When asked to self-identify as a child in an upper-middle-class neighborhood ten years ago, children of color knew what was being asked. Confrontational questions of sexual orientation or political ideologies were to be asked, but those uncomfortable discussions would come later. For Americans of Asian descent, the question of “Who are you?” was simultaneous to “Are you a FOB (‘fresh off the boat’)?” or “Are you a Twinkie?” and that simple distinction was to determine the extent of one’s cultural background.

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Yellow on the outside but filled with white cream, the Twinkie was an iconic American snack that had a tumultuous relationship with the American public, which was perhaps the only similarity it had with Asian Americans. American people loved the comfort that this inexpensive, approachable snack embodied but also loved to hate on the idea of easy, processed food. The snack’s reputation as “junk food” was far from the deeply rooted Asian ideals where home-cooked delicacies equated familial love. And despite having to identify as a ‘Twinkie,’ many of my Asian American friends had never eaten Twinkies before.

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How much white cream was I made up of?

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This question troubled me even throughout my early adulthood. As a second-generation Korean American, I remember scratching my head at Cotton Eyed Joe while watching all of my classmates jump into position to perform the renowned dance. I also remember the panic I felt when I casually used Konglish words, thinking they held the same meaning in English. I don’t think I understood that my “illegitimate” Konglish words were meaningful, even if white America didn’t understand. In my Korean American eyes, pressures of assimilation didn’t allow “tainted” lingo.

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To the people who asked me if I was a ‘Twinkie,’ this idea of white cream was synonymous with ‘being American.’ No matter how diverse the country’s population was, the concept of ‘American’ still meant white. But the truth was, I never was white inside. If not white, then what? Any person of a mixed cultural background is bound to have had the internal struggle of figuring out where he or she belongs. This narrative is not foreign (pun intended) to most children of immigrants.

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As the years went by, I no longer had to use this term to explain myself to others. However, the recent surge of Asian American hate crimes across the country has once again held the community at gunpoint to identify, or perhaps to prove, their ‘whiteness’ inside.

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But there is no whiteness inside–only artificial white cream that will always be tinged with yellow.

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So, do you love it or hate it? People loved Twinkies, or at least the idea of them, for this popularity warranted the snack’s highly anticipated comeback in 2013. Yet as I walk through grocery stores and gas stations today, the Twinkies sit on the shelves as if distant and alien. Similarly, despite the current attention to injustices directed toward Asian Americans, no one knows when our stories will be left on the shelf.
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Let us invite ourselves to speak out, hold people accountable, and bring change that will be able to leave an impact on generations to come. Let’s love ourselves and embrace the Asian American culture that is made of a whole lot more than just white cream and yellow cake.

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