My Birth Mother

When I was a kid, my parents immigrated to the United States. Just like the immigrants who came to build the railroads during the peasant uprisings in China, we also came for greater economic and educational opportunities. The Asian immigrants who came long before my family faced de jure discrimination through legislation such as the Chinese Exclusion Act, which was the first law that banned immigration solely based on race, and the California Alien Land Law, which prohibited all Asians from owning land in California. Chinese people were referred to as “Yellow Peril” at that time, and they were dehumanized and hegemonized by those in power. In 1871, anti-Chinese racism led to Chinese massacre in Los Angeles’ Chinatown. During the Covid-19 pandemic, hate crimes against Chinese Americans rose dramatically, which shed light on rising anti-Chinese sentiments. As a result, many Chinese Americans have continued to live in fear because we do not feel safe when we are blamed for something that is not our fault. This scapegoating has forced some of us to stop trusting our neighbors and people who were once close to us, and suddenly, our communities no longer feel like home. Instead of facing the new challenge together, we have been forced to brave the struggles alone. 

As an undocumented immigrant, I had faced difficulties in accessing healthcare and affordable housing. When we arrived in the US, my family couldn’t find any jobs despite being well-educated, and we were cramped in a one-room apartment. For the longest time, I hated being Chinese. I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be “American.” I wanted to live in a house like most of my classmates. I wanted to go on all of the field trips that my peers got to go to. I wanted to celebrate my birthday with my grandparents. But I couldn’t because I’m not American. Even when I got my green card, my number was called the Alien Registration Number. To me, “Alien” is a name that truly defines what it means to be undocumented in America.

Over the years, I’ve finally stopped resenting being Chinese. I finally started to embrace my Chinese identity by learning more about Chinese history, celebrating Chinese holidays, and speaking in Chinese. Today, I can tell you that I am proud to be Chinese American. 

Today, the Chinese community hopes we can stick together through the good times and the bad. We don’t want to be distinctly Chinese— want to be both Chinese and American. We want to celebrate both cultures and all cultures.