Twenty Three

Although I will never major in the humanities,

I attended a lecture on microagressions today, because I am part of a multicultural club on campus and didn’t have the guts to take the train to a bigger conference down in D.C. I hate public transportation so much.

Anyway, back to the topic: microagressions. Look it up on the internet, if you don’t know what it is. My take on microagressions is this: I am a woman of color, and I don’t give a damn. If a white person said to me “Oh my gosh! I heart your silver bangle! Is it an Asian thing?” the social justice people at my school might give the white person the self-righteous look of disdain. I would really just say it’s a gift from my grandma and then compliment that person on their awkward looking scarf, which is hopefully also a gift from his/her grandmother, and then watch our casual conversation bloom into a beautiful friendship. Actually, if the white person seems like an open minded white person with a sense of humor, I might also say, “Hello, you seem to know what the menu means. What’s the fuck is a London Broil? Or a Spanikopita? Or Swiss Chard? Oh wow! You know what it is! Are you Swiss? Were your grandparents Swiss? Yes? Oh my gosh! I love Swiss knives! By the way, do go camping?” That’s right. The tide can totally turn, and I’m not afraid to use my wit if needed.

I also don’t care whether if someone yells “Nihao Konichiwa!” at me, because I know I won’t have to deal with that shit back in Cali, where whoever that has inner racist feelings against Asians or Mexicans would feel outnumbered anyways like– I don’t know – a minority or something. In other words, in California, I’m a normal person, but when I’m suddenly at my liberal arts college in white-people-land, I’m a person of color.

Sigh, so that’s what I think about race, which will probably change after tomorrow’s workshop on the same topic. The workshop is going to take the whole day, so good thing I went all-out with my cleaning last Saturday. Good night!


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