“The Answer”: To Coco at 18 and beyond. To Asian Americans and beyond.

Who am i?
Who am i
To judge the world
When its in love
In love with itself
In love with one another
Too busy in love to care about me
Why, i’m just a speck of dust
i didn’t ask to be here
Here to watch everyone else fall in love
Who am i
To be mad at the world
When it's unfair
When i think it's unfair
But who cares what i think
Who cares about what a girl thinks
A yellow skinned girl
With shriveled up almond eyes
And a flat slab taken for a nose
Too quiet for others to hear
But too odd for others to miss
It's funny how achievements
Time that i’ve dedicated
Can seem so worthless in their eyes
They credit my race
My stereotyped race
They think it’s natural
Natural for me to make good grades
And stay respectful and disciplined
Little do they know
Those pitch black nights
Lonely dreams
Guided by fears of rejection
And misunderstandingi questioned my life
My presence my worth
i asked myself where
Where i wanted to go
i asked myself why
Why can’t i be lovedButSuddenly
Through the shadows of my dreams
A light glistened
And brought epiphanies and tranquilityNowi finally came around
My dreams became colorful
A compass cleared upI knowMy life is guided by a moral code
A code that values ethics
A code that reminds me
To hold my head high
And keep going
As long as i know
It is enoughI am enough.They don’t have to remember me
For my success and accolades
Though i hope they do remember
A confident girl who found herself
Amidst the silence of support
And cacophony of barriers
A girl who didn’t slip into the abyss
The abyss of conformity
Where everyone else is perfect
And she herself is lacking
Though too many times betrayed
Too many times let down
I remember
My original goals
Goals
Goals that i’ve set
Dreams of helping others
Understanding others
Moving others
No matter the treatment
Remember good
Remember there is lightBecause even in the darkest hours
A voice inside echoes
Like the streaks of the sun
After a stormy surge
I remind myself
I am not here to please the world
I am here to change it
So, hey, don’t worry about what they think
Think about yourself
Put yourself first . . .
I am meant to be here
I am strong and courageous
Independent and wonderfully made
I will make my mark
And stand up for myself
Myself and others that know how it feels
To be thrown around
They can toss us however they want
Because in the end
We designate our paths
Our paths don’t have to align
Because why should they?
It is our life
Our life to live and think and cherish
To treasure and trust
Looking back it even seems funny
Funny how the world judges
Just a couple of words
A couple of gestures
A couple of remarks
Can make me question myself
Like a caterpillar
I shut myself out
Out of the voices of the world
I reflected and pondered and listened
Listened to the stabbing pain
Pondered on my original values
Reflected on myself
Hey you, yes you
The pain is ephemeral
It comes but it will also go
Let it goThen the electrifying embrace comes
You wrap yourself around love
And self-awareness and euphoria
You, yes you
You are enough
You deserve to be happyThere will always be ones that care
Care enough to pull me out of the shadows
Wake me up
And remind me to love myself
The answer is simple
The answer lies within myself
The answer:
Love myselfWhy do i care what others may think
Why do i let them dictate my life
Life that i now treasure
Hey you, yes youI am CocoI didn’t ask to be here
But I’m glad I’m here
Here to make my mark
And here to radiate positivity
Here to balance life and continue life
HereHere I am.No longer confused
No longer ashamed
Vision no longer foggy with tears
For my eyes are clear
I don’t see much
Because my waxing crescent eyes
Are too busy smiling
My wonderous crescent eyes
Love yourself
Appreciate yourself
You are meant to be here
Never question that.

"Con": Reflective Essay

In Vietnamese, you taught me that the word for child is “con”. My parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, elders, and the adults I just met on the street use it to address me. I use it when referring to myself. A word taught since I was little, I should always use it as a sign of reverence and respect to the adults around me, as the use, or disuse, of this word can define and shape my
present and future relationship with them.In Vietnamese, the word “con” is considered informal when referring to those younger
than you. When you refer to me, mom, you use “con” as a calling word to beckon me downstairs
into the kitchen. You use it as a fighting word and as a commanding word. Whenever you yell at
me, the word takes on a new meaning. It means that I am under you and that I am some
nondescript creature that is out of your control. I am no longer my own personal self, but instead, a person defined by my condition of being below you. As a Vietnamese person raised in America, I have been taught to be independent and to question authority if I ever want to break out and change the course of my life. As an American person raised in a Vietnamese household, I
have been taught to be respectful in my speech and to put my parents and family before myself.In a war between progressivism and traditionalism, I am stuck between cross roads, not able to take one path with full assurity. Automatically, I am below the adults around me, with my ideas and opinions disregarded because of my age as well as the simple fact that I am an American in a Vietnamese body. However, when the time is right and we are no longer on opposite sides of the battlefield in a turbulent and costly war, when you refer to me, mom, you use “con” as an endearing word.Everytime you say it, I hear it as “my child” no matter what my actual age is. It is used when I am in tears at the dining table over the AP Computer Science A exam I am taking the next day. When a year’s worth of a Java class consisting of for loops, while loops, methods, booleans, instance and static variables, public and private classes, and array lists cannot reassure me, a
simple “con” can. Suddenly, I have you by my side unconditionally supporting me. Suddenly, I am the same little kid held in your arms each night as I fall asleep. As a Vietnamese person raised in America, I hold pride in my identity. From the knowledge given to me by my immigrant parents, their hardships from growing up in the Vietnam war, their childhood, to the
immersion in the customs, family unit, clothing, food, hair, and flat noses, you make me feel complete in a world of confusion and ambiguity. I am free to be as Vietnamese or as American as
I please around you, because just like you, the word “con” does not discriminate between mainlanders or the American born.“Con” requires the acceptance of your outer and inner appearance—inner being the hardest to reconcile with. Being Asian in one country, but American in the other, I live a unique
experience that neither group will ever understand. I am constantly assulted with the salty Pacific waters of discrimination, the belittling of my struggles, and ignorance from both sides, all crashing in to me, determined to make me drown. However, none of the outside world and its labels seem to matter when I am at home with you. Whenever we share a meal or an experience
together, or whenever you simply call me “con,” the whole world seems to stop for just one moment. So despite our fights and our misunderstandings, I am thankful to have been born as a
Vietnamese person raised in America because I can always hear you calling for me, even in an
ocean of noise.

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"untitled": Reflective Essay

Sheltered by the prosperity and protection of my parents, I was often shielded from many atrocities that deeply affected people. I never knew of race, sexuality, misogyny, or wealth disparity and accepted the narrative I was given, up until I was directly affected by it well into
my juvenile years. Being thrusted into the reality that others faced every day without anything to
safeguard them, was adjacent to a toddler’s safety blanket being taken away from them, and suddenly I became hyperaware of the cruelty that has always been happening before my eyes. Growing up, I was often the only Asian child in my class/grade. Habitually mocked,
poked, and prodded by my Hispanic and White counterparts, this was the first change that shattered my reality one of many times. I never understood why I was singled out, why people came up to me pushing their eyes back, or why I was met with disgusted looks and incessant
interrogation asking if I ate dogs, until I understood. I look different from everybody else. Even in Miami, the renown cultural hub it is, I was an outcast amongst a community of outcasts in respect to the rest of the country.Intense divisive sinophobic propaganda dating from the Gold
Rush, back when America was even more so overtly racist, has many lingering effects even today that shapes the public opinion of Asians in a way that either infantilizes us or paints us to be revolting, inhumane savages. It was clear we were never welcome, unless our presence was at the will of the white folks that hoarded all the power; in which case, we were viewed as “exotic” and categorized into stereotypes that often untrue. I would never be an American, even though I was a natural-born citizen who has never seen my fatherland; in my own home, I am the perpetual foreigner. I had faced several unrealistic expectations stemming from my race since the start of my academic career. For many years, I bought into the racism and xenophobia that was plagued me by many ignorant people for a cheap laugh at a major expense of my self-esteem and self-respect. Today, I am repulsed with my behavior that many others participated and I in and cannot help but to view myself as a sellout. The racism that Asians face is distinct and had certain elements that differentiated it from other people of color’s experiences, but I could never articulate what I was experiencing firsthand although I knew it was happening, which all pushed me to do more political science research and it has never been more liberating.Many people hold the firm belief that Black and Asian communities are the antithesis of each other, and each riddled with anti-Black/Asian rhetoric towards the other. Exploring and studying reintroduced the solidarity that has been concealed by the misinformation meant to estrange and create a perversion on the dynamic between two deeply related, intertwined communities. It has tremendously driven my pursuit of cognizance, especially in light of the recent rise in hate-
crimes against Black and Asian victims. Since I was aware of the existence of politics, the privilege of being apolitical was one I was never privy to.My current reality has been constantly shifting with no stable ground with each part of my identity that was being discovered, as a queer and transgender Asian man living in a world catered to people with the privilege of being white, heterosexual, and cisgender. The global consciousness I have achieved was not out of compassion for others, but for the survival of myself instead. As time marched on and my worldview widened, my life experiences were becoming less adjacent to a toddler’s safety blanket taken away and closer to my skin being peeled away on a deeper, visceral level with each piece of information I absorbed. The hypersensitivity I exhibited was a result of every fragment of myself being chipped away, an experience that nobody else would be able to understand. This is an open letter to anyone that has called me sensitive as a rebuttal to my challenges the racist norms.Reflecting on who I am now in comparison to myself
four years ago, I know I can never back into to blissful ignorance.