I live not for orange chicken,
nor Miss Saigon-style hats.
We left that behind in 1975,
as wide eyes watched tall American soldiers leave the land.
I gave my posthumous blessing to it, burying
the microscopic fragments of my identity with it.
Don't mistake me for my white-washed "counterparts"
where we are fetishized, brutalized, expected to be little more
than China dolls and complacent smiles.
I don't stand for model minority nor 'ching chong.'
My race cannot be standardized like a test.
I stand for me.