Comfort In My Skin - Katherine

Hear me, Understand me, Support me: In Their Words - Young women's stories, advice and wisdom

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They say you can't choose your parents, nor your religion or sex. What if you could? What would you change? Would you be happier? Or would you stay the same?

Since the day I was born, I had always fantasized about the "what ifs." Would I have been treated differently by my parents if I were a boy, or would boys like me more if I had blonde hair and blue eyes?

There are times where I have to stop myself and think, why bother? This is my reality; I'm a Vietnamese girl with a Vietnamese family and background, living in a middleclass, white, male-dominated society, of which I am none.

Perhaps it is a conditioned feeling or the need to be like everyone else, but growing up even in a very diverse community, there have been times where I have struggled with who I am in the world and where I come from. I had always been envious of the people around me, who were proud to be African, Jewish, Greek, Chinese, Italian and the list goes on. So why didn't I feel the same way? There were times I was confused and was on cloud nine daydreaming about the "what ifs" again.

So I backtracked. Stereotypes. Stereotypes, stereotypes, stereotypes! No one wants to fit into the stereotypes; I certainly never wanted to. Maybe it was my neighbour. My 30-something neighbour, her workaholic husband (who I seriously cannot remember ever seeing) and her six-year-old son who was my age at the time. Yes, I admit that I liked being his friend because he had soooo many toys and I'd walk in and start playing with his tricycle and stuffed toys without taking off my jacket or winter boots, and trust me I got in so much trouble for that, since his mother had to be the biggest neat freak on the face of the earth. His house always smelled funny, the kind of smell that an Asian elderly institution had. It's Chinese food-ish smelling. I didn't like it. Inconveniently my neighbour. I just didn't want to be like him. He wore ugly sweats that were bright yellow and green with those robot machine–like characters on them, and he wore that outfit a lot. Trust me, a lot (I just hope he has a better sense of style now). He spoke Chinese so loud to his mother, which was annoying - and I don't understand Chinese either. In a way, I felt ashamed that I came from a similar background from his. He was plain weird and he was basically my first encounter with being uncomfortable with who I was.

I guess I'm blaming him now, but I won't forever. The point that I'm making is that I simply did not click, connect or however you want to describe it. I felt different. I wanted to wear the latest trends, go up to the cottage in the summer and own a minivan, just like all my other Caucasian friends.

My parents made a big impact on my views while I grew up. They had had different pasts, different experiences. My father left to join the navy at 19 and my mother came to New Brunswick to start over from scratch since her degree in education was worthless in Canada. Both had dealt with racism and hardship coming into a new country. Thirty years later, there are times when they would say, "We're not like them, we re different" or, "We're Vietnamese, not white." I'm not saying that they were hardcore, it's us against the world. But more like some people just cannot accept us the way we are, so we have to work hard to stay at the top. The top would be successful Caucasian men I guess.

Parents have such an influential role in our lives. There are some that are more adaptable and others who really value their religion and culture. Strict religions, like Muslim women who have to wear hijabs or Sikh men that wear turbans in public. They dictate values such as medical care and relationships, even the use of tampons. Some still value arranged marriages. The pressure of cultural expectations from friends, family and most importantly ourselves is a constant tug of war. Some are labelled, others face discrimination. During the summer, I worked at a summer camp and this one camper said, "I thought you were normal, I didn't know you were Chinese." My first thought was that I wasn't Chinese, for the millionth time!!! Then I thought wait a second, normal?! So I asked her, "What do mean, normal?" She answered, "I dunno."

Race has many meanings. Skin colour is one of the first identifiers. Clothing for others. Some are so proud of who they are, they're proud of their heritage. But there are people like myself who basically had a struggle becoming ourselves and not realizing that our race is who we are. I am Vietnamese, not African or Italian. Even as a kindergartener, all my friends were Caucasian. I would get so caught up playing dress-up, I forgot that I had jet-black hair and brown, almond eyes with tanned skin. There are so many barriers like stereotypes and stigmas and fighting labels and expectations. Race and culture is a large part of who we are, and is an issue that must be surfaced when dealing with depression. Internalized racism can lead to self-hatred.

Having limited or poor communication with a doctor, teacher and especially family are barriers that keep young women from speaking honestly about what they are experiencing. As a family member or physician, you have to meet them halfway. Be honest. Make it clear that you are trustworthy and are listening. Our society needs to be more accepting of difference. There needs to be more diverse doctors working in drop-in centres, hospitals and clinics. There should be more diversity in the media as well. And being half-Caucasian and half-Asian doesn't fully count! Even in schools, having teachers from all parts of the world would be great.

If we look and analyze how racism makes us feel about ourselves, we can begin to overcome it and be more aware and more self-accepting. As for me, I never saw my little neighbour again, I learnt to brush off any hard feelings with the little camper and I know that my parents will always love me. I'm not implying that I'm cured and my confidence has soared through the roof, but I'm working on it. I am happy, with no regrets. Internalized racism occurs in many young women. It is a contributing factor in depression that can be helped.

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Comfort In My Skin - Katherine

Hear me, Understand me, Support me: In Their Words - Young women's stories, advice and wisdom

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