It had been a strange and terrible night. I had watched an uplifting talk by a writer and friend, a survivor of sexual assault and a proud AsianAmerican activist. I’d added a few entries to the list

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MIJN VERHAAL

It had been a strange and terrible night. I had watched an uplifting talk by a writer and friend, a survivor of sexual assault and a proud AsianAmerican activist. I’d added a few entries to the list she’d recently encouraged me to make, gathering moments when my biracial Asian identity has been used to make me feel different or small. Just a few days before, we’d laughed about my first item At the sushi goround in middle school, I wrote, when I had to pretend I’d only eat seaweed salad on a dare because my friends thought it was gross. After the virtual event, I sent her a text, congratulating her on yet another heartwarming talk.

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