Small squeaky pebbles stick to the soles of the sneakers, and the wind gets in my ears when walking — it whistles and laughs, howling. The air after the recent rain is moist and slightly suffocating. A strong sense of deja vu gripped me, and I involuntarily recalled the situation from two years ago.
 
Spring 2020. I pull the collar of the jacket with my fingers and squeeze it in my palm. My teeth, clenched in anger, are not visible behind the medical mask; among the hundreds of people walking along the alley, my appearance attracts a lot of attention. Four white girls strolling nearby looked at me with disdain. My almond-shaped eyes, yellowish skin tone, broad face, and low stature disgust them. One American man, stopping abruptly next to me, raised his index finger and shouts: "Go to China and take your coronavirus with you!". Some passers-by turn around at the shout and giggle out loud. The manager of the restaurant, hearing the exclamation of that man, quickly hangs a sign on the door of the eatery: "Chinese people are not allowed to enter. We don't want to spread the virus."
 
If my mother had been with me then, she would have just sighed humbly and whispered to me: "Daughter, this is normal, we are treated this way because we are Asians." She told me this phrase every time some white men squeezed their eyelids with their hands and laughed mockingly, parodying our narrow eyes; whenever someone defiantly put on a mask, fearing that we would infect them; every time teenagers passing by closed their noses, mouths, and then the whole face with their hands, considering that our "dirt" can be transmitted to them through the air. At that time, it also seemed to me that we were "dirty", that we were guilty in front of other Americans for being Asian, that we reminded them of the virus by our very appearance, and that we should be grateful that we live here. 
 
But now, looking back in the past, I realize that whenever my mother used the excuse “We are Asians, we deserve this hatred," I had to answer: "They do this not because we are Asians, but because they are racists."
 
During these long two years spent either in quarantine at home or in public places, with a suffocating mask on my face, I have understood that I should be proud of who I am — I should be proud of my race, my history, and my appearance. This was taught to me by the volunteers from the Human Rights League, which organized a meeting of Asians whose hearts and lives were broken because of racism and mass bullying during the global pandemic. Frankly telling other Asians about what I had to go through, I felt relieved and plucked up the courage to take action. I am no longer silent when someone starts mocking me because of my race; I go out to rallies holding a poster high in my hands: “Asian Lives Matter". When I have my children, I don't want to teach them to be silent. I want them to know that their lives matter. I want them not to fight for the right to be human, but for society to be tolerant — so that the usual respectful attitude towards Asians will be not a privilege, but a norm and a basic right of any representative of the Asian race.
 
My life experience as an Asian taught me to be tolerant – I began to understand that everyone living on the planet has their own rights and personal space, which should not be violated. It is important to realize that all people are different, but each of them (no matter what religion, nationality, political and civic position a person has, how individual dresses, etc.) has the opportunity to live as their heart tells them. Now, I want as many people as possible to understand this, because we all have to stand against racism and racial discrimination — We must stand together for what we consider important.