With Thanksgiving over and done with, we have now officially started the holiday season. Most of us during this time will be gorging on a variety of sugary sweets, spending what could be a down payment for a car on gifts, and maybe, just maybe, celebrating the birth of Christ.

Yet, besides gluttony and commercialism, another aspect of the holiday lies in family time. Excuse me while I try to suppress my excitement.

Last week, though, I found myself at one of those family gatherings that I have come to evade like the Arizona football team dodges wins.

The last time that I saw some of these people was about eight years ago at my parents' 25th wedding anniversary. Seeing them now was surprising. There seems to be an unwritten rule that all Filipina women - when they get to a certain age - must style their hair a la Margaret Thatcher and wear hideous sweaters like those infomercial men selling food dehydrators.

I also have changed my appearance a bit, which didn't escape the eyes of my aunts. Like I said before, they haven't seen me in eight years, which means they pretty much missed me through the awkward stage of puberty. One of them loudly remarked that my "boobies had finally come in" (I was later told this was supposed to be taken as a compliment). They then proceeded to poke, prod and lift these protrusions on my chest which, apparently, is okay since "we're family, after all." All agreed that could have never come from their side of the family, so the general consensus came to be that they "must have been from my grandma Margie."

After being felt up by my aunties, I was promptly guided to the kitchen with everyone attempting to stuff as much food possible down my throat.

Besides eating, the next thing that Filipinos do best with their mouths is talking. One of their favorite things to do, however, is to talk about their kids, all of whom are basically doing much better in life than yours truly. One had news that their kid got accepted to Harvard on a full ride or that another one of my cousins just graduated with their doctorate degree just a few months ago and is now earning more money in a year than I ever will with my (eventual) degree in English.

Happily, someone broke out the karaoke, another staple at any Filipino party, and, for the first time in my life, I have never been so happy that the karaoke machine was invented.

Not that I would begrudge any of my cousins their successes, but it does make me feel slightly discouraged in more ways than one.

I guess I'm suffering from what everyone has at this age - a sort of premature mid-life crisis where you're wondering what your next move will be after graduation or if you can ever become a success.

Susan Bonicillo Opinions editor

The talk of my cousins also brought to my mind that I wasn't being the model minority that Asians are supposed to be.

Now, there are many stereotypes associated with being Asian - some good, some bad, some entirely without reason and some that do have some merit to them.

For instance, the belief that Asian women make the worst drivers isn't entirely invalid, at least in driving with my family and in my own driving "skills" and inability to avoid hitting stationary objects.

However, the model minority image of Asians being hardworking and smart, though complimentary, is an image that is hard to live up to.

Talking with an Indian friend of mine, he also lamented the fact that he wasn't performing up to our model minority image. He, an English major like myself, wondered why he wasn't like the other Indian boys and girls who "were kids who can construct a nuclear reactor made entirely out of toothpicks and chewing gum."

Negative stereotypes that society reinforces are extremely detrimental to anyone's self-image. However, to be thought of as smart and industrious by virtue of your race is just as bad. Being expected by your peers to know the answer to just about anything does add to an elevated level of stress, knowing that you have to perform on a higher level than everyone else. In addition, failing in this regard, in being poor academically, makes one feel slightly less of an Asian, like somehow you've disgraced the culture.

Yet, it's good to know that there are other Asians like myself. Slowly, we're coming out. It's comforting to realize there are more of us out there; that yes, there are Asians who do think math is hard.

I've decided there probably should be a support group on campus for us misfit Asians who aren't exactly the sharpest chopsticks in the drawer. With finals coming up, it takes a different spin when you realize that you aren't just failing a class but you're doing the noble act of tearing down stereotypes, one "F" at a time.

Susan Bonicillo is a junior majoring in English. She can be reached at letters@wildcat.arizona.edu.