The Day I Discovered Discrimination and What I Learned From It

When I tell people I was born and raised in Hawaii, their responses are often coupled with excitement, and sometimes tinged with jealousy. “What was that like?” they ask.

Frankly, it was…amazing.

I was never more than a few minutes away from the beach, the weather was lovely, and above all, the culture was rich. The question, “What are you?” was always asked with genuine interest and your lineage was often met with a “cool” or a smile and a “me too!” The second was more frequent than expected given my Filipina, Spanish, Portuguese and Chinese ancestry.

Going to college was more of the same melting pot existence. I attended a university with a strong international reputation in a cosmopolitan city. I was in Gospel Choir, Spanish Club and a co-ed business fraternity. My pictures looked like I was part of the United Nations, and this idyllic existence of acceptance continued in my work life as I succeeded in the female dominated industries of wellness and skincare.

Treasured memories of my tenure in wellness and skincare.

I was lauded, elevated and empowered. I felt a sense of belonging that was almost palpable, I was accepted and celebrated.

When I moved to another state, I was not prepared for what would happen next.

In the span of three months, I was asked if I had met my husband on a military base (he is Caucasian, I am not), asked if my real name was Nicole Miller (and met with a disappointed glance when I appeared at one interview), and asked “what are you?” (with disdain, not interest).

I was asked how I learned to speak English so well and told that my acceptance at Georgetown University was most likely not a function of my scores or abilities, but that a “first generation Hispanic-Asian kid who volunteered and did martial arts” was a great score for the quota board.

In one of my early roles, an executive told me after a meeting he was glad they decided to hire me. He explained he had been a strong detractor, since I didn’t look like “the type who liked to get dirty.” This was the same executive who told me he was impressed with how intelligent I was since “pretty girls usually aren’t smart too.”

At first, I didn’t know how to react. I was sad. I was angry. I was bewildered. As I poured out my frustration to my husband, he simply said, “I understand.” I scoffed at his response. How could he possibly understand?! As a white male, he was enjoying the very privileges I was learning I didn’t have. He went on to explain what it was like for him, growing up in the place called paradise. He shared how he was bullied for being “haole” (slang for Caucasian), how he never felt accepted, how he was accused of being a land grabber, a military brat and a foreigner on the island he was born on. He was ostracized for not surfing and mocked for not having tan skin. He grew up feeling that he never belonged, and never would.

Two different kids. Two different stories.

As children we had grown up in the same place and lived two different lives. As adults we were living in the same place and still lived two different lives. It was this day I learned four things:

1) People don’t understand what they don’t understand – In both of our experiences, perspective was key. Neither of us could truly comprehend the other’s experience until we had an open dialogue about it. In sharing our perspectives with each other, we were able to see a bigger picture.

2) Paradise and prejudice can live in the same place – Back to perspective, things can look very different to people even if you are looking at the same thing. Being aware of the potential differences is key. Being willing to accept and understand the differences empowers both parties.

3) It’s not my job to change your mind. It’s my job to change mine. – Our reactions are shaped by the experiences life brings us. I cannot control how someone is going to react to me, treat me or talk to me. What I can do is control my own reactions and see every opportunity as one to educate instead of instigate.

4) We all have a story. – We can get defensive or we can choose to listen. I once entered a restaurant, and group of gentlemen eyed me warily. They were veterans, given their hats and as I perused a menu one approached me and said with hostility, “What are you?” Having been asked the question before, I responded, “Sir, I was born in in Hawaii. My father and mother were born in the Philippines, and before he passed, my father served in the U.S. Navy as a submarine man for 26 years. Please allow me to thank you for your service, I know what military sacrifice looks like.”

He stared at me for a moment, nodded his head and said, “Yes ma’am.” I didn’t know his story, but I knew he had one. That table of gentlemen paid for my lunch before they left.

I am not so naïve to believe that every story ends in happiness. I am, however, an optimist in the inherent goodness of humanity. I am an optimist in the thought that as the world grows bigger, so does our potential for connection. I am an optimist for my children, who see skin color as descriptive of appearance rather than prescriptive for behavior.

Yes, I am an optimist.

Above all, I have learned that for every perceived difference we seem to have, there is a story that speaks to our sameness if we simply take a moment to listen.