When I was child, my mom used to make my lunches every morning. Looking back, I can’t believe how lucky I was. As a Japanese family, these lunches were called “bento” and came packed with amazing bits of food. It was colourful, tasty, and a great surprise every time I opened them. Lunch time was my favourite time. Made with love and care, they were magical.

But as I got a little older, kids started picking on me. In my elementary school there were only a handful of people who were not white. My classmates began to pick on me during lunch:

“Everyone, come take a look at this!”
“Eww, what’s that black stuff? You eat that?”
“Your food stinks! Eat somewhere else!”

Every time I opened my lunch, people would come take a look and ask questions. I didn’t want to be scrutinized like that. Other times it was just straight judgemental. I started hating lunch time. I became ashamed of my lunch. I wanted a PB&J sandwich just like all the other kids.

I started to skip lunch to avoid the questions and insults. At the same time, I didn’t want my mom to find out, so I started eating lunch on the way home. Other times, when I couldn’t find a private place to eat, I even thought about throwing it away. I never did it, but I felt terrible that I was even tempted.

I now know how lucky I was to have my mom, who took the time to make healthy lunches. But as a child, on most days I wasn’t strong enough to not feel ashamed of my culture.