Look Me in the Eye

Anonymous

Digital Art


The topic of identity is so prevalent today. Cultural identity, gender identity, religious and professional identity— to us, these black and white labels make up the sum of a person. In the fall quarter of 2021, during my first ever class at UCSD, my TA told us to share three things: our name, our field of study, and one pastime we enjoyed. This was the most basic icebreaker in the book. Anybody could answer it in their sleep.


If my ten year old self was able to meet the person that I would become in ten years, I don’t think I would be able to recognize myself. It’s not because my current field of study in computer science is about as far removed from my former dream of becoming a comic book artist as possible. It’s not because I cut my hair, or even because I changed my name. I say that the past me wouldn’t recognize myself because when it came for my turn to speak, I said that my favorite pastime is going on walks.


Throughout my life, the only two passions I’ve ever truly maintained have been drawing and playing the violin. I truly loved doing both, no matter how much it reinforced the Asian kid stereotype. Back in high school, and even early on at community college, these were facts that everyone knew about me. Art and music had always been as much a part of my identity as my culture and heritage were to me. One other thing about me that has always been constant: I hate walking. I would always rather bike or drive, rather than walking the two blocks from my house to the convenience store.


Not even three years ago, I would have given a completely different answer to all three of the prompts in the icebreaker. I came to this realization as the lie about my favorite pastime left my mouth. Between the time that I started community college and now, at UCSD, I had lost what used to be a core part of myself. Sacrifice, hard work, and perseverance would ultimately bring about success. As the eldest child of four, I had already accepted that I had the responsibility to pursue a stable career so that I could become a dependable pillar of support to my family, and so I enrolled in introductory programming courses at my community college, instead of the art classes I wanted to take. STEM has always been primarily male-dominated, and from the onset, I felt painfully out of place. My male peers joked about girls who passed classes only through the help of their boyfriends. In group projects, I would almost always be the person sent up to present, because, according to my teammates, the teacher would grade more leniently on a pretty face. I found common topics of conversations, which revolved around topics such as crypto or the latest graphics cards, to be inane, and found no one with a similar interest in art or music. A part of me felt guilty, as though I were contributing to the stereotype that women didn’t belong in STEM, just because I didn’t share the common interests of the rest of my peers.


I felt a burning need to prove that I belonged in computer science, that I was just as deserving of a seat in class as anyone else. In an effort to fit in, I cut away everything that I felt separated me from my peers. I gradually stopped sharing that I enjoyed art or music. I cropped my long hair short. I poured my energy into programming, my art pad and sheet music was left forgotten in a corner, their absence replaced by mountains of homework. For a while, my solution worked. I didn’t stand out in class, and felt I was on more equal footing with the rest of my classmates.


In the name of resilience, I sacrificed my identity and my passion. Asian cultures generally hold anti-LGBTQ values, and many perceived me as a transgender man, and openly looked down at me, calling me “confused” and “a little girl playing pretend.” I began experiencing gender dysphoria, and had no idea how to answer when people asked for my pronouns. I transferred to UCSD, completely unable to grasp who I had become.


I am lucky that my transition as a transfer student did not simply end on that day, during the icebreaker on the first day of the fall quarter. Instead, I was fortunate enough to have met many wonderful people at UCSD. Here, unlike at my community college, there are people from all walks of life with all sorts of backgrounds who welcomed me with open arms. Talking to them began to remind me of who I used to be, and I began rekindling my own interests as I talked to them. Gradually, I’m forging a new identity by reclaiming and merging pieces of my former identity, with the one that I had created at my community college. I have no plans of going back to my former name, but a year ago, I wouldn’t even have considered entering this contest. I now make the effort to make plans for things besides just schoolwork, and I’m slowly improving my own quality of life as I begin prioritizing my health over my assignments. My journey is far from over, and knowing that I’ll wake up to a better tomorrow is what keeps me motivated to keep on pushing forward, one day at a time.


Disclaimer: Many storytellers here shared vulnerable experiences, which might be triggering to some. Please see below for resources.