I’m an American-born Chinese. I wouldn’t say I’m more American than Chinese or vice versa. My character was equally molded by both cultures. For a long time, I was comfortable with being from two cultures. I was fluent in “Chinglish”.

However, as I grew up, something unexpected rose, causing a parallel tension between the two corresponding cultures. During Chinese events when I was in China, the host would sometimes make fun of America. My relatives would look at me and laugh, asking me how I felt. But how could I respond to a question like that? If I said I was uncomfortable, it would just make me seem even more American in their eyes. But I couldn’t pretend to laugh either. So, I often just stayed quiet and smiled.

Sometimes, I’d leave China feeling less Chinese than when I went in.

This past summer, on my way back to Rochester, a man at the airport kept asking my father and I where we were from. When I told him I was from the United States, he didn’t seem to believe me.

He then went on to ask the terrible question, “But like where are you really from, like, where were you born?” And no matter how specific our answers were, the man still seemed a little doubtful. He then went on to ask us if we knew where Tampa, Florida was and if we knew anything about it. It’s moments like these when I realize that sometimes my appearance makes it hard for me to seem fully American.

These experiences made me question if I was more Chinese or American.

I felt like I was neither. So, if I wasn’t completely one culture or the other, what was I? In China, I would feel more American, while in America, I would feel more Chinese. There was no balance between my two cultures.

But this doesn’t mean that I don’t embrace (拥抱) both my identities. I love both my Chinese cultural identity and my American one. I just need to learn to love them together.

More than 30 years ago, there was a well-known boxer named Eugene Hart. Hart was heavily favored to win his next round against an ungifted boxer, Antuofermo. It was said that the only thing that Antuofermo could do was “he bled well". However, here was an important thing. He had good qualities that you couldn't see.

During the fight, Hart controlled Antuofermo, knocking him down and giving him a good beating. Antuofermo absorbed the punishment that was dealt to him by his naturally superior opponent, and he did it so well that Hart became discouraged. In the fifth round, Hart began to tire, not physically but mentally. Taking advantage of the situation, Antuofermo attacked and knocked Hart down, thus ending the fight.

When the fighters went back to their temporary restrooms, only a thin curtain was between them. Hart's room was quiet, but on the other side he could hear Antuofermo's coach talking about who would take the fighter to the hospital. Finally he heard Antuofermo saying, "Every time he hit me with that left hook （左勾拳）to the body, I thought I was going to quit. After the second round, I thought if he hit me there again, I'd quit. I thought the same thing after the fourth round. But he stopped hitting me there."

At that moment, Hart began to weep. He was crying because for the first time he under- stood that Antuofermo had felt the same way he had and even worse. And the only thing that distinguished the guy who was talking from the guy who was crying was perseverance （毅力）. The coward （懦夫）and the hero had the same emotions. They're both humans.

The important question to ask yourself here is this： How does each man respond to the tough situation that they are experiencing? Maybe you are in a tough position right now or, if not, one might be coming. How will you react? Like a hero or a coward?

Dandelions

I remember as a young child bringing a bunch of brilliant yellow flowers to my mother. It didn’t matter that the stems felt sticky or that both my parents cursed the presence of these flowers in the lawn. I thought they were beautiful!

And there were so many of them! We spent hours picking the flowers and then popping the blossoms off with a snap of our fingers. But the supply of dandelions (蒲公英) never ran out. My father or brothers would chop off all the heads with the lawnmower (割草机) at least once a week, but that didn't stop these hardy wonders.

And for those flowers that escaped the honor of being hand-delivered to my mother or the sharp blades of the lawnmower, there was another level of existence. The soft roundness of a dandelion gone to seed caused endless laughter of delight as we unconsciously spread this flower across the yard.

As I worked in my garden last week, pulling unwanted weeds out of the space that would become a haven for tomatoes, corn, peas and sunflowers, I again marveled at the flower that some call a weed.

And I thought, if only I had the staying power of a dandelion. If only I could stretch my roots so deep and straight that something tugging on my stem couldn’t separate me completely from the source that feeds me life. If only I could come back to face the world with a bright, sunshiny face after someone has run me over with a lawnmower or worse, purposely attacked me in an attempt to destroy me. If only I could spread love and encouragement as freely and fully as this flower spreads seeds of itself.

The lawns at my parents' home are now beautiful green blankets. The only patches of color come from well-placed, well-controlled flowerbeds. Chemicals have managed to kill what human interference couldn’t. I hope you and I can be different. I hope that we can stretch our roots deep enough that the strongest poison can't reach our souls. I hope that we can overcome the poisons of anger, fear, hate, criticism and competitiveness.