Personal Narrative: I Am An Asian American Citizen

I was anxious as I walked into the DMV, unsteadily holding my credentials and papers waiting my turn to be called up. “Next,” said the receptionist monotonously. I walked up, my face burning as I handed her the stack of papers thoughtlessly. In that stack was my birth certificate, a piece of paper with my name and place of birth on it: Wilson Ta; Seattle, Washington. I am an American citizen. One of many, and a part of the diverse, colorful community that is the United States of America.

However, as I grew up my definition of an American citizen became obscure. I know I’m a citizen, but as an Asian American, I am permanently branded as a perpetual foreigner. Even though I am American, they see me as other. Although, the evidence they used was an American document with a Vietnamese surname. led the path for my experience as an Asian American.

Huddled up in our small tables, as we stared at the problem. Lost and confused we yearned for the answer and slowly eyes turned towards me hoping for an answer.

“Wilson, what’s the answer?” At a loss of words I dismally reply,” Sorry I don’t know.” As lost as I was, my appearance invited that question. They told me that this was positive discrimination, that I’m naturally smart. The living, breathing evidence that proved that if other communities of color just tried hard

Asians, the prime example of immigrants living the American Dream. I unwilling participated in anti-blackness, stuck in the middle and used as the model minority. I became the systemic division between White Americans and Black and Brown Americans. The realization that my experiences minimizes the racism other people of color appalled me. Although I may not have the exact same experience, I still understand what it means to be a victim of racism. This sentiment resonated with me and became a goal to stop systemic racism and promote racial