The day I wish I could forget

3 hours before … I snoozed my alarm clock for the 15th time before I finally managed to get out of bed. I slipped my backpack on, threw on my shoes, and untangled the rat's nest that was my hair.

My mother handed me my lunch and reminded me to “get those W grades beta” mumma where did you learn that? “Oh i saw it on the TIK TOK”

Once I got to school, I ran to class, careful to avoid… certain people (the opps). I liked to get there early anyways to get my favorite seat. The very back corner. Hah. 

Halfway into math class, the two white girls who sat in front of me loudly whispered “Oh my gosh what is that smell?!” “I don’t know Rachel, but it smells like… Curry to me.” So I tapped them on the shoulder and said “IM SORRY, at least my food has flavor.” 

Well, At least that's what I wish I said. In reality, I sat there pretending I couldn’t hear them, allowing their constant insults to consume me. 

2 hours before … as I was walking to second period, a boy in the halls yanked my backpack, sending me falling to the floor. He spat on me, telling me he was just cleaning up my dirty skin. I almost let myself cry, I almost let myself fight back, I almost let myself scream. But I was used to the routine of this bullying, used to feeling like I didn’t belong. So I stayed silent. 

1 hour before … I managed to slip out of class a bit early for lunch. I went to the bathroom at the back of the school, the only way for me to avoid the insults and stares in a cafeteria filled with people that viewed me as different.

I sat on the seat, fully clothed, don't worry, and opened the lunch my mother gave me, palak parathas, spinach tortillas.

3 minutes before, the familiar musty quietness began to surround me, and I thought about how I ended up here in the first place. Then my phone began to ring. It was my papa…

“Beta, it… it’s your mumma.”  

My mama was at Patel Brothers, an Indian grocery store, and as… as she was walking out a, man, 6’3 with dark hair and white skin, came up behind her. 

“YOU DIRTY ILLEGAL. HOW ABOUT YOU GO BACK TO YOUR OWN COUNTRY HUH?”

“NO. NO. STOP. Please.

“COME HERE! NOW”

“NO. NO”

3 hours after my mumma’s death, I still couldn't breathe. 

3 days after my mumma’s death, the brutal comments and kicks fueled by the same racism that took her away from me still haunted me.

3 weeks after my mumma’s death, the murderer got away by claiming “self defense”. Everyone believed him. 

3 months after my mumma’s death, my grief still hasn’t faltered. 

My mother is just one example of thousands of Asian Americans who have been subject to hate crimes. And so I stand here, not asking, but begging, you all to open your eyes and start seeing all Asian Americans as people, and nothing less.