I do not write Hmong characters to advocate the guilt Americans should have, for the things they have done to me. I write Hmong characters to show my Hmong community the shame we have inflicted upon each other. When you hear about a Hmong writer, you think, “Oh, no. Another one of those Asians mad about what we did to them.” I admit, I have read many of the books I mentioned. Some written so great, I have cried my eyes out. But I want to step away from the past, I want to look at us now, and how far we have come in this great new journey of ours.

Being born in America, I grew up with thoughts and expectations pressured into me. My parents, and every parent born in the generation of immigrating to America, have raised their children with an attitude. “Grow up well and do better. We have given you everything we possibly can. Now you have to do better than us.” “Our past is shameful; we don’t even have a land to call ours. We have fought and fought, and only to find ourselves here, in a place where we are nothing but trash.” “Do this, do that, act like this, don’t act like that.” “Date him, but keep plenty of other men on the side. You never know what can happen.” “Why did you choose her, when you can do so much better?”

Yet, the elders still wonder why their kids act out like they do. Why their kids have pitied themselves against each other. Why the kids shame them more than anything possible.

But my generation, those born to the parents who immigrated during the Secret War, look at our elders and see nothing but a road block in life. These kids and young adults look at our Hmong sisters and brothers around them, and see nothing but another competitor, another person we have to outshine, to look better in front of.  When you stand, with the face of your parents and every other face of your community judging you, you shrink. And when you back down, you are mad at those who have judged you and shamed you into hating your own culture, hating the very being of who you are.

Nobody loves being Hmong more than Hmong people, but nobody hates being Hmong more than Hmong people. We have shamed our culture into an act we keep doing to salvage who we are as a community. Marriage rules are no longer seen as respect to the families tying knots. Dating rules are longer seen as courting a partner you like. Funerals are no longer seen as cherishing the dead.

So why do I write Hmong characters?

I want Hmong kids and teens to be able to read them and know that they have a choice, one that hopefully satisfies their dreams and their parents. I want Hmong kids to be proud of their culture and to be happy to tell people of their ethnicity without shrugging in shame. I want Hmong kids to read stories where they are the main characters, someone they can relate to. I want Hmong kids to have a voice, for them to know they have a voice. I want them to know they have a story too, one that does not have to be shamed by our history. With the past in the back of our mind and with the passion to move forward.

But I do want Hmong kids to know their history. For the longest time, I had gone with only knowing facts that were told to me by my older siblings, by the tales of my parents and elders. My history was not taught in school, if I wanted to know where I came from, I had to ask my parents. And when they said Laos, I wondered how we were related to Laos. We had a home but never a home land. I had to search for the history of my people, learn of this Secret War raging on, and how it still rages on.

When someone asks me what my ethnicity is, I wonder how I should respond. Should I tell them that I am Asian American, or to be more specific, Hmong American, or should I tell them what the Hmong elders liked to called me, Hmong Meeka. Meaning a Hmong child born in America, too lost in the American culture we don’t even know a thing the elders are saying to us.

I have to say, though, I am not ashamed to tell people I am Hmong American. I know who I am. And why should I hide who I am? I know where my ancestors and grandparents are from, what my parents had to do to get us to America, and most importantly, where I was born.

But if my elders want to berate me for my small knowledge of our own culture, they have nothing but themselves to be ashamed of. Instead of worrying about money, pride, status, they should have been conserving their culture. Instead of shaming me for my knowledge, they should be teaching, and sharing their knowledge. Instead of telling me that someone else knows more than me, let me know about my culture. If I don’t know, how do you expect me to share our culture with our future children and their children?

I write Hmong characters to let Hmong girls and boys know that they are not alone. I write to let them know of our past, our present, and how they should view and value their future.