Half Thai, Fully Lost

By: Halee Provost

First-Person Experience

(Halee Provost/StoryBytes)

May 22, 2026

MIAMI —“I bet you eat cats and dogs!” 

“No, she’s from Taiwan, idiot. They only do that in North Korea.”

This has been an ongoing joke repeated to me throughout the years. Starting from middle school bullies to now classmates in my freshman year of college, it’s exhausting to hear the same racist comments about my heritage. 

I was raised in Miami, Kendall and from a young age, I knew I was an outlier. If it wasn’t apparent from kids slanting their eyes at me and sticking pencils in my hair to replicate chopsticks, it showed up in an exaggeration over cotton candy. 

On culture day at school, I brought Roti Sai Mai, a colorful Thai dessert that consists of multicolored strands of “angel floss” held together by a crepe. I spent all night with my mom stretching the sugar repeatedly and carefully rolling them into “baby Thai tacos.” However, my excitement for my classmates’ reaction quickly turned into embarrassment as students rushed to the trashcan in the corner of the room to spit it out. My cheeks grew flushed. I swallowed down my tears with an arepa.

They were literally throwing up in their mouths because of cotton candy, sugar and flour.

Later in the day, my mom called in anticipation, “Kee what did they think? Did they love it?”

“Yeah mom, the whole tray emptied out in seconds!! Thanks for making them, love you.”

I didn’t have the heart then to tell her the truth. From that point onward, I hid my identity and tried to assimilate into a culture I was unfamiliar with. No matter how hard I tried to blend in, it was evident “La Chinita” stood out like a sore thumb.

    (Photo Courtesy of Lindee Usamanont) 

Before middle school bullies that tried to teach me shame, I fell in love with Thailand and my roots. I had the privilege of visiting for entire summers when I was younger. My days consisted of filling my belly to the point I couldn’t see my feet with Thai sausages and sticky rice (because I couldn’t tolerate any spice), sleeping at the beach in Hua Hin, ordering too much food at the floating markets, playing dress up, and ending my days shopping at the night markets with my family. 

Like any vacation, I had an amazing time. But what I enjoyed most was not feeling out of place. Of course, I got occasional stares because I am a Thai-American, but nonetheless I felt identified with the people I saw in the streets which was a rarity. As I walked down the streets, I saw the same almond shaped eyes I got made fun of at school, the same sunspots and moles my mom and I have on our cheekbones, and the warmth of strangers as I interacted with them. Despite being half way around the world and 12 hours ahead, I felt at home. 

After my summer in Thailand ended, my parents took me to the Wat Buddharangsi Buddhist Temple. As one of the only Thai congregations in South Florida, it serves as a quiet, welcoming sanctuary for all and has been a place where I feel peace. Every Sunday, they host markets where anything from Thai Tea to Massaman Curry is sold in the hopes of fundraising money for the temple. 

As a child, I looked forward to the annual festivals and traditional outfit contests they held. No matter where you were, you could hear boisterous voices singing followed by dancing on the stage where multiple middle-aged adults fought for the microphone. It was an environment where people enjoyed themselves, and despite the humidity, ate and sang to their heart’s content all day long.

    (Photo Courtesy of Lindee Usamanont) 

Fast forward a few years, my Thai mom left the picture after my parents got a divorce and eventually I stopped going to the temple. My mom encouraged us to visit weekly, to not only maintain my understanding of my culture, but to preserve the fragments of her life that she left when she immigrated to the United States. Here, she did her best speaking broken English, but at the temple she spoke beautifully with her diaspora. 

The language I was once familiar with became foreign, and my sense of both womanhood and cultural belonging vanished. As I completed my latter half of high school online, I was isolated, and when college applications approached, I scrambled trying to find extra-curriculars. 

I scrolled through the different options on my school’s website: $90 to join a key club ONLINE? That’s ridiculous, no. I have to be interviewed and pass through multiple rounds to join the theatre club? None of the options they listed resonated with me.

I got the idea to volunteer at the Thai temple as a tour guide under the mentorship of a Thai monk, Sanit Songphra, as I know many people are becoming increasingly interested in Thai culture. Unfortunately, information gets lost in translation between Thai language, English, and Spanish. So, every morning I guided local visitors inside and gave them an outdoor tour of the temple’s grounds. Throughout the process, I learned about Buddhism, the monks’ daily routines, how to cook authentic Thai food and meditated with them. While I was educating others on Thai culture, I was immersing myself proudly and learning what I once thought I lost.

As I spent more time at the temple, I found a sense of pride and community which encouraged me to immerse myself more in my local Thai diaspora. This then became my new community outside of virtual school, and I utilized my network at the temple to find ways to become an active member.

(Halee Provost/StoryBytes)

During one of my volunteering experiences at the temple’s Sunday market booths, I met a fellow first generation Thai-American, Kathrine Fitzgerald. As we walked barefoot into the meditation room, we bonded over our love for Thai cuisine and learning more about our ethnic culture. Later, when we toured the temple’s grounds, I expressed my interest in studying business administration as a stepping stone for a future digital marketing career and was amazed to find that she had studied the same career.

From that moment, we connected and she became my mentor, providing me with an unpaid internship opportunity at her referral organization. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that conversation acted as a butterfly effect to me actually interacting with the organization’s social media accounts and ignited my love for marketing, which I currently study.

When I look back on my life two years ago, I wish I could’ve told myself how well my academic journey turned out and reassured myself that a million extra-curriculars didn’t matter. When I look back seven years ago at the girl who felt marginalized within her classroom, I wish I could’ve told her how important contributing was, even if initially it was scary. 

(Halee Provost/StoryBytes)

Recently, I had the chance to visit the temple and catch up with Taan Sanit where he informed me of the current renovations being done to remodel the original community center building which was built forty five years ago. We spent the afternoon together, walking around and talking about my future. He asked me why I brought a camera when I usually bring an appetite, and I told him I wanted to share my safe space with the world. He excitedly agreed and we posed for pictures together.

Being a Thai-American can be scary sometimes. When I’m with my white side of the family, I feel out of place. There are whispers about the foods I eat, and on my Thai side, I never know what is going on in conversations. There are also common internalized insecurities that scream “I am too white” to truly be Thai and others that plead for me to return home. But how can I truly find myself and learn about my culture when I have been berated for simply existing? The answer isn’t clear, but for me, taking the first leap even in the face of embarrassment is what has led me to the point I am at today.

There is never a perfect moment to start. I learned common phrases and the numbers 1-20 (I even mastered them without counting on my hands rhythmically!). I religiously say “khàawp khun khâ” now with my hands pressed together in front of my face whenever I see a familar one. While I may not now how to cook Massaman Curry just yet, I cook Kai Dao and eat it with as many Thai peppers as possible. It sucks intially but the spice evaporates from my forehead in the form of sweat. My point is, I took the little pieces of home I had here and did whatever it took to remind myself of those hot summer days spent in Thailand. These mundane actions help remind me that I am important, and my identity has not been forgotten. Along the years, I may have been lost half way through but, eventually, I found myself completely.