I heard the lyric "anger is a gift" from Rage Against The Machine's "Freedom" in the summer of 1993. Those words were a bull-headed push for a first-generation Asian-American teenager in a predominately white suburb, fueling the already-aggravated fire of my 15-year-old brain.
I'd grown up using anger as a tool to galvanize me whenever the odds were against my favor, whether the fight was in social circles, dating, or work. That same intensity made me want to punch the fucking fake teeth out of Mickey Rooney's racist caricature in Breakfast at Tiffany's and scream at all those sexless Asian nerds from 80s comedies to grow a goddamn spine.
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