On normal afternoons, Vivi and I dreaded the 40-minute drive home from school; and to pass the time we usually role-played, with me as a princess and her as my prince (I always forced her to be the male) and sometimes we’d end up arguing about the way the story should go, which would, in turn, become a kicking competition.

It all started when I was about five, during a cold winter. I had just come home from Kindergarten and ran to my fluffy black miniature poodle, lovingly named Cocoa, to embrace him after a long day of scribbling alphabets and throwing sand in girls’ faces.

As a person of mixed descent, I understand what it’s like not being able to reach both sides of my heritage. There are always those few sentences that relatives tell you when they haven’t seen you in awhile, from, “Oh, you look just like your mother!” to “Ah, you are shaping up just like your father.”