Let me tell you about New York City. The sidewalks are sort of like highways. The people are sort of like cars. We all say vroom as we walk. We say it out loud instead of having conversations or thinking. Vroom, we say, vroom. We are busy people. Let me tell you about New York City. No one goes to Time Square. No one. Ugh. Time Square is empty, silent. Vines grow from the walls.
1. Denial It wasn’t that the idea of being biracial frustrated me, it was just that I didn’t think I was it. Yes, I finally learned to write “Jaya Saxena,” but to a blank-slate of a five-year-old that combination of letters was just as random as any of my friends’ names. “Judith” looked weird too, right? “Denisa”? “Fiona”? I figured it was all arbitrary. My family did not act like other immigrant or biracial…
