This week, I was assigned to write about what it’s like being a racial minority at Cal Poly. But as I’m sitting at my desk, (okay, lying on my couch) trying to write this, I’m realizing that this is going to be a lot more difficult than I had anticipated. The thing is, I don’t normally write about serious things. My articles are always full of hilarious (or at least I like think they’re funny) one-liners, sarcasm and Mean Girls references. I write about relationships, cute boys and how to deal with it when your ex-man gets a new girl-fran (the solution is to shake it off, BTW) – not about race.
After dozens of drafts – one of which literally included the line “because I’m a little bitchy and do what I want” – I realized that a topic like this warrants something much more serious than a gif of Aaron Samuels smiling in math class. So, after a few days of reflecting (and more than a few PSLs), I finally gave some serious thought to what being a racial minority at Cal Poly means to me.
The truth is, sometimes I think it’s overwhelming. I always make jokes about how I’m “basically white” or how I’m just the token Asian of my friend group, but underneath all that sass (and there’s a lot of it), is something less funny: No matter how many quintessentially American characteristics and habits I have, I still feel like I don’t belong.
When I see pictures of my friends and me, or look around in my classes, it reminds me of my kindergarten class homework, you know, where you have four items and have to find the one that doesn’t belong. In a sea of blonde hair, wide eyes and light skin, I stick out like a sore thumb. My almond eyes look almost closed next to theirs, even when they’re open, and the darkness of my skin and blackness of my hair make it seem like someone put a weird filter on just me. On one level, I know most of my friends don’t think this is a big deal at all, but on another level, it means a lot to me. When all I’ve ever wanted to do was fit in, I stick out instead.
When I look around and see all of my beautiful, beautiful peers, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if I had more common physical characteristics: if my hair were lighter, or if my eyes were wider, for example. Would people stop giving me weird looks when I say I speak French, but no other languages? Would the woman that came to my door the other day, looking for somebody who spoke Mandarin, not have found fault with me for saying I’m from Sacramento, and not some place like China or Hong Kong? Would my ex-boyfriend – who said himself that he’s always preferred blondes – have liked me better if my hair weren’t black?
Even though I think of these things every day, my anxieties are often short-lived. Why? Because even if I don’t initially feel like I belong, the love and respect that my friends, my sorority sisters and my classmates treat me with makes any racial differences all but disappear. Personally, I’ve found that Cal Poly is way more accepting than it is homogenous. Save for the occasional, inadvertently stereotypical questions from well-meaning friends, like “How do you use chopsticks?” (Answer: uh… with your hands?), the more interactions I have, the more I’m convinced that physical differences really don’t matter. At least, not to the people who are truly important. After all, is the fact that my friend and I have different colored hair really more significant than the fact that we both love kids or have the same sense of humor? I didn’t think so.
Who you are, where your ancestors come from, and what you look like as a result of those things are important. After all, I definitely wouldn’t be the same person I am today if I didn’t grow up eating dim sum on Sundays or calling my grandparents yeh-yeh or mah-mah. But cultural and racial differences shouldn’t ever be a reason not to fit in with friends; it should be seen as a talking point or a learning experience that’ll bring you even closer.
No matter what kind of diversity challenges you may face in life – racial or not – there are good people out there who would much rather celebrate your differences than isolate you for it. And when I say, “good people out there”, I mean, “good people right here.” We live in an amazing town that shouldn’t be dismissed for lacking diversity just because there may be much more of one race than of another. I rolled my eyes the first time I heard about the Mustang Way, but trust me: it’s alive and well. Love yourself, and love your neighbors; we’re all homies here.