you know what’s hard? being an outsider among outsiders. i used to take pride in being asian and feeling as though i could relate to other asians (particularly the big 3--korean/japanese/chinese) because of our “asian-ness”--and i can, to an extent--but as i grew older and learned the stories of my east asian friends i began to realize that our stories weren’t the same and that i couldn’t really relate to them. their parents came to the states voluntarily whereas my parents and grandparents didn’t really have a choice. their families came for self-betterment whereas our families came because all that remained for them was death and persecution. and i’m not trying to downplay any of my east-asian brothers and sisters but i began to feel like an outsider among “my people.” whenever i heard others make references to asian culture i realized that mine wasn’t always included into that reference, and it really threw me for a loop. i didn’t really know how to feel about it all.
two years ago i got the opportunity to spend a month in bangkok living in a slum community alongside the urban poor through InterVarsity’s Global Urban Trek, and as i was preparing for my journey a lot of people around me made comments like, “oh, so it’ll be kind of like going home for you!” and i’d give a puzzled look and a shoulder shrug, perhaps it would. but when i got there it was just as i expected. everywhere i went people assumed i was either chinese, japanese, or korean. everyone in the city that i encountered attempted to greet me with an “annyeong” or a “konnichiwa” or a “ni hao.” it really frustrated me. i attempted to explain that i wasn’t either of those and that i was Hmong but nobody understood me. there was one man however who knew my people but what he said shattered me into a million pieces: “oh, you don’t look hmong. you need darker skin to be hmong.” so here i was, halfway around the world in an unfamiliar city, in a culture not my own, miles away from home where i already felt like an outsider, being told that i didn’t belong even with my own people. i tried to explain the feeling to my GUT team but it hurt too much to try to find words. it didn’t feel like going home at all. i never cried so much in my life. learning what it means to be an outsider among outsiders these past few years has taught me much and really helped me to know how to love the outcasts of society but it still hurts to feel like i will never truly find my place until i come into the presence of God, and it’s that waiting that really kills me. today as asians around the world invade the internet with their selfies, their stories, their struggles, their art, their hearts, and their beauty, this is my contribution. this is my story. i am hmong and i’m kind of just #waitingtobelong
