American Like Me

Liza Koshy’s essay slightly deviates from those before hers because her childhood experiences with an Indian-born father and white American mother in Texas were without notable incident. Her city encouraged and upheld cultural differences, and everyone shared from their respective cultures. Koshy’s parents were open about multiculturalism, and Koshy jokes she has always confused people because they can’t pin her looks to any one ethnicity.

Koshy attributes her admittedly odd humor—which may come across to contemporary readers as disparaging or even racist—to her family’s relaxed attitude about how different they look to outsiders. Koshy appeared Mexican as a child, while her sister Olivia looked Polynesian, and the other sister Rahel looked Indian. Of their differences, and the way strangers often thought they weren’t related, Koshy jokes, “My parents […] called me their adopted Mexican daughter” (107). Regarding Olivia, she admits her parents often joked “they were only there [in Hawaii] to look for Olivia’s real parents” (107). Of Rahel, the parents joked “they were just borrowing her,” while Koshy’s “white grandfather used to call me his coffee-colored grandchild” (107).

Koshy also confirms she benefited from a diverse group of friends and classmates, thus adding to her ideal childhood. The only real struggle she mentions is being envious of her friends who had coming-of-age parties like quinceañeras and bat mitzvahs. Koshy tried throwing her own party but failed, so she and her friends dressed up in gowns from their respective cultures and had fun instead at prom (she mentions that prom is one of the most important events in Texas). Instead of identifying America as a melting pot, Koshy embraces differences by calling America a salad bowl, where each ingredient stands out but is still part of the larger structure.

Kumail Nanjiani’s essay explores the American dream in terms of choice. He believes choice is what makes America an ideal place to live. He went to school in small-town Iowa, where he learned there are far more choices for a variety of goods and services in America than in Karachi, Pakistan:

In Pakistan, we had two brands of sliced bread, with wheat and white variations […] The first time I walked into a grocery store here [in America] I remember seeing just rows and rows of bread. A sea of bread (118).

Initially, access to so many choices—even for peanut butter!—caused stress, but Nanjiani eventually embraced having so many options.

Despite the newness and freedom of choice in America, Nanjiani also experienced isolation due to differences. He was considered tall in Pakistan but in America he was shorter than the average person. Also, he felt at times that college in Iowa was a prison; he initially loathed moving specifically to Iowa when there were so many other, cooler places in America.

Once he had a better grasp on the language and began making friends, however, he came to embrace the freedom of choice and everything it offered. As his language acquisition increased, his experiences with “firsts” also increased, such as shaking hands with a girl, and seeing snow for the first time, which was a powerful moment. Seeing snow symbolized for him that, like everyone else, “I was moving at a different speed from everything around me” (119). He could focus on the micro or the macro. Again, he had freedom of choice.

Nanjiani admits that choice equals luxury and not everyone has access to choose in America. Moreover, choice inherently brings up the possibility of failure. Despite these disparities, Nanjiani feels grateful for his past and doesn’t want to live anywhere other than America.

Michelle Kwan underscores just how deceiving it can be to solely believe what one sees on the surface of things: “Figure skating can look so perfect. […] music swirling, graceful leaping […] it can look impossible and magical. But behind the scenes is a different story. It can get ugly” (125).

Kwan details her determination from a young age to be the best at ice skating that she could. She fell in love with the sport before she turned seven and from that point forward she devoted herself to becoming an Olympic figure skater. Kwan promotes the effectiveness of hard work and dedication, as well as never giving up on one’s dreams. There were plenty of times when she wondered if her family’s sacrifices were really worth her drive, but her parents always encouraged her to be the best she could, and she strove to make them proud.

Kwan’s parents are from Hong Kong and mainland China, and they came to America with no money. Her father worked at a Chinese restaurant until he could buy one of his own, and he shared the profits with his own immigrant parents. Once Kwan and her sister determined to figure skate, however, most of her family’s time and money went toward ensuring the girls had all the gear, lessons, and rink fees they needed to pursue their passion. Kwan admits her parents sacrificed a lot to ensure her dreams came true. They often rose while it was still dark to get her to an ice rink several hours away, and her mother even stayed up sewing Kwan’s outfits because they couldn’t afford to buy fancy ones.

Kwan points out that despite her drive, her parents never pushed her to pursue ice skating. In fact, her dad would subtly let her know that she could use her ice-skating money for anything she wanted—like buying candy. Kwan’s focus on ice skating, however, helped her prioritize her life: “In addition to learning to be extremely hardworking, my home life made me very resilient and self-sufficient” (130). Kwan knew she could eat whatever she wanted like the other kids, or hang out like other kids, but she’d committed to being the best and that included mindfulness with her health, time, and money.

When Kwan was 12, she wanted to take a test to move up to the senior level of skating, which would ensure she could professionally compete. Her coach thought she was moving too fast and counseled against it, so when he left town, Kwan lied to her parents and had them take her to the test. She passed the test and was then able to compete, and she confessed to her coach that she went behind his back. This was—and still is)—a major break with protocol (and considered scandalous) in the ice-skating world, but Kwan again asserts that hard work and taking chances are what propel people to success.

Geena Rocero details her experience with transgender beauty pageants first in her native Philippines and later in the US. According to Rocero, “Beauty pageants might as well be the national sport of the Philippines” (133). The pageants that coincided with Fiesta celebrations (honoring Christian figures) awakened Rocero to the world of pageants, despite the irony: “The irony of transgender beauty pageants being a popular shared custom in one of the most conservative religious celebrations is not lost on me” (134). Rocero explains how at the time, there wasn’t a word for transgender in the Philippines. Rocero’s mother never cared that she identified as transgender, however, and never took issue with Rocero wearing her lipstick or clothing.

Rocero’s life drastically changed when her mother immigrated to America for work. Rocero was 11, and even though the family knew her mom would leave (at the time, the US was allowing families who fought for them in World War II to apply for citizenship) eventually, the absence hit Rocero hard.

When Rocero was 15, her life changed yet again after meeting her future mentor—Tigerlily—while helping a pageant troupe get ready to perform. Tigerlily quickly became Rocero’s trans mom surrogate. She helped Rocero to navigate pageant life and become one of the most successful beauty queens. Rocero constantly ranked first and made a lot of money from her full-time job as a pageant beauty queen.

When Rocero turned 17, however, she learned that she too would be immigrating to the US where she faced immediate shock. She’d learned formal English for the pageants, so had no idea how to use or understand slang. She also felt her way of speaking couldn’t effectively convey her true self to Americans. She also couldn’t be a full-time beaty queen in America as beauty pageants were few and far between—especially trans pageants. Rocero had to get a job and make friends, all while missing her pageant community and family back in the Philippines.

While eating in Daly City, San Francisco, Rocero met other Filipinos. She met more like-minded people and heard of a trans pageant soon taking place. Rocero decided to enter the pageant world once again. She ranked, and she felt emboldened by the Filipino community that came out to cheer for her.

Waln starts his poetic essay saying, “My grandmother is an alchemist trapped in a death camp” (143). Waln explores the horrors of reservations and how Indigenous Americans became alchemists to survive “death camps.” The themes of death and transformation continue throughout the essay, and though bleak, provide a pathway toward hope by the end of Waln’s narrative. Waln makes it clear that the US is occupying Indigenous land and, as a foreign entity comprised of foreign invaders, has systematically disenfranchised Indigenous Americans with glaring hypocrisy. He and his grandmother are but two of countless victims.

Waln and his grandmother grew up in South Dakota on the Rosebud Indian Reservation. This is where he learned that his home was, like so many other reservations, a concentration camp—a place where the US forced Indigenous Americans to live while stealing their lands and breaking countless treaties with nations the US was supposed to treat as sovereign. Waln confirms, “To erase us is to erase the evidence of their violence” (143).

Waln’s community is known as He Dog and consists of 30-40 families. Because there wasn’t much to eat, Waln’s grandmother began cooking for the community, thereby turning the little they had into food for many. When Waln’s grandmother saw children at school were afraid to eat pears, she went about revolutionizing food on the reservation. She received permission to educate children on unfamiliar food and began baking fresh bread for them. Her efforts created a food education program allowing Waln’s reservation to better feed itself.

Waln transitions from his grandmother’s alchemy into his discovery that he also possessed the ability for alchemy. His alchemy comes in the form of song. His grandmother feeds people’s souls by healing them through food; Waln feeds people’s souls by speaking about grief and injustice through his rap music and other artistic endeavors.

In a short essay, Auli’i Cravalho details a time in childhood when a classmate told her she wasn’t ethnic enough to identify with her heritage. Cravalho’s heritage includes Puerto Rican, Hawaiian, Chinese, Irish, and Portuguese ancestry. As a child growing up in Hawai’i, she loved hearing stories about her family from her grandparents. In sixth grade, however, she shared her history with her classmates and faced a rude awakening. “You’re too white to be Mexican” (151), a classmate dismissively said of Cravalho’s stories. The girl who’d been mean to her was Hawaiian-Portuguese as well, but her skin was much darker. Embarrassed, Cravalho sulked and wondered why her skin was so light. 

Looking back on the incident, Cravalho wishes she’d felt at the time how she feels about her varied ancestry now—that her differences are what make her unique: “I’d take a breath, look her right in the eye, smile, and say, ‘Well, then, I guess I just look like me’” (153). 

Jeremy Lin faced a lot of adversity—both internal and external—while growing up in America. Much of his initial adversity stemmed from his own high expectations, such as wishing he were as tall as professional basketball players despite being a prepubescent preteen. To try to grow, Lin would voraciously eat, drink “more milk than you want to know about” (159), and do strange stretching exercises in the hopes of growing a few inches.

Lin also had to listen to others’ opinions of him. Other people’s perceptions of his being an Asian American trying to play basketball were often critical (they still are at times) and debilitating: “This killed my game for the longest time. I would get hung up on proving myself. It’s not exactly good for your game to be stuck in your head” (157). A perfect example of this internal struggle came when Lin began playing basketball for two different teams, a team of wealthy white kids and a team of lower-income Black kids. Lin would often be the shining star on the white team, in his native environment in Palo Alto, California.

But when he would play with the Black kids, many of whom were extremely talented players, Lin often internalized his feelings of not being good enough and his attitude came across in his game play: “I convinced myself I didn’t fit in, and it showed” (158). One day his Black teammates saw how well he played with his white teammates and called him out on it. It was then that Lin realized he was struggling with feelings of not being good enough and determined to change. He still suffered from adversity later in high school, especially when people accused him of being a Chinese implant, which always confused Lin because he’s born and raised in California.

Lin’s dedication became infectious, and his parents supported his drive to become a professional basketball player. Despite the racism and xenophobia he experienced—and still experiences—Lin believes his mindset is what matters most. He’s now able to channel his energy into performing well despite what others are saying about him or who they perceive him to be. He now coaches kids to be the best they can be regardless of what they look like on the outside or who people think they are. Lin is the first person of Chinese or Taiwanese descent (American-born) to play in the NBA—something he never would have achieved had he listened to his doubters or his own insecurities while growing up.

Following her parents’ divorce when she was eight years old, America Ferrera’s father Gregorio left the family and returned to Honduras. Ferrera adopted the belief that she didn’t need to worry about her father anymore because, by leaving, he no longer cared about her. She diligently pursued her passions of acting and political activism while growing up; acting allowed her to hide her feelings behind the veneer of make-believe. It wasn’t until she had to seriously emote for a role in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, in a scene where her fictional father leaves her, that Ferrera broke down by tapping into her suppressed anger and sadness.

By the age of 26, Ferrera decided that she wanted to reconnect with her father. She sought the help of friends and a therapist, but when she finally decided to take the step of writing him a letter, she learned from an aunt that he’d died less than two days after she’d made up her mind to contact him. He’d been in poor health and suffered from weight issues.

Later, on a civil rights trip to Honduras, Ferrera had a coworker who knew her dad and could connect her to the elderly woman who took care of him in his last days. The day she visited her father’s gravesite was the two-year anniversary of her father’s burial in his hometown of La Esperanza. Ferrera only had 45 minutes for the trip to the cemetery. She learned a lot about her father from his former caretaker, Doña Maura, but had to leave and cut the experience short.

Ferrera promised to return, which she did two years later as a guest of the show Who Do You Think You Are? Through the show, Ferrera learned more about her great-grandfather, who shared the same name as her father. Notably, Ferrera learned that her great-grandfather was a revolutionary—an activist who inspired Hondurans to rise up against injustice. Ferrera credits this ancestor for her activism. Though she laments how much she lost due to her family immigrating to the US, she also knows that the relocation afforded her the freedom to be an outspoken activist and thereby honor her inheritance.

Ravi V. Patel’s humorous essay about family ties and the power of community ends on a positive note, though Patel admits he and his wife had been having marriage drama, coupled with a sick infant, and all of this was taking place when Patel’s father wanted the family to take a cruise so they might bond. Being on a boat with his family was the last thing Patel wanted but he obliged. Patel then segues into his father’s immigrant tale of coming to America, and he also explains how Indian last names can have stereotypical associations. Patels, for instance, are “cheap and loud,” “adventurous and entrepreneurial,” and they “stick together” (181). The “cheap” part fit in with his father scoring a great deal on the cruise tickets and demanding that everyone go, which itself highlighted the “stick together” part of being a Patel.

Patel explains how his father, like many Indians of the time, was the pride and hope of his village. He excelled in school and once he secured work abroad, the village expected him to help them immigrate to the US (the village also put up lots of money for his ticket abroad). So, Patel’s parents did just that. They connected to the network of Patels and helped bring other Patels to America; they started up resume businesses and helped other family members buy motels (most of whom are now millionaires).

Patel and his sister, however, did not want to go the route of their parents. Patel’s sister moved out to California to be a scriptwriter, and Patel later followed for his acting career.

Patel and his sister decided to make a documentary about their parents’ lives and after years of preparation and dedication, they completed the film. They realized, however, that the film would most likely not make any money. The Patel family rallied; Patel’s father sent the word out to every Patel he knew, and on opening night, the movie, Meet the Patels, was a hit. His parents are famous because of the movie and they live a life of ease due to their own hard work. Patel concludes by explaining how the cruise actually helped him connect to his family and he’s thankful to have such a cheap, adventurous, and entrepreneurial family that sticks together through thick and thin.

Lin-Manuel Miranda pens a short essay about the joy of celebrating Three Kings’ Day as a child. When the other students would assemble after Christmas and compare what presents they received for Hanukkah or Christmas, Miranda and the handful of other Latino kids knew that they still had festivities to celebrate. They’d collect hay around town and place it near their beds, and when they awoke on Three Kings’ Day, they’d often receive the toys they didn’t get for Christmas wrapped near their beds. They’d go to school and compare notes with one another about the presents they received.