I Knew What to Write
“What factors do you think impact our identities the most?” I didn’t feel like answering or participating. However, I knew it was something I had to do if I wanted a good grade. You’d be surprised how big of a part participation is in 9th grade English class.
I raised my hand. “Race and ethnicity.”
Another student raised their hand too. “Culture.”
Stereotype #1: Asians are always smart.
“Wait, Tasmiah! Aren’t you Asian?” A former classmate asked this as I looked up confused. I remember shuffling a deck of cards. Games like Tag, Marco Polo, Cops and Robbers, and Hide and Seek didn’t amuse me or the nine year olds I hung out with. Spit. Idiot. Egyptian Ratscrew. Garbage. Chinese Poker. Sandwich. Card games were and still are a big part of how entertainment was established in 4th grade in PS/IS119 in Glendale, Queens.
“I don’t know. Am I?” I’m going to be very honest. I didn’t know that physical appearance depended on your race. My parents never even brought up the fact we were Asian in the first place. They didn’t even know what it meant. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know I was Asian to begin with.
“You’re Bengali, right?” I nodded. “Yeah, you’re Asian. You know Asians are usually the smart ones, right? They usually do well in school, pretty much all the time.” My eyes widened. No one ever made me feel like I was smart. No one ever made me feel stupid either. I looked down to hand out the cards. We were playing the game, Idiot.
At that moment, I kind of felt like one.
Stereotype #2: Asian parents are strict. One wrong move. Get a Lecture.
I was in seventh grade. I guess every Asian had an origin story to how they were or are still so smart: Their parents. Even I had to undergo the extra hours of tutoring and classes to get into a good high school. It was exhausting. Sleeping in math class first thing in the morning was okay though. I was good at math. I wasn’t always good but now that I was, sleeping in class was something my math teacher was patient about. I think she was the one who helped me realize grades didn’t define a good student. I still think back to it. I sometimes also wonder if she was wrong or not.
“You have to get into either Brooklyn Tech, Bronx Science, or Stuyvesant. Otherwise, we’re actually sending you to tutoring for SATs. You will get your phone taken away until you get a 1600 as well,” my parents would say. Unrealistic, but okay. Our school had a thing for students going to specialized high schools after they graduate middle school. Not that middle school graduations matter to my parents though. Or anyone in my family. PS/IS 119 may have cared. Not my family though.
It’s not the only thing that adults expected from me.
Stereotype #3: Girls must be taught how to be quiet, gentle and proper.
I was baffled. I wasn’t surprised. I was mortified.
In seventh grade, I took the bus by myself. With my friends, of course. It would usually take thirty minutes to an hour to get to school. Twenty four minutes by car. One of these days, the bus was drastically late and obviously in the bleak winter, it didn’t make it better. Ice cream is good when cold. Iced tea is good when it’s cold. A horrible day to go to school is better than a horrible day to go to school when it’s cold. So obviously, I asked my father to drive us. I was talking to my friends as usual. I was loud, I’ll admit.
“Tasmiah, don’t you think you’re talking too much?” It was a rhetorical question that my father asked. I noticed. My friends didn’t talk as much as me because I was contributing more to the conversation. “You’re more talkative than your friends. Girls must be calm and quiet in our culture. Why can’t you be like them?” My father was always annoyed in the mornings. That’s an excuse.
I was silent for the rest of the car ride. I didn’t react but what I didn’t know was that that piece of advice wouldn’t apply to me soon.
I was baffled. I wasn’t surprised. I was mortified.
