[music]

-When I was little, I told everyone my name was Angie.

It wasn't really, but it was easier this way.

My real name sounded so foreign.

It singled me out every roll call, every time I met someone new,

and I didn't want that. I wanted to fit in, to belong.

My parents made every effort to teach me Chinese but I was stubborn.

Everyone around me spoke English anyway, except Yeye.

Every time he spoke to me, I just have my parents translate.

Most of the time, he'd just comment on how skinny I was or how vegetables

would really help my acne.

Needless to say, we didn't really connect.

[music]

-When I was called to serve an LDS mission to Taiwan,

I was so excited.

I would be able to walk the very streets my parents walked in their youth,

speak their language, connect with my family's culture,

but the longer I talked the people around me,

the people that looked like me, the more I realized

they didn't really view me as one of them.

It was like I was halfway between two worlds

and I didn't really belong to either.

When I returned home,

I had the unique responsibility to take care of my Yeye.

I took him shopping, I took him to hospitals and pharmacies.

I even took him to his own prostate exam,

but this time, my parents weren't around to translate,

so I talked to him myself.

[Chinese language].

-[Chinese language].

-[Chinese language].

-[Chinese language].

-It was like a door had opened to me, a person was unfolded to me.

I realized as much as I felt like a fish out of water in Taiwan,

he felt the same way living in America, so as two misfits, we connected.

Belonging doesn't mean fitting in or being the same as everyone else.

Everyone is as multifaceted as a jewel or a raindrop

with varying cultures and experiences.

Belonging is reaching across those differences to connect.

This way, I belong and have always belonged

to my crazy mixed-up culture family.

My name isn't Angie,

it's [?].

My Chinese name is Chan.

Unchi.