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By Zoe Hsu
Los Angeles is my home, but sometimes I feel like a foreigner. I could feel glares on my family because we were the only Asians in Coco’s Bakery. As my father told me his order in Mandarin, the waitress immediately rolled her eyes. Even though I translated, the waitress’s disgusted expression on her face lingered in my mind for the rest of the day.
These types of situations were common. Whether I had to order their meals or interpret complicated bank statements, I was their translator. Even though I am proud to be my parent’s advocate, I couldn’t help but feel a hint of embarrassment. At times, I wished my parents spoke more English because I wouldn’t be confronted by other people’s racism. Why couldn’t we be like any other American family?
When Lunar New Year arrived, my family and relatives all decided to dine at a Chinese restaurant to celebrate and give thanks. As I struggled to read the menu and place my order, my face became bright red as the waitress failed to understand what I wanted. However, my mother came to the rescue and translated for me. That’s when it hit me: the tables were turning and I was wrong and foolish for looking down on my family.
Traveling outside of Temple City also made me realize that I took the prominent Asian culture in the San Gabriel Valley for granted. Asian restaurants and stores are on every block in Temple City or Arcadia, but there are little to none in states like Massachusetts and Washington D.C. The fact that my hometown promotes Asian cultures made me realize that I should be appreciating my Taiwanese culture in America.
My parents and I both have flaws with communication and the cultural disparity between us is evident. However, that does not mean that American culture is superior to my Taiwanese culture simply because I live in the U.S. I should be finding a balance between my two identities and celebrating my cultures because they can coexist.