Many people have trouble articulating my first name, and I have always been very understanding and forgiving. I know my name is phonetically challenging; however, I couldn’t help but feel a little itch of annoyance at having my name butchered on a daily basis. When I started high school, I came to find that simplifying “Kyung” into more the English sounding syllables “key” and “young,” solved my problem efficiently from then on , especially with the teachers that enjoyed taking verbal attendance each morning.

Although “key-young” is still very far away from being on

I had to walk away with my fist balled up in dissatisfaction, letting her take parts of me without giving her a piece of my mind. How could a stranger so adamantly deduce that I didn’t “care” about Mexican-Americans because I didn’t look like one? I was beyond anger, at her allegations toward me and at my own feelings of existing in a tight margin. I was mad about looking “too Korean” and not “looking” like my last name, angry at my parents for not distributing their genes evenly to me. I was even more angry at the fact that I knew this wasn’t the first time I had stomped away because I wasn’t sure which part of my complex heritage I identified with most.

Finally, in a sea of blue, square caps and gold tassels, I was raised into the spotlight of center stage, summoned by the master of ceremonies with the clumsy tongue. Although my name was mispronounced and my anger was tickled a little as I advanced to the podium, I was happy that I was able to correct the misnomer with a smile and address my fellow classmates and our parents. Ironically, my duties as a graduation speaker were not necessarily to be impressively eloquent or funny, but to represent the unity and diversity of our student body, an honor greatly appreciated by the timid freshman inside of me who could finally un-ball her fists in relief and walk out of the shadows into the radiant sunlight of satisfaction.

Meanwhile, each time Liz and I would pass each other in the halls ways, a sneer would pass her lips, the victorious grin of a champion in the sport of ignorance and backwardness. She would be reminded of her sin against me after graduation when my parents, my father’s mother, and all of my family ran down from the stands to c

Some topics in this essay:
Title Mixed, Meanwhile Liz, MexicanAND Japanese, Mexican Spanish, Mexican Didn’t, Liz Gonsalez, Enriquez Spanish, Native American, club representative, japanese club, master ceremonies, club representative called, representative called,