Being Chinese in Spain attracts a lot of curiosity – especially in bars & clubs. We aren’t known for being exuberant partygoers or award-winning binge-drinkers.

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.

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.

I grew up without thinking about my Chinese background, but from my experience at university, YouTube and strangers on the street, I find myself being reminded.

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.

Quiet Asian kid. Someone called me that while I was in university in Canada. I'm introverted, yes. I'm Asian, of Chinese descent, yes. But I hate that stereotype.

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”.

“No, where are you really from?” Why is it that white people immediately assume that if you don’t sport blue eyes and blond hair that you’re from another country?