Overseas Chinese from the United States of America (USA).
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I told a white woman in her 40s my full background being born and raised in America to third-generation Chinese-Cambodian parents...and that was her response.31
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The Cape Verdeans I met in Africa with the Peace Corps had a hard time believing that someone with the shape of my eyes & the color of my hair could be American.
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After 10 years in suburban Ohio America, A 19-year-old Chinese girl returns to the city of her birth looking to find a story to write and instead finds a boy.
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The woman took my burgundy Chinese passport, put it in her drawer, and that was it: I was an American. But...there was no chorus of angels, no burst of light.
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I was never called a yellow fruit, no, but was always seen as slightly different. I went from being the most Asian person in the room to, by far, the very least.
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In the US, I was a dorky geek. I had almost no social life, few friends, but perfect grades. There, I could justify my lack of social grace with “intelligence”.
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Some are content to establish that they are different thus special. But are we to let our DNA, which we have no control over & contribute nothing to, define us?