Why I Love (and Hate) My Asian Heritage

There’s something profoundly spiritual about rice — how it’s not just a staple in our diets, but a symbol of life’s simple yet profound lessons. I remember sitting at the dinner table, watching my grandmother carefully wash the rice. Her hands, wrinkled maps of her long journey from Asia to America, moved with such precision. “Every grain is precious,” she’d say in her mix of broken English and Mandarin. That was her way of telling me to appreciate the little things, to find joy in simplicity, and to understand the value of patience and care. But here’s the twist. As much as I cherish these moments, they also remind me of the heavy expectations placed upon my shoulders. The pressure to excel academically, to land a respectable job, and to honor the family name — it’s like carrying the weight of a thousand grains on your back. It’s both a blessing and a burden, a dichotomy that’s as complex as the flavors in our cuisine. <a href="https://medium.com/asian-mosaic/why-i-love-and-hate-my-asian-heritage-26fa5b5b9ea9">Website</a>