Generation Z was born in the aftermath of 9/11, molded by the economic recession of 2008, and polished off by the coronavirus, the worst pandemic in a century. And that doesn’t even include the mounting crisis of climate change. Or the growing nationalism. Or the gun violence epidemic. Gen Z’s childhood is rooted in issues that would be unrecognizable only a decade prior. We are no strangers to a fight. So what drew us to a Japanese video game about living in a village with anthropomorphic animal neighbors? Like moths to a flame, or perhaps more appropriately, like children to their first love, Animal Crossing has captured the young teenage heart.

Animal Crossing is a video game made by Nintendo in the early 2000s. The game’s iterations and evolutions have mirrored our developments throughout grade school, and now, when the curtains of our childhood begin to close, Animal Crossing’s masterpiece has taken the stage. Animal Crossing: New Horizons, the latest version of the game, is now a staple of Generation Z’s culture. The characters in the game connected with my generation at a level never seen before. Yet in Animal Crossing, the characters live virtually unrecognizable lives.

The basic premise of Animal Crossing is small-town living. Your character, a human villager, performs basic, everyday functions. You fish. You catch bugs. You grow a tree. Common themes are relaxation and simplicity. Even the soundtrack is purposely designed as a calm lullaby, which harks back to simpler times today’s teens have only dreamed of. It’s a stark contrast to the chaos of our lives. In a New York Times article focusing on Animal Crossing in the age of coronavirus, the author described how Animal Crossing was a “miniature escape” for those isolated by the pandemic. He labeled it as a “balm” for the “rushing tonnage of real-world news.” While that is certainly true, for Generation Z it encompasses all that and more. The characters in the game don’t have to worry about school shootings, arbitrary college admissions or the rapidly deteriorating environment. They simply… live. For a generation that has been denied safety, a voice, and now, as the final blow, the coming-of-age traditions of prom and graduation, Animal Crossing represents a Gen Z vision for better times.

There are those who seek to diminish my generation’s concerns. They cite the suffering of others and admonish us for our presumptuousness. But sadness is never relative to others. Our generation’s troubles are valid and growing. Buzzfeed News so aptly describes it as a “generation free fall.” So pick up your video game console. Load in Animal Crossing. Play the game. For Generation Z, Animal Crossing is hope, and it will save us all.

A few weeks ago, my friend arrived at our lunch table in tears. She’d come from physical education class, where a group of white classmates called her “coronavirus” for her Chinese heritage. It hurt my friend, who hadn’t heard from her relatives in Wuhan. That incident wasn’t isolated — other Asian-American students were targeted for their ethnicity at our middle and high schools. Throughout February and March, similar scenes played out at schools across the country, with Asian-American students insulted and harassed by other students.

One might think that this behavior reflects the numerous anxieties Americans face due to the coronavirus pandemic, including economic insecurity. But my community is affluent and well-educated, my neighborhood dotted with lawn signs saying “Hate Has No Home Here.”

Instead, the coronavirus-fueled bias against Asian-Americans is symptomatic of a wider phenomenon: American society has always regarded Asian-Americans as “non-American.”

Many Americans, of all stripes, are unfamiliar with the breadth of cultures and backgrounds that “Asian-American-ness” comprises. Without that awareness, it’s easy to paint a generic picture of Asian-Americans with broad, stereotypical brush strokes: industrious, high-achieving, passive and foreign. A local university thinks we lack “personality.” This unfamiliarity leads to a subconscious categorization of Asian-Americans as being “other,” a one-size-fits-all group too different to be fully “American.”

Nearly every Asian kid (myself included) experiences this categorization through the question, “Where are you really from?” It doesn’t matter that I was born in Boston, or that my dad cried tears of joy when his hometown team won the World Series “after 108 years of futility.” It’s usually an innocuous question phrased poorly, and I’ll happily talk about my background, but it assumes that Asians can’t quite be considered “American.” That assumption quietly breeds suspicion, and suspicion breeds fear.

We’ve seen this fear of the unfamiliar, combined with external “proof” that Asians “threaten the American way of life,” give rise to active discrimination, from the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, to Japanese internment during World War II, to the verbal and physical attacks of today. This is only possible because Asian-Americans were always viewed with suspicion. For sure, the Communist Party of China has been untrustworthy, but it doesn’t justify linking my Chinese-American friends to the coronavirus. President Trump’s “Chinese Virus” label holds power against Asian-Americans because they’re seen as outsiders — it taps into the fear and anxiety that Americans feel, and the need to displace that fear.

Yet, the coronavirus, and the heightened bias associated with it, gives Asian-Americans a unique opportunity to hold a national dialogue about being “forever foreigners” — to go beyond cultural stereotypes and share our individual experiences. By approaching one another as human beings, not faceless “others,” we might someday view each other as Americans first.

I look down at my book. I slowly read the first line of jumpy letters that won’t stay still. It takes me a minute to find the next line, as my eyes jump around. This is a repeating process until I’m at the end of the page. This doesn’t just happen to me; it happens to 70-80 percent of dyslexic students in schools, and yet schools aren’t providing resources, teachers aren’t getting trained and people don’t even really understand dyslexia.

What is dyslexia? I didn’t know until 2015 when I was faced with the truth as to why I wasn’t progressing in school. I had been given interventions through a program called Title I which helps kids who don’t have access to books or reading in their homes, but it wasn’t working for me. I had plenty of books; I just couldn’t read them. What I needed were interventions that would work for me.

Many people think that dyslexia is just switching letters. In my case, and that of many other dyslexic people, switching letters is only a small part of the bigger issue. A recent study suggests that “The brains of dyslexics do form accurate neurological representations of language sounds” (Paul). This would explain why a dyslexic learner’s comprehension is so much higher than their reading ability. In other words, a dyslexic student could understand Harry Potter but not be able to read a simple word like “the.” In order for a dyslexic student to succeed, correct interventions should be applied early in school.

While it might be true that some schools acknowledge dyslexia, most schools don’t. In my case, it wasn’t until third grade that I started to get the right interventions. The delay made becoming a strong reader especially challenging. I don’t blame my teachers for this. Teachers don’t recognize dyslexia or use interventions because they aren’t prepared to. “One-on-one, individualized intervention is almost never an option in the public school system, but it is necessary for a dyslexic student” (Lunney). Students need to “attain functional reading and spelling as fast as possible. The longer that is delayed the farther behind they fall academically” (Lunney). I was fortunate that my school hired an Orton-Gillingham specialist who was trained in dyslexia. But, I’m one of the lucky ones. Most schools don’t have the funding to provide these necessary resources.

After years of intensive interventions including tutors and outside programs, I can finally pick up a book and read it like it’s nothing. This could be the future for many kids but not until teachers are trained properly and appropriate interventions are provided. In the meantime, we all need to remember, “Great minds don’t think alike.”