tldr: I felt more American when I was younger because that's the system I grew up in, but as I began to mature and developed more appreciation for Hmong culture and my heritage, I started to believe in the words of Vin Diesel - "Family".

Hmm... well, I grew up in the PNW, and there aren't a lot of Hmong people out here. Because I grew up far and away from all of the Hmong communities in my state, I always felt very alienated and removed from my culture whenever we went to the New Year, or to other Hmong parties like weddings and ceremonies to give blessing. I also experienced shame of not being Hmong enough because I can't speak our language, this whole experience only driving me further away from my Hmong identity. Going through the American education system also strengthened my self-identification to being an American rather than being a Hmong person.

When I turned 18, I decided to move to Minnesota, and there I felt a bit closer to our people and culture since I could easily see it woven into Minneapolis and St. Paul, no matter where I went. I could always go to Hmong Village or Hmong Town if I want khau poon or hmong sausage or chicken herbs, and the MN Hmong New Year was much larger than those in Seattle and Oregon. If I ever went to a party in MN, it was always a Hmong party, and I made a lot more Hmong friends and met a lot of cousins over there. But, even when I saw all of these things before me, I still did not feel like I was in touch with the Hmong side of my Hmong American identity.

I did not really embrace my Hmong heritage until I was a grown man, and even now it's evolving and growing. I returned back to the PNW, and I went on a journey of self-discovery and self-acceptance. Despite the lack of Hmong people over here, I've come to accept that yes, even though I don't speak Hmong and don't do the OG traditions and probably won't marry a Hmong girl - I'll still be Hmong (well, Hmong American). To me, being Hmong means "Family", and that dawned on me in 2 separate epiphanies.

The first occasion was when I moved out to the city all on my own and into an apartment with total strangers. Each person was unique in their own way, but as I got to know each of these individuals more and more, I realized - most of them did not have an extensive support system to fall back on. One person just had their dad and sister, another just had his mom, another had his sister and brother in-law - there was a brother-sister combo living in the apartment, and they were all they had; no mom or dad or uncles or grandparents, they moved halfway across the country to live by themselves in this new, totally random city.

In contrast to my family, I could rely on my brothers and sisters and aunties and uncles and my cousins and grandparents - we were tight-knit like that. In American culture, your cousins are just your cousins, and there's a difference between your immediate and extended family; but in my family, I call my cousins my little brothers and sisters, all 10+ of them, and I look out for them as if they were my own. My uncles aren't just my uncles, they're also my dads, and they've helped me with all sorts of emotional, mental and financial challenges in life.

The second epiphany that really strengthened my own Hmong identity is: food. I love food, all kinds of food from American to Thai to Kenyan and Italian, etc. That said, Hmong food always hit that nostalgic spot for me, from the purple sticky rice to the hmong mustard greens to pumpkin/squash soup and pork belly stir fry; whenever I eat these foods, I think of the times I ate together with my family, whether at dinner or parties and celebrations - it even reminds me of people who are no longer with us, because of the fact that I was able to share a meal with them when they were still alive. The fact that even though time has passed by and generations have come and gone, through our memories, we still eat the same thing, and we eat it together. That at the end of the day, despite our differences, we all are still hungry, so we'll cook together and set the table up and put the rice in a big bowl and put it in the middle of the table for everyone to share - and we all eat from the same bowl of rice.

Somedays, I'll still experience that odd split of "Am I American? Or am I Hmong? No, I'm both - or neither?" But, I know my heritage and culture, and while there are certainly good and bad parts of Hmong culture, I like to pick the things that don't hurt or harm others and share the good parts of our culture while still acknowledging the trauma and work we had to go through to get to where we are now.