Kindergarten, the good old times where you could put on a special color blocking paper hat just because it's your birthday. And like on any other birthday of your playmates you get to sing. We started with the Dutch "Lang zal ze leven", followed by "Happy Birthday to you" and " Bonne fête à toi". To give an Oriental flavor to the party, we sang "Hankie Pankie Shanghai" (i.e. just replace "Happy Birthday to you" with these words). At first sight it seems there is nothing wrong, right? The teachers thought it would be a good idea to celebrate diversity by singing songs from other cultures. "Hankie Pankie Shanghai" fits the beat of "Happy Birthday", just an innocent variation.

But don't be fooled. While the French version "Bonne fête à toi" is actually made of French words, "Hankie Pankie Shanghai" is based on some ignorant thought of putting together some Asian-sounding words to come up with a Chinese version. The words "Hankie" and "Pankie" naturally don't mean anything and make the song a cheap, satirical insult to the Chinese language. More worrisome, it is the teachers that start the sing-a-long of this. Weren't they the people I could go to when I was bullied? As a kid you notice it is kinda odd, but other than to laugh it off and bury the thought is all I could do. Unfortunately, my Chinese genes were also not built to question authority. However, it confirmed the fear of any young child: I didn't fit the mold. Having the bad luck to be born with a different skin color  and eyes. Physically nothing wrong, but still I was different. From my fourth to my twelfth year, with an average of twenty birthdays a year, I have probably sung this song more than 180 times. From my fourth year on, stimulated by my own teacher, regularly mocking my own heritage broke something inside me.

It has taught me that self-discrimination on top of accepting face to face discrimination is as normal as the sun coming up every day. It has taught me not wanting to be proud of my heritage and to never feel fully part of the Dutch society. Add the pain of watching how my dear parents, my idols, got insulted on a daily basis by people imitating our Asian eyes or shouting "poepchinees" (i.e. poop Chinese). The first generation immigrant parents, to whom we don't have to tell what hard work means, never complain and try not to be a burden to society. Despite the daily bucket of hate, they would never revolt. After all, they were guests in this country. But I was born here, why don't I feel welcomed? I believe, an identity crisis that every second generation struggles with: outgrown of their original heritage, but by stigmatization rejected by their new culture. An identity crisis unconsciously rooted at Kindergarten. As this generation, do we have the right to revolt now? No, because if we disturb society we will be told to "go back to our own country". Ironic, since I have been given only a Dutch passport when I was born.