I used to think something was wrong with me. Not because I hated who I was. But because no matter where I stood, I always felt slightly out of place. Too Chinese in Canada. Too Western in Chinese spaces. Too quiet for some people. Too blunt for others. And growing up in Montreal, that feeling multiplied. Because people outside of Quebec do not always understand this: Canadian culture and Quebec culture are not the same thing. They breathe differently. Speak differently. Carry different histories, humor, expectations, and social codes. I learned early that survival meant adaptation. At school, I learned French and English. Eventually, I learned Spanish too because I was in the International Baccalaureate program in high school. Language became more than communication to me, it became survival, connection, and identity all at once. On television, I learned French and English too. At home, I learned silence. I became fluent in code-switching before I even understood what identity meant. I...