Total Separation: My Queer Asian Experience in Appalachia

Between Mothman stories, pepperoni rolls and endless replays of “Country Roads”, hatred is unfortunately woven deep into the tapestry of West Virginia. With instances of bigotry so common that they’re essentially an insignificant part of daily life, the Mountain State mirrors more than a few rural Appalachian cities across the region. Growing up gay and Chinese in the town of Parkersburg, I had my fair share of encounters with judgement. From offensive notes left in my locker to slurs of all different meanings shouted at me from nameless kids zooming by in their cars, I stood at an intersection of bad and worse when it came to my identity in this small community. The weight of hate was further accompanied with a feeling of unbearable loneliness. After all, seeing queer people or Asian-Americans in West Virginia was rare; queer Asian people were essentially non-existent around me. 

According to the Movement Advancement Project, over three million Appalachians identify as LGBTQ+, constituting around 10% of the region’s population. Of that 3 million, only around 5% are of Asian descent. With the majority of them residing in large cities (Pittsburgh, Birmingham, etc.), those who don’t live in urban areas often feel out of place in a region that is often prejudiced against the very core of their beings. My own experience is not uncommon for racial and sexual minorities within the mountains; hateful words flying around like a flock of seagulls spying a sandwich, being inappropriately touched as a joke, and being laughed at through posts on social media. To fit in, it’s simple; stay in the closet, don’t be too loud about your culture, and try your best to assimilate to the cisgender, white, straight people around you. I made a laughable attempt at this. I was out and proud in middle school, my parents owned the local Chinese restaurant, and I was a tan-skinned feminine overweight Asian boy who was every bit the part of a fish out of water.

LGBTQ+ demographics in West Virginia [Source: The Williams Institute]

I was, unsurprisingly, a cultural outcast in the middle of this city. Being the butt of one too many jokes, it felt like everyone was laughing at my expense all the time. Their hateful jokes hurt even worse because they were about the things I couldn’t change about myself. Their insults became the seeds of resentment, growing into blossoms of anger towards not just them, but also toward my own personal attributes. I couldn’t understand why I had to be the one to suffer with being queer or why my parents chose to move me into this city of white people who could never relate to me. If my parents had stayed in New York City, I would be no different than just another Chinese-American boy on the street. Instead, I was always going to stick out a sore thumb. I carried these negative thoughts for a long time. They circled around in my head constantly and I dreamed of what life would be like if I wasn’t the unluckiest person ever. Of all the things I wanted to be as a kid, being normal was the impossible thing I could never achieve. Somehow, the feeling of normality had harder obstacles than becoming, say, the President of the United States or the CEO of a huge company. So I knew then, that being truly understood was never going to be an experience I would have.

But I was a naive, stupid kid then. High school was my gateway into the feeling of being seen. What I thought would continually evade me as long as I stayed in Appalachia, people who both understood and shared aspects of my identity began to pop up all around me. Clubs became my solace, and speaking to new people in those hour long meetings was my way of reaching out. Those new individuals in my life took me to pride parades and cultural festivals, and it felt unbelievably liberating to see celebrations of the aspects of myself I'd been taught to feel ashamed of. Suddenly, those disgusting words about me faded into the abyss of obscurity. I had found my own community and support system in those after-school pockets of social interaction. In this large new environment, there were many students who shared almost no resemblances with me. Yet unlike before, many of them sought to understand instead of ostracize. Day after day, “otheredness” slowly began to slip from my life, being replaced with “belonging”. “Belonging” shaped a newfound sense of confidence that became a constant presence in my life. Even after I moved from Parkersburg to a bigger city, fitting in was as natural as breathing. Finding the similarities between myself and others was now a fun puzzle for us to solve, and completing it helped us find the bigger picture of where friendship existed among those who were completely different. 

Kanae Yoshida, Marietta College student, performing the nihon buyo during the 2024 Mid-Ohio Valley Multicultural Festival (Source: The Marietta Times)

Being the odd one out is a common feeling among us Appalachian Asian-Americans. However, much like the clubs I joined in high school, this journal is meant for each of us to find those who know what we are going through. For us to put that puzzle together, and make a new illustration of community in these beautiful hills.

Join the AAAJ community here:

https://discord.gg/GaH2jEJ8

Vic Chen