As an Asian American growing up in a majority white town, I knew what it was like to feel different.

When I was only fifteen-years-old, I wrote a letter to the editor of the local newspaper about my personal experience with prejudice in the community.

I wrote that I had "gotten used to being the pit of racist and stereotypical jokes about Asians." I wrote about how they hurt, even though they were meant to be funny. My peers saw me as different, but I felt more alike to them than I did otherwise.

Looking back now, I am more hurt by the fact that I didn't stick up for myself more often.

Why did I tell myself that I just had to get used to what people would say about me? Why did I think that I had to justify myself to others who didn't understand me just because of the way that I looked?

After pushing the article to the back of my mind for years, I recently looked back to read the comments section. At the time, I don't think I fully understood what people were saying about it. Now, I truly get it — and I am ashamed.

Someone wrote, "If you cannot laugh at yourself, you have some real serious issues."

I was fifteen-years-old.

They said that I was "robbing people of their sense of humor." And that "real racism" was when Louis Farrakhan, an African American religious leader and social activist, "would call all white people DEVILS... and preach for their annihilation." (Yeah, that user even spelled annihilation wrong.)

I was fifteen-years-old. And this was someone's reaction to my experience with hate.

They implored that if I wanted to write about discrimination, I should think about Polish Americans.

"They have been the focal point of bad jokes for centuries, they aren't boo-hooing and writing letters to the editor," the comment said.

I was fifteen-years-old. And this is what I had to deal with.

It's over four years later, and the topic continues to resonate with me to this day.

I still get told some of the same "jokes" that I wrote about in my letter, except this time, I feel comfortable telling people that it's not okay to say those things to me. In fact, I tell them that I don't find it funny at all.

In the article, I asked readers, "Why should we hate a certain group just because they have different beliefs or smaller eyes than us?" I didn't understand why this was such a hard concept for people in my community to accept.

That article is still relevant. What I wrote about four years ago continues to be pertinent. And in today's political climate, this topic is more important now than ever.

At the end, I concluded with these words:

"While a world without any discriminatory injustice seems unlikely in our future, we must realize that not only racism is wrong, but any type of prejudice toward someone is awful regardless."

I was only fifteen-years-old. And I am proud of myself.

I am proud to be Asian American. I am different and that's okay.

I am so proud of that wise fifteen-year-old me.

I hope that one day I'll get to see the world that she doubted ever would exist — one filled with less hate and a lot more love.