AAYP 2015 Youth Ambassadors Scholarship

Yue Sunny Zhao

I remember daily walks in a big park, a crowded red train car, serene temples, my grandparents taking care of me, riding in my dad’s brand new green car, and a  bustling city. Those are some of my memories from when I was 3 years old. They’re practically all that I remember before immigrating to the United States with my parents. I don’t remember the flight or even getting on the airplane in Taiyuan or Beijing. The only thing I can recall is walking down a massive white hall with my dad and our bags in tow. We were walking towards a large revolving door surrounded by glass and I could see an empty dark night sky. But in the distance, I saw a  vast horizon full of sparkling lights just as if stars from the empty night sky had moved to the ground. I only learned much later that what I saw was the pulsating  life of New York City.

I’m 16 years old now and I’ve lived most of my life here in NYC. Since our arrival nearly thirteen years ago, we’ve been traveling back to China  every other year to visit relatives and friends. In school, I grew up secluded from my peers because I couldn’t speak English. For several years I took ESL classes to  improve my vocabulary. Even when I became fluent in English, I wouldn’t dare to talk. I was too shy and afraid of being rejected if I tried to make friends. Eventually I learned that I was simply considered as a quiet Asian kid that kept to himself. It saddened me just how true that description was.

My mother became a U.S. citizen a few years ago, which makes my father and I the only ones that are still legally considered Chinese citizens. Throughout my life  I’ve never once considered or saw myself as an Asian American. Truthfully the thought never popped into my mind, I’ve always believed that I was Chinese by birth. On one trip back to China I was introduced to my father’s old employer. We were having lunch when my mom described to him how I believed I was Chinese even  though I was raised in America. He was happy and welcomed me as a fellow citizen. His acknowledgement made me joyful but not everyone felt the same as him.  My grandfather and my aunts admitted that they no longer saw me as Chinese, but as American. Their words hurt me but were confusing at the same time.  Although I feel happiness when I’m recognized as Chinese, many others have complimented my speaking skills in English and that also gives me great pride.  Sometimes people would ask whether I liked it better in the U.S. or in China. I always tell them the same thing, I love both and I can’t do without either.

With each  passing year, I felt more at a crossroads. I realized that I wasn’t completely Chinese despite my adorations of the culture. I can’t write in Chinese nor are my  speaking skills as good as they used to be. I’ve grown to love NYC and all of the people that I’ve met. I can’t imagine a life elsewhere had I not grown up here. I feel  pride when I see Chinese success stories in the news but I also love hearing about America’s power in history and its position in the world. Now I have the choice of  becoming an American citizen myself. With my mom already a citizen, she’s capable of making me one without all of the paperwork and tests. Never have I felt more divided on what I wanted to be. It frustrates and makes me sad beyond measure. Because to me, my passport is the last official document that makes me  Chinese, without it, I don’t know what I’d be and it scares me.

My parents have given me until my 18th birthday to decide. That’s less than 2 years to make a final decision. China doesn’t allow dual citizenships either so I don’t have the luxury of keeping my original nationality. I’ve thought about who I am for a very long time. For a kid born in China but raised in the U.S., Asian American is a good term but it doesn’t portray how I feel. I’ve come to believe that my mind and how I think is American but my heart and what I love is Chinese. A pretty good combination in my opinion.