right here and now.
Ready?
***
This is the manual we should have received
When we were born
Asian.
Step 1: Your Asianess is your beauty.
We are a rainbow
Of color and flavor and light
And Asia is the crystal prism
That we unfold from.
We are the yellow lotuses in the pond
And the star anise in the sky.
We are the soft brightness
Of the turmeric and ginger.
We are the depth of darkness
Of the eggplant and cloves.
We are the strong bamboo and bonsai,
The sweet cherry blossom and lemongrass.
We are color.
We are flavor.
We are light.
We are beautiful.
We are Asian.
Step 2: Your tongue is a wonder of the world.
Our languages are recipe books,
Making words and dishes,
Sounds and meanings,
Tastes and scents,
Others never dreamed of making.
Our accents are spices
Of only the freshest and most fragrant kind,
Sending shocks through their systems,
Hitting hidden tastebuds.
And if they make fun of your spice,
Just remember that
White people
Don’t know how to season their food.
And even if you cannot speak
Or read and write
In your mother tongue,
The voice that your tongue tastes
As it leaves your lips
Is still the voice
Of your ancestors.
Step 3: Your rituals are your power.
Our parents
Are the souls of birds, fairies, and warriors,
And we
Are the reincarnations
Of dragons,
So everything we do
Is magic.
The way we move
Is elemental.
The food we eat
Is the nectar of gods.
We dress in silk
Made from the sky and the fields,
And jewelry crafted from sea foam.
We are strength.
We are delicacy.
We are the channels of spirits,
The weavers of magic.
And our rituals,
They keep us empowered.
They keep us alive.
Step 4: You rise above.
Do not listen when they tell you
You are less than.
You are a force to be reckoned with
And a deity to worship.
Being Asian is your superpower,
Not your weakness,
And no one
Can ever take it from you.
These are not instructions.
These are truths.
You do not need to learn
How to be Asian.
You already are.
- Kyla-Yen