Being Vietnamese-American

When I was growing up in the Bible Belt of the Midwest, I was surrounded by blond hair, light-colored eyes, fair skin, and “Christian upbringings". To my parents, I was Vietnamese. To my American friends, I was Asian-American. To myself, I was both and neither at the same time – a member of the one-and-a-half generation. I am an insider and an outsider, both Vietnamese and American and yet neither simultaneously. Even though we had immigrated to America, to my parents, Vietnam still existed at home. Eventually, by the time I reached 17, my “sheltered" box began to become suffocating; its walls now more like bars than comforting arms.