On Confronting Racism.

I grew up in Midwest suburbia with Asian immigrant parents who were over-protective and inadvertently racist. Let's just say that the majority of my graduating class was white and the people I spent my weekends with my cousins and church friends, who were Hmong.

In high school, my parents rented out an apartment of a building they owned to a single, black woman. She was able to pay all of the security deposit, the first and last month's rent, but wasn't able to pay the second month's rent. Or the third. My dad somehow got her to leave. An ex-boyfriend hypothesized that it's because my dad's the head of an Asian mafia. I doubt it.

My dad applied this experience to all black people. It was always subtle but callous remarks about how irresponsible and dirty they were. (We had to clean out the apartment after she left...and well, she was pretty dirty.)

To make it fair, my dad was an equal-opportunity hater. He almost always had a reason for disliking anybody. I think he secretly dislikes all the guys I've dated because they weren't Hmong. Don't get me wrong, my dad is a great guy. I think his misconceptions of particular groups of people stem from being wronged one too many times.

This sort of ethnocentrism bred in me, a fear of anybody who didn't look or speak the same native tongue as I did. I'm not saying that I was racist. At least, I don't think I was. No, I was just afraid. Of everything, it seemed. Yes, I was that sheltered.

That fear followed me to college in New York.

* * *
I remember seeing their names on my door. One girl's name stared with a Z. I automatically thought she was Egyptian. Probably because there was an Egyptian girl in one of my high school classes and her name also started with a Z. The other girl's name sounded like she was from the backwoods (err..swamp waters?) of Mississippi or something. I was such a derp for assuming such ridiculous things. I want to go back and slap my 18-year-old self.

When I met them, they were nothing like I had expected. They were two energetic black girls. Sort of like Raven from That's So Raven but without the psychic powers. (Yeah, that's exactly what I thought when I initially met them.) They introduced themselves to me and invited me to join them for dinner. I was blown away. They didn't seem anything like the woman who had skipped town on my parents. They seemed...just like me.

That night, my parents called to see how I was doing. I reported that things were great and I had met my roommates. My father immediately grilled me when he found out my roommates were black. He tried to convince me to change rooms. I eventually gave my roommates a bullshit reason about why I wanted to change rooms. I think they told me I could do whatever I wanted to do, but I'm pretty sure they saw right through me.

Needless to say, I didn't change rooms. And I'm glad I didn't. The fear that was originally there, melted away within weeks. I became comfortable. We weren't all that different. We shared similar struggles. We had the same problems with classes and studying. We shared common boy problems. We argued with and missed our families the same way. We had similar fears. We cried and laughed at the same things. We had dreams and aspirations. We were weird in our own special ways. And they've been (to date) the cleanest roommates I've ever had.

They introduced me to their black and Latin friends, people who I probably would never approached had it not been for them. They called me the blackest Asian girl they'd ever known. Before I knew it, they became more than roommates, we became friends.

By the end of my first semester, the most valuable thing I had learned was this: racism and prejudice--it's happens because we're afraid of what we don't understand.

With any people group you'll encounter, there will always be exceptions. The few bad eggs. But that has nothing to do with the color of their skin or the language they speak or where they're from. It's because of that own individual's decisions. Whether in New York City or in midwest suburbia, there will always be good and bad people regardless of their skin color.


Dear Z and S, thank you for not judging the color of my skin or the shape of my eyes. And for seeing past my fears and shortcomings. And also, for teaching me words like "OD" and "wallin' out." But most of all, thank you for not being ashamed of who you are and for teaching me likewise. I love you both so much!