by Diane Chiang

No more masks. That’s what I told myself after the layoff. People will either like me for who I am, or they can mind their own business. No more masks.

I’ve gotten tired of smiling when we go around the table boasting, “I’m Bob and I’ve been at this company for 25 years.” Then man to his left sinks lower into his chair, squirms, and says in a quiet voice, “I’m James and I’ve been here for 8 years.”

My fingers tapped the underside of the table nervously.

The day after Trump got elected, a colleague said to me, “I’d be scared if I were you.” “You speak English so well,” another colleague said. Yes, that’s because I’ve been here since the Nineties.

I’ve had colleagues bow to me when saying thank you. And then there are those that mix me up with another Asian girl on my team. People have asked me where I’m really, really from. I’ve been asked if Taiwan is the same as Thailand.

I smile, I grit my teeth, and then I carry on. A mask as my facade.

We got fired in the room with the fluorescent lights that turned everyone’s faces green. Twenty other people in the same room – some cried, some swore, some look stunned. At that moment, everyone took off their masks.

I finally stopped tapping the table.