If you had asked me 25 years ago whether or not I’d be proud to represent my Asian heritage today, let alone be proud to represent the Asian American community, I probably would’ve said yes (so I wouldn’t get in trouble with my mom) but deep down inside, the true, true would’ve been a resounding no. ESPECIALLY if you had added the words “breast cancer” into that mix.
Today, as I reflect on my heritage and pay homage to my roots, I would be remiss if I didn’t start off by first mentioning my mom. That- tenaciously brave, stick to her guns, knows her value and worth as much as she knows how to breathe- woman. You see, I’m the only one in my family who was born in the states. My parents and three older sisters are Vietnam War refugees lucky enough to have won the immigrant lotto.
Sidebar: Not to make light of the situation, but the way my mom has explained it to me (and very recently might I add because yes, she’s old school Asian) they applied for refugee status in multiple countries after escaping the communist takeover unsure of which, if any, would say yes. I say “lucky” because I’m thankful to have been born here in a first-world country.
Post-treatment, I became hungry to learn more about my roots and began asking my mom for more of her adventure stories. Instead of being annoyed because I was in a hurry as per usual, I started writing them down. I think this process was also therapeutic for her gracefully aging self. It allowed her a safe place to relive and share past memories (I’m older now so she can share certain stories she didn’t want to before) while simultaneously shaping her into a completely distinct and separate individual from what I always knew her as, “mom.”
Eventually, I asked how she decided to make that complex and difficult gray area decision to uproot her and her family’s life. I mean, dreaming of a better life or just the opportunity for one is one thing. It’s a completely different thing to start making moves toward the unknown. Her response was that she wanted a better life for her children regardless of the sacrifices it would take on both her and my dad’s behalf. Even though she was Buddhist, she believed in God’s love for her (shout-out to the missionaries)
and with full-hearted conviction felt as though she was being protectively led to creating a better life for us. Thank you, baby Jesus!
And the trek here wasn’t easy or straightforward by any means. But at least she had that sense of hope and a heart filled with calm yet alert awareness. My dad was working in Thailand at the time so she sent word to him like the real-life “Telephone” game and he returned to Laos so that they could, as a family, knowingly risk life and limb to escape the grasp of a communist country.
They literally, and illegally, kayaked across the Mekong River knowing the designated “lookout” person the communists had paid to tip them off to anyone trying to escape could lose his life for letting them go. They then found their way to a refugee camp in Thailand where they were for months before applying and being accepted as US refugees, then transported to the Philippines where they also stayed for some time before finally landing in Cali and making their way down to be with distant family already in Houston, Texas.
With all that being said, I am absolutely positive that so many of you out there can relate with me 100 when I say that growing up as a first-gen Asian American (shout-out to all my Lao peeps!!) has definitely marked my life in unique ways that I never even fully realized or comprehended at the time. The whole straddling the two worlds thing. You know, not really Asian and not really American. Y’all have watched “Crazy Rich Asians” right?! I think they do a better job at explaining all that.
So yeah, the whole assimilation thing and wanting to not cause too much trouble or create a stir because you should just be thankful for being here.. that def was/is the foundation of my personality. That overtly persistent need to feel like you belong has a way of silencing you.
Second sidebar: I’m reminded of that Aziz Ansari skit where he, as a first-gen, posits the question of what our future kids’ stories will be like to their kids as compared to the stories told to us by our parents. “Like oh my gosh this one time when I was on a flight across the country, my iPad battery died and I couldn’t binge-watch all the episodes that took so much time and effort to download so I just had to sit there and watch movies on the headrest screens.” Sooo funny because it’s true…
I am my mom’s daughter though, so I did learn how to retain a sense of dignity and self-worth while being slighted or made to feel lesser than (and what kid doesn’t go through that, am I right?!). And luckily I had an equally fierce god mom (who I’m named after) born and raised in East Texas. My mom met her through my dad’s first job here, and even though they couldn’t speak the same language, both women’s separate accounts
have always been that they shared this instant loving familial bond so strongly that despite the language barrier they were still able to communicate. So naturally, when my mom became pregnant with me, my god mom helped out with all the medical appointments and even served as a translator believe it or not!
Suffice it to say, I truly am Asian American.
So not only do I have my parents and extended family and friends to thank for molding me into the person I am today, I also now have my breasties who I often relied heavily on as I navigated (and still am!) to find this magical and elusive “new normal” thing everyone was talking about.
Once again, I was thrust into a position where I felt like I had to be silenced. Because y’all know…young adults and coworkers don’t want to talk about mortality and fertility and spirituality. But it’s like, how could you not?! Especially after the many ways cancer wrecks and ravages through your life.
The only way to bring light to such a dark experience was to talk about it. Let it out. Make sense of it all. Apply it to how you live your life now so you can actively direct it to where you’d like it to go. Connect with others.
And the best way to start is to get you some breasties!
And by breasties, I mean breast cancer besties.. although the other assumed definition couldn’t hurt!
These friends showed me what it felt like to be understood and that I belonged. That though we didn’t all share the same exact journey, we had all fought the good fight (much love to the ones still in the fight!) and we weren’t alone. Our uniqueness was something to be celebrated, not silenced. And that we could give back to the world from perspectives filled with such tenacity, love, and hope.
It finally feels like everything has truly come full circle. Because of all these amazing stories, from all these amazing souls, I am so so SO proud to be who I am today. Asian American Breast Cancer Baddie. And I can only hope that my story can positively impact someone else, anyone else, in this same fashion. Because then, it would have all been worth it.
Through all the people that came before me, from all different walks of this multifaceted life, I have learned how to find (and re-find again and again) my voice.
Through them, I have found nonjudgmental loving compassion and a sense of connected living in sharing our vulnerabilities. Converting vulnerabilities into superpowers instead of something to be quieted and put away.
Through them, I can once again see (and be proud of) myself.
It is my hopeful intention to represent all communities well. And that I make them just as proud.
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