No, we're not going to get arrested. I know the other couples are doing it. But the other couples aren't mixed-race couples. Scratch that. The other couples aren't white-boy, asian-girl couples.
What? Explanation??
Well...it's not the same here. We're fine overseas. Specifically, we're fine over in Anglo-Whiteland. Any Whiteland. There are prejudices there too, but they aren't so bad. It's different here, sayang. Here, we're not going out because we're in love. Want to know what people see when we're together? Let me break it down for you.
You're with me because you can't find a white girl who'll have you. You're with me because you have an asian fetish. You don't see me as an individual person. You see black hair and pinched little eyes (so exotic!) and yellow skin that you think is a tan. You just like the thought of a female like that on your arm, in your bed, in your kitchen. You like how that female will not talk back like white girls. Totally at your mercy.
I'm with you because I can't get any decent chinese boy to want me--I'm sub-par: my skin isn't fair enough, my ass not small enough, my body not thin enough, my eyes not big enough, my cheekbones not high enough. Because the only guy who'll have me is a white boy with an asian fetish--he can't tell me apart from other chinese girls so he doesn't realise I'm not the best-looking one out there. He couldn't care less if I look like a truck hit my face. So long as I have that yellow skin, that black hair, those slanting eyes.
I'm with you because I'm uppity, a snob who thinks she's too good for asian men. Too modern, too westernised, too hip, too intelligent to settle for my own kind. Only a white boy achieves my exacting standards. Doesn't matter if he's hideous or a loser who can't hold down a job or an idiot who only sees me as an Oriental accessory.
I'm with you because you are impressive, everyone takes a second look when we're together. Like a designer handbag--it's imported, not everyone can have one, it's oh-so-exclusive. Look, I got me a white boy and he's going to take me places, buy me things, get me citizenship!
You're with me because I'm easy. I put out because I'm in awe of your whiteness, your inherent privilege. I'm a slut with no Asian Morals, no sense of propriety. I want to severe my roots, because I'm ashamed, because I want to be White, not Yellow goddammit. Conquer me.
Baby, that's so harsh. We both know none of that is even remotely true.
It's harsh but it's how things work around here. So I'm sorry, but please don't hold my hand or kiss me out there. It hurts to be pigeonholed. I don't like the judgemental looks thrown my way. They belittle what we have. Boil us down to horrible stereotypes. Take away the feelings we have for each other. Turn us into something cheap, meaningless, a farce. They make you ignorant, stupid, a modern-day coloniser. They make me a slutty banana (yellow on the outside, white on the inside).
Sometimes I want to not know what everyone is thinking. It's as if ... if these people think these things... maybe it's true. Maybe I'm not really in love with you. Maybe I'm just a Sarong Party Girl prostituting myself to get a greencard, and a little bit of Whiteboy in my life, in me (literally and figuratively).
That's why I can't handle the judgement. I might've been able to if they weren't from my friends, my family, my family friends; if they weren't from my peers; if they weren't from most of the people who share my homeland and my culture and my values. Don't snort. Everyone has prejudices, you know. And they might not show it, but I know they have thought those thoughts at least fleetingly. Because I would have too if it weren't me in this situation. I would have if I saw some white-asian couple canoodling in the open. I would stop myself from thinking those thoughts as soon as I realised I was thinking them...but I can tell you now that they would cross my mind at least during the unguarded moments. So please don't get angry at my friends. They don't mean to think those things. As for my parents. You know they love you. And they know me inside out, which is why I know they don't believe a snitch of all that crap. They know what we have is real. But they worry. They get hurt and protective when people judge their daughter like that. So they react with anger and tell me to stop it with the PDA--anything to reduce the sneers slung my way by the community.
But how do you go from holding hands to all that?
I don't know, sayang. You just do.
But I don't understand.
I don't either.
Okay. Okay... I won't hold your hand. And I promise I won't kiss you.
