the cracked jade, and why it’s still crumbling

Every since the news I haven’t been able to process how I feel.

How exactly I can articulate in words,

not only the anger inside of me, but the sorrow and confusion as well.

Seeing the hatred against the ones who look like me have risen up due to a virus

And those who were killed due to a fetish of the women of my race

Women on the news who’s faces resemble to me of my mom and my sister.

Ever since I was little I’ve been unsensitized to what the others say around me.

A kid in 5th grade called me Ug-Lee.

My bully in 7th grade told me I would blend in the yellow classroom wall.

A friend in my sophomore year told someone to be careful because I have the virus.

Hate manifests from words.

It passes down throughout the generations like a poison,

And it’s something that’ll inevitably be present in us, no matter how hard we try.

You need to understand that even the smallest minuscule of things you say,

Calling it the China-Virus, calling us bat-eaters, calling us zipperheads

That is what slowly inclines to the most evil acts of hatred against us.

We’re not being snowflakes. We’re preventing what will become the worst.

The worst that will lead towards the detrimental attacks.

The worst that will lead to some of my kinds’ lasts breaths.

But the killer is only as good as the ones who pass by the dying body.

The activism for minorities has progressed along with events of hated

As one can see awareness for even the smallest groups of people,

Something that irritates the supremacists when even the smallest act is shown.

But when it comes to us, they’re quiet.

Not a single word or act of empathy that’s passed,

Or even a story that makes global news.

All because activism to help us isn’t as trendy.

Nor something that makes you feel good about yourself

when you only make one post about it on your Instagram story.

They don’t care. They never did.

It’s just a stage performance.

That’s when you see who truly hides behind the masks,

And those who’ll remain silent when you scream for help.

Can you hear us?

Or are we just another zoo animal encased in glass

that you don’t think is too impressive to care about?

I’m not jealous for the care given to other minorities.

I’m just asking if we are seen behind the shadows as well.

And this, dehumanization that surrounds us,

this is what leads to doubt.

Doubt of hope for my culture, and doubt of hope for my family.

Doubt of hope for the ones who just look like me.