“Reassuringly American”: Assimilation in an “Accepting” Society

“You can do anything,” my mother still says to me, “do not let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

I grew up in a fairly conservative city. I was surrounded by media that did not represent me: all skinny white girls in Limited Too catalogs, Disney Channel shows, and pop songs. I found solace in Bollywood: the elaborate garb I would try to replicate with a few treasured clothing and jewelry pieces sent to me from India by my grandmother, the language I never had a chance to learn-- becoming a fast reader because of my dependence on English subtitles, and the music sounding unlike anything I found on iTunes charts, the dancing I would meticulously practice on my living room floor. I lived in a bubble, soon to be popped by American education.

Slowly but surely, I changed parts of myself, all in the name of assimilation. When I was in fifth grade, a KKK sympathizer gunned down a Sikh Gurudwara in Wisconsin because he thought they were Muslim (as if that were even a good reason). As part of a Sikh family myself, my identity became my own monster-- I lived in fear of things that I should have been proud of; things that my white counterparts never had to think twice about.

For a long time, I wanted to discard any part of myself that made me “other.” How much easier my life would be, I thought, if I didn’t have the burden of balancing two entirely different cultures. If my mother said I could do anything, why couldn’t I do that? I became obsessed with the clothing brands my white friends liked, I liked the same music they did, I did everything I could to fit in. In other words, I ignored who I was, where I came from, and the intersection of my identities as a South Asian, as a woman, as a citizen of the USA.

Government and politics have always interested me. I would and still spend hours delving deep into news websites, fascinated that so much can happen at the same time. Last year, I took an identity politics class where I could choose a topic to focus on. I chose to write about South Asian American representation in politics, where the theme of being “Reassuringly American” came up. You must have culture, but not too much. You must show people that while your background is rich with culture, you are still “American”. I always struggle with just being called American, as there are so many Americas -- North, Central, South-- that often get overshadowed by the USA when we take over the label of “American”.

It wasn't until I entered college that I began exploring my origins -- I took classes on South Asian music, film, and language: the things I never had the chance to learn about in school before. I was finally seeing myself in what I was learning, often calling my mom after class to tell her what I learned in my classes; new information to me was just unearthed childhood treasures to her. I surrounded myself with people who were different from me but still somehow shared similar experiences with their identity. I joined UNC’s Asian American Center Campaign Team, and I met such amazing people from all over campus. For the first time, I didn’t feel alone in my journey through understanding my identity. I had support from people my age, and I finally felt part of and committed to something. I had the opportunity to speak about my experience as an Asian American at an Open Mic Night we did at Epilogue, a new coffee shop on Franklin Street, and the catharsis I felt in voicing my experience in such a public setting was something I never knew I needed. I am a citizen of the United States of America. I am the daughter of immigrants. But I was born in Roanoke, Virginia. My father graduated from UNC in 1988, and went on to Wake Forest for medical school. I am pursuing a career other than health, but that doesn’t make me less of an Asian American, and my parents are so proud of me and all I’ve done in my life thus far. I thank my ancestors for everything they did because the rich history that creates my identity is thanks to them.

My name is Serena Kaur Singh, and I do not need to be “Reassuringly American” to myself or people around me be assured in myself and my abilities.