Hot steam rose from the pot as she transferred the sticky rice into her hands. Instead of brushing my hair for my first day of 9th grade, I observed her skillfully craft the rice into a rounded triangle and delicately wrap the shape in a thin sheet of seaweed.

These onigiris not only always made my mouth water, but they sent a shock of familial love and pride throughout my body knowing that my mom always crafted them with love. Being the youngest family member, I’ve always had role models rooted in Japanese and Indian influence. Although Japanese, Indian, and American culture drastically differ, I never felt out of place because my family adored the uniqueness I radiated.

    Being labeled as the confident and cheerful of my family members, I was never afraid to be bold or try something new because I trusted that support would be reciprocated. Knowing this, I couldn’t wait to share a glimpse of my culture at school.

For 5 minutes, I intently eyed the second hand of the clock until the jarring bell rang. I dashed to my lunch table and flipped off the lid of the container. Just as my smile was reaching its peak, I heard squeaky voices saying, “Gross, what even is that?” The lunchroom lights dimmed and a spotlight of shame blinded me. My face burned red as the corners of my mouth flopped down. I resealed the lid, explaining that my mom forced me to bring this. For the remainder of lunch, I sullenly sat with an empty stomach and a container full onigiris that once resembled love but now symbolizes pure embarrassment. My unique identity that I once took pride in stirred up humiliation. This cornerstone that I cherished shattered under my feet. This betrayal sparked a pang of hatred for my culture, and I wanted to bask in the comfort of resembling the ideal American teen. That night, I declared that I no longer enjoyed our ethnic foods, and I demanded that I would only bring peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I sensed the hurt in my parents’ exhausted eyes, as their confused yet offended faces gazed at me.

Regret overtook me, and upon introspection, I realized that I was losing grip of what I truly valued: my family.

The family that constantly believed in my abilities and applauded my uniqueness.

I didn’t want to restrict a part of me that had the ability to spread joy. Even if some did not appreciate the diversity I brought to the table, those opinions do not have a hold on my pursuits. Because of this small yet significant occurrence at school, rejection no longer has a negative connotation to me because the rejection is done to the idea proposed, not to me, the proposer. Consequently, this rejection allows for fresher ideas and additional acquired knowledge. Despite frequent insecurities, I am continuing to grow more confidence in diversity. I will always hold onto what I value no matter the costs. Whether friends are playing Guess-Arisa’s-Ethnicity or I propose a different approach to solving a math problem, shining light on my differences is worth it because it is my way of giving back to my family and standing up for the values that have shaped the person I am today.