It’s Not Pie.


So I have a lot to say about Asian-American representation.

First, I’d like to address the whole Asian v. Black representation.

FIRST, why is that even a thing? Why do I feel like every time I want to talk about Asian-American representation in the media, I’m shot down by people who keep repeating the words “model minority”, and “honorary White” at me?

Yes, I realize, I know, that the majority of Asian-Americans are middle-upper class and higher.

I know that we are not (typically) discriminated against because of our skin color, and especially not on a large-government bureaucracy scale.

I know that we have all the benefits of White people.

I know that it seems like we’re all doctors, or lawyers, or engineers, or just generally super well-off.

And yeah, some of us are. I was one of those. I lived in LA suburbia, I went to a school where we never had to seriously worry about fights, or drugs, or being shot up, or having teachers who just didn’t care. My family had enough money to make a serious road trip every year and fly back to Taiwan to visit family and go to an amusement park. I never wanted for anything.

I know.

But my question is: what does that have to do with my right to see people just like me on TV? What does it have to do with little Asian boys growing up and realizing that they can be something other than the nerdy, skinny, glasses-wearing token Asian kid who ruins the curve for everyone in his class? What does it have to do with Asian boys seeing that being that nerdy, skinny, glasses-wearing Asian kid is not a bad thing? What does it have to do with little Asian girls seeing that they can be something other than what we limit them to now? What does it have to do with having boycotts over “White Oscars” and in the same breath, making fun of Asian kids because we’re all “good at math”?

“Equal rights for others does not mean fewer rights for you. It’s not pie.”

Equal representation for others does not mean fewer representation for you. It’s not pie.

Second, I want to address why it is so important for young Asian-American (and even White, Black, and Latino) children see Asian-Americans on their TV.

For me? I had the luck to grow up in a predominately Asian community. There, I was part of the Majority. But I turn on my TV and what do I see? White people. As a kid, sure, I didn’t think about Asian-American activism and how we were being kept out of mainstream media. No, I just watched and absorbed. I loved Kim Possible and Totally Spies and even Ed, Edd, And Eddy. I also loved Jake Long: American Dragon, Mulan, and even Wendy Wu: Homecoming Warrior.

And then I grew up and watched NigaHiga and KevJumba and WongFu Productions and they became a part of me.

As I grew older and moved to Taiwan, I had Taiwanese people, American people telling me how “White” I was. What? This confused me at first, then I felt proud about it. I was “White” and “cool” and I could be like all the pretty Instagram girls online.

One of my hardest times was when my Aunt accused me of hating my own people. My own people. She accused me of hating Taiwanese people, Taiwanese culture, and the country. I rolled my eyes and muttered that I just hated my family and they just happened to be Taiwanese. But I had always caught myself wishing my parents spoke the same language I did. That they were like the parents on TV. The “cool parents” who understood their child because there was no language or cultural barrier.

And that was when it hit me. As innocent as the shows I watched were, I never really saw something like me. KevJumba’s father didn’t always understand him, but we only ever saw what he showed us, the funny, the relatable. And Jake Long’s parents spoke English. It was Wendy Wu who was the most similar to me. Who absorbed the “White culture” and just wanted to be like everyone else. And hated her own skin, and her heritage.

I was Wendy Wu and I had been conditioned to hate my own person.

The point of all that is that I had one person to really look up to. Wendy Wu. Brenda Song. London Tipton. And I didn’t absorb her lesson at the tender age of 8. Representation is important. It’s important for young children to know that they are not alone. Asian-Americans have been around for a while now. We deserve our place in the spotlight.

We’ve earned it. And it shouldn’t be something you need to earn.

Just like Black kids deserve Black Panther and Luke Cage, and the LGBTQ+ community deserves Love, Simon and Queer Eye, we deserve our heritage, our ethnicity to be recognized.

Just as an extra point, Black Panther was the perfect movie for the African/African-American community, and I applaud all the progress it represents and is pushing for. My one question is: of all the effort they put into creating this wonderful representation of actual African culture, they couldn’t be bothered to find a Korean lady who knew how to speak Korean well? Are we really that hard to find? Because Alexis Rhee’s Korean was choppy and (according to my Korean friend) hard to listen to. Even Danai Gurira’s Korean was almost better than hers.

We deserve equal representation in media and I’m not stopping until we are heard.

God with a Capital G

Recently I met someone funny and nice and cute and because I am who I am, I immediately stalked him on social media. Specifically, Facebook. And I scrolled through his timeline… scrolling… scrolling… hold up, who’s this girl… click… scroll… oh a friend… back… back… hope she’s just a friend… scrolling… scrolling… blog post huh… scrolling… scrolling…

Hold up.

Blog post. Specifically, his blog post, one that he wrote. And now I’m interested. Because what and how someone writes is a great indicator of the person that they are. And I want to know who this guy is. I didn’t find what I expected. Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect. And what I got was a blog, an honest blog, about his struggles as a God-loving Christian. And I haven’t written on the topic of the big G. But here it was, a well-written, well-formatted post on his relationship with the man up top.

Here’s where I started to lose hope. As I read through his blog, going through all the recent posts, I realized that now I did have a better grasp of this guy. And what I found made me realize that he and I are never going to get together.

Here’s why.

He is on his journey to become closer to God, to really drill into the foundation of his faith and ensure that it’s strong enough to build a temple worthy of God upon. Me? I’m digging a hole for myself in an empty field, unsure of how I got here, so far away from the temples whose foundations kept me from digging too deep a hole for myself. Now, without that support, my hole just keeps growing deeper and larger and whether I plan on building a foundation from it or just dig straight into Hell has yet to be determined.

What he needs is someone who has build their foundation. Someone who already knows what they believe and where their faith stands. Someone who he can rely on during his journey to encourage him and to guide him further towards God, not away. And I fear that I would only lead him away.

I want to be that girl. I want to know what I believe. I want to trust in God. I want to be able to proudly declare my allegiance to Him, the almighty King. I want to have faith in His plan and that He knows what’s best for me.

But I’m not her. I don’t know what I believe. I know there’s something out there and I want more than anything for that something to be God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit who loves me and is always waiting for me no matter how hard I mess up.

I want to trust in God, but with everything that’s been happening, it’s just so difficult to trust in a God that’s allowing all this pain.

His plan is supposed to be for the best in the end because He knows best. He is our God, our Savior and He is omnipotent. He knows us better than we know ourselves. I am just so fearful of handing over my entire life to something I can’t see and I’m not 100% sure is there or is there for my benefit.

And then it struck me. A boy, a boy is the reason why I am examining my faith so deeply for the first time in a long while. And this revelation stunned me. I felt that I had disappointed myself. My faith should not be based on a person but based on my relationship with God himself. Yet, after this feeling of disappointment in myself, I realized that maybe this is precisely what God intended. Perhaps He brought this guy into my life in this way and presented me with these ideas because He knows me and He knows what I’ll do before I do. And that He knew it doesn’t matter how I came back to Him, just that I do and that if I keep pursuing Him, that that’s what matters.

Do the ends justify the means? Maybe, maybe not. But God knows the end and He orchestrates the means and maybe all we are required to do, is trust.

And trust I will.

i have no self-control

it’s been forever since i last posted but fuck that nobody reads this anyways. so i recently moved to texas for college and i’m thousands of miles away from any of my friends and i miss everyone to death. just one hour away are a couple of friends i met over the summer a year or two back and we remained good friends and in contact. i hit them up, get them to drive down and pick me up to spend the weekend at one of their houses. so these friends, are awesome and frankly, my only current connection back to my old city. i spend the weekend at jon’s house and it’s all cool and shit until saturday night.

lemme give you some background here. the summer that i met them, i had a thing for one of the dudes, michael. he was attractive, older (only a couple years), and fun as hell. what i didn’t know was that he had a thing going on with the other girl, laurel. it was honestly just a silly schoolgirl crush and wasn’t a big deal, even when i found out afterwards that they were a thing. i brushed it off, went on with my life, fell in like with 3 other guys at my school the following year. fast forward to now.

im a very touchy person. my love language is 100% touch because i love hugs and cuddling and it really doesn’t matter if i like the guy, i just want the physicality of it. but like going to a school where the “christian side hug” was a legit thing didnt help my cravings. anyways, michael is also a very physical being and he was touchy as well. so one saturday while watching a movie, when he sat really close to me on the couch, it didn’t seem suspect or anything. i mean, i was happy as heck because he couldve chosen to sit next to me or laurel and he chose me:)) at least in my mind thats the way it worked. anywayyyys somehow, through the movie, we ended up holding hands. it was nice, i liked it, i freaked out a little (a lot) afterwards to my friends, ended up deciding it was nothing, and moved on. that was 3 saturdays ago.

last night i hung out with them again and michael and i got close again. this time, really close. i don’t know his thought process but this time, when he sat down, he put his hand on my thigh, extremely high to the point where i was uncomfortable but he moved it after a quick while to more of my knee area. that was fine and then as it got later, he got touchier and more grabby. i can’t say it like that, it makes him sound demanding and rude, but he wasn’t. and i never gave him any indication that i was against it. now laurel had work this weekend and wasn’t available but i was still staying at jon’s house. jon went to bed earlier at around 1-something am. michael and i stayed up to watch more netflix and that’s when he sort of twisted and lightly pushed me down so we were spooning, facing the tv. his arms went around and hugged me and stayed there. his left arm curled around my ribs and squeezed lightly. at one point, he turns me so im facing him. and we’re there hugging on the couch, tv completely ignored now. we’re like that for a while, i felt him breathing into my neck and his hand lightly tracing my arm. up and down, up and down, a soothing gesture. but not that soothing? because he lightly pushes away and looks down at me asking if im okay. apparently i was breathing really fast, but i didnt mention that he was breathing really deeply. i replied in the affirmative and he squeezed me closer to him. his hand tracing my arm trails down and starts tracing my thigh. eventually, he lightly touches, not even grabs, my butt and trailing down to my knee, pulls my leg over him.

there we are. faces in necks, breathing in sync, legs tangled up, arms locked around the other’s body. we kissed. he asked if i was okay. i wasnt? that was my first kiss. i said yes. being the sweet friend he is, he asked again. that short momentary pause cleared my head just enough for me to say that we should go to sleep as it was really late then.

i went to the bathroom to hide for a bit. i could hear him getting his things outside. my ear pressed against the door, i wanted to wait until he was gone but i knew that would be the coward’s way out and so i turned the knob and walked out. reminding myself in my head to stay calm. he asked again to make sure i was okay.

i didnt realize how easy it was for me to fake a smile until that moment in time because i honestly just wanted him to leave but at the same time i wanted him to hold me and never let go because i realized then how much it felt like i was breaking inside.

my desperation for human contact doubled with missing my friends and being in a completely new and different environment led me to make choices i otherwise wouldnt be proud of. but i smiled at him anyways. i nodded and told him i was perfectly fine, thanks for asking, michael. he gave me a hug and it took everything in me to not grip him so tight and stop him from leaving. but he did. and i retreated to the bathroom again. i cried, silent hiccups that wracked my body. tears ran down my face and neck, painting my body with physical proof of what i had just let happen.

i know for some that this is child’s play, this is nothing. but for me, i had never done anything remotely close to this. it was the most physically intimate i had ever been with anyone in my life. for me, this was one of the most significant instances in my life where i truly learned more about myself than any other time. and i didnt like what i learned.

shit. sorry this got depressing. anyways, seeya next time i have ricki-shattering news, or i just need someone to talk to and i cant tell my friends.

peace out






fuck dreaming, why cant i sleep peacefully?

last night i had a dream about a classmate of mine, ethan. and in this dream, well, its hard to explain, a lot of weird shit went down. i remember we were on bunk beds and listening to music and we were on some sort of trip or something with our families. at least, i remember my family being there. i think the dream was ‘inspired’ or whatever by a trip i took last week with my family and some family friends. then i remember ethan turning around and when i think about it now, i know that that wasnt his face but in the dream i thought it was. you know when youre having a dream about someone and even though the person doesnt look like who youre dreaming about you just know its them? let me give you an example.

so imagine youre dreaming about ryan reynolds but in the dream, the person you see is your chemistry teacher yet when you wake up, you know you were dreaming about ryan reynolds. it just so happened that your brain put your chem teachers face to ryan reynolds person.

thats essentially what happened. so anyways in the dream ethan and i kind of become a thing. thing is, i have a problem where i continue the feelings in my dream, in my day life. so because of this dream, i get ‘residue feelings’ for ethan. now this wouldnt be a problem usually but i had a six hour shift and i worked with ethan and in the morning, it was just the two of us. so then im stuck with him for 2 hours, feeling the ‘residue’, knowing it was shit and i didnt actually like him, but still having my heart beat like a gazelle every time he spoke to me. holy shit. then later that night after i got home, he calls me and asks if im busy monday night. so there i am, freaking the fuck out, wondering if he was going to ask me out or shit and he asks me to cover his shift for him because he hurt his finger playing volleyball. im still running on the fucking residue and my mouth decides to say yes before my brain can even blink. i invent ways to get off work early and here i am, covering for someone? sure im earning money but my mom gives me pocket money, i have no use for extra money. i just wanted to do something semi productive this summer. shit.

ugh. fucking dreams.