(Writing group left to right: Beth Hong, Lisa Odland, Claire Ping, Maggie Wang, Mauree Matsusaka).

The following piece was written by our writing workshop participant Maggie Wang, a Grade 11 student at Sir Winston Churchill Secondary in Vancouver.

Forgotten

The trouble with my cultural identity began on my first day of kindergarten, when I failed the 'Chinese' test.

I had only been in Canada for two years. I sat in a circle with my classmates on the floor, feeling lost as the other kids chatted in Cantonese and English. When it was my turn to say where I was from, my classmates gaped at me in disbelief. They couldn't believe that I was from China. For them, a 'Chinese' person had pale skin and spoke Cantonese. I had tan skin and spoke only Mandarin.

At recess, a group of Chinese girls pulled me over to the classroom kitchen with solemn expressions. They wanted to teach me Cantonese.

For them, a 'Chinese' person had pale skin and spoke Cantonese. I had tan skin and spoke only Mandarin.

Wielding a Fisher Price toy spatula, one of them said a word I didn't understand.

"Hùhng," she said. "Red."
"Hù...hng." I repeated.

Over the next five days, I stuttered and stumbled over countless alien words, not understanding what they meant or why these girls expected me to learn them. On the fifth day, my tutors gave up.

I was playing on the grass field alone when I saw them approach. Their cold smiles made me uneasy.

"Gweilo! Foreigner!" one of the girls shrieked at me, throwing a handful of gravel at my head. The pebbles scattered into my hair. The other girls followed, yelling "Gweilo! Gweilo!"

I fled to the school portable, terrified. From that moment onward, I rejected being Chinese because I would never be pale, speak Cantonese or be one of those girls. I decided that I was just me, no labels attached.

Years later, when I was labeled 'Made in China', I felt hurt.

It was my first year of high school before socials class, and we were introducing ourselves. It started when a boy asked one of the half Asian kids where he was from.
The kid was Indonesian-Dutch, which automatically made him really cool.

When it was my turn to say where I was from, a boy interrupted. "She's obviously Asian, so her grandparents or ancestors have to be from like China or something."

I smiled and said nothing. The others turned their attention to the exotic 'halfies'. I wasn't half as interesting the Filipino-Indian, Indonesian-Chinese, or even the Vietnamese-Chinese kids in the class. To my classmates I was just plain Chinese, like vanilla. However, I wanted to tell the boy who interrupted me that I grew up experiencing international cultures, not limited by my visible ethnicity.

To this day, I wonder if the other 'vanilla' people in my class felt the same way—forgotten.

***
About Maggie:
I'm a Grade 11 student from Sir Winston Churchill. I've always had a keen interest in the many different issues in Vancouver. I want to make a positive impact in the world in my own unique way. I also like to read, write, and hang out with friends.

Related Links
The other two written pieces, by Lisa Odland and Claire Ping.
More Than Our Stereotypes by Lisa Odland
Cultural Milkshake by Claire Ping