They called us jook sing.  Bamboo that grew hollow in the middle. A banana. Yellow on the outside. White on the inside. I heard those words a lot growing up. Not always in cruelty. Sometimes jokingly. Sometimes casually. Sometimes as if it was simply fact. But when you hear it enough as a child, it starts making you wonder where exactly you belong. Because I was not born in Hong Kong. I was not born in China. I was born in Montreal. And if you know Montreal, then you know it is its own world entirely. People think all of Canada is the same. It is not. Quebec has a culture of its own. The French language. The pride. The accents. The energy. The tension between cultures sometimes. The way people look at you first before they decide if you belong. Growing up there meant learning quickly that language changes how people treat you. If your French was perfect, doors opened softer. People smiled warmer. You were accepted easier. If it was not? “Go back to where you came from.” Imagine hea...