Asian Invasion

Cutting it close on AAPI month

I’m not really sure why I’ve decided to talk about this now. I’ve been hopping from topic to topic, starting things that just didn’t felt quite right. But with it being Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month—or the end of it—I guess I’ve felt more drawn to sharing some of my experiences related to that.

I’m not here to preach about equality, or shove inclusion down your throat, or to push an agenda. In my experience, being told what to think or how to feel often makes me less inclined to listen. I connect more through stories and examples—through things I can see and feel. And while this isn’t a video, show, or movie, I hope my words can still paint a picture. Maybe something in them will resonate.

Everyone’s experience with life and society is different—but it’s naive to pretend that people don’t share certain perceptions based on background, ethnicity, and environment. I’m not here to speak on behalf of anyone else. I can only share my own story—how it’s shaped me, and how it’s made me feel. Still, I have no doubt that some people will understand and relate to what I’ve gone through.

Dare I say I’m becoming… outspoken?? Breaking through the silent suffering norms.

In 2022, I had arguably the best year of my career so far. And yet, I haven’t been able to shake one disappointing moment. Toward the end of the season, I played a tournament in Monastir, Tunisia. In the quarterfinals, I faced Ons Jabeur—who had just played in the U.S. Open final a few weeks earlier and was ranked No. 2 in the world. Oh, and she’s from Tunisia. Safe to say the only person in the country who wanted me to win was my coach.

I ended up winning the match.

It was my first top-10 win, the biggest win of my career. And to do it in an atmosphere where I was basically public enemy number one was an insane feeling. It was a special moment for me.

Everyone who mattered to me had already congratulated me. I was proud of myself, and in a lot of ways, that should’ve been enough. But the next morning, I saw the USTA Instagram page had made a post about Alycia Parks—who on the same day as me, had also gotten her first top 10 win.

Yet there was nothing about me.

I have several conflicting feelings about this. On one hand, it shouldn’t matter who gets more recognition or attention. I mean, sure—I wish everyone knew who I was, how great the win was, that I was going to be the next big thing, and that my name would suddenly be everywhere. But that’s just a fantasy.

On the other hand, for an Instagram page whose entire purpose is to promote American tennis and its achievements, to completely overlook one player while spotlighting another for the exact same thing—it may not have been personal, but it certainly felt that way.

And moments like that build up. They make you question things.

There were times I didn’t want to be Asia

n. That sounds harsh, I know. But what I mean is—there have been times when being Asian has made things noticeably harder. And in those moments, I’ve caught myself wishing I wasn’t. Not because I’m ashamed, but because I knew that what I was going through was unfair.

Like every time I’ve been mistaken for Ann Li or Carol Zhao or Danielle Lao or any other Asian tennis player. Or when I went to the ITF World Junior Tennis Finals to represent the U.S. and someone called us the “Oriental team” because two out of three of us were Asian. Or when a tennis player started calling me “Sai Sai,” because there was another Chinese tennis player with that name and I guess we’re all the same. Or more recently, when the tournament staff couldn’t find my check-in folder, kept pointing to a different Asian name and joking, “Pretty close though, huh?”—only to find out it was mine, just mislabeled.

I know there will always be stereotyping, bias, and prejudice. One of the qualities I genuinely admire in Chinese culture—and many other Asian cultures—is the quiet strength that comes with putting your head down and getting to work. No matter what’s in front of you, no matter the resistance, if you stay focused and push forward, you’ll get there.

But that doesn’t mean every hardship is necessary.

I think we’ve grown so used to navigating challenges that even when we come across ones that maybe shouldn’t be there, we take them in stride. We move past them without question, because that’s what we’ve always done. But sometimes, it’s worth asking: Do we really need to prove ourselves this much just to be seen?

I don’t have all the answers, and I’m not trying to offer solutions. I used to think staying quiet and letting the work speak for itself was the stronger thing to do. Maybe sometimes it is. Even now I catch myself feeling like I’m just complaining—like I’m not being grateful for what I’ve already been given.

But I also know there are people who can relate. And even just putting it into words feels like a small way to let it out.

Not proving anything, just being seen.