“…I’m the kind of person who…”

I tuned out.

“When x happens, I y…”

I tuned out yet again. Until I realized he had stopped talking about himself long enough to feign interest in myself. Yes, he made an inquiry:

“So describe yourself.”

I guess it was my turn.

I wouldn’t say I feel exactly pretentious describing myself – but I think I’d rather hang out with a person who could, who might even prefer to, figure me out himself. That – or stop faking the opportunity to keep talking about himself.

There is an art to quantification and articulation, I’ve always believed, but then there is an art to knowing when to let things stand as they exist because talking about them would ruin mere comprehension and interpretation. It’s the art of knowing when to shut up. For cryin’ out loud, just let it be.

Talking should be saved for work purposes – because that’s just expected. There exist incentives for efficiency. Snap, snap.

Snap. I gave “describing myself” a hack anyway.

“Well. I’m real easy-going. I -”

He responded, “I can totally see that,” before continuing on.

I tuned him out yet again.

That was even before he asked permission to drunk dial me – while swearing he was “entertaining” on the drunk dial. He wasn’t. I mean – I don’t expect you to be the next Richard Pryor or anything but it’s another thing to chalk up the hype on a veiled attempt to make me an enabler to your addiction.

Yawn. Next.

There was this other line were these other lines I got from somebody else.

I had to have “a talk” because although I had seen him twice – total – the 1am, 2am, 3am and 4am texts were a tad much. A tad. As were emails with a singular You Tube link to a music video in each, which I suppose were meant to artfully and lyrically convey messages to me through the rhymes of another being or artist who had once felt exactly the same way he did at that moment.

Actually. I don’t remember what I said – admittedly, I buffered the whole “I’m just not into you” mantra with a predictible sprinkle of “I’m into being single right now.” But I’ve been all about seeking out the truth recently – while honoring others with the truth as well. After all, the truth sets you free. So does compassion and tact, however. So I managed to avoid covering the whole, “I want to never see you again because you creep me out” premise with an untruthful “we need to slow things down.” But it left things open a bit, because he tried to make his case.

“You’re really cool…”

“I have no expectations, no – none at all…”

“You can do whatever you want – you can call me, you can not talk to me ever again…”

“Yeah … I’ll take whatever I can get.”

What. What? Seriously.

Vouch for yourself for cryin’ out loud. It may be true that yes – you will take whatever you can get – but don’t actually say that. Don’t show all your cards at once. I don’t even want to play my best a good hand so I’d rather bow out.

Contact again on Facebook. Via text message. How are you doing? Really, guys and gals. And I’m not talking to them; I’m talking to you. It’s just not that hard – spare more time and pain in the long run. I wrote it out in a message, over text – in the same format it was sent – and there would be no mistake.

“I’m sorry – I’m just not interested. Just thought you should know.”

You don’t need a movie to teach you what should’ve been learnt in normal human interaction since the age of 5. Why is common sense not so common, anymore?

Next.

Right.

I am the impostor “winter baby” who picked Southern California to settle down in. Because there is no such thing as “winter” here. The seasons here are “dry” and “drier,” with the most drastic temperature changes occurring between dawn and dusk in the exact same day – what with no humidity in this desert to keep warmth around.

Save for the fact that maybe I just got comfortable with this city after my stint in higher education, I love the fact that I can drive to the snow and then leave it. But I do. At least two weekends per winter month. When I leave Mammoth, I leave the worst forms of snow behind so that they do not exist in my day-to-day life – the slush, the ice and all the road salt they require. Mild temperatures, which means that people wear flip-flops all year round (or Uggs at all) – two of my top fashion pet peeves – are of consequence. Pretending to commiserate with other Angelenos who complain about temps “dipping” into the 60s are another. And that’s okay.

So this most recent winter I have been finding myself busier than I’ve probably ever been. At times I have even found myself missing home, but at the same time I wouldn’t have it any other way. It means things are happening all around me and I’m honored to be able to be a part. Sometimes I find myself missing LA. Home – along with my usual spots with the usual people – will have to wait. It’s worth the wait. I will have to risk that they won’t be the same when I get back.

I probably won’t be the same, either. That’s really part of the beauty.

Everything happens in the winter. Snowboarding. New Year’s. My birthday. Snowboarding. Some of the same and some of the new – like performing pirate music with a band on the violin. To me, though, it is all new. Like having new and very special people in my life, or evolved friendships with the established special people in my life. Being able to pump higher in the halfpipe at Mammoth. No room to breathe sit around yet the energy keeps coming because they are all things I love to do. Isn’t that the point? To always do something you love? Although I miss home, I can’t take for granted that I feel recharged because of the things I get to fill my calendar with.

It is mid-January and I have made four Mammoth trips this season thus far. Leaving for Salt Lake City, Utah on Thursday and in February I will visit Whistler Blackcomb, Canada. Sprinkled in between are shows. My birthday. A trip to New York. And always visiting and supporting friends whenever I can – sometimes while doing exactly what I love.

Oh right – and blogging too.

See you on the other side.

But don’t be mistaken. It’s not that I’m sad you are already committed. If you weren’t, I would feel obligated to feel more for you than I am capable. Right now. It’s easier. I need easy right now.

I couldn’t lie though and say I wasn’t ever curious if you were single. How old you are. What your passion in life is. What your craft is.

Though I’ve never met her, I respect your girlfriend. The Code is more important than ever. The keeping or breaking of it is our contribution to or detraction from society. Never in the middle. Besides, if we’re a part of something greater than ourselves, this is The Way. If I am the end to everything in my words, my actions, we are all in trouble. I believe that.

This time is different. I’m not lost in transition and just looking to grab onto the nearest thing to attach myself to achieve a sort of false sense of stability or distraction. That wouldn’t be fair to anyone. I know it didn’t stop me before, but denial is so early-twenties. I’ve decided it’s about time to grow up. Besides, I’ve become an expert at distracting myself with myself. It allows me to live out the respect I have for others by not using and abusing them for my own, trivial fancies.

I’m telling you - I am here and I will relish this moment; I have arrived. I don’t need you (or you, or you) - but you’re welcome to contribute if I think you’re worthy. After all, only the most spectacular or stupid (self) can spoil this. I will enjoy this – I am enjoying this – and now I know I will never settle again. I won’t need to, because I will hate you for holding me back, for requiring me to expect less of you. Like I said – it wouldn’t be fair.

I’m different now. I’ve changed. Now, I can appreciate beauty without always wanting it for myself, without wanting to attach myself. There is an art to interacting from a distance. In what better city than L.A.? Before, maybe the problem was that I was made to think I had no beauty of my own. I have learned that when you start to be able to appreciate all kinds of beauty because you can grow it from within, you learn to just be in the moment and love that, learn from that.

I’m not jaded, just educated.

Jaded people don’t risk. They have rendered the verdict that cynicism has won out before true beauty has had its chance to shine. And that’s the shame – all evidence hasn’t been introduced and you’ve squelched whatever peace that has remained. The uncertainty? Sure, sometimes it’s painful, but the pain isn’t permanent without help from yourself. As with all things, you get what you put into it. The hard work, I’ve learned, is worth it.

I have been with cynics before. I used to think that I myself was a cynic; in reality, cynicism is a fall-back for anyone. It’s a cop-out. It clouds your judgment so that you can’t see clearly and won’t – even if beauty was right in front of your face for years. That is a waste. Cynicism is a mask for weakness. A decided lower rung on the ladder to hedge against a bigger fall.

You can’t reach the stars without climbing. You can’t climb without risking. Let it go. Risk the truth; liars are cowards.

I’m looking forward to this journey. Beautiful you (or you, or you) and I may meet up eventually. But I’m not waiting around. After all, I wouldn’t expect the same of you. I will only be earned.

Ah, the memories.

It reminds me of a time (*ahem* University of Caucasians Living [amongst] Asians) of never really having to deal with the interracial societal issues at large – or even personal interaction – so long as I didn’t “have” to. It reminds me of the type of camaraderie of being amongst other people who happen to share a continental ethnic origin and desire to get drunk at a club the celebs used to go to, 2 years ago, and will in 3 months undergo another renovation, name and ownership change. (And hey – before you think I’ve handed down a verdict, I’ll tell you first off that I’m not one to judge – I used to put those things together!)

While I won’t contest that it’s superficial racial unity at its best, it baffles if even saddens me that we can come together for this sort of “movement” as an attraction for nightclub promotion dollars, yet we are the ones – the minorities – who aren’t even considered a solid political voting block. I know that on the political side, this speaks to the diversity of the Asian American experience. More varied things brought our parents and ancestors to America so I know that’s a benefit as far as avoiding being pigeon-holed. The problem? Our voices have a much harder time of being acknowledged at all. The “strength in numbers” rule doesn’t even apply.

The in-fighting I’ve observed that goes on inside the group (a fight getting instigated because somebody looked at somebody else the wrong way) couples with another frustration I’ve experienced. I program a lot of HBO on my DVR and Chris Rock’s recent special Shoot The Messenger was something I had been looking forward to. I wasn’t disappointed – the social commentary in his material was not only relevant and current, it was also transferable.

“There’s only one thing that makes me more angry than racism and that’s black people who are shocked at racism. Whenever something racist goes down, they always gotta find that ONE black person that can’t believe it. ‘I can’t believe Imus would say that‘ and I’m like, ‘Where the f*** you from?‘ There’s nothing a white person could ever say to me that would ever catch me off guard. Ever! Now I just look for it: ‘Where is it? Is it over here? Over there? Where is it?‘ … Regis Philbin could [be interviewing me and during the commercial break, stab me in the neck] and I’d be like, ‘Ehhh…Should’ve seen that coming!‘”

- Chris Rock, Shoot the Messenger

I can relate to this – given a racial sub-in here or there. I know it may be completely self-indulgent but honestly, few things have been more frustrating to me in my transplanted life. Chris Rock nails it when says he wants to ask, “Where the f*** you from?” because sometimes that’s exactly what I want to ask (even though I may know the answer).

The feeling I think stems from an incredulity of sorts, with potential to devolve into envy. Something like that, anyway. It even becomes a reminder that in this life thus far, some of my brothers and/or sisters have gotten away with leading a more charmed life than I have. That so much work into validating myself despite all the odds might have been for nothing – if maybe my parents hadn’t moved to where they did, to Wisconsin. I wasn’t white enough the first 17 years of my life, and suddenly – after transporting 2000 miles – I was too white-washed. My college classmates had gone to high schools that were 50% Asian while I was one in 5 Asians in my high school, total.

Having lived a racially-discriminatory childhood is a common sob story here in L.A. – such is the case with the number of transplants and the patchwork quilt of different people of all backgrounds throughout the city. But when you come across somebody whose experience has precluded that so that when an instance happens, they’re still in a state of shock assessing the situation – you’re already on a different page than them. You feel as if you’re alone on the front lines and have even more work to do because you’re still convincing your teammate that there was even an attack made – that what was actually said to you was wrong. Now I’m not talking about needing to walk around with a chip on your shoulder – just a readiness to nip ignorant thinking in the bud, is all – and be done with it. It’s having enough of that sort of practice to go around so that it can effectively be done and performed. Practice makes perfect, you see?

I admit that there’s a sort of bitterness that others were allowed to skip racial boot camp while my parents made me go every summer. It’s something I have to get over.

And now they’re stuck on your team without having completed that training. And you’re all at war where nobody got to pick sides – teams were just randomized – and they don’t even realize they’re not pulling their fair end in a battle they don’t even know is being fought, lest another ignorant conscience be released into the urban jungle … freely abdicating the cause for equality, empathy, humility and the war against prejudice and ignorance.

Like Collin Powell said, it’s not enough that we clarify that Obama is not a Muslim. What is wrong with his being Muslim in the first place? As in so many things, the accusations, assumptions and perceptions we own are so often more about ourselves than the actual object of our feeling. All I know is, we can’t change anyone else.

“A reasonable man adapts himself to his environment. An unreasonable man persists in attempting to adapt his environment to suit himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.”

-George Bernard Shaw

There may be still hope.

I also enjoy a view that is of the Presidential Box variety, as my cubicle is in an open-air mezzanine area shared with only a couple other coworkers. My coworker, Chris, and I have turned it into a sort of peanut gallery. We’re removed from the actual boiler room (read: we have our privacy) but are free to spectate and heckle to our heart’s desire. And no one below knows what’s coming. 

To complete the picture of my workday, I have a sales job. Actually, I think almost every single career – including in academia – is a sales job at the core. You have a product, which you have to convince a buyer or otherwise consumer of that product that it’s your product that they want, in exchange for compensation. But this career is a sales job at the core and on every appendage shooting out from it. It raises the temperature past those of other careers – especially in this market – but I have reason to feel extremely blessed. With all the market drama that’s been going on – I can honestly tell you that with our niche, there is NO other place on Wall Street I would rather be standing. (No “Main Street” mention here – thanksforlooking.) It would be modest to say that the company is having a pretty awesome year.

But back to the boiler locker room dynamics.

“Dude, so I was on this date with this Asian girl last night…” He stopped, because he saw that I was making my way down the aisle. And then he greeted me, “Oh, hi Esther.”

I had to ask. “Yeah, man – was she hot? Or was she just Asian and that was enough?”

I actually wanted to know – as a point of inquiry and curiosity, not an accusation. Necessarily.

I like to ball-bust nip things in the bud, and it’s probably the most valuable thing I’ve learned here. Part of it definitely stems from the need to actively push back because otherwise, that testosterone, that “other force” is overbearing. And the guys, likewise, know what they get from me. If you tell a Bro Story within my earshot with the intention of getting the guys to think more highly of you as a result of your latest conquest, you better know it’s fair game for me.

I’m also the most avid belcher in the office. Make of that what you will. One time after one of my impromptu performances, a rookie seeking solidarity with his newfound coworkers said within earshot of everyone, “Well, that’s ladylike” as if it were the aim of every female to be viewed as “ladylike” in the minds of all her coworkers. That the highest she could aim would be to fit her lifestyle and mannierisms to all the accepted mores, norms and indications of “Ladylikehood” to the acceptance of all men worldwide officewide. To their credit, my longtime coworkers said, “Just wait; you’ll see, man.”

I told him, “Oh honey – you don’t even know. Are you the PC or employee conduct police around here now? You can bring up ladylikeness when you can get rid of the sexist locker room talk that goes on around here.”

Yes, it is too much to expect some sort of friendly coworker camaraderie from me or even divested attention to your self-indulgent small talk after I hear you make misogynist comments and gestures every single day.

Salesmen.

Adaptation is a skill, but if you betray one face for another then the ante on your credibility is on the line. The creep factor amongst salesmen, period, is seemingly more obvious.

Jimmiwin said it best: “Guys are creepy only if the attraction isn’t reciprocated.”

Good point. Because then it would just be flirtation, now wouldn’t it? But seriously? What if you just exude creepiness overall? While I think Jimmiwin is mostly right, I think it may just be an excuse that takes the responsibility off the guy. There are undoubtedly guys whom many women think are creepy.

What is creepy, then? Lack of selectivity? The sometimes-perpetual feeling you get that they want something from you that you’re never going to give to them? The type of guy who plays the numbers game – and in that respect, should we not hate the player but hate the game? I know a large part of my overall jadedness with my coworkers (not to be confused with my career) is the fact that I’ve worked here for 5 years. While the work may be an inspiration to my daily routine, more coworkers simply aren’t than are. Anyway, this is fine because hey – don’t poop where you eat. Just get in there and get out!

After they left, my parents – and I – would fill in the following blanks as to who they were; that is, with my being the audience. That is the thing about filling in the blanks. When you don’t really know anything about a person, others can make them out to be whomever you want them to be. You can also project on them any sort of role you feel they need to fill and they won’t be there to dispute that portraiture. So though I never knew them as well as even one of their high school acquaintances, there was an extremely high bar that their absence created – even bars that weren’t true to life. But they were created for me to overcome. When I did – I got the violin scholarship, played last in the piano recitals – it would prove that I was worthy of being loved. I even fulfilled their role as lawn-mower, as I probably mowed the quarter-acre lawn more often than my Dad did after the brothers left the nest.

The absence of my brothers created a need in me that went created yet unfulfilled. I have always had the love and approval of my Dad, so I wouldn’t say I had your stereotypical “Daddy Issues” you always hear about in women’s magazines regarding sexuality and equating the aforementioned with approval. Also, my mother is not the girliest of the girly so female sexuality for the most part went repressed – or, shall I say unexplored for the moment. Instead, I had “Brother Issues.” I have had, for most of my life, a need to be accepted by men as peers – whether I admitted it or not. It was something I had never had, but wanted. It was something I could see beyond my reach.

An example of a comment that really lit me up recently came via email, when discussing politics with a coworker (not something I recommend – especially via email). Regardless, he told me after a valid argument I made that I “seem really emotional.” While I was incredulous that he had made the personal attack first (telling me to “do a little reading, study a little macroeconomics” - when it was a major I flirted with in college) and I ignored it in order to keep the conversation on the issues, he had to go still further and reduce my arguments to the downfall that is my female tragic irony. Well there I go again – getting emotional on tax structures. Typical.

After I thought about it, I was content to conclude that my actual arguments had actually exasperated him enough that he had to default to personal attacks. If it’s one thing I’ve learned about politics, people stoop to the entire character summations when they are about to lose on the issues themselves. Men and women do this. But enough about politics.

A positive to the environment in which I grew up is that I have had practice at discerning whether a minimal amount of respect for the complexities and capacities in another human being is there or not. This is directly in contrast to people who only connect with others if they can see the end result of benefitting themselves – for the sake of vanity, obligation, networking or romantic interest.

I admit that I used to be a “one of the guys”-type of girls. In college, this necessarily meant having trouble ”finding good girlfriends” because all of the others were so catty, but I wasn’t. But after awhile it was a point of self-examination for me. It is so much more likely to have nothing to do with everyone else and everything to do with me if the common denominator was my ability to relate to them. In retrospect, I felt that there was very little that connecting with other women would do to benefit me, perhaps simply because the option was never even in my peripheral vision growing up. But as is often the case, I’m thankful that my vision has expanded and is better than I could even dream of at a prior time in my life.

Sometimes, our vision is so narrow that it can only go one of a couple ways. We project things that we ourselves are dealing with on others – but what that really says is more about ourselves than the person or object we project that upon. We can’t handle being wrong or even leaving room for another person’s view, so maybe we press the hot button issues in order to distract everyone’s attention. And then there are people who are content to leave things open, to leave things uncertain.

“Doubt is not the opposite of faith. Certainty is.”

-Anne Lamott

I favor stillness. Because the real irony is that we have faith that the things we believe are 100% correct. All this, despite the fact that our imperfect life, experience and perspective is one in a trillion lives, experiences and perspectives that have come to pass.

Even now, I still have more guy friends than girlfriends, but now I’m blessed enough to have a girlfriend or two I can trust in every situation. And most recently, I’ve been befriending handfuls of other women I just cannot wait to get to know. I treasure girls’ nights out more than any other, because together we share, relate, cheer on, envy, back up each others’ experiences. I’ll push for every opportunity to get girls who can keep up with my snowboarding group to come along. In a way I’m reclaiming a sisterhood I didn’t have biologically and making it that much better. I want everyone to know that there are no excuses, no pre-written roles for you that you didn’t buy into yourself. Continually ask yourself, what do you really want? Just have faith to follow that through and become the person that can appreciate it in its purest form.

I have a few pairs of jeans that I’ve had to fix in the right knee. I guess it’s kind of like guys and their workshirts. The elbows wear down because they slide their arms around on the desk. With me and jeans, though, the holes I’ve managed to put in those pants is caused by merely falling. On concrete.

I’m all right in the athletics department. I’m not in my top form at the present, but then again I doubt I’ll ever run another Marathon. I’m keeping it mostly to yoga and snowboarding for now, with some cardio in between when I’m not feeling lazy. But I’m here to tell you that being athletic doesn’t mean you’re not a klutz.

Could be the platform shoes. Or the pushy crowds. Or the beer (the pant leg repair on the left was from Oktoberfest in Munich). Or all. Or just the fact that I’m simply a klutz. No matter what, I’m always falling the same way, putting the hole in my right pant leg at the knee. It’s as if I’ve choreographed my fall, orchestrated even my missteps – to put my right knee forward every single time. So I do it the same way over and over again. Falling happens to me often enough to notice the pattern.

Old habits die hard.

I’m extremely right-handed in all things, not just falling. Hillary, a yoga teacher of mine, pointed out once that my right foot tends to turn out more when I stand – and therefore also when I walk. And run – since that’s where I’m experiencing my patellofemoral (knee) pain when I run more than a couple miles. It means that I work that side more overall, unfortunately to the point where I’m working it too hard.

I am also a regular, not goofy, stance on a snowboard. That means my right foot steers and is in the back. And I’m a rightie in all things – I don’t need to turn the toy guitar over when I’m rockin’ out on Guitar Hero. I also have two different contact prescriptions in my eyes, and again I have ocular dominance in the right as well (I believe). The weaker prescription is in my right eye – which means that my right eye has better vision. I don’t know if this means that I’m also using my right eye more than my left and that’s why it’s sharper, or that my left eye is not as sharp because I use it so much more.

I’ve had lefty envy and especially ambidextrous envy. I’d like to have a strength or favor a side that most others don’t. In the grand scheme of things it doesn’t matter much but the thing about being ambidextrous is that you are not only equal in skill on both sides – you don’t have a weak side. Then again, a lot of our thinking tends to gravitate towards eliminating or managing weaknesses instead of celebrating our strengths, or fleshing out a way to maximize them to our advantage. Instead, we’re so focused on the negatives and minimizing the damage those weaknesses employ.

So in keeping with the theme of accepting myself as I am, I’ve accepted that I’m just another ordinary right-hander. I doubt I’ll ever stop falling on the sidewalk or on the pavement – it doesn’t really matter that it’s onto my right knee. If I’m aiming towards the middle, I’ll remember that I favor the right (non-politically) and try to aim more towards the left, to compensate. Besides, the right knee patches give my pants and jeans character.

Apparently, his story was meant to come back to me in some way. I had recorded the first volume of the HBO Documentary series The Black List, and he was the very first featured. I thought the documentary did a remarkably well job at bringing out the poignancy in each person’s unique black experience. Everyone talked about something different – whether it was about growing up or just one of many lessons learned at work – but the common thread they all had was that they talked about a moment or whole experience that really meant a lot to them. Perhaps instances that changed them in order to give them deep meaning or insight.

I can’t wait for the second volume; I hope there are at least four.

What Toni Morrison had to say (as many things she has to say) really spoke to me:

Writing is the only free place; it’s the only place where I’m not doing what somebody else wants or asks or needs. Writing is mine. So [after] winning the Nobel Prize, suddenly I’m in a different league – not just out there in the world but in my head. That sort of rivalry with oneself – that is not self-generated but generated outside. The necessity [is] for me to make sure my work [is] not somebody else’s version of what I should be writing about.
[snip]
You know perfectly well that you’re pulling from the rest of the world of books. But what you want to make is this one little place, like the facet of a diamond. Just one little shape. And that’s where you live, and that’s yours.

I had the opportunity to attend a storytelling workshop held by Erwin during Terra Nova, an artisan/creativity retreat put on by Mosaic over Labor Day Weekend – if you must know, and things he taught about the compelling components in the art of storytelling were so reflective of simply reliving life itself. Taking someone else on your journey, and their wanting to actually be there with you. As in, what makes a life worth telling – from your perspective?

One of the points made was the fact that the audience is not drawn to your story because it is the beholder of truth. They can get that anywhere. It’s not a compelling enough reason to pay attention. What draws them to your story is that they sense that they can trust you. And part of that is sharing what you have in common with the audience without being common. It might entail sharing a common experience but giving your own unique perspective.

What happens when the things you share is simply playing lip service to what others expect you to say, do or even be? But I think far too often, we get sucked into that and don’t even realize it. And then where are we? We’ve lost ourselves and we’ve gained people whom we don’t even know would like our very authentic selves. On top of that, I think – people can see all of that. They can see the layers that are put there between your bare soul and your audience. While it will resonate with some, with others they will feel your reluctance to trust them with your real self. The search for surfacey acceptance is realized through writing instead of a deeper connection that is harder to achieve but is ultimately more rewarding when truly made.

The point of it isn’t that there is “no agenda” – everything that’s worth something has an agenda, even a trajectory or conflict and resolution - it’s the very thing that gives meaning to what you have to say. But we can share ourselves without imposing that which affects us on other people. To simply share can be that agenda – to share ourselves is a gift to others. A gift which they may or may not choose to take, and that in itself is a profound thing. And writing and sharing is the search for people who might read and listen.

In the same documentary (The Black List: Vol. 1), Kareem Abdul-Jabbar – who has also had experience writing - had a moment where he was illustrating a point like this:

They say, “I’d rather be a lamppost in Harlem than governor of Georgia.”

Surrounding ourselves with those who are invested in expanding our understanding, together, while contributing to others’ stories in a positive way whenever we can is invaluable. It’s community; it’s the safe place where people who don’t understand aren’t there to disqualify your experience. Personally, I’m all the better because of writing. Everything that I’ve been able to externalize has been a practice of keeping a constant flow of thoughts forming and releasing, allowing new ones to fester before they get their chance at the same. It’s therapeutic and allows myself to live the life I’m meant to live, be the person I’m meant to be through that safe place.

It was before the games even started, around the time of the Tibetan protests. Before the cuter 9-year-old miming the ugly 7-year-old, the 14-year-old girl gymnast(s), the fake digital fireworks, the BSOD (I don’t think the latter 2 were a big deal) – and before the spectacular opening cermonies that showed every other nation on the planet that they could never pull off anything like that without Communism.

Point taken.

Anyway, I sensed the similar sentiment in fellow Chinese Americans in the area. And I have read a few blogs lately that have complained about anti-Chinese news coverage – which uncovered the aforementioned, and a few more.

“It’s an old brand of nationalism that has been revived now that China is a major player in the world,” said Richard Baum, a professor of political science at the UCLA Center for Chinese Studies. “Everyone loves a winner. There’s a huge diaspora that had no reason to feel proud for the last 100 years. Most of them, I suspect, identify with Beijing’s coming-out party.”

Chinese immigrants worldwide have supported China despite the fact that many fled their homeland during its most repressive periods, from the Cultural Revolution to the 1989 Tiananmen crackdown, to seek better lives. (There are about 400,000 people in Los Angeles County who are either Chinese or part Chinese, according to the U.S. Census).

And I guess I should clarify (disclaim) right here that I am not really a Chinese American. Maybe in bloodline alone, but truth be told – I could not identify with the excitement some of my old college classmates had about their motherland being this year’s Summer Games host. Right, so it’s not my motherland. I was reminded this morning of that as I finished reading an article on reuters (emphasis added):

The baseball park played host to a couple of politically tinged thrillers which went down to the wire. It was a good day for communism: Cuba beat the United States 5-4 and rookies China defeated Taiwan 8-7.

The match-ups perhaps meant more to the political underdogs. In Havana, Cubans crammed around TV sets late in the night, and work stopped in Taipei as enthralled locals watched events unfold.

“It’s just like in history,” said Mao Ai-fen, a government employee in Taiwan. “Last night we lost to (former coloniser) Japan and today we lost to the Communist bandits.”

And so. It was a good day for Communism.

Mao Ai-fen’s quote gave me that sort of sting because my entire life I’ve identified myself as Taiwanese American. My motherland has been occupied by Portuguese traders, Dutch traders, Japan and China. So in reality, it’s hard to defend, much less be proud of a country represented by a government that has directly threatened and killed my people – even if it means supporting my bloodline.

So there you have it – I have a hard time identifying with the people complaining of the negative coverage. Or those expressing a blind allegiance to the fact that these Olympics are a chance to make Chinese people everywhere “look good” for some reason. It seems to me that when you live in Los Angeles or any other major, multi-cultural city, somehow you’re in an act of 24/7 diplomacy. You know, to me – that is just buying into the Communist ideal itself of blending ethnocentric pride with nationalism, while turning a blind eye to the people that are presently ruled under it, oppressed by it.

And I hate to say I told you so. We thought that it would be good for the Chinese people; that they might benefit from the influx of tourism. Instead, 1.25 million people got evicted from their homes for the “good of the country” and received a mere third of what it costs to buy a new apartment:

…the Yu family and their neighbors are left to wait, worry and appeal for sympathy.

‘We hung pictures of the leaders because we want to show that we love the Communist Party,’ said Yu Changsheng, 45, one of the shop’s owners. ‘Since I’m Chinese, I love China. I hope the Olympics will be hosted successfully.’

And the above quote almost just brought me to tears. I want to shout, “Don’t buy into it, it’s not for the good of the country – they don’t care about you! Don’t buy into the nationalism! It’s crap! See? Look at me! I hate Bush!! In fact, we all do!! We are still American and proud!!”

On closer examination, I can see the anti-Chinese coverage, such as this piece in the Chicago Sun-Times on women’s gymnastics, which actually quantifies the Chinese as evil and Americans as good. Yes, it’s simplistic if not racist. It reeks a bit of “take that” in Round 2 of a game of “Retribution: Sore Losers.” (That is, from the viewpoint of the journalists’, not the athletes’.) And that’s not even taking into account He Kexin’s tie-breaker over Liukin’s in the uneven bars – isn’t she 14, again? But the piece sounded even nationalistic. Wait, nationalistic? That sounds a little bit familiar, like a value out of some foreign government system. So let’s watch ourselves, there.

At the same time, all journalists who are reporting on the Olympics are in China right now – make sense? Therefore they’re subjected to the rules of that government presently, and are enjoying have been beguiled into lesser freedoms-of-the-press than they’ve been promised, much less are used to. You know, I can see why I would be a pissed off, biased journalist, too. And I would go so far as to say that the Chinese government almost did this to themselves, by going back on their promises. And the IOC is at fault for not having the balls to contest anything the Chinese have conned them into overlooking. Maybe it is hard to deliver unbiased coverage when the journalists’ ideals of covering the games in China has been spoiled, that the rose-colored lenses have been lifted.

I actually went to a BBQ over the weekend and got to catch up with a schoolmate, a civil engineer, who is currently working overseas in Vietnam. A couple years ago, he had left his job in China, where he was contracting for his company on building one of many Olympic facilities. It turned out that his company was hired as merely a front to feign ”fair competition,” when in actuality the Chinese government had hired completely different Chinese, government-run and inefficient companies to manage the construction. He made his reports, which were just left on the higher-ups’ desks – and when things weren’t going according to schedule, they would try to place blame on him, but they couldn’t. He had already warned them in the reports that they never read. He left his job in China because of all the political backlogging making his work meaningless.

Maybe things are better than they were before in China. But “better” as far as political freedoms or merely economic ones? These things are never completely separate. Does this mean that they can’t get better and that we should just take what we can get?

If Americans can hate Bush and not be considered un-American (finally) … can the Chinese hate the Communist government and still be Chinese? Hopefully yes. But the main difference is that the American government infrastructure allows and protects for that dissent while the one ruling China punishes for any hint of dissent. They pay off earthquake survivors and jail protesters in blatant acts of entrapment. What boggles my mind is, I do not see any reason to defend their conduct. Why did our parents emigrate to America from the first place? To have access to better opportunity if not escape oppression? Again, hopefully yes. So wouldn’t it then follow that we should care more about the people back in the homeland over the image that the government is trying so hard to portray – if not all-out fake – by snuffing out whatever dissent that surfaces?

You cannot be a peaceful country without dealing with your past. China is not only not dealing with its past – they’re covering it up and continuing to do more of the same.

Things are NOT peachy over there. This doesn’t mean that Chinese blood or people are worth any less – it just means that the majority of our people are ruled by an oppressive government. The only way to change that is to recognize it first.

Ahh…I get it. My eyes kind of go off to the sides like that. I get it now. Haha. That’s funny. In fact, I’m so honored you want to look like me. For those 5 seconds. While your lips are sneering. And look – you’ve even put a dragon on the basketball court! We like dragons! You know, if we had a contest where we asked hermits to guess where the Summer Olympics were going to be held next based on team photos, you would win first prize. By the way, thank you for honoring the greatest physical feature of my entire race and just putting that out in the spotlight. After all, it’s what we’re known for. We are kind of funny-looking in that way, aren’t we?

I mean, you didn’t know this was offensive. You were just listening to your sponsors (the Spanish one, not the Chinese one)! And if you had known it would offend, you wouldn’t have done it! That alone validates this picture in itself – if you had known. And it was intended as a salute!! Considering your country welcomed Lewis Hamilton to Barcelona so well in Formula 1 just last February by ALSO looking like his family (yes, that requires black make-up and wigs) - and also didn’t mean anything by it - this is just par for the course. Spanish sports are surely on a roll with the apologetics and “meaning no harm,” aren’t they? Because there’s quite a lot to cover: Formula 1, now basketball … and the pride of Europe, futbol!

How could I forget? Just remember: Aragones calling Thierry a “black piece of ****” doesn’t mean that he’s racist, either, oh no. After all, he has “black friends and gypsy friends” – all of which, I’m sure, he has invited over for a matchmaking fête to wed his sons and daughters. It all sounds a little familiar to me for some reason. Let’s see…

“‘I want to say that we have a great respect for the Orient and their peoples. Some of my best friends in Toronto are of Chinese origin.”

- Jose Calderon

I guess it’s a little bit too much to expect that befriending these people of The Orient might actually cause you to stop using the term “Orient” in itself. Or might result in your understanding that these friends might actually be offended by your actions. That would be too “American” or “PC.”

And when Spanish futbol fans throw bananas onto the field and make ape noises whenever a black player (even on the Spanish team) touches the ball, it’s funny. It’s hilarious. The audacity of FIFA and FIA, to just step in there and tell your national clubs to regulate your fans!! It seems like everybody likes to pick on Spanish sports. You poor guys.

But let’s not forget that if any of these people offended us, they’re sorry about that. They are all really truly sorry we’re offended, if we’re offended. It just had to end up that way, for some reason, because if they “didn’t really mean anything” it completely changes the trajectory of the comment, you understand? They just said and did things that happen to bring race into the picture … but we expect way too much for thinking their minds actually have the capacity to fathom the history, much less respect that history, that exists behind race, period! But feel free to bring that issue in at any time – in a complimentary or insulting manner – as long as you don’t mean anything by it. I’ll be sure not to take offense for the sake of not hurting your feelings. You’ll just have to pardon me – I’m a bit on the sensitive side.

“Maybe some people in Spain come through like that but in England or the U.S. they have the same problem. We don’t feel we did something bad. It’s wrong to interpret it as racist.”

- Jose Calderon

Calderon was right. There are problems like this in the United Kingdom and United States. And Pau Gasol, a Laker in our multi-cultural wonderland known as Los Angeles, looks forward to covering all the ground he can. Therefore, this makes every racial slight that happens in Spain permissible. How dare we NOT eliminate all racism in our own countries before pointing a finger at a Spanish team in international sports? We better start minding our own business!

Okay Calderon, since WE were the wrong ones since we interpreted this picture as racist, I feel like I have to get something off my chest. So, I would like to issue an apology to Jose Calderon, Pau Gasol and the rest of the Spanish basketball team for being offended. Obviously, by being offended, we have hurt your feelings. Because it’s all about you – and you didn’t mean anything! I hope you’ll forgive me for ever thinking you would ever intend to do anything off-color, even though it came out of an official team picture at the highest level in international sports. It’s really my bad.

I’ll do you one better: I’m sorry you were offended that I was offended. “My people” and I look forward to seeing you, Gasol, back here in Los Angeles in the fall.

Read Pau Gasol’s blog (translation courtesy of Babelfish/Yahoo)

Edit: Why stop at Formula 1, futbol, OR basketball, when women’s tennis can get in on the action??

Spanish Women Tennis Players Also Make Slit-Eyed Gesture