Sometimes, I'm afraid that social media has replaced so many of the interactions I've used to treasure and hold so dearly. A tweet or Facebook status update is assumed to be enough; a blog post or Instagram photo appears to tell a full story. Even with my own parents, who follow me on most social platforms (sometimes, to my dismay), they'll refer to tweets from three weeks ago as if it was a story I had told them personally.


It's not that I'm exactly complaining about this. We all participate in social media willingly; nobody forces you to tweet or Snap. But it's easier, isn't it, than writing lengthy emails or talking on the phone. Sometimes, it's even easier than making time to sit down for coffee with someone and catch up on life.

I was 8 or 9 the first time I got called a chink on the playground by some school bully. It was words like that – and "oriental" and "China doll," among others – that made me scared to be proud of being Asian American. I thought the definitions about who I was had already been written by others, and I just needed to fit into what those rules said I could be.

We joke in the community that May is just another month, because we're all still Asian American and Pacific Islanders on June 1. But I want to take this month, while we've got your attention (yes, you, out there) to introduce you to some of the things we are that you might not see the other 334 days of the year.

I want to introduce you to Mei Lum and her incredible story about reclaiming the narrative of Chinatown through Wing On Wo & Co. I want to introduce you to Richard Tran, who was introduced to me through our open nomination call a couple of months ago, and whose work I can't stop thinking about. I want to introduce you to Rajuju Brown, whose music through GRUMBY has been the soundtrack to my workdays the last couple of months.

Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders are artistic and curious; we're historic and inclusive, multicultural and resisting cliches. We are tireless. We are versatile. (We are #notyourmodelminority.)

Take the time to check out "NBC Asian America Presents: A to Z," and also watch and share the video our friends at Jubilee produced to go along with our project.



Every day, we have the opportunity and the challenge to push back on the assumptions of others when they see our faces and our skin before they see us, and I hope you'll think about the ways that you too are writing and rewriting what it means to be Asian American and Pacific Islander in America today.

I wrote a blog post for my pal Phil over at Angry Asian Man while he's taking a much-deserved break...

"We never talked about it. The word "undocumented" was nerve-wracking, confusing, and -- as it's been argued in my grandfather's circumstances -- not exactly true. Growing up, my sister and I were told many stories about our family history, but we had also been taught a moderately conservative stance when it came to immigration, about the "right" way to do things and the hard word that comes with that journey.

Which is why when, during a visit to California in April, I sat down with my mother to talk about this in-depth, she didn't use the word -- at least, not at first. Let me explain."

Facebook's "On This Day" feature has provided both entertainment and a sharp sting. A bit of nostalgia to start each day can be OK, but there are some reminders that I'm not sure I care to see--that post from an ex-friend/boyfriend, that reminder of an event I pretended to enjoy, those statuses that make me cringe (remember when you had to complete the "[name] is..." format?).

Looking back on these posts, I can't help but think: if someone were to reconstruct a timeline of my life, would they base their assumptions on my Facebook timeline? Because...that would be somewhat worrisome. Take today, for instance:

I could bore you with a lede about how social media has made it easier to be mean to one another on the internet, but instead I'll jump straight to the point, because the point is there's no way to lead into this tweet I received on Friday: