Stopping Injustice

Injustice is like an angry bull bison in mating season. You can try to take it out with BB guns, but why not find a way to buy a grenade?

We need a complete policy reform and a worldwide mindwipe to take out this muthafucka. Someone let me know when the United Federation of Planets is hiring a diversity director.

Superstitions

Iris started a great post on Asian superstitions over at You Offend Me You Offend My Family. I added to the comments and thought I'd cross post here. Should hop over to the post and check out some of my fellow brainwashed bloggers' memories.

Just a few things I thought of here:

1) Sharing a pear with someone means you'll stop being friends or family. Splitting a pear "fun lay" sounds like separation in Cantonese.

2) White clothes is clothing for mourning. My grandpa wore white tennis shoes to my brother's wedding (I think on purpose to piss my mom off) my parents nearly fainted. That was 12 yrs ago and they're still mad.

This is so ingrained in my mind, I had to fight the compulsion to hide under the table while wearing the white wedding gown during my own wedding.

3) Never get an used mirror, spirits travel with mirrors.

4) Open umbrellas are spirit mediums. Never leave one open indoors.

5) Don't touch or eat any ceremonial offering food before the ceremony is over. Don't diss the spirits.

6) OMG, I totally snatch the red crayon away if I catch my kids signing their names with it!

7) Pretend you don't notice a pregnancy, even if the mama is big as a whale. Talking about an unborn baby jinx the baby's survival rate. No acknowledgment until after the Full Month Ceremony.

8) Preggies also should not visit cemeteries as lost spirits may hitch a permanent ride with the new baby.

9) Don't try to call hiking "h-un san" walk mountain/ mountain walking. Walking a mountain is taking the journey to visit your ancestor's graves.

10) Always take a couple of kids to check out a house before you commit to buying it. If the kids seem uncomfortable there, there are probably lingering evil spirits.

Short Girls

I read Short Girls by Bich Minh Nguyen, and it’s like talking with a girlfriend who really “gets” me. Someone who understands where I’m coming from. She speaks the life of children of Asian immigrants. The burden and weight of filial piety. The perpetual translator syndrome. The pain of watching racial prejudice toward your own family members because they are more fresh off the boat. Self questioning and sense of betrayal in interracial dating in a white world. Subtle attitude differences between say, a third generation versus a first generation immigrant. The achievement trap when the track leads to an racially isolated middle class pond.

The novel is not just filled of angry vents like my blog. Nguyen is a crafty storyteller. Her voice filled with humor and story arc that wraps around her main characters’ last name “Luong.” The plotline rotate around Mr. Luong’s garage built grabber for short people “The Luong Arm.” The divided living experience of tall and short people is explored without shame. Finally, somebody takes battle with the insanely high vertical standard of kitchen counters at 36 inches and ceiling height cabinets at 7 feet.

At times she struggles to smoothly explain the angst of modern Asian American trials and over works with preachy immigration policy lectures. I can sympathize with her difficulties in delivering our complex grievances. Nguyen weaves racial injustice, immigration law cases, modern girl relationships, family obligations, generational and cultural gap, all within a storyline. That’s one big task.

If you want to give a shout out to modern Asian American women, it’s not Amy Tan’s bittersweet escape from communist regime and concubine stories. Read Short Girls.

Star Wars and Super Mario Brothers

Why have I not made this connection before?


But somebody else has.

Color Coding

Over at Angry Asian Man: Atlanta's MARTA is color coding their lines. The line going through the Asian chunk of town will be called.....wait for it.....the Yellow Line.

This reminds me of the time I was a camp counselor and we color coded the teams. Camper were little kids so using primary colors made sense. 'cause you know they're innocent little kids. Red, Blue, and Yellow. Me, the only person of color in the ENTIRE department, was Yellow Team Leader. My timid barely out of teenage self decided to keep quiet. I can tell none of the other staff made the yellow connection. During the first week, one of my eight years-old campers said to his friends "We're the Yellow Team because our counselor is yellow."

Okay. We're changing to Gold Team next week.