A Fortune Cookie
Sesame seed oil, vanilla, flour, sugar and miniature size of cellulose pulp with just enough capacity to enlighten the mind of a toddler or become additional nutrition to the unbeknownst singular bite consumers, have become the nutritional facts to describe the “happy meal” of a Panda Express plate. Wrapped in delicate plastic topped with top-tier branding, Panda Express has commercialised wisdom to an extent that even EVK cannot match its ability to both feed and help educate guests. Though the debate of whether Confucius would be proud of our generation today could fulfil the requirement for a master’s thesis, in stoic passion does it resemble the sphere of influence for countless Asian Americans. In conflicting interests, saddling the fence between their supposed heritage filled with smells of dim sum versus their desire for In-n-Out hamburgers has become a familiar unconscious decision.
This Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde-like pressure has never been more resonating with minority groups born in the United States and thus, has brought up the question of conformity. Much similar to the assimilation conducted in the 19th century for native populations, the necessity to portray the image of being “western” has been the core for children of immigrants if they seek to survive the treacherous clutches of judgemental society. However, unlike Peter the Great who embraced this cultural revolution, I didn’t have a choice. For me, this meant speaking and writing solely in English, dressing in Nike and sporting Jansport at school, and bringing school lunches that didn’t have a “foreign” scent.
In truth, I was a fortune cookie to everyone that perceived me outside, however, I didn’t carry an “Asian fortune” and instead coded for a factory-produced inspiring paper that made me just like everybody else. This early development of which part of me I should embrace, led to me continually placing more emphasis on western experiences such as celebrating New Year's and neglecting the traditions of my family like Chinese New Year's. In turn, I was “white-washed” to the point where I was hardly considered Vietnamese yet still carried attributes that barred me from being white. In this sense, I had trouble connecting to my ancestry and viewed it as a commodity rather than a history. To me and to many others, I was simply Asian, an identifier to pinpoint my appearance but with no real culture behind it. While in the eyes of others, being Asian was the only trait that made me stand out.
A diaspora hybrid, as Richie Neil Hao describes it in his autoethnography, “Performing Fortune Cookie,” the commonly-shared experience of delving into two opposing genres with neither one fully accepting is a far too quotidian phenomenon that has now created its own culture to meet the standards of its own habitual actions. Gone are the days of Starbucks and green tea, and in with the days of boba as a supplement fusion to symbolize Asian minorities that fall in the crack in between.
In conclusion of my reflections, there are two facts to my existence and the existence of many who share my sentiments. I will never be fully embraced by my own people in Vietnam nor ever the poster child for a true “American” with pretty blond hair and bright blue eyes. Instead, I found happiness within the communities I have had the pleasure of knowing and was adopted by a strong trojan family with people of diverse stories and connections who never made me feel more at home. In the words of Mayou Angelou, “We all should know that diversity makes for a rich tapestry, and we must understand that all the threads of the tapestry are equal in value no matter what their color.”
