Marissa Lindaman

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a girl from my class confronted me in the bathroom with what would become a familiar line of questioning. “Are you Chinese?” “No.” “Are you Japanese?” I shook my head. “Well, what are you, then?” I wanted to inform her there were more than two countries that made up the Asian continent but I was too confounded to answer. There was something in my face that other people deciphered as a thing displaced from its origin, like I was some kind of alien or exotic fruit. “What are you, then?” was the last thing I wanted to be asked at twelve because it established that I stuck out, that I was ...more
Crying in H Mart
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