an essay by Kai Robertson
For those who are alienated, discriminated against, and isolated by xenophobia in the so-called “freest country in the world,” you are seen, you are heard, and you are loved.
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Today is January 16th. I’m on my way to my 5th grade classroom, while my stomach aches with anxiety. I looked out the foggy window, the only thing protecting me from the bitter, cold rain outside. My mom is driving me, and we left the house extra early today so we could have donuts for breakfast. Today is my birthday.
“Are you excited for your special lunch today?” my mom asked cheerfully. She stayed up all night making kimbap, a Korean seaweed rice roll, for my entire class. She knows it’s my favorite food in the entire world. It takes hours to make, but she does it every year anyway. She must be exhausted. My mom immigrated from Korea when she was 25 years old, 17 years ago. Her English isn’t the best, and her accent makes it hard for some people to communicate with her.
“Yup, I can’t wait!” I replied with the biggest smile I could muster. How am I supposed to tell her that I didn’t want her to bring the kimbap to school? She worked so hard on them just for me. The guilt was unbearable. I ate the rest of my donut in silence.
“I’ll be back at lunchtime with your favorite! Have a good day and remember that I love you very much, Elliot.” I opened the car door and stepped out into the stinging rain. She drove off, waving. I walked to my classroom and waited for my teacher to arrive. I’m always about 10 minutes early everyday, and I usually have to just sit by the door until someone lets me in. There were a couple of my classmates already there, one of them being my friend, Patrick.
“Hey, happy birthday Elliot!” he said. Everyone liked Patrick, and he was probably the smartest kid in my class. I wish I was him sometimes - his life seemed so easy. His parents bought him all the best toys, and he made friends with everyone he met. Even the teachers liked him.
“Thanks, Pat!” I replied, just trying to forget about lunch.
“What’d you bring for the party today? Don’t tell me it’s those gross rice balls that your mom always makes, is it?” he asked, laughing.
“I’m not sure yet; my mom will definitely come by later to drop off food for us, though!” I chuckled, trying not to make it obvious that my eyes were tearing up. All I wanted to do was run to the bathroom and hide for the rest of the day. I wish I could just be like everyone else. They always order pizza and bring mini cupcakes for everyone to share. My teacher walked up to the door and unlocked it. “Good morning, Mr. Leon,” I said quietly.
“Good morning, Elliot. Happy Birthday,” he said with a grin. We all followed him into the classroom.
The entire morning, my hands were shaking and sweating. I was counting down the minutes until my mom arrived with the food. I felt sick and lightheaded for hours, until it was finally time for lunch. I looked out the window and saw my mom’s car drive away, splashing puddles in the parking lot. Someone on the intercom called me down to the office to bring the food to my class. I dragged my feet on the way down the hall. I was so nauseous with anticipation. I picked up the metal tray of kimbap and slowly walked back to my classroom.
“Now class, Elliot was kind enough to bring some food for us to celebrate his birthday with him, so let’s all say thank you,” Mr. Leon announced.
“Thank you, Elliot,” the class said in unison. They opened the lid to the tray of food and passed plates out to everybody. Usually, I love when my mom makes kimbap, but when I got my plate, I couldn’t even look at it. All I wanted was to be somebody else. When everyone got their plate, the entire class began to sing happy birthday to me. I couldn’t do anything but sit there. I dreaded every single second of it. When they were done, everyone but me took a bite of theirs.
We all sat in silence, most of my classmates eating theirs out of respect, and a couple even looked like they were enjoying it. Some, however, couldn’t help but express how gross they found it, one of them being Patrick. “Eww, what is this?” some of them said, before spitting it out. “This is gross, how am I supposed to eat this?” others said.
“Let’s not be rude, students. I’m sure that this food is very popular in Korea, and just because you may not like it, doesn’t mean that others won’t,” Mr. Leon reassured us. All I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and disappear. I hated all of my classmates, I hated Mr. Leon, I hated the stupid kimbap, and in that moment, I hated being Korean. I was so ashamed of it, and I wanted nothing more than to be like everyone else; to be like Patrick. Tears were streaming down my face. I didn’t say a word for the rest of the day.
The dismissal bell rang at 3:00pm, and I left the classroom as soon as possible. I walked down the hall to the main entrance and walked through the doors to find my mom first on the student pick-up line. I got into the car as fast as I could.
“Hi Elliot! How was your day at school? Did your friends enjoy the kimbap?” she asked enthusiastically.
“Hi Mom! Yeah, everyone loved it, thank you,” I replied. My clothes were soaked by the rain, and I was freezing. My mom turned on the car heater.