Five hours at Starbucks

• I listened to a super direct guy make a multi-level marketing pitch to his friend. It was so painful that I eventually put on my headphones. 
• I'm having a lot of fun writing blogs for InterVarsity, but as I hit a block while trying to finish one by this afternoon, I realized it feels an awful lot like writing an essay. It's been awhile since I've done that!
• I also remember James Chuong's advice for aspiring writers when he spoke at the artist spotlight in the Pan-Asian Lounge at Urbana: Rewrite. Rewrite. Rewrite. This cycles through my head as I trim down sentences and slowly churn up clearer descriptions. Rewrite. I reorganize my piece again.  Rewrite. I edit an eloquent but unnecessary sentence.  Rewrite. I delete my entire introduction.  

Well. My to-do list is not finished but I am done for now. I am going to go home and cook Swiss chard for the first time!

Five moments and a thought: Life is good

It's my first late-afternoon run, and with a late start, I'm pushing into dusk. I run westward along the American River, telling myself over and over again that this view here is exactly why I love sunsets and sunrises, with the setting light casting a golden glow on everything around me. I'm aiming for the longest run of training thus far: five miles, though come May, I will be ready to run eight more in addition to that. The four miler earlier this week left me a bit out of breath, as I think I'm still building up my cardio for the season. But as I feel the rhythm of the ground beneath me, my legs pumping, my shoes hitting the ground...I know five miles is going to be nothing. This feels good. The rhythm. The cool air along the river, brisk on my skin. The sporadic warm pockets that hint of a warm spring to come. The soft rushes of the river. The bare branches, dignified in their winter nakedness. The push to finish before dark. The good pain of soreness turning into strength. This is why I run. This is good.
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I love my supervisor. Her wisdom, her ease with words, her ability to create a space where I churn thoughts I didn't realize needed churning. Her experience in leadership and ability to give me just the challenge I need to make me even more excited about the work I get to do, even if that means I need to put my vision into words and send it to her as an assignment. We also talk about the dog comment and how to approach it. She re-frames it for me, that it's not a race thing but a discipleship thing. I can come in with the angle of hospitality instead of being an angry Asian woman. I leave thinking: I can do this.
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Every time I make it to campus mid-day, I wonder why the heck I don't do it more often. I look at all the students and think, if you knew what your life could be. I wonder how much of the population doesn't know Jesus. I think about what we could do here, what God might already be cooking up, how to find that and jump in. I love the buzz of conversation, the pockets of people everywhere I look. And this day, I also talk to H. about that dog comment, and it goes so well. He is sincerely apologetic and recognizes he has much to learn (in general life). We talk for awhile, about intent, ignorance, perception, hospitality. At some point during the conversation I think, I love this! It's been awhile since a sit-down discipleship conversation, where I get to help a student work through some stuff and help them see a bigger picture of God in their lives. I'm having so much fun that I ask him about small group too, and I excitedly share how his desire for application-based study is not mutually exclusive from the inductive focus. This is good.
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I wrote a blog a few weeks ago about dating as an first-generation Asian-American. I was so excited once I started thinking about it, that I actually took up one of my evenings just to write it. But upon re-reading it a week later, I wasn't impressed anymore. Who is to say this experience is different? Will it sound offensive, limited? It doesn't cover everything, but does it cover enough? But I sent it in anyway, and took the gutsy move to share the link on my facebook (Self-promoting still feels awkward). What do you know? Several friends are grateful and agree. Even more surprising are the comments and likes from acquaintances and old high school friends. My mind leaps to thinking: What if I what I had written was even more related to faith and Jesus? Is this a possible, far-out witnessing tool to people I don't really know? I think about my staff friends who are thoughtful and maintain open conversations through virtual media, and wonder what kind of testimony could unfold from this. Or if they clicked around after wondering what site I was even wondering for. Imagine that--dropping hints of a faith worth believing in through sharing a piece I've written that's relevant to them?
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A few of our favorite students came up last night for Steph's talk. I'm reminded about how we scatter seeds, sometimes nurture them for a bit, and then leave them to God or whoever is taking care of them next. Keaton tells me how he's starting to talk to his dad again since we did prayer ministry a year ago (almost to this date!). Kayleen tells me that studying abroad has changed her, that she isn't superficial like she used to be. Dang. Sarah's love always makes me smile; in some ways, I feel like she loves me to a depth that I don't deserve. Jon is clever and hilarious as usual. Friends. I love friends. And today, Lauren visited and we had lunch while catching up on life, family, and friends at the cutest crepe place in Midtown. I'm reminded of the things I love in this city already: so many cute, delicious restaurants; the long path along the American river; and the numerous opportunities for Ultimate (I'm playing another league in a couple months). So many friends this week, and the best is still yet to come.
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It's been a good week, but it's going to get even better. Because tomorrow, four of my best college friends are coming over, from as far as Bakersfield all the way to my apartment. Two are already married, but somehow we're pulling off a sleepover. I wonder if I'll find the words to tell them how grateful I am for them, for taking me into their lives despite being three years younger. I feel like these are the friends who knew who I was even before I figured out myself: sacrificially loving, forever extrovert, photographer. These are the girls who listened as full-time ministry first became an option, recognizing both the talent and smarts I had for engineering, but also the deep commitment I already had to loving students. These are the girls who called me out when I considered going back to cubicle land just to pay the bills, who reminded me of how I could simply not thrive there. I have a feeling we will just sit around a lot, laugh and giggle, talk and think. And it is going to be good.

This really happened.

On the topic of how Santa Cruz is not diverse, rather segregated, etc. H mentions that he thinks it's really "gotten to [his cousin's] head", because he was walking his dog one time, ran into an Asian couple, and had some beef with them. (wait, what was the story again? I'm sorry, your cousin just doesn't like Asians?)

H: I think it had to do with his dog or something.
J: Well, some Asians have a thing about dogs...like they're scared of them.
H: That's because they eat them!

I jump in here to protest: Actually, that's not entirely true. There is a small percentage of Asians who have eaten dog meat, but not everyone does. It's a broad generalization.

H defends himself saying that if we took a look at the population of people who eat dog, it would be concentrated in Asia.


I can't continue this argument, especially when it sounds like H thinks he is right. Because obviously, just because there might be more people in Asia who eat dog than anywhere else, then you can say that Asians eat dog meat. Even if it's really a small percentage. (sarcasm)

Can I swear here? Ok. Bullshit. Why don't they ask the Asian-American at the table about her opinion? Why won't you listen.

On its own this is a minor topic. But because of who it is, where I am in life, and the recognition of my very real minority status...it all keeps piling on. And small topics like dog meat, sushi, and slanted eyes are indications, you know.

On cultural appropriation and voice

Another party of cultural stereotypes, except this time the subject is me. Or rather, us.
This time around I know it's wrong, and this time the is 'theme' on Asians (we're a theme?).
I could be angry. I do think it's offensive.  But if I were called to defend why, I don't know if I'm quite ready. So instead I read again on cultural appropriation, even distantly-related articles about its use of Native American culture in fashion.

Then I think back on how the Spanish Club in high school was dominated by Asians, and how eight of us girls did a dance for Spanish Club for International Day. Our Korean friend choreographed it with simple jazz dance moves to a Spanish-speaking song. I remember thinking as a junior that something was wrong with a Spanish Club being surrounded by all Asians trying to talk about and embrace Spanish culture. It was great sophomore and junior year, when Senora Diaz took us to see the murals in the Mission district, explaining the stories behind the colors and painted faces. Or when we went to her house to make tamales, with the corn meal oozing through our fingers as we tried figuring out the magical amount to put in each corn husk. And when she gave the exec team blankets at the end of the year, she made us promise to use them well and not just for any college party on the beach.

But senior year as we students ran the club--Who among us were Latino? Who even had real friendships with Latinos? If our club existed to experience and explore the culture, how could we call the shots when we didn't know it ourselves? Privileged majority, we Asian students were. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the dance that we all knew was in no way representative of Latin Dancing (I wondered if they were laughing in the audience). I'm sorry it wasn't a welcoming place for actual Spanish speakers. I'm sorry we hung out as a club, did a few things with a Spanish-like-twist, and put a label on it without thinking twice. I'm sorry we didn't search out your voices so we could hear from one who knew.



The sad thing is, I would have scoffed then if the situation were reversed: if anyone but Asians decide to cook Chinese food, throw a Chinese New Year celebration, or wear a qípáo (旗袍), I would probably laugh. I might shake my head that they're even trying on their own. I would (and still have) a distrust of anyone trying to represent or experience my culture without someone Chinese actually there, because there's a lot that they just wouldn't understand. Yet I was in a whole club trying to do just that.

These days I know a little better. These days, depending on the situation, it's not enough to laugh at their pitiful attempt (that's what I am thinking sometimes). There is a category for "people pretending to be Asian", for drawing on stereotypes, for disrespecting culture...Asians or otherwise: Wrong. Racist. Insensitive.  

But though I scramble through mixed feelings, look at pictures and posts that mock languages and dress of people I know (heck, my family even), I can't find words for it. I uselessly and pathetically scroll through user comments that go nowhere, that repeat the same arguments that just aren't helpful. When I find an eloquent, informed rebuttal, my brain wants to cling to it like gold. If only I could remember that that's why this matters, this is different, this is why it's wrong. If only I too could stand and say, "No. This is not okay."

But I'm not ready. I don't quite know how to put words together, so instead, my brain scrambles to put together thoughts, lessons, snippets:
Intent is irrelevant. 
Privileged majority, and how speaking from that place means being blind to minority voices. 
"It's not a big deal."
"Are you saying everyone who ____ is racist?"
It is not okay for the majority to tell the minority what they should or should not be offended at. 
Listening humbly. 
White privilege, and the difference between, "What if people dressed up Italian/French/English?" in comparison to a person of color. Such a painful, complicated discussion. It's not the same. 
An attitude of individualism in defenses: "Well I don't think it's offensive."
Thoughts on cultural intelligence.  
The difference between a person representing his or her own culture, and someone else imitating it.

One day soon, maybe I will be ready to speak. I will be ready to say, "No. This is not okay", and defend why. My feelings and gut reactions will be tied to reason, thoughts, experiences. I will add my voice to the conversation: not for the sake of a social media blowup, an situation gone viral, or a forced conclusion. I will add my voice because the voices need to rise, to speak. Because there are even people in my own life who need to know.

And more importantly, as we sit in the brokenness of this world, the reality of racism, and the forever-long road of reconciliation, understanding, and multi-ethnicity...as we say we need a solution to all this, this stuff that keeps happening over and over again...my voice will whisper the only answer: Jesus. Christ, the anointed, the savior of the world, who redeems our failures and gives grace for our ignorance. I love because he first loved, I can forgive because he forgave. And I can listen for the voices that aren't quite heard yet, just as he sought out the ones who weren't at the table and gave them a place. And I can cry at the misunderstanding, stereotypes, and racism that are associated with me, because he knows. He created this and this Asian-American culture was chosen. This Chinese-Malaysian-American blend is beautiful. Oh Creator.

I put fire on your tongue for your first language still remaining.

I gave you a voice so use it, because your people need you now. 

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I realize how this post comes two days after returning from a Latino/Chicano conference. Interesting how that works, huh?

Encountering Displacement

On thoughts, notes, and good times helping to staff Encuentro 2013: 

• "I like how at LaFe, the clapping starts at the beginning of the song and lasts till the end." -Laurel during worship
• Listening to how meals are served in a Latino household, with mom always serving and getting everyone seconds, sometimes never sitting down until everyone else has finished
• Seeing John 4 from a Latina lens and the themes of protection and loyalty 
• Putting up streamers for a dance party in more colors than I would ever buy, courtesy of Natalia's Fiesta vision: "I want colors. Lots of colors."
• Reunion with my Latino brothers and sisters from the intern trek (they also happen to be fellow bloggers). Catch-up with Karl, many hugs with Sol
• Ordering pizza with Natalie and Yolis...cuddling with Yolis.
• Mentally noting that while both Latino and Asian cultures have strong ties to family, the attitude towards it is very different. At LaFe, I heard threads of going to college being tied with abandoning your family, thinking you are better than everyone else, or becoming too American--definitely not something you hear in Asian-American families. 
• Realizing I have been pronouncing LaFe wrong the whole time (more of a "feh", not "fay")
• Eavesdropping on a well-presented seminar on Catholics and Protestants
• Getting caught in the middle of Payaso de Rodeo and frantically trying to escape the dancing masses. I searched youtube and discovered this video to give you an idea of what it was like, except multiply the number of people by five and keep it in the same area. 
• Also giving Leslie a really good laugh when I tried to make my butt move fast enough for a particular dance. It didn't work.  
• Watching readings and pieces based on Jesus' life in the gospel of Luke: the risk Mary took by going with God's plan, all the honor and pride in Zechariah's position, the frustration Jesus must have faced when everyone in Nazareth kept their old expectations of him
• Hearing pieces of attitudes and perceptions Latinos both have and face, some which are familiar to my experience as an Asian American, others which are completely foreign (can you figure out which is which?): reaching college only to be told, "You don't belong," or, "You got lucky"; being raised to be tough and not show emotion; facing guilt of assimilation; honor and respect your family first; or being given a rough life to begin with (like you got dealt poorly or whatever that English phrase about cards is)
• The Latino culture is a Yes! culture: yes to receiving and taking, as well as yes to giving and sacrificing
• Contemplating: as I/further generations/we continue to assimilate and "make it", what responsibility do I have towards my fellow Asian-Americans? How is God calling us to continue paving the way, going back to walk alongside others who have to fight the stereotypes, racism, and systemic issues and don't have the privilege to ignore it? As one who falls under the model minority, how do I use my voice to speak up for those whose voices aren't yet heard?