Sometimes, at an aimless glance at myself, mirrored in shop windows, I was a little shocked: black hair, long and tilted eyes（斜眼不知道怎么说地道）, a flat face and greenish yellow skin. My indifferent face was no difference from those cold-blooded reptiles. I tried to convince myself that this face was as good looking as others’. Yet, in the meantime, my face looked unexpectedly strange. This is MY face, which I could not easily abandon. However, what on earth connected me to this face? （这一段的时态跟后面的我拿不准是否一样）
There must be numerous American feeling detached to their faces, based upon different reasons. For instance, my family was from Korea, but I could not speak Korean like my parents. I never call the elders in proper honorific forms such as “big brother” and “big sister”. I never date a Korean girl and don’t even have a Korean friend. I never try to work hard as an immigrant as if I were not.
I am an Asian American, in an ironic way, a banana or a cream cake (yellow outside but white inside). Although I don’t believe races determine everything, I am convinced that racial discrimination has been deeply rooted in our minds, on which we rely heavily to differentiate one face from others among the crowd. I do look like an Asian, despite that I am not a typical Asian in many ways.
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