By Emi Kanda
To the employee at the DMV:
I’m glad you like your Samsung watch
And your Toyota,
But those are two different products
From two different countries.
And I didn’t make either of those
So, no need to thank me.
To my ex-boyfriend’s mom
“With the Vietnamese hairstylist” (God bless her heart):
Boba without boba is a smoothie
That thing over there, is a mango,
And my Thanksgiving is still traditional
If we have eggrolls, mashed potatoes, and turkey.
To that guy on Hinge
(Fairytales did NOT prepare me for dating apps):
I’m not wasting time on no sick person,
So please, stay away,
If you’ve got Covid, or pneumonia, or the yellow fever.
To my Filipino coworkers
Who choose to see me for my heart
And not by the fact that I don’t speak their mother tongue:
Thank you for not making me feel othered,
Othered like I did in college.
Clearly not blue eyed and blonde,
But not embraced among those who only
Ate with Asians,
Sat with Asians,
Dated Asians,
Seemingly only spoke with Asians,
I was othered. A stranger to my own race.
Between the one who wants a Korean girl so she speaks the same language as his mother
And the California hipster chasing perfect, fair skin and freckles,
Who was left to be attracted to me?
Othered because I did not realize not everyone
Gets asked, “where are you from?” and has to rack their brain
To decipher what that question means.
Am I from Chicago? Illinois? The United States?
Do you mean to say, “I can’t tell what type of Asian you are?”
‘Cause I’m Japanese and Filipino, put it together,
I’m a spicy jalapeño, baby.
Othered because I cannot trust you are into me for me
If you post pictures with your Asian friend group
And studied abroad in China
Forgive me for reading into things,
But how am I supposed to know better?
(Mistrust isn’t from naivete, it’s from experience.)
Othered because I cannot trust I am into you for you,
And I’ll blame the TV instead of my own cultural shame
For telling me to wait for a white Prince Charming.
Maybe I can shake off the utter fear of having children,
If they can be what my heart has decided is most desirable:
Beautiful, Hapa children.
(This is messed up, I know, but bear with me
As I bare my heart
Because I will probably never see you again
So somehow, you are safer for me to tell my story.)
Othered because my ethnicity is not my identity
My parents lived to assimilate and fit in,
Cut off their languages from me (for me?),
Married outside of the homogenous norm
To them, my race is the reason
I made the school play, was accepted to that university
In their own use of the diversity token
They leave me minimized to what I cannot change, unremarkable,
Unseen.
And I am Starbucks, crop tops, avocado toast American,
Distancing myself because I am embarrassed of those Asian stereotypes,
And yet,
Not so basic,
As I want to be.
I am pumpkin spice lattes,
But also matcha green tea.
I am honor-shame culture,
But choose to grow, to be vulnerable, to fight the barriers to speak.
I am words of affirmation
Met instead with acts of service,
Navigating love languages and language barriers,
Fed by grandmothers
Who cook dish after traditional dish for me
(Even though there’s only a few I’ll really eat)
But hey – that’s love. So, I take it with me.
I am a proud product of grandparents
Who uprooted their lives for their children,
And of their children first learning to know God, love God,
Holding on to their marriage
By the skin of their teeth.
Though unintended,
I’m left with baggage,
General sins and structures –
I am desperately trying to break free.
I am a tool by which God is prying open closed doors
And shattering locked chains,
I am breaking free from the cycle
By going to therapy, making a budget,
Living in my own home –
I hope one day my sisters can join me.
I am privilege that my family could never dream of having,
Because every sacrifice they made
Pain that they endured
Barrier they overcame,
Was for me.
A step,
A step,
One terrifying step at a time
To acknowledge and name, then to grieve and reclaim this
“Otheredness”
So one day I can rejoice in all God has created me and my tan skin to be.
Because in Jesus,
In Jesus,
I am understood, from my head to my foot,
He made me Emi:
Asian American,
And free.
Emi Kanda loves good food, vulnerability, and Jesus. She grew up in a beautifully diverse suburb of Chicago and graduated from Wheaton College with a BS in Applied Health Science and a minor in Spanish. Emi is a relational, justice-oriented Christian who finds deep value in her vocation as a case worker for underprivileged communities and a high school youth group staffer. You can tune in to her shenanigans, devotionals, and Chicago-based resource highlights on Instagram.