An Asian Tall Tale

One could argue that a banana is a banana as an act of insecurity. I would argue, however, that “true” Asians are equally insecure about their ethnicity as any banana. Exhibit A: growth clinics.

Right now in South Korea a whole lot of parents are spending thousands of dollars a year on growth clinics for their kids. Using acupuncture, herbal medicines and “special” exercise machines, these growth clinics try to help Korean kids reach such staggering heights as 5’10”. As most people know, Koreans are not noted for their rapping skills or height. It’s a fact of life that is part of the cultural psyche (there’s some old Korean saying about the hottest peppers being the smallest). Apparently Koreans have become so self-conscious about this (the height thing, not the rapping), they now see their lack of verticality as a sign of inferiority; that not being tall enough to ride certain rollercoaster rides can affect one’s ability to find a suitable mate or land a good job. But wait, there’s more to this Asian appearance profiling.

Unlike Sheryl Crow, many Asians do not want to soak up the sun. The backwards thinking: having darker skin means you’re probably a laborer who works some menial outdoor job. Conversely, having a pastier complexion means you’re the proud owner of a prestigious, indoor office job. That’s why it’s not surprising to see Asians on a sunny day sporting umbrellas to protect themselves from the evil sun’s darkening rays.

Believing in equal-opportunity mockery, I have to point out that people in this country will spray orange “bronzer” on their skin to look like they spend a lot of time outdoors. Then you have someone like Sammy Sosa, the ex-Chicago Cub and Dominican who uses some strange cream that makes his skin lighter. My point: stupidity is color blind.

Reverse Asian-eering

Once in awhile a banana breaks from the bunch and has a “coming to Buddha” moment. That is, they become a Born-Again Asian.

For some, it’s a trip to Asia that triggers the epiphany. For others, exposure to a large(r) Asian community (found in bigger cities) can make one go bamboo. No matter how it starts, it ends with a dip in the warm bath of familiarity and normalcy.

It’s the gravity of meeting waves of people who share traditions and customs you always tried to downplay (for fear of self-afflicted embarrassment). You find out that your home wasn’t the only one with a funky, Asian food-store smell. You learn other kids had to also wear colorful costumes to their school’s Ethnic Day. In other words, Born-Again Asians discover their cultural soulmates.

Think of an ethnic society as the place you were raised a.k.a. your hometown. Some people never leave their hometown. Many go away for a few years and when it’s time to settle down, they come back “home”. Others leave thinking the grass is greener on the other side, have their Born-Again moment and head back the other way. Then there are those who left, still love lots of things about their hometown, but don’t miss living there. Bananas lean towards the last two groups.

Asian-Americans who stay bananas are not cultural waifs. In fact, there are a slew of things “Asian” about us that will always be a part of our lives. They’re like those stubborn pounds that never seem to go away…and we don’t want them to disappear, either.

Asian food represents one such cultural love handle. The cuisine evokes memories of childhood that didn’t involve studying for the SAT. Another form of Asian retention: the omnipresent feeling that no matter what you do, you’re disappointing your parents (“You can end world hunger, but you can’t give us grandkids?!?!”). And many of us do own a limited vocabulary of our parents’ native tongue, so we can understand things like “Where are our grandkids?!?!”

For those Born-Agains enjoying a racial renaissance: more power to you. Don’t worry about bananas like me. No matter how “white” I am on the inside, I’ll always have some Asian junk in my trunk.

Rice Royalty

You see them on the street. They are your co-workers, your doctor, your Facebook Friend, your brothers and sisters. Who are they?

They are Rice Kings, and if you own X-X chromosomes, Rice Queens.

Webster’s Dictionary describes Rice Kings and Queens as non-Asians who are obsessed with coveting thy Asian neighbor. They are easy to recognize; they tend to be the lone white or black person amongst a flock of Asians. And no, it’s not like having a preference for blondes or brunettes. For one thing, there is no blonde or brunette “culture”. So why are they so determined to punch a ticket on the Orient Express?

According to articles I’ve read at several prestigious airport terminals, Rice Queens are attracted to Mr. Asian Man because they believe his cultural upbringing engenders him with qualities desirable for the ideal mate (both as a husband and father). They see traits like an exceptional work ethic, loyalty to family, polite manners and a healthy appreciation for education. Rice Kings, on the other hand, see Mulan.

As strong as this attraction is for members of Rice’s Royal Court, there is an equally strong aversion some Asians have for dating one another. Why? There are several theories out there that discredit my own, so I will not present those. Please note, I have met many beautiful, wonderful Asian women in my life – some who would even talk to me. My thesis is from an Asian male’s point of view since that is the box I check off on job applications.

The first part of my theory is that Keira Knightly, Rachel Weiz and Anne Hathaway are not Asian. The second part: the fear of Asian women becoming overbearing Asian mothers. And finally, Asian women know our Kryptonites.

Hey, it’s a free world, so you Rice Kings out there keep on pursuing those maidens with the dark brown/black hair. As for you Rice Queens (dim lights, cue Lionel Richie music), why don’t you drop me a line?

Half & Half

Once upon a time I lived next door to a Chinese woman who married a white gentleman from south of the Mason-Dixon line. At their wedding his brother made the following paraphrased speech explaining their inter-racial nuptials: “Let’s see…you Asians are better than us in school. You make better cars than us. And your electronics are better than ours. Well hell, if we can’t beat you out, we’re going to breed you out.”

Obviously this is not why the two tied the knot (I think). No, the real reason they became man and wife was to make “Halvsies”. To answer that quizzical look on your face, “Halvsies” are people who are half-Asian / half-Caucasian or African-American. And in my opinion they are the cutest babies and children in the world (of course I’m biased, but I’d rather be a Halvsie).

It’s hard to explain why they’re so darn adorable. You see, “Halvsies” children have this skin tone that kind of magically glows. And their facial proportions seem “just right”. Chances are you know a “Halvsie” or two; they look like Asian movie characters that are played by white actors or actresses. As a point of reference here are some famous “Halvsies” you might have heard of:

Anne Curry (NBC News)
Mike Shinoda (Linkin Park)
Hines Ward (Pro Football Player)
Keanu Reeves (Actor)
Kristin Kreuk (plays Lana Lang on the TV show Smallville)
Paul Kariya (Pro Hockey Player)
Apollo Ohno (Olympic Athlete)
Jon Gosselin (formerly of Jon & Kate Plus 8)
Mark-Paul Gosselaar (you probably know him as “Zack” from Saved By the Bell)
Sailor Moon

For me, the unbearable cuteness of “Halvsies” children is proof that we human beings were meant to look beyond the color of our skin and live together as one by hooking up with one another. After all, is it just coincidence that you can’t spell “Caucasian” without “Asian”?

The Eyes Have It

File this under “curious”: a growing number of Asians both here and abroad are getting a surgical procedure where each eyebrow is sewn in such a way to lift their eyelids. The reason? To look more “white” by giving themselves big American eyes (the better to see you with, Red Riding Hood). Odd? Yes, because there are so many other ways to be like your pasty brethren without resorting to needle and thread.

It is written that all good Asian-Americans will play tennis or the violin; so be a rebel and take up the ivory sport of hockey. Get in touch with your inner-redneck and become a “rice cracker” by sporting a Calvin-peeing-on-something decal on your car’s rear window. Know who Ira Glass is. At a cold, outdoor sporting event go shirtless to support the pro team that happens to be in your area code. Listen to Jack Johnson music and pretend to like it. Drive competently. And for the cherry on top, ask a Caucasian at a restaurant to show you how to use chopsticks.

You see, the key is to participate, not mutilate. That’s what makes you a true banana. Good ideas are everywhere. You just have to keep your eyes open (sans the surgery).

Word Up

A few days ago I was walking down the street, filling my head with pure and clean thoughts. As a non-Asian fellow goes past me, he shouts out a “nee-hi” towards my person. “Nee-hi” (this is phonetically spelled) means “hi” in Chinese. First of all, I’m not Chinese (do we all look the same or something?). And second, this is an example of something that insults\annoys a lot of us Asian-Americans: addressing us like we’re immigrants by greeting us with the single word you know in Chinese, Filipino, Japanese, Korean, etc.

It’s one thing if you’re in another country and you’re valiantly trying to communicate with the locals. The point is, we live here and we’re as American as the guy or gal sporting NASCAR merchandise on their body. English is our first language. Trust me. Ask almost any Asian parent if their kids are proficient with the “mother” language. Chances are you’ll be answered with a look of disappointment. So why assume we’re here on a Green Card?

Go ahead. Say I’m oversensitive. But when I see a pasty-skinned person with a shock of red hair, I don’t blurt out “Top o’ the mornin’ to ya, laddie! Care for a pint o’ Guinness?” It’s like a person trying to order in French at a French restaurant using their one year of high school French; they end up looking idiotic.

So next time you’re trying to stir up a polite conversation with an Asian, it’s okay to start with a simple “hi” or “nice weather we’re having”. Now if you’re trying to pick up the same said Asian, lines like “let’s rearrange the alphabet and put U and I together” don’t work – and that’s true in any language.

Hello. My Name Is _________

Almost all Asian-Americans have it. No, I’m not talking about lactose-intolerance. I’m talking about our “Asian” names. Chances are, if you’re a first generation Asian-American your parents gave you a western first name and your middle name was something from their native tongue. Sorry. It’s not like Rumpelstiltskin where if you guess our Asian name you get our first-born. It was our parents’ way of holding onto a piece of their cultural identity, just in case we got confused and thought we were Scottish or Danish.

My Korean middle name is Jisup (pronounced JEE-SUP). Growing up, I told people it was Joseph (pronounced JOE-SUF) because I got tired of people butchering my name and to avoid a lot of teasing (kids can be so mean). The worst part was your parent’s friends would scream out your Asian name when they would spot you with friends in a public place (Asian adults can be so mean).

Well, age heals a lot of insecurities and Joseph no longer exists. I can now freely offer my Korean middle name to anyone who asks (including a young Korean maiden at a bachelor party who demanded to know what my REAL name was). So next time you’re chumming around with a Far-East buddy, ask him or her for their Asian name. I would love to stay and chat, but I hear somebody calling my name.

Asian: The Other White Meat

If you’re going to be a minority, may I suggest joining us on Team Asian-American? We’re kind of like VISA: accepted in more places (than any other minority group).

Think about it. They’re building walls to keep Latinos out of the country. Middle Eastern? People think Jihad is your middle name. And if you’re African-American, sorry, your crime is the color of your skin. Now if you’re Asian-American, well, you get to enjoy the perks of acceptance.

We’re wise, like The Karate Kid’s Mr. Myagi. We’re shy and quiet, like that dorky Asian kid in School of Rock. Kim Jong Il is adorable. And we’re comic relief, like The Donger from Sixteen Candles.

You see, while other minority groups tend to be more demonstrative when it comes to addressing social inequities, we Asians tend to be fairly quiet because we don’t want to cause any trouble. Consequently, I think we’re perceived as being “safe”. For instance, when white people are sitting in a car and a group of Asians are walking towards them, I don’t think anyone is suggesting they lock the doors.

It’s almost like Caucasian America thinks of us as some darker shade of white. Take this group exercise for example. When an Asian is the only minority amongst a pride of white people, it’s been my experience that the group has no reservations about telling “ethnic” jokes. My usual response is a nervous laugh that seems to say, “Yes, yes, my friend. You are so correct in your astute observation.” Now, I know better and should protest such offensive remarks. But hey, I don’t want to cause any trouble.