Growing up as a Chinese American in San Francisco, I was lucky enough always to be surrounded by Asians. I can remember as far back as preschool when being Asian was the norm, but this didn’t necessarily mean developing friendships was easy.
People may see Asians as a monolithic group and that we relate to each other in every aspect. Sure, it’s great to have a mutual understanding of cultural traditions, such as removing your shoes before entering someone’s home and understanding the biases and microaggressions that we still endure in society today. Perhaps there was something innate in us to gravitate towards each other. But when it comes down to the different personalities of a person and social pressures, there are so many other factors to consider in friendships.
My first real friend was Filipino American Ann. She was an amazing artist. With pencils or pen, she drew realistic pictures of animals and graffitied block letters at the edges of her notebooks and colored beautiful fireworks at the corners of the covered textbooks. She made me want to be artistic just like her, so I picked up drawing manga, Pokémon characters, and whatever scenery came to mind. I wasn’t Picasso, but she brought out my creative side, and I loved being fascinated with creating something out of nothing.
Ann also had a love of books. I remember spending time at the library before, at lunchtime, and sometimes after school. We didn’t care if this meant being labeled a nerd. We just loved being surrounded by the endless possibilities of stories that surrounded us. While kids were outside playing kickball and doing God knows what, we were rummaging through “The Berenstain Bears” in second grade. I remember these books were so intimidating with their big words and long stories. Perhaps we’d knock these out when we were in fifth grade.
Eighth-grade graduation came, and as hard as we tried to keep in touch, the sparkle and divergence of different high schools ultimately…
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