On being Asian American I remember one day sitting down with friends at a long, navy blue lunch table, excited to eat the lunch my mom so lovingly packed for me that morning. When I opened the container, though, my giddy anticipation to eat one of my favorite foods was shattered by the verbal disgust from a few white boys seated at the table. Yes, I admit, the smell of pork-shrimp-chive dumplings can be quite powerful.