The straw puncturing the plastic seal causes the ice to bounce off one another. The sound of the ice swishing around brings a smile to my face. Black gelatin spheres swish around in my mouth. Tapioca or boba, I wonder. Two new words added to my lexicon, along with taro. "So, you like it?", my friend asks. Not the taro. But I lie and say yes. I must like it. I can't appear less Asian than I already am.
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Banana
Non-FictionBeing a biracial Chinese person raised by white people in a western society, I have always found it difficult to find my place. In this small collection of flash creative nonfiction, I explore the way I am perceived by others versus how I perceive m...
