I was a content child growing up, living without a care in the world. My dad would come home from work, sit down at the dinner table, and heave a huge sigh as he peeled some oranges.

          Around this time, I would be doing my homework and munching on a granola bar, when he would turn to me and say, “You know, I would give anything to have a life like yours when I was young. Your dad loves you and works really hard just to see you happy, do you know that?”

          One of my exasperated groans would always follow his question.

          “You tell me this every day, dad. I know that okay?”

          I was so innocent. I was so naïve and dare I say even foolish. I assumed life would be handed to me on a silver platter, and the only star the earth revolved around was me.

          I didn’t choose to be oblivious. I didn’t choose to disregard the corruption of society; I was simply not exposed to such evil. That was before the summer of 2015. Growing up as a Chinese girl in Hong Kong, the last thing I would expect is for someone to discriminate against me. She was a skinny woman with a pointy chin and pursed lips. Her demeanor was cold, and I could swear her glare pierced through my soul. If looks could kill, this was it. I first noticed the Banana Lady when I walked into the restaurant. My best friend and I decided to eat breakfast before a book fair that day. We took our seats, ordered sandwiches, and began to chat away in English. I was laughing at a joke when I suddenly heard a “Whai! Whai! Whai!” from the table behind me.

          Confused, I turned around to face the source of the dreadful noise. Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if I had continued about my business. What would have happened if I ignored the Banana Lady? I might have happily gone to the book fair. I might have been able to go home and have a good night’s sleep. But none of these things happened. Alas, it was just a matter of time before reality swept me off my feet, ready to introduce me to this crazy thing called life.

          The woman spoke, with a heavy Chinese accent, “Why you speak Engrish-y? This is Hong Kong. Hong Kong onry speak Cantonase.”

          I was struck with utter bewilderment. I couldn’t believe she was scolding me for speaking a different language. When I looked back at my friend, I saw that she too was in shock.

          She mustered up her courage and said, “Miss, the fact that we are speaking English should not be of any concern to you. Please leave us alone.”

          To the Banana Lady, this was not a sign of conciliation, but defiance.

          “You scolding me? Hah? I am senior. You need respect me. You need respect my city. We speak Chinese.”

          By addressing herself as “we,” she was trying to distinguish me from Hong Kong people. She was implying that I don’t belong in Hong Kong because I wasn’t speaking Cantonese.

          Infuriated, I wanted to tell her that as a matter of fact, I can speak Cantonese. I wanted to scream, I am not ashamed of my English, but actually very proud! I wanted to tell her I can speak both Chinese and English fluently, and that it is a blessing. I wanted to tell her it is unjust to discriminate against me and my friend simply because we were speaking a language she was unfamiliar with. But I didn’t. I know I should have, but I didn’t. I was scared. I clenched my fist until my knuckles turned white and my hands were clammy.

          The woman continued in infuriation, “You are banana! Yellow outside, white inside. No good!”

          At this point, tears were already streaming down my friend’s face, and she choked, “Let’s go.”

          I felt a lump in my throat. Ever since the second grade, I had never seen my best friend cry, not even once. I always thought she was strong willed and assertive. However, seeing her eyes well up with tears struck a chord with me. I had to do something. Anything. I was not going to let this woman dictate what language I should or should not be speaking. I was not going to let her harass me for my differences any longer. When I looked around the restaurant in desperation, I noticed we had garnered a few stares, but nobody cared enough to actually stand up for us. To be honest, I was disappointed in what society had become that day: people resorting to indifference simply to stay out of trouble. If nobody was going to stand up to this woman, I had to. My palms were sweaty, my breath was shaky, and my heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to impale my chest.

          I took a deep breath, and said in Cantonese, “What is the issue with me speaking English? I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m not breaking the law. I am allowed to speak in any language I choose to speak, and you cannot discriminate against me for that.”

          These were the only words I had said to the Banana Lady that day. A 14-year-old can only muster so much courage before breaking down in tears. Nevertheless, I look back knowing that I tried to stop her. I don’t regret the things I have said, but the things I hadn’t. The Banana Lady stared at me in disbelief, her face blood-red with resentment. She was on the verge of exploding when her friend finally arrived.

          “Oh! You’re here!” she exclaimed, as her frown vanished in a heartbeat.

          I looked around once again in disbelief and noticed that the other customers in the restaurant had gone back to eating, with their heads down like nothing happened, as if oppression is just a way of life.

          The most shocking part of this experience is the fact that this happened in my home city.

          I was born and raised in Hong Kong my whole life and have never been confronted for speaking English or Cantonese in public. If I were to bump into the Banana Lady on the streets by chance one day, I would like to thank her. I would thank her for opening my eyes to the corrupted nature of society, and for showing me the world I have been kept from for so long. It is through hardships, conflict, and oppression that I can develop assertion and independence. Through the loss of innocence, I have discovered my identity. I am a banana, and it isn’t a bad thing at all.

Author Bio: Ever since I was little, I have always found the art of creative writing really captivating because I love telling stories and creating pieces for people to enjoy. In my spare time, I like to brainstorm quotes or poems for my Tumblr blog, so that my followers can relate to my words. I find that one of life's greatest joys is touching another's life, even if it is in the most insignificant way.