Second Prize Short Story 2005
Dog Tastes Great in America, Too
by Dewi, Singapore/Irvine, Age 18

"You're Chinese, Mei-Ling, right? Don't they eat dogs in China?" Rachel asked excitedly.

I gave an exasperated sigh, and was tempted to turn around and ignore her, but finally I gave in and managed a reluctant nod.

"See, I told you Jess! I knew it!" Rachel giggled that high nasal giggle of hers.

"Thanks," she said, turning quickly to Jessica which apparently was my signal to leave. There was no more need for me; I was only a curiosity, an encyclopedia into another culture, another world, which could be opened and closed at will.

I secretly hated myself for accepting my fate. I dreamed of being stronger, like the warrior women of old, standing up and saying exactly what I thought of Rachel and her petty assumptions and pert up-turned nose.

High school is a cruel world. Being an immigrant only makes it harder. I have to deal with the questions that the blonds don't have to answer. Do you eat dogs for breakfast? Why are your eyes so small? I see people snickering at my accent. I imagine them butchering the Chinese language and smother a snicker myself.

I went home and answered my mother's questions, an almost ritualistic interrogation now. "Did you have a good day at school? Did you meet new friends? Isn't America a wonderful place?"

I answer obediently, "Yes, yes, and yes," lying through my teeth.

She doesn't even notice. She is too busy happily cooking at the stove, the eager June Cleaver, a couple of generations too late. She believes that she is fulfilling the American dream in her crude act; I don't have the heart to tell her that she has got it all wrong. There is no American dream; it is all a vicious illusion.

I mope and sulk, knowing all along that nothing will come of it. I miss the smell of China, the mood and life of China. The suburbs here are so sterile, all clean identical houses lined up carefully pruned streets, so dead, in comparison.

Dad comes home around eight. He is a workaholic and a perfectionist, a dangerous combination. He doesn't say much of anything to anyone.

The night passes uneventfully. As always.

I get up for another day of school. In history class, we are learning about the ancient Chinese dynasties. The teacher keeps on asking me if I happen to know anything. I play dumb and shake my head.

At lunch I always sit in my own little corner in the cafeteria. I did try sitting with some other girls once but it was so horribly awkward; I just felt more comfortable alone. To my surprise, though, Janine, one of the girls I sat with, came along and plunked down her food on my table. "You mind?" she asks.

I shake my head. "History was so boring, though, wasn't it?" she continues. "And Mr. Gerald kept on asking you if you knew anything. Just because you're Chinese and everything. How embarrassing."

I laughed. "It wasn't that bad. Just slightly annoying."

"So, Miss Lai," Janine said, blinking widely, just as Mr. Gerald did."The Tang Dynasty, lasted about 300 years, isn't that right?"

Mr. Gerald was just walking by and cast a wary glance back. Janine quickly covered her mouth and we both cracked up hysterically.

"So..." I started, not wanting to be rude, but rushing on anyway, „what brings you to the outcast table?"

Janine looked surprised by my question. "C‚mon, Mei-Ling. You're not an outcast. No one's casting you out. You're the one who's isolating yourself."

I raised my voice to protest but she continued. "I saw that whole Rachel incident yesterday. Everyone did."

"Well, that makes me feel great," I muttered.

"It's more embarrassing for Rachel. We all knew she was stupid but really..."

"I don't what that makes me then."

Just don't think about that. Anyway, I see you watching, judging everyone from your little corner. You can't assume that just because Rachel is so narrow-minded that everyone else is as idiotic..."

I interrupted her. "I am not judging you guys on that. I'm not making any assumptions at all. I just happen to feel that—"

"That we Americans can't understand or appreciate your more Chinese sensibility. Or you‚re too good for us ignorant Americans. Which one is it?" Janine sighed. "Look, I'm just saying, give us a chance. You‚re as guilty as Rachel in believing the stereotypes."

I didn't know what to say. I muttered something under my breath about martyrs and flying pigs but I knew that Janine was serious.

"Just think about it. You're a good, decent person. Let other people see that in you." She winked at me slyly. "And besides — dog tastes great in America, too."

Dewi on life between cultures: The hardest thing about being an immigrant is knowing how deeply you should immerse yourself in the new culture you find yourself in — to what extent you should have allegiance to your "original" culture. Finding that balance is in itself a huge challenge because culture is an important part of identity and when the two cultures contradict... well, then you have quite a problem. You are put in a position where you have to choose. The best part of being an immigrant is that you are exposed to more than people who grow up where they are born, with a single culture. I know and have first-hand experience of backyard BBQs for Memorial Day, as well as the crazy festivities of Chinese New Year.