As I stopped to pet the Border Collie of an older white woman on campus the other day, I was surprised by how relieved I felt after she asked me how my classes were going this year. While I walked away towards the bus stop, I started thinking about why I had felt relieved -- I had the college student look down, with my messy bun, glasses, backpack, and slouchy cardigan. There was no reason for her to assume that I wasn't someone who belonged on the campus, but the fear of not being accepted as legitimate was visceral and immediate.

I'm Chinese-American, a first-generation college student with parents who immigrated to the United States in their 20's. I don't think of these identifying features of myself as weaknesses often, choosing to draw strength and support from them instead, but there are certain moments when I can't help but notice what defensive reactions I have learned through functioning in a white-dominated society. I never actively decide to react negatively to someone's question, sidelong glance, or poorly phrased comment, but there is always an internal wince that comes, and sometimes even in innocent situations like the one with the woman and her Border Collie, it's like I'm unconsciously holding my breath and don't realize until the tension releases when I walk away.

I attend Mills College, a historically women's college in the beautiful and vibrant city of Oakland, California. Oakland is "one of the most diverse cities" in the country, and Mills demographics have recently shifted so that people of color make up a majority of the student body, which is absolutely wonderful. Mills is an institution committed to making higher education accessible for people of diverse backgrounds, and while I know that I am in a place where I am accepted, appreciated, and loved, the college's history as a place primarily for wealthy white women to receive educations still resonates. The United States' history as a place where traditionally only white folk, and mostly white men, have succeeded, still resonates. While to some it may seem like a constant awareness of this history is unnecessary to carry around, people who carry markers of difference, whether it be their skin color, hair, eyes, speech, lack of understanding of cultural references, food preferences, style of clothing, etc. can find the cultural imprint of white dominance and the history of white success to be impossible to let go of.

When that white-presenting, older woman with the Border Collie spoke to me the other day, I was so worried that she wouldn't understand that I was a student here at Mills, that she wouldn't think that I belonged because I didn't look like the classic type of Mills student. I was worried she would think that I had gotten in here to fill a race quota, or that she would assume I didn't speak English. I was worried she would ask me where I was from, reminding me that even though it is, the United States will never be assumed to be my homeland, my birthplace. I was worried she had created a story in her mind about how Asian students are flooding American universities and stealing American jobs. I was worried that even though I work hard every single day in my studies and at my job, all of my work was going to be considered not enough, that I would be considered to be not enough to pass as a student, to be legitimate.

As I walked away and realized how anxious I had been during the encounter, I took a deep breath and started to rebuild. Walking through the gates of Mills College to the bus stop, I reminded myself that I am vital, enough, and that I belong in higher education. We all belong here, no matter where we come from or what we look like, and simply taking up space where traditionally people who share our identities haven't been allowed is revolutionary and powerful. Sometimes, to even walk around is an important action, and this is how change begins; tiny, brave acts of the every day.