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.