Poj laib

As the first Hmong American generation in my family, I have witnessed the challenges that my parents faced as refugees of the Vietnam War who settled in United States. Despite thinking the war was over when they arrived in America, my parents soon found themselves fighting to maintain Hmong tradition in a new country. My friends used to joke that my parents had a severe case of Traditional Hmong Parent Syndrome (THPS), which refers to the difficulties that traditional Hmong parents have in understanding trends, fashion, self-identity, and social pressure. I personally experienced the pressure to conform in middle school, when I had to gather the courage to cut my long, black hair because it was bothering me in gym class. This seemingly small act of defiance was met with a lecture from my parents about the importance of long, black hair in Hmong culture as a symbol of youth, health, and domestication. Despite my good grades and hard work on the farm, I was still seen as a “Poj Laib” (a Hmong term often used to describe someone who is rebellious or goes against tradition) because of my shorter hair. The situation only worsened when my sister and I dyed our hair blonde, which caused a major uproar from my parents. They warned us that no Hmong men would want to date us because of our “Poj Laib” status, and that even if someone did, their parents would not approve. We were eventually forced to go to a Hmong hair salon to remove the dye, making for one of the most embarrassing moments of our lives. I have embraced the label of “Poj Laib,” a term often used in Hmong culture to refer to someone who is rebellious or goes against tradition. Instead of letting this label hold me back, I have used it as a source of strength and pride as I have explored and discovered myself. I have made many “Poj Laib” moves over the years, such as experiencing college life, living away from home, and starting a small online business. These choices, along with others like my hair color and my skills and interests, have all contributed to my “Poj Laib” identity. Despite the negative connotations that this label may have in Hmong culture, I have come to see it as a positive thing. It reminds me of my journey of self-discovery and the strength and resilience that it has required. I believe that many other Hmong women can relate to this experience and have faced similar labels. I hope that we can all embrace our “Poj Laib” identities and see them as a source of pride rather than shame. The journey of self-discovery is ongoing, so I will always consider myself a “Poj Laib.” It’s time for us to embrace and define the term “poj laib” for ourselves. In my experience, it didn’t take much to be labeled a “poj laib.” Just wearing dark lipstick with dark lip liner, big silver hoop earrings, charcoal black eyeliner, using lots of hairspray to spike up my hair, pursuing my dreams rather than following expectations, and standing on my own two feet was enough. Twenty years later, not much has changed except that my hoops are a little smaller and I don’t have enough hair to spike up anymore. However, my dreams are bigger and my voice is louder. I stand on the shoulders of giants who have been my mentors, guides, coaches, friends, and sisters. I believe that it is better to be hated for who I am than loved for who I am not, and I am proud to be a “poj laib.”