As an Asian American, I am stereotyped on a daily basis. There are some people who snicker at my driving skills, stare at the food I eat, or ask if I am raised by tiger parents.

Over time, I have become accustomed to these stereotypes. But it was only a few years ago that I first experienced them.

Growing up, I had no exposure to stereotypes. I was born in Mill Valley, a city a few miles north of San Francisco and raised in South Korea. Because of this, I grew up speaking Korean instead of English and was quite shy as a kid. 

Since I was raised in a homogenous society in Korea, I had no idea that other ethnic groups such as African Americans and Latinos existed until I moved back to the states.

My earliest memory of racism was during elementary school. 

My teacher had just given us a group assignment. I was getting ready to do it when my classmate asked me if I could do his assignment for  him.

Confused, I asked him why. He then promptly said that he didn’t want to do it and that I should do it for him because I was Asian.

At the time I didn’t know what he was talking about. It wasn’t until later that I learned how offensive that was.

In 2011, I saw a video of a UCLA student slamming Asians in a rant video. This was the first time I felt hurt and angry because I was Asian. Calling an entire group of people rude and dependent on their parents because they’re a certain ethnic group is ridiculous. That video made my blood boil with hate toward that student. 

Upon entering middle school, I was introduced to stereotypes about different ethnic groups as well as my own.  I became used to someone calling me a geek or dork because I could solve a hard math problem, or asking me if my meal was cooked dog.

There were times in middle school that I avoided some people because I was afraid of them and didn’t want to associate myself with them.

I can still remember the first time someone called me a chink. It was in seventh grade and I was eating lunch in the courtyard minding my own business. Someone pointed his finger at me and laughed while shouting, “Chink!” 

“What’cha eating, chink?” the person said. “I hope it’s not my dog you stole last week.” 

Tears came to my eyes, and I went inside crying. I had never been called this before.

During seventh grade, people would yell “Go back to where you came from!” I hated these comments and became very depressed because of it.

But now, after the events that happened at school this year, I believe that we need to overcome the evils of racism to support each other through these tough times. 

It might be funny to crack a racist joke once in a while, but judging people daily on the basis of their ancestry should not be something we should be used to.