Apparently I’ve been “Asian-American” all my life. But nobody told me.
Having moved from Hawaii to the East Coast, I’m suddenly the minority in a country I thought I knew well. Sound odd? Trust me, it feel slightly odd. It’s as if they switched all the characters during intermission in this play called my life. The set is the same. I’m still the same. The people even look the same, but they act differently.
And now, being “Asian-American” seems important. Or is it?
I don’t know the answer, but I’ll try to figure it out along the way and write about it here.
And I hope you come along too.