Asian+American Stories: Jenny Srey

Where did you grow up, and how did you identify when you were younger? Has that changed at all?

I grew up in a small factory town in Minnesota. During the 1980s and early 2000s, it had a sizable Southeast Asian community, including many Cambodian families. My parents separated when I was very young, and I lived full-time with my Cambodian dad and stepmom. Growing up I embraced my Asian identity, even if I didn’t yet fully understand what it meant to be mixed-race. 
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When I was around other Cambodian families they often expressed awe that a mixed-race child could speak Cambodian—it wasn’t common. That encouragement inspired me to improve my language skills, so I joined a neighborhood Khmer class with other children. In middle school, I even brought my older stepbrother to school to help me request that my homeroom be in the ESL class so I could be with my friends. I stayed in ESL for my homeroom class until 11th grade.

In college, I connected with other Khmer students to revamp the Cambodian Student Association of Minnesota, which had been inactive since the late 1980s. By this time, I began to understand why people reacted so strongly to my language skills—some saw me as white-presenting, others as racially ambiguous. As I got older, through conversations and reflection, I embraced the identity of being a mixed-race Cambodian American and Asian American.

Did you ever feel caught between cultures in any way? If so, how?

At times, I felt caught between cultures. On my mom’s side, holidays were big and we had dinners at restaurants, something I rarely did with my dad’s side. Some holidays I celebrated with my dad weren’t recognized by my mom’s side at all. But rather than feeling torn, I believe I embraced these differences as uniquely mine. Eventually, I blended pieces from both sides into my own family traditions, shaping the way I now raise my children.

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‍Would you say the way you see yourself differs from how others have perceived/tried to define you?

The way I see myself has often been different from how others perceive me. As a child, people sometimes questioned whether I was Cambodian at all, and seemed surprised when I spoke Khmer or understood certain customs. For years, I found myself explaining who I was and how I fit in. It took some time to be comfortable enough to define myself on my own terms and no longer feel the need to prove my identity.

Is there anything you wish you could say to your younger self about being Asian American?

To my younger self, I would say: You don’t have to justify who you are. You are enough. Your heritage is something to carry with pride not something you need permission to claim.

‍How do you instill pride in being fully Asian+American in your children?

That message above is what I try to pass on to my children. I share stories from my own childhood, cook the traditional foods I grew up with, and make sure they experience the holidays, languages, and values that shaped me. I want them to know that being all that they are, including Asian and American, isn't about choosing one over the other, it's about embracing the fullness of both.

What does being Asian+American mean to you?

For me, being Asian+American means honoring my roots while shaping my own path. It’s carrying forward the traditions, language, and values of my Cambodian heritage, while embracing the opportunities and influences that come from growing up in America. It’s living in the “and” by letting both cultures enrich each other.

Being Asian+American is waking up to the smell of fried eggs or crispy chicken, served over warm rice with a side of ketchup—the kind of simple, comforting breakfast that feels like home. It’s Saturday mornings watching my grandma place bowls of food on the altar, her hands moving with care as she lights three sticks of incense. The air fills with a jasmine scent as she reminds me, “We have to give respect to our elders,” a lesson that has stayed with me long after the smoke has faded.

It’s the joyful chaos of preparing for holiday festivities, where cooking is never just a meal, it’s a three-day event. Yahon (Cambodian hot pot) simmers at the center of it all, surrounded by piles of fresh herbs, thinly sliced meats, and laughter spilling from the kitchen.

And it’s the pride that wells up as I watch my oldest walk across the stage to receive his bachelor’s degree with a Khmer krama draped proudly around his neck. In that moment, the threads of my heritage and our American story weave together past, present, and future into one. 
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Learn more about our Asian+American campaign and how you can get involved here.

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