Oh the things I might have been…

When a friend of mine would get asked as to whether or not he missed having siblings growing up as an only-child, he would often reply that he didn’t know, because he never had them. In the absence of something, you do not know that you are missing it. The idea of its existence seems so strange and then to be faced with the suggestion that one should have missed it, feels somehow threatening.

As a child, it did not occur to me that I was being typecast when professions like a doctor or lawyer were suggested as something I should aspire to become. I just presumed that everyone’s family pushed the same ideas on them. When I got good grades in math and science, I did not realize that people assigned my race as the reason behind it since my true love was in English and the creative subjects. 

Then, sometime in high school the protective scales of naivety fell from my eyes allowing me to see the role of stereotypes and feel the weight of expectations. My first instinct was to rebel. I quit playing the flute, which I was good at, because Asians were seen as good in music - never mind most played string not wind instruments. I stopped making an effort in math because I always got an A on my work even when I didn’t really study. While science was an actual struggle, I made it through mostly because learning was something I did excel at. Yet, I did not apply myself further than getting a good grade since, despite my early childhood dream of becoming a doctor, I despised the idea of being labeled and boxed in - even though I was told that I had a good reaction to drama and trauma when called upon to be level-headed. Instead, I aspired to make use of my creativity and words. The anonymity of the arts gave me freedom and a sense of equality in their reception.

What I didn’t realize until more recently was that representation really could have made a difference. 

Seeing someone who looks like you in a profession of any kind matters. If I had seen a female Asian doctor or lawyer represented in job fairs, college pamphlets, hospital boards, etc., I might have pursued those professions more seriously. 

Watching films on mainstream culture, not just Asian ones, with Asian people who aren’t necessarily “Asian” matters. If I had seen a normal, unfetishized or exotified female Asian performer, I might have come out of my shell to sing in choirs, audition for a school play, or even joined the Youth Philharmonics with my flute.

Reading books written by Asian people or with an Asian worldview matters. If I had read Asian stories by Asian-American authors based on their experience in fiction or non, I might have pursued my writing as a profession when my eight-year-old self determined that was my life’s passion and purpose.

Viewing magazines and covers highlighting Asians matters. If I had seen Asian teens and women wearing clothes and make-up that represented the cross-cultural expression I desired, I might have believed it when someone said I could be a model, or that my eyes were pretty rather than squinty, or that my clothes did not have to be baggy to prevent lustful eyes of objectification on a “lesser” ethnicity.

Having friends who share similar life experiences from a POC perspective matters. If I had been able to make friends with other Asians without feeling stereotyped or labeled, I might not have felt alone and found my confidence, voice sooner rather than now in my 40s.

Sadly, none of these things were available to me until the disturbing COVID-19 pandemic hit the world. Aside from the obvious physical and mental toil the virus itself caused, society was not prepared for the spiritual attack it would make on its people. **When I speak of the spiritual, I do not refer to religion but on the heart of mankind.**

An illness more deadly than even cancer has begun to take hold of our spirits. Like cancer, it will be extremely hard to eradicate now that it has been given roots from which to grow. It is one of division and hate. It is one of ignorance and ego. It is one of envy and pride. 

Because Asian representation has been nearly nonexistent thanks to being considered the invisible race, people do not know what they do not know. Then, in an instant, the world was forced to face the fact they don’t know something about a deadly virus, about a country of its origin, and of the people who come from said country. Not knowing causes fear, which as Yoda has taught us “leads to the dark side”. 

Through this fear, the invisible were suddenly seen. Perhaps, it is overwhelming to some. Perhaps, it is frightening. Perhaps, it is threatening. Perhaps, I’m being too generous; but make no mistake, I am most definitely not justifying. 

So, representation not only matters to those of us who identify as Asian - whether just on the inside or just on the outside or both - but it also matters to those who need to see us. It matters that we are seen in mainstream media, pop culture, the arts, as well as the math and sciences. 

With this year’s Oscars awarding Asians in the film industry, we are taking steps in the right direction. With more Asians on the TV screen in series and advertisements, being seen is becoming more common. With every step out from under the invisibility cloak, fear lessens so that fewer reactions against the unknown occur. 

If representation of Asians had been even a fraction of what it is today, I could have been so many things in life - a doctor, a musician, an artist. While I am not saying I still could not become any one of those things, or that this is true of just about anyone regardless of race, color, or creed, I am saying it would have made a difference. 

The point is that we cannot underplay the role of representation on all the things I/we could have been.