Mirror, Part 2 I also played another imaginary game. As the self-appointed commander of animals, I took charge and independently led my troops through imaginary conflict. My favorite scenario included me piloting my raft (my bed) with all its crew through rip-riding storms. I controlled the rudder in order to maneuver the vessel around the tempestuous waves. Sometimes, a wave tossed some of my crew members into the water below my bed. Risking my life, I would fling my upper body into the cold water to grasp for them. After the ordeal -- of course, all the crew members were saved -- they hailed me as a superior captain. Nothing could stop me in my playland. Once as I was lunging over to save one of my stuffed animal, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. For a second I saw myself as others saw me. Not anyone in particular, just a Chinese girl. I began to see new things in my looking glass. I now fully realized that I did not fit in the Leave It to Beaver household. I was not part of the all-American norm. I was different. In the midst of my yearning for acceptance, I wished I weren't Chinese. Life would be easier in an Americanized body. |
The idiosyncrasies of my culture made me feel like an outcast. For example,
my mother's normal tone of voice was between a shrill scream and a shout. In
the shopping mall holding up outdated dresses for me to try on, she yelled in
a foreign tongue that only I could translate across five racks of clothing.
Other shoppers glanced up from their selections to find out what kind of
ruckus was developing. Their eyes found me shrinking behind the protection
of outer wear. It was obvious to whom my mom was talking. I looked just
like her. Afterwards, I would try to explain to her that
communicating cacophonously across the store embarrassed me. She only
answered that it needn't bother me and that it was no big deal. Yet, these
things didn't happen to other families. I felt that everyone in the store
singled me out as different.
Holidays also made me feel rejected. I was the only person in my family trying to preserve age-old American traditions. I told them that Thanksgiving dinner consisted of turkey and stuffing, not duck and rice. When rumors began spreading at school about the nonexistence of Santa Claus, I came home to scold my parents about the fact that they hadn't fulfilled their obligation to lie to me about his existence.
Meals hindered my integration with my classmates. My mother concocted
strange sandwich combinations for my school lunch. Sandwiches do not exist
in Taiwan so she had no preconceived idea of what should or should not go
between two slices of bread. I got ham and peanut butter sandwiches; I got
cheese and jelly sandwiches. But, I never got peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches, nor hand and cheese. At lunch, I discreetly separated the
mismatched ingredients onto different slices of bread before I ate.
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