When I hear the term "language," the first word that comes to mind is "acceptance." If one speaks a language, he will bond and intertwine with the corresponding community. If thinking in terms of a metaphor, one's language is almost like a boarding pass that allows one to board the plane of his community. I however, boarded the wrong plane, and ended up in the American community. To my people, I am known as an ABC. Most know these letters as the first three letters of the alphabet. I however, perceive them as an acronym for American Born Chinese. Both my parents are native Chinese, yet I was raised in a white, American town, went to an American public school, had American friends, and most importantly, spoke the American language of English. My parents had a hard time learning Chinese, so in turn, they seldom strayed from the American tongue while I was growing up in order to ease my linguistic learning. Their choice helped make my English more profound, however, this profundity for English came with a lack of acceptance from people I would always encounter. I vividly remember my first experience of Chinese culture. It was the summer of 2002 at a BBQ. I tagged along with my parents, as they wanted to meet their friends. Upon my arrival, I was greeted by people who closely resembled me. They had my same eyes, skin color, and were of the same, short stature. I felt at ease until their mouths opened. All of a sudden, jumbles of gibberish spewed out of their small openings. With this notion, I was thrust into a world of babble and confusion, where the only words that made sense were my own. That day has forever been embedded in my memory. It was the first time I came into contact with something that wasn't familiar to me. The foreign community scared me, and made me feel alone. It was as if someone had sent me to that BBQ as a punishment for being an ABC. When one doesn't belong, he yearns for acceptance. I yearned for acceptance from my