a hyphenated american

I confess,

Sometimes, when I am in a Anglo populated Starbucks

I label my iced coffee Heidi.

The cream being poured into my cold black coffee,

weakens my existence,

I weaken what gives me strength

Only to ensure I can still call myself an American at the end of the day

But still, I-am-hyphenated.

You see,

My parents are products of war-

Between country, family, and self.

My parents are products of brown skin

And Quranic recitations 

Of elegantly perfected Khmer language crafted from their tongues

To broken English leaving their shattered lips

Since leaving their homeland,

And taking their first steps onto California soil

My parents have been labeled 

Refugees, Immigrants, Poor, Uneducated, Terrorists.

Back home, my parents referred to as Muslims, survivors, resourceful, courageous

But going back is not the same, my father tells me

You see, our homeland has become poorer

And I try to help my family back home understand,

That I am just a-hyphenated-American

It is hard reassuring your existence 

When America is your resting place

A place that has created hireath

A place that has created self-hate

A place that allowed my parents to create me, Hati.

A marriage of languages, Hati

In Indonesia meaning heart

Amongst Hindu meaning elephant

Hati, carrying the heart a size of an elephant

But still, I internalized hate.

Hating my name for not being equivalent to the 

Haileys, Heidis, and Hollys

Hating myself that it took me twenty years

To love my name

To love myself

To love my parents for creating a name so beautiful

When spoken, one can feel the strength my parents carried

Leaving their homeland,

Learning what is America,

Resisting America,

While preserving culture, heritage, and Islamic traditions.