Updated: Feb 12
I wish I could say what was hidden behind the view
The view of perfectly cut lawns and cookie cutter houses
Behind the nice landscaped gardens and the veil of wealth
For the suburbs in america signal that we have made it
No more living in tight space, cramped conditions
No dirt floor house that my grandparents grew up in
No chaos of the inner city where my parents grew up
Safe, Peaceful, Quiet.. Or so it seems
I wish I could say what was hidden behind all that
Growing up in a suburban immigrant community
Growing up with kids just like myself
Asian, middle class, our parents or grandparents immigrants.
Everyone living their version of the ‘American Dream’
A nice house, nice car, and the comforts of suburban life.
Yet in America, you are always a person of color before anything else.
You are a person of color before you are rich
You are a person of color before you are smart
You are a person of color, before every accomplishment and accolade you may collect
The kids in my neighborhood, all in a race to the top
Trampling upon one another climbing to nowhere
Wishing for a closer proximity to whiteness, our indoctrination almost complete
Losing our language, our culture, and homeland
A product of trauma
Masked behind the middle class privilege
The intergenerational trauma of the previous generation
Grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles,
Fleeing war, fleeing poverty, fleeing instability
To find a disturbing peace within the land of plenty.
A quiet unfamiliar to the chaos of home
A quiet unfamiliar to the sounds of war
A quiet unfamiliar to the sounds of suffering
A quiet that mask
A mask that hides
The mask of suburbia,
Everything is okay, until it’s not.