As a Chinese-Canadian kid growing up in Toronto, perhaps the most daunting moments I can remember in school were at lunchtime. It was supposed to be one of the few times that we weren’t expected to be quiet, but when the lunch bell rang, fear would shoot through me.

It all started in kindergarten with a Tupperware of fried fish and rice, and a group of kids pointing, jeering and plugging their noses at my lunch.

From that day on, words like “stinky” and “gross” were the ones I associated with Chinese food. Until Grade 12, I would ask my mom to pack fries or chicken nuggets, but she always said the same thing: “Those things not healthy.” I’d pipe up, “It’s ‘are not healthy,’ learn your grammar.”

I didn’t want to live this dual life — of trying to be “Canadian” at school while being “Chinese” at home. I was already picked on for having “slanty eyes” and “eating dogs,” and my desire to erase this part of my life — one of embarrassment and bottled-up anger — was unfortunately directed at my mother.

Those who had Fruit Roll-Ups and Lunchables wielded the most power, whereas the few ethnic kids stared at each other across the classroom with the same shamed understanding that if we did open our lunches, it would take only one kid calling it “stinky” to ignite a fire.

In an effort to fit in, I used any allowance I got to buy a slice of pizza, while all the nutritious meals, home-cooked with love, wound up in the trash almost every day.

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By the time I reached my 20s, I had reconciled my love of Chinese food and saw those experiences as destructive to my identity. But I wanted to know, was I the only one who felt this way in school? I put out a call asking for others to share their experiences and received an overwhelming response from people reflecting on this strange but influential time in their lives. It seemed we had a shared experience in the juvenile hope that by swapping our cultural foods for prepackaged “make-your-own” pizzas, we’d feel more normal.

What follows are the stories of eight Canadians — the lunch they had, what made them feel embarrassed and what they would say to themselves and their parents now. If you’ve got a story or photo to share, use #lunchboxconfessional on Twitter, Facebook or Instagram.

Submissions have been edited for clarity and length.

Christine Vu, 28, PR at Momofuku

The lunch: The food is char siu bao, it’s a Chinese dish. My parents bought it frozen. We called it banh bao in Vietnamese, and this is what my sister and I lived off of.

Why was it embarrassing? I always made my own lunches because my parents both worked full time. I’d bring basic lunches, like ham sandwiches. I didn’t bring Vietnamese food, or Asian food to school, because I subconsciously got really good at separating my ethnic home life from school life because I went to a predominantly white school.

But one time in high school I was in a rush and I just brought the frozen baos. That day, I got so many comments about how it smelled, how it looked, how weird it was, and it was embarrassing. Someone even asked me to throw it away. I did have an older student stick up for me, and all they had to say was ‘it smells good,’ and that made everyone shut up. I had never thought about it, but after that, I never brought it back to school.

Growing up in Fort McMurray, Alta., I didn’t really experience that much racism, but it was a different kind of racism where if you didn’t do things the way they did, you would feel othered. It was almost more shocking that way, because I never knew I was looked at differently until I brought these to school. It made me look at my own friends differently, and made me re-evaluate people that I hung around with. As a teenager, I didn’t know how to articulate what was wrong or how to speak up for myself.

What would you say looking back? My parents worked really hard and they didn’t really have time to provide anything else. When I was getting teased, I wish I just said something myself, instead of waiting for someone else to say something, because there might not have been someone there to say anything at all. It was my own friends who were making comments, and I should have been comfortable enough to say something. No one should be saying stuff like that anyway. At the time of the lunchroom incident, I didn’t tell my parents because I didn’t think they would get it. Now, being othered is something I know they understand, too. Food was just one of many things that made us different as a Vietnamese family in Fort McMurray. As hard as it was at times, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Immony Men, 35, assistant professor at OCAD

I identify as a Khmer refugee. I want to preface this story by saying how much I love my mother. The lengths and challenges that she must have faced while settling into this country is incomprehensible.

The lunch: His mom’s version of a “sandwich.”

Why was it embarrassing? My mother used to pack these intricate meals for me, like pork bone soup broth with rice or Cambodian crepes. It’s extremely spicy, and has a lot of garlic and a very meaty fragrance — I mean, ham sandwiches don’t have the same aroma as pork bone soup on rice. I was the only person of colour at my school, so I was embarrassed and ashamed of these meals. I came home one night and I asked my mom to pack sandwiches for my lunch. She listened to me, and you need to know something about my mom, and that she does everything with care. And for Khmer people, food is how we bond and show each other affection. Another thing about Cambodians is that we were colonized by the French, so baguette and pâté were in our cooking circle.

She did make sandwiches for me — they were baguette sandwiches that were toasted with mustard, ketchup, relish and ham, and then my mom would add pâté, like a banh mi, and then the processed cheese came into play and sometimes tomato, cucumbers, cilantro. She made these sandwiches for me for 10 years. I never had the heart to tell her these sandwiches were not very good, or that I didn’t enjoy them, and for the most part I ate them. It wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t familiar with the ingredients; she didn’t eat a lot of sandwiches growing up. But she still made these lunches for me.

What would you say now looking back? If I could talk to myself or my mother I would tell myself to keep eating the sandwiches, and that the cultural differences are going to be there for the next 30 years, so be strong, less angry, and find allies.

I guess part of it was the pressure of being a Southeast Asian child and trying to figure out these defence mechanisms, and the other part of it was wanting not to be bothered in terms of what you think is normal in the lunchroom.

If I could talk to my mother, I would tell her that she’s doing an amazing job, and I appreciate everything she’s done to protect me and encourage me and raise me. But to ease up on the relish, ketchup and processed cheese.

Saba Shahsiah, 33, graphic designer

The lunch: The dish is called khoresht fesenjan. There’s a stew component and the base, which is white basmati rice, and it has ground walnuts, pomegranate paste and chicken in it. You stew it together for about an hour and a half.

Why was it embarrassing?: It’s a special dish in my culture. I really enjoy eating it now, and I always did as a kid, too. Pomegranate is a typical Iranian ingredient. It’s just the way the dish looks — it doesn’t look particularly appetizing for people who don’t know what it is. So as a kid, having that show up in my Tupperware made me anxious, and kids did comment about it. Things like ‘What are you eating,’ or even just stares. Every time I had it, I would dread it, and a lot of the time it would end up the in garbage, and my mom would wonder where the Tupperware went.

I had a group of friends in ESL. We were going through this experience together of being in a new place and not speaking the language, but sitting in the lunchroom we all had our own particular dishes that our parents packed that weren’t familiar for the kids here. It was uncomfortable, so we ended up going to my one friend’s house to eat.

They would give me $5 for emergency money, because we didn’t have cellphones then, it was 1996. So I would go to the local Pizza Pizza and get myself a slice of pizza, or sometimes it was free popcorn from the video shop, and it was definitely not a good trade-off in terms of nutritional value.

What would you say now looking back? I probably would have told myself to not take it personally, not to internalize that as negative feedback and just to approach the feedback I was getting with love, by understanding that those kids just don’t know any better. I would also tell myself that all is going to be OK.

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To be honest, I was kind of shielding my parents a lot, so I didn’t tell them about this experience. But I probably should have told them. Just to not have that secret weighing on me. I think they would have understood.

I think this topic is great and relevant because of the newcomer and refugee kids. I would want them and their parents to know that these type of things might be happening to their kids, too.

Wayne Reyes, 28, nurse, and dad Wilfred Reyes

The lunch: Sinigang. Tomatoes, onions, okra, long beans, bok choy and a tamarind soup base. A secret recipe with rice.

Why was it embarrassing? I remember agonizing about my lunch, the fear of bringing rice to school. There was no microwave, I’d have to eat with a fork and spoon, and I knew that it would make the classroom smell — Filipino cuisine uses a lot of fish sauce. “Do white kids eat rice?” I’d ask myself. I just didn’t want the kids to question or ridicule it, since I was the butt of all the Asian-stereotype jokes, like having “eye slits” or “eating cats and dogs,” already. I just thought, “Why let them have more ammo against me?” It was the complete opposite of McDonald’s and Lunchables. For a kid trying to fit in and have friends, I decided the best option was to throw away my lunches, let them rot in the bottom of my backpack or even flush them down the toilet. My parents eventually caught on and started making me salami sandwiches, which was more “normal.”

What would you say now looking back? I would definitely say sorry to my parents for wasting their time, money and energy. I’d say thank you for making sure I was never hungry, even making two meals, one for home and one for school. Food and Filipino culture are synonymous. Go to any party and you’ll be politely encouraged to eat until you can no longer move. It’s a sign of caring, love. I’d tell my younger self not to care so much about what others will think or say. The food is delicious, and you’ll miss it when you move out!

Paula Navarrete, 30, executive chef at Kojin, Momofuku, and mother Marta Mejia

The lunch: Rice and beans. That’s navy beans, chili peppers, spinach, poblano peppers, tomatillo. We serve it at Kojin, and we still do the bacon on top, and rice if people want it.

Chef Paula Navarette used to be embarrassed about eating rice and beans for lunch. Now it’s on the Momofuku Kojin menu.

Why was it embarrassing? I never got picked on, but you certainly would look at your food, and be like, “OK, I’ll just eat this really quickly,’ or ‘I’ll just eat it at home, and then nobody will know.” Another option was to just buy something in the cafeteria.

It was in a tupperware, or in used yogurt containers. It’s leftovers. You didn’t make specific things for lunch, it’s whatever’s in the house, and home-cooking, we never ate out.

What would you say looking back? Maybe let other people try it, and share it that way. If I saw my younger self, I’d be like, “Who cares?! Just eat it, it’ll be fine.” You don’t want to have Lunchables and pizza all the time anyways.

This dish is on the menu at the restaurant, and it’s an homage to my Colombian heritage. There’s beans on the menu, my grandma’s mashed potato cake is on the menu, because it’s inspired by my family. I think as chefs, we all go back to what we used to like as kids.

Paula’s mom, Marta Mejia, says, “We tried to give them something natural, it’s much healthier. Of course they asked (for other foods), my sister would even say, “The other kids have those things.” But we wanted them to have balanced food. It’s something that we always worried about in Colombia.”

Stephanie Kim, 29, graphic designer, and mother Hye Jeong Kim

The lunch: Kimbap. A popular lunch dish for Koreans made of rice with sesame oil and seeds that hold sliced carrots, spinach with sesame oil, daikon preserved in vinegar, egg with scallions, and fish cake, wrapped in seaweed. It’s a very quick and easy lunch, but it actually takes a long time to prepare. My mom comes from a family of five children and my grandma used to wake up at 5 a.m. to prepare this meal for all of them.

Why was it embarrassing? I distinctly remember in middle school when I would open my lunch and people — including my friends — would make fun of me, commenting on it, calling it disgusting. It made me really self-conscious. I would ask my mom for the typical Wonderbread and ham sandwich, even though I hated it. It actually makes me sad because I threw out all of my mom’s hard work, especially because she would wake up early to prepare each ingredient and I would just throw it out or let it rot in my locker because I was too embarrassed to eat it.

What would you say looking back? I would tell myself to stand up for yourself and if you like it, it doesn’t matter if anyone else has an opinion, because they’re not eating it. You are. When you’re in a situation, you can shy away or be embarrassed or offer to share it and maybe they’ll understand what it is.

Now, I love this dish. I wish I had my mom make it for me every day, but I don’t live at home anymore.

Sonya Davidson, food writer, and father George Pon

The lunch: (George Pon) It’s marinated pork with salt fish. Simple. Marinate it with salt, sugar, soy sauce, oil and cornstarch. And then put them on the plate, and put the salt fish in the middle, and add some ginger. Put the ginger on top of the salt fish, because that’s supposed to counter the flavour of the fish. Then we marinate it overnight and steam it the next morning for about 45 minutes, George Pon says.

I remember packing this food for my daughter. My daughter was a child. She had measles. We were supposed to give her that for a month. That’s an old Chinese tradition. It’s like a Chinese version of chicken noodle soup — a comfort food type of thing.

We’d pack her small Thermos container for school. She never told us anything about the food, because maybe we’d get mad at her or something.

Why was it embarrassing? (Sonya Davidson) I can vividly remember bringing it to preschool. I might have been 2 or 3 years old. I remember being told by a teacher to go to the kitchen and eat it — alone. All the other kids were eating together, but for me it was like, “You’re going to go eat this on your own.” You smell it, and it’s a really strong smell. Being so young, I didn’t understand why, so I just went. But that memory stuck with me. It’s funny because I asked my parents about that, if they recalled that, and they had no idea.

What would you saying looking back? I crave the food now. As kids, we can never exactly duplicate what our parents make.

I think growing up, I’ve always loved food that is really flavourful. I know in other cultures they may make a separate meal for their children and the adults, but growing up Chinese, we had one meal together, and you ate what was given to you. My younger son, when he was 10, had a sushi party, and it was for many the first time they had sushi. We got to expose their friends, and they’re all loving seaweed and those kind of flavours now.

Jon Pham McCurley, 36, artist

The lunch: Banh mi sandwiches with rice and pickled vegetables. I’d also get a Vietnamese meat that would come in this tube of tinfoil, or I’d get what I call red meat, which is Chinese sausage, or pork floss in Ziploc bags.

Why was it embarrassing? My friends would straight up make fun of it. They’d call it a root sandwich, criticize the carrots in it. It was just teasing. It would happen all the time. I’m surprised my mom even had time to make it, but the banh mi sandwich is something I’d get for lunch, and that was not cool. And getting precooked meat wrapped in tinfoil with Vietnamese writing on the outside was like it was from outer space.

I don’t remember throwing my food in the trash, I remember obviously no one would trade me for it, or getting a Ziploc bag full of shredded meat was pretty alien. Kids did not think it was good. But I do remember throwing away porcelain Chinese-style spoons. I’d get a spoon like that to eat some pudding, and I remember tossing it in the trash. I’d be like, “Ugh, I don’t want to be seen with this spoon.” That idea of shame, I did feel that.

What would you say looking back? I’d ask my mom to make me one now. I really appreciate it now. It’s cool to go to this banh mi place in the city and see that they make sticky rice with mung bean mashed up, it’s like, “I know that, I’ve had that since day one.” To my parents, I’d say thanks, I really like eating that stuff.