I was in fourth grade when my family moved to the suburbs of Pittsburgh, where I would go on to spend my formative years. When my mother and I went to register at my local elementary school, the receptionist beamed when I spoke.

You speak such good English, she said, after my mother spoke first, in her accented English, having learned most of it after moving to the U.S. in her mid-30s.

I was born here, I replied.

At age 8, I dont think I considered this interaction racist. I dont know if I had the vocabulary to describe it or place it. I dont remember if I turned it over in my head the way I do now as an adult.

The memory comes back to me a lot, most recently this weekend, when I was listening to New Yorker reporter Jiayang Fan describe a similar incident during her childhood with her mother, who was ridiculed at a suburban shopping mall for her accented English. Fan similarly recalls not knowing what to do with it, but feeling humiliated while her mother laughed it off, trying to minimize it.

Inside, I probably felt humiliated, too. But I probably smiled back at the receptionist, as we are so often taught to do as Asians and especially as an Asian girl. Smile, nod, dont speak up, dont make a fuss, dont create waves, let it go, just work hard.

Today, I understand that this was a microaggression. What do we do with these incidents like when I got ridiculed for my weird tea eggs for lunch; or when I got mistaken for other Asian classmates (and these days, other Asian co-workers); or when the fishmonger at my mothers suburban supermarket pretends to not understand her? Its not being called a chink or a gook, or being spit on or assaulted on a bus or stabbed at the store when a global crisis happens to originate in a country where people happen to look like you.

They fall under what writer Cathy Park Hong calls minor feelings, in her recent collection of essays of the same name , defining them as:

the racialized range of emotions that are negative, dysphoric, and therefore untelegenic, built from the sediments of everyday racial experience and the irritant of having ones perception of reality constantly questioned or dismissed. Minor feelings arise, for instance, upon hearing a slight, knowing its racial, and being told, Oh, thats all in your head.

What do we do when these actions arent overt racism, but they nevertheless sour and fester into something bigger and more insidious?

The answer isnt to minimize them or dismiss them as innocent mistakes. People are just ignorant, but they mean well! were told.

The answer isnt to smile, nod, and let it go. If we dont speak up, dont make a fuss, dont create waves, we continue to make ourselves invisible. If we just work hard, prove that were a good immigrant, show [our] American-ness , we reinforce the stereotypes that persist about us.

Because these microaggressions eventually sour and fester into being called a chink or a gook, or being spit on or assaulted on a bus or stabbed at the store when a global crisis happens to originate in a country where people look like you. They eventually sour and fester into racist and nativist rhetoric and policies from the highest levels, the biggest megaphones.

Before the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommended that everyone wear masks outdoors to protect against COVID-19, my mother repeatedly recommended that I wear a mask. I was afraid to do so, afraid it would make me a target, given the growing number of racist attacks against Asian Americans but I was also afraid to tell her, afraid of whether or not shed understand.

I dont know what the best answer is to deal with everyday racism or the anticipation of it. Yes, we tell ourselves to call out racism the next time it happens. Yes, its vital to have allies , especially in heightened times like this and in turn, for Asian Americans to be allies for other people of color in fighting institutionalized racism and white supremacy.