Looking back at my childhood, I realize that it wasn’t the 10 years of physical abuse by my step-father that hurt the most; it was watching my mother stand idly by as I screamed for mercy. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom. That was part of the problem.
Until recently, my whole life has been a desperate attempt to become loveable. As an Asian American growing up in the 80s, I loved this country. Yet my love was often rejected with angry chants of “go back to where you came from.”