I have been reading "Yellow: Race in America Beyond Black and White" by Frank Wu.

There was a passage that hit home for me besides his reminsicing of steamed fish with ginger and soy sauce.
He talked about how from time to time, whites would say to him, "Oh, I think of you as white" or "Oh, I don't think of you as Asian."

I have probably been through that for as long as I can remember. Except it was: "Oh, I don't think of you as Asian, you're really black" or calling me "blasian" or "chigga."
And I never really thought about it. Because I think I took comfort in the fact that I belonged. I never really reached out or could sincerely connect with other Asians, specifically Chinese.
Here were people that said, "You're not different, you're one of us." As if it is the "ultimate compliment."

But why should I allow people--friends--imply that it's better to be something else besides Chinese? The only reason why they could connect with me is because my mannerisms were similar to theirs, and that I listen to R&B and hip hop, and that I have rhythm, and that I wasn't well-off like the white students. And if I were to be "typically Asian" they would most likely not talk to me.
Wu talked about how it is like distinguishing a good minority individual at the expense of the bad minority group.

I know my friends did not intend hurt or harm, and that they just did not know. And I never showed that it bothered me.
But it now bothers me. I am Asian. I am Chinese. It is not a bad thing.

I'm glad I was able to struggle with this, because I think this was one of the factors that had held me back from embracing my identity.