Sabrina LeMond

ENG 111

Personal Narrative/Scholarship Essay

February 18, 2021

What are you?

“What are you?” “You’re too white.” “You’re too asian.” “Do you speak asian?” “You’re

white-washed.”  “Do you eat dogs?” “Go back to where you came from.” Imagine being a child

at nine years old, brand new to a new country, and being greeted with these hostile words. I,

unfortunately, do not have to imagine. 

My father was a United States sailor and served in the U.S. navy for thirty years, the last

ten years as a master chief petty officer. He is a well respected man who has made countless

sacrifices for this country. My mother was a young, beautiful woman in Japan working a job and

attending school simultaneously in order to become a kindergarten teacher. My parents are from

opposite sides of the world, and they ended up falling in love and getting married, neither one of

them hesitant due to their differences in race. My father, born and raised in southern America,

speaks English while my mother, born and raised in the city of Chigasaki, Japan, speaks

Japanese. They would speak broken English and Japanese to each other with no judgement when

they inevitably made errors in the way they speak.

I moved around a lot as a child, although mostly just within Japan. I have never stayed in

the same house for more than three years. I have never had a place to call home. The uncertainty

of the duration of which I would stay in the same school eventually hindrenced my ability, or

rather want to make friends. I had already experienced an overwhelming amount of heartbreak

from losing friends because of the countless painful moves. The pain that I had experienced,
though, did not prepare me for the agony I would face when my parents had told us that we were

moving to America. 

My father had been stationed in Japan for sixteen years. The only country that I had ever

known was Japan. I was confused and felt anxious when I was told that I had to leave it, but I

also felt excited for the new experiences and to open a new chapter of my life. After the hardest

goodbye of my life, my mother, brother, sister, and I entered the airplane, leaving the rest of my

family behind. Little did I know, that 13 hour plane ride would be the last 13 hours of my

innocence.

As soon as my father greeted us in the airport after a long and tiring journey, I received 

stares. I did not catch on at the moment but as more and more people looked, I realized that they

were looking because I did not resemble my white father. Until that moment, I have never felt a

disconnection with my father and my identity. I was no longer my father’s daughter. I was now

my father’s asian looking daughter. 

From that day, March 13th, 2012, I became aware that I was different. Not different in a

unique, creative kind of way but different in a strange, and abnormal kind of way. I tried to

embrace my culture in America but my easily mendable perception of anything that is not

“native” to the country created obstacles. I would bring in Japanese food and would hear “what

is that? It smells weird.” and I would wrap up my lunch box and put it away. I would bring in

traditional kimonos to school for show and tell and the only people who would actually care

about it was the teachers. 

I have never felt at home in America. The supposed melting pot was not as I expected to

be and provided much disappointment than delivered expectations. In order to feel accepted and

not looked at as if I was going to contaminate them with my foreign disease, I would try to
repress the Japanese side of me and embrace the white side of me. I am half white and half

Japanese so what is so wrong about hiding the half of me that everyone seems to be scared of? I

grew up with my parents admired by my community and suddenly, we did not even belong to

one. We were too different. We were tainted. We were not American enough. After 30 years of

sacrifice made by our whole family, we were not American enough. 

Today, at eighteen years old, I still experience shame for being different. Embarrassed

that I will never truly be “American.” Though what exactly is American? Since when did

American equal white? The minority groups in this country have become so accustomed to

allowing society to rule that white is somehow better. That white is civilized and any other color

is vulgar. WHO decided this? Why do we accept this stereotype. I cannot provide and answer,

for I do not know the answer. I do, however, know a way to ease the tension about the topic. I

realize that some people who happen to be white may read this essay and feel uncomfortable

because it is a politically sensitive topic. I believe, however, that in order to ultimately close the

divisions within our society based on our skin color or outward appearance is to feel

comfortable. We should feel comfortable talking about real problems. Acknowledging that racial

problems exist is the very first step in changing our systematic division.