University of Georgia

Terry College of Business
 
 

I often wish that I could live in a place where yellow, red, white and black could become one. This dream has not come true.
 

In the land of white men, white crust and white suburban neighborhoods, I grew up as one of the few "yellow" kids in the neighborhood. Being spatters of yellow on a canvas of white made us proud.

My father always taught me to stick my chin up high and hold my head straight. Ever since early childhood, I lived by the premise:; "You are Chinese. Do not disappoint your race. Always accept defeat."

Defeat in a white world came often. Almost every "white" I encountered in school, neighborhood and even church had an image of a "yellow" person.

In junior high, I was coaxed into the math club and practically forced to join the science club. When I failed miserably in the first math tournament, I endured weeks of laughter and mockery.

"What kind of Chinese person doesn't do well in math?" I heard one fellow "yellow" math genius say to her friend. I had disappointed my face, quickly becoming the center of curiosity and then dislike. The few other "yellows" in the school seemed to satisfy everyone's expectation of what an Oriental should be -- a genius, high IQ, math whiz, science star, honor roll every quarter, Harvard material. They fit the mold.

I was the only yellow person who didn't seem to excel in math or science -- and my father's being a biochemist made it even worse. During a dissection of worms, I almost cut off the worm's head accidentally. Once, when I decided to pursue acting, I was met with frowns of disapproval.

"I didn't know a Chinese could act," one white slice said. What many whites didn't know was that I grew up in cruelty and confusion. When I was 9, I came home to find "chink" sprayed across our newly paved driveway. I wanted to kill whoever wrote that.

From elementary school on, my very Chinese last name became the center of jokes. I learned to cope with the ignorance by pretending not to hear or see it. There were times when I would fall into a world of depression, once wishing that I had been born white, another time wishing that the "yellows" outnumbered the "whites."

Some white people who decided I was "OK' would ask me questions that made me laugh inside.

"Are you Buddhist?" "Are you a communist?"

Once, in global studies, we discussed the history of Japan.

"Ask Amy, she'll know!" voices began to cry.

"I'm not Japanese!" I said, seething with anger.

Another time, a scroll filled with Chinese characters was placed before me.

"What does it mean?" they asked.

It was very difficulty explaining to 26 blank faces that I could not read Chinese, and the only thing that I could write was my name.

I learned that being one of the few "yellows" in the land of white makes everything into a world of proving and explaining.

My mom once told me that I was a representative of the Chinese race and that I would have to prove to those Mei gua yuan (Americans) that I was more capable of doing things than they. I have not reached that goal. I often wish that I could live in a place where yellow, red, white and black could become one. This dream has not come t rue. For now, I am still -- the yellow.