Chinese American Vampire
By Andrew Huang (Huang Po)
Chapter 1: Chinese School
I don't know what's going on.
I don't want to be here.
I'm in Chinese School, around 10 years old, in a class of 20+ kids where the teacher is giving us new Chinese characters to learn. My older brother, Alex, who's in a different class, seems to have no problem memorizing everything effortlessly. Everyone in my class seems to follow along effortlessly too, but I keep thinking, I can't remember one character. Is this happening with anyone else? Am I normal? Don't pick me to read anything.
Please don't pick me.
"Huang Po, can you read this?"
"Umm."
"Sorry… Can I get the pinyin, please?"
Everyone laughed.
Hysterically laughing.
My heart is beating so fast, I'm frozen. There's a ringing in my head. I can't say anything. Think. Move. I can't do anything. I don't want to be here. Please. I want to go home. Please.
The laughing was probably a minute, but it felt like eternity.
I might have had a panic attack, because everything went dizzy, heart beating like crazy, my hands sweating – hot flashes like I was dissociating. And an overwhelming feeling of dread.
I wish I could say this was my last time in that class, and I begged my parents to not bring me back, but they kept saying no, and I kept going to Chinese School every weekend, getting picked on in class, everyone always laughing, and the cycle continued.
It confirmed something I knew as a kid and would struggle with to this day.
I'm not very smart, and plenty of people are butts.
And I never want to feel this way again. I never want to feel embarrassed as I ever did in Chinese school. The feeling of dread, feelings of humiliation. Never again.
I have a hard time understanding what's going on in most conversations and also have poor memory and reading comprehension. It's especially hard to hide when I go to a weekend school with Asian geniuses and being called out by the teacher all the time.
Chapter 2: American School
During my K-12 weekday school days, it was easier to hide, because there were more kids in class and I liked sitting in the back. Not only that, I worked hard. I studied. My 10-year-old self thought, okay, other Asian kids are smart, but I'm sure I can catch up to white kids academically.
I was wrong.
In high school, I remember my classmates always saying how they didn't study but still aced tests, while I would be there working twice as hard to be at their base level.
This fucking sucks.
As cheesy as this sounds, Rock Lee, from Naruto, was always my idol.
In the series, Rock Lee was the only kid in his class who couldn't do any standard ninja techniques beyond physically fighting. In a world where people can breathe fireballs or literally cast body-crushing sand attacks without lifting a finger, it felt like Rock Lee had to work twice, four times as hard to catch up.
And, I thought, if I could do that, maybe I can catch up to my peers too.
So I worked hard. Like studying at 2 a.m. in high school, and could barely keep myself awake in class. My older brother — a high school senior at the time, both street- and academically smarter than I am — would ask to copy my AP Bio homework.
But despite working so hard, I still felt hopeless in school and stayed quiet to avoid being called on.
What I was fighting subconsciously was my fear of being seen for who I really am, and how imperfect I am.
So, I guess you can call that social anxiety.
And it definitely didn't help my anxiety that my gym teacher would make me run under the shade while my peers watched me from the basketball courts.
I was running in the shade, because I have EPP, or "Sun Allergies." It's a rare blood disease that causes a severe burning sensation when you are exposed to the sun. Even exposed for 5 minutes, I would instantly feel like I'm on fire, but you can't see any of the burns until a day later. I'd put ice packs on my skin for whole days and sleep was nonexistent. Usually the day after, there are dark purple skin patches and swelling like that one kid who turned into a blueberry in “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.”
I'm basically a real-life vampire.
I thought being stared at or bullied for being called "sun kid" (which makes no sense by the way) would make me overcome my social anxiety. But it didn't. It actually made it worse, and made me want to hide, even though I couldn't.
I wish I could be normal sometimes. I wish I could join the rest of the kids out in recess. I wish I could feel normal enough to ask questions in class, instead of feeling ashamed that I'm lost.
Instead I hid in shame of feeling slow-brained or feeling like I'm a burden to have around during spring or summer vacations.
I didn't want to feel those things, so I worked hard to overcome and improve upon my disadvantages, but in all the wrong ways.
I worked harder in school. I worked harder than my smarter, athletic brother, who my parents constantly compared me to, and I consistently burned out from overworking. I could have spoken up in class and asked questions, but I didn't. Instead, I played catch-up on what I missed after school and studied an unnecessary amount.
I played outside sports despite my EPP and went to the ER for literally being burned out. I could have just focused on indoor sports, but I didn't. Instead I kept forcing myself to go outside, hoping I'd get used to it. Spoiler alert: I did not.
Chapter 3: College
When I was in late high school and then college, I focused on something else. Something I was good at. It was art: making short narratives and documentaries.
I thought if I applied the same amount of effort I put into things I sucked at, and put my effort into creativity, I could finally be happy.
I thought art could finally make me feel good enough or feel normal, but it was really just a shield to hide from my disadvantages.
In late college, I was finally diagnosed with a learning and reading disability. I have trouble remembering what people say, my reading and speaking is slow, and it takes me a long time to understand what people are saying.
Oh also, I was diagnosed with social anxiety. That one didn't surprise me.
Although it didn't surprise me, I didn't take it seriously. I just thought it was unimportant, and my confidence in my artistic talents allowed me to overcome my anxieties — the anxieties of what I have struggled with so much in grades K-12.
Chapter 4: 1st Job
When I had my first corporate job, my jitters and panic attacks came back. I was expected to present during meetings, and I couldn't pay attention to anything my clients were saying. Not to mention I hated it.
It felt like Chinese school, where I never wanted to be picked on to speak.
I was also too shy and felt like once people see the real me, they won't trust me, because I'm constantly asking people to repeat themselves. I was so afraid of people knowing of my learning disabilities and how I have to work around that.
So I just stayed quiet. And, my career suffered.
I always felt like I was running away from who I am. Even to this day, where I'm working at a job full of people who are both academically and book-smarter than me. And my bosses would pick my other colleagues to do jobs because they spoke more confidently and could go out in the sun for days like a normie.
My disadvantages are really messing up my life.
Chapter 5: Covid Times
The pandemic happened.
My parents became jobless.
I felt obligated to help them with their mortgage, and so I stayed at a job I wanted to leave for way too long.
I eventually snapped, quit my job, stopped paying their mortgage, and realized something.
Most of my life, I was always worried about making sure people were happy.
My social anxiety was always tied to making people feel okay. And not disturbing the peace.
I thought my disadvantages were making my life miserable, but it's really my fear of advocating for myself and always playing the victim card.
I thought I would upset my teachers or my classmates if I kept the class behind because of my unintelligent questions, or asked things that had already been answered.
I wanted to keep my parents happy, when they told me to keep going out in the sun and I'll eventually get over my sun allergies. Yeah. No. That never happened.
I wish I could have told the kid who didn't want to go to Chinese school that he didn't have to go.
I wish I could have told the kid in high school to call out teachers who aren't teaching properly or teachers who would make fun of students who didn't know the answers.
I'm a bit slow. So what?
I'm done tailoring towards people's approval.
I want to stand up for myself, because no one else will.
I wish I didn't feel like I'm never enough because I'm not as smart as everyone else or couldn't stay in the sun for too long.
But, it was never about being smart or a day-walker. Never has been.
I was ignoring the fact that I'm always comparing myself to people.
I outsourced my worth and self-confidence.
I thought I was worthless, because I'm surrounded by people who don't have learning disabilities or sun allergies.
I don't want to do that anymore. I want to stand up for myself, not because I feel smart enough to say it, but to say what I know, in my heart, is right.
Chapter 6: 2nd Job
I'm at a new job now, and still surrounded by geniuses and stuff.
I thought I'd be more confident, because I work on creative stuff that I'm good at.
Nah.
My colleagues thought I was not worthy of moving up in the company because of my anxieties with speaking to people.
Welp, that sucks.
Something has to change.
Recently, I confronted colleagues about how they view clients, who we are literally supposed to work together with. Instead, my colleagues saw our clients as competition. As people to beat. Not as human beings, who are just trying to make a living.
Clients are supposedly seen as the enemy. What a fun way to think.
(To be clear, I'm being sarcastic.)
The normal me would be afraid to speak up, but I couldn't let this slide even though I felt stupid compared to my colleagues, with their master's degrees and high IQs.
These smart people, day-walker normies, should know better, right? They should know better because of their big brains and their ability to go out in the sun for more than 5 minutes, right?
Nah, they're just being inconsiderate.
So, I said something to them.
I told them how their views on our clients are wrong and immoral. With an earthquake level of shakiness in my voice. I said things so unintelligently and so incorrectly.
But, I had guts.
I said it with so much sweat, and my colleagues were on the defense saying I didn't have proof of what I was saying, and I nervously said, "You're right, I don't. But I feel it. I don't want to treat any clients like they're the enemy. I don't want that."
I said what I wanted to say imperfectly. So imperfectly, and I knew it too.
I said what I wanted to with so much anxiety, my heart beating fast with a stuttering voice.
But I don't care. I believe in what I said.
One of my colleagues defended me, saying he agreed that we should treat our clients like teammates, and better elaborated what I was trying to say, because I couldn't find the right words.
God it sucks that I couldn't say things people will understand the first time around, and that I need help from others for clarifying things.
But the truth is, I'm never going to be perfect.
Chapter 7: What's Next?
A part of my anxiety and me being quiet is that I'm so afraid of people seeing me as imperfect, but people are going to think what they think.
I know my friends and family are going to have to work around my sun allergies, but that's better than me believing I have to burn to join them in the sun.
And, I know people can get annoyed at how many times I ask to clarify things. I know they will be annoyed if they don't understand what I'm saying, and I have to paraphrase in different ways.
And, I might never stop being shaky or stop the heart beating or my sweaty anxiety pits.
But I want to allow myself to be imperfect.
To be that quirky, lost-in-his-thoughts kid who has sun allergies.
I started doing Toastmasters. It's a public speaking club, and I'm practicing speeches, learning not to socially compare. I do my speeches with all the jitters in the world. I'm nervous speaking to people who are way smarter than me.
And, I'm learning to overcome this fear, and to stop valuing intellect and perfection over integrity.
I officially got diagnosed with EPP after 20-ish years, and I'm talking to fellow EPPers.
I'm going to therapy, to work on my worries and nervousness.
I'm doing more creative work, producing work that encourages others to be more expressive or embrace their more silly, not-so-perfect side.
I want to keep doing all of these things.
There's something there.
I know it.
…
I wish I could tell the kid who went to Chinese School that I'm finally happy.
But I'm not.
But, I am standing more firmly, despite my social anxiety, with my heart beating like crazy and stuttering whenever I'm doing public speaking, and saying no to when people invite me to outdoor activities.
I don't know how many people I'll reach with this letter or can relate, but to whoever is reading this, let yourself be imperfect. It's a more worthwhile and more freeing way to live.
— Huang Po
