late tonight, i speed-walked two blocks to get to a Taiwanese bakery. needed a quick bite, phone was at 8%.
the guy working the cashier was super nice. over the course of last year i became aware that whatever a “face card” is, i have it. regardless, i’m sure he’s still super nice.
i sat down and zoned out, in front of me was a table island with high chairs, around it sat this group of friends, college age, i recognized some of their Indian accents, i recognized some of their Indian faces. they were joking about school, loud. the only people chatting in the bakery at times.
i recognized how far from the typical stereotypes they all were. i recognized the way they were all just being in such a matter of fact way.
as i walked back towards sleepwalk in bushwick, the group of friends were not far behind me, they were still laughing on the street, i felt safe.
last night, as me and diego sat speechless after the screening of “Monkey Man” in East Village, the Indian kid sitting in the row in front of us asked: “what did you guys think?”
i tried to utter something along the line of greatness, he listened then said, “life-changing.”
i think about how i’d tell my grandkids about this movie. i think about how without “Get Out,” Dev would never be able to make this movie. i think about how without “Everything Everywhere All At Once,” this would never have been given a chance to be a blockbuster. i think about how without Bruce Lee, Asian kids everywhere in this country would still walk with our heads down, never even dreamed of laughing on the street, late into the night.
i felt really tired after my tattoo appointment today. whichever that building was, the one that towers over Brooklyn Bridge, it blinded me with an ephemeral light. slightly behind me were three friends with their skateboards. fashionably dressed kids. one of them got beautiful dreads. both of us giggled at the sight of a tiny little dog walking wobbly. we shared a glance. he said as he pointed next to him, “my friend thinks you’re pretty.”
i smiled and said “thank you.” way too big of a smile, i thought to myself. but then i thought, fuck it. and then i thought, 13 year old me would’ve thought they were joking, just trying to laugh at me. 14 year old was the Asian kid who moved to America and lost part of herself, who was starting to believe that she’d never amount to anything.
but all my life i wanted to be special. until today i uttered “it really isn’t that big of a deal to be important, it really isn’t that big of a deal to be special.” and i finally believed in it. i had to tell the kid who still lives in my heart that as i said it aloud. the kid who was so defeated, so disappointed, so helpless at 13, that her need to be special got her to somewhere completely different, it’s not wasted effort, but it is simply wrong.
and i thank the world for becoming a place safe enough for me to admit that i could be wrong. being wrong doesn’t make being Asian any less valid. being wrong doesn’t mean that i’m a failure to my heritage, to my roots. being wrong simply means being human. and being Asian, believe it or not, is a human experience.
yet i looked at the grandma who walked out of the train with a cart full of recycling that was twice her weight, grandma who refused to take my seat after i offered in Cantonese. i looked at the “free Gaza” spray painted on walls, floors, concrete and tiles.
that is also what being Asian means in America. not a day go by without i remember the suffering. the suffering of not just my people, but all people, all people but not white people. and that is the price of a freedom that is very not American, but universally shared by all the none-American Americans.
but finally at 25 i have the freedom to say “you are great” to an artist and my friend’s mentor aloud, because i’ve finally learned how to utter kindness and admiration aloud.
at 25 i have the freedom to tell one of my best friends in person, that “i wish i’m better at letting the ones who i care about know how much i care about them.”
at 25 i have the freedom to love, despite having the worst teachers, i was also lucky enough to make quite a few right turns, kept you in my orbits, and now brave enough to think, perhaps the universe, or whoever, whatever is out there, planned this all along.
at 25 i simultaneously believe the world to be a great place, while recognizing the inevitable violence of it all.
at 25 i am small, and hence, i feel greatness all around me.