If they don’t see you do you even exist? The insidiousness of erasure is that as an Asian in America, you’re forced to swallow it, digest it, where it calcifies into your bones, weighing your body as it’s pushed overboard, buried into the ocean, your screams silenced as you drown. Being Asian in America feels as if you’re holding your breath waiting for someone to notice, for a hero to come along and save you, perhaps pass you a life jacket or throw you some oxygen.