Bicultural

Posted by DL (Entrada alumnus) on May 15, 2014

Walking into school, when I was seven years old,
My mind was blank and innocent, ready to fit the mold.
Tabula rasa, blank slate, my life waiting to unfold.
And when I sat down, this, this was what I was told:

“You are different – yeah – different than us,
With your nerdy little brain and in math an A+.
You stare at us with squinty eyes, and you talk with buckteeth.
Your face is so damn flat – what, did you run into a tree?
What you got there in your lunch box, fried dog and cat?
C’mon, let us see – where’s that wonton soup at?
You wonder why, all the time, you sit alone on the bus?
Well it’s cause you’re weird, different, you’re not one of us.”

I had no choice but to listen – the voices didn’t fade away.
From my friends and foes – misconceptions didn’t stay away.
Boxed into a corner – had no choice but to accept.
Threw all these things into the box where my identity was kept.

But…

I am different… Different than you.
I eat gumbo and calzones and fried rice too.
I don’t care about med school – I like to make art.
There’s so much to me, I d’know where to start.
Let’s see, basketball, chopsticks, poetry, beer,
Philosophy-soccer-dumplings, and chasing after fear.
Español, Borderlands, and I’ve got a small nose.
My mind is Yin and Yang, and spreads Zen where it goes.

I am me, you are you, but “we are we” is not a thing.
We are who we are inside, not defined by our skin.
A face says nothing about the person underneath.
To shatter the illusions, we need to let go of our beliefs.