“GO BACK TO (insert country here… usually China or a country the U.S. is currently bombing)!”
Is something I, and many other Asians in the United States, have heard screamed at us. Ironically, though the term “Asian-American” encapsulates such a dizzyingly diverse composition of peoples so as to be nearly meaningless, experiencing anti-Asian racism is one of the few things Asian-Americans actually have in common. Well, that and the love of rice and putting sewing materials into Danish Butter Cookie tins.
This kind of racial harassment, in addition to living in a country with a long history of anti-Asian immigration laws and anti-Asian violence, leads many Asian-Americans to feel as if they do not fully belong. I’ve certainly felt this way many times in my life, and it is a feeling that is complicated by the fact that I am an immigrant. Sure, I am a US citizen now, pay taxes, vote, and volunteer at my local elementary school, but there is a deep sense in me that the US is not my homeland. So, with the rise of President Trump and a quarter-life crisis in full swing, I’ve decided to go back “home”.
This blog will be a series of observations of Myanmar through the experiences of someone is is not quite a foreigner.
Side note: I was probably supposed to publish this post on this blog before posting anything else, but whatevs. We can be rebels here.