Nov. 14, 2025
By Eva Shrestha
Staff Writer
When I was in elementary school, I loved asking people to guess my ethnicity. I always felt proud as they struggled to figure it out. I felt special, unique.
Despite my satisfaction, no one could laugh with me. No one could share that feeling with me since I was the only Nepali student in the school.
I was born and raised in Woodside, Queens, a neighborhood in New York City with a large concentration of Nepali Americans. Everywhere I turned, there was a Nepali person I would call “auntie” or “uncle.” It did not matter that I was not related to them, as they all felt like family.
Everybody knew each other. It was such a carefree community, and I still feel nostalgic when thinking about it.
In Summer 2019, my family and I moved to Lyndhurst. I was excited about this change. As an eight-year-old, the only thing on my mind was the backyard I finally had after living in a two-bedroom apartment all my life.
However, once school started, I became homesick. I missed my extended family, my friends and my life back in my old neighborhood.
My elementary school experience in Lyndhurst made me think I was strange. On religious holidays, elders apply tika — a red dye mixed with yogurt and rice grains — to my forehead as a blessing, and I receive cash from adults.
In New York, my friends and I would compare the amount of money we got and complain about the itchy outfits our parents forced us to wear. In Lyndhurst, I tried to explain all of this, but I eventually got frustrated with everyone’s questions and gave up.
I’ve come to understand that every culture is different and beautiful.
Fifth grade was the peak of my cultural distancing. I still identified as Nepali, but I stopped trying to understand my heritage.
I quit my language classes on Zoom, stopped calling my relatives and lost contact with my friends in New York. As a result, I grew more uncomfortable speaking Nepali. It felt odd to be missing a piece of my identity, even though I had given it up freely.
In October 2022, a Nepali friend asked me if I wanted to perform a dance with her at Losar, Gurung New Year. I rejected her offer immediately, but then ended up agreeing to it because I wanted to please my friends and I figured it could be fun.
I had such a great experience doing a Nepali dance. I didn’t recognize myself at all when I looked in the mirror the day of the performance, but I did not mind. Since then, every December, my three friends and I dance at that same society, and each time I feel closer to my culture.
I’ve come to understand that every culture is different and beautiful. To have a community that shares your beliefs and gives you a sense of belonging is something to appreciate.
Now I try to stay connected to my culture rather than pushing it away. I’ve become more comfortable speaking Nepali, and I talk to my relatives a lot more than I did in fifth grade.
Embracing my culture has enriched my identity. Although I am not a part of a huge community like in my old neighborhood, I no longer feel isolated from who I am.
