Today, as I walked up Grant Ave. toward Columbus (mind you, I was a ways away), I walked through the “gated” entrance to Chinatown. A bit after I entered, I noticed some boys all wearing matching shirts. I then proceeded to walk past a group of them as one declared loudly, “That’s the fourth Asian person I’ve seen so far!” I blanched and continued walking up the hill. The boy must not have made it to Stockton St. or something. Whatever. Race isn’t really evident until you make a big deal about it. It’s like getting asked if I was “giapponese” all of the time in Rome. It got even better when I heard “sayonara” or “arigato.” I really kinda wanted to punch people, but I restrained myself and moved on with my life. That’s what it is … evidence that people can’t move past ethnicity. Not that we shouldn’t be proud of who we are; our ethnicity, just like our sexual preference or our gender. We are all these things, but I am Amy, and you are exactly who you are, not just some … let’s say, homosexual white male. Just throwing that out there. Don’t worry. I’m a heterosexual Asian female, but I go by the name of Amy, so call me that, not “Asian” or “hey you” or whatever. I kinda like my name.
counting asians March 29, 2007