034 Being Asian, a Poem

So he said to me: "What kind of Asian are you?" And I said back
That's a loaded question.
What kind of Asian do you EXPECT me to be?
Because any way you slice that egg roll,
I'm still pretty much whatever you want to see.
I've played many a Far East stereotype:
awkward math genius,
cold and calculated Kung-Fu expert,
assistant to "Dr. Jones, you crazy!"
You want me to drive? How so?
I can give you
Tokyo Drift,
Jeremy Lin
Mario Kart,
Tiger Woods,
and Blinker left on for about half a mile
I am the foremost expert on
all things Asian.
The Mejii era and the ban of the Samurai?
Done.
Confuciusism versus Daoism? I'll give it to you with no slant!
What's the difference between Asian stereotype
1 and 2?
WELL LET ME TELL YOU.
Let me tell you anything YOU
want to know about my culture
Let me tell you in a Mulan-esque soliloquy
of me staring in the mirror asking
Who IS that girl staring that I see?
Let me tell you about Jackie Chan
and Bruce Lee and how they are related
BY BLOOD to me
Let me tell you about being so marginalized
it's to the point of "I really CAN'T believe
that's Asian!"
Let me tell you about derogatory terms
and origins of words such as chink and gook
Let me tell you about the struggle
of Asian parents not knowing the language
so we ate pet food because it was cheaper
Let me tell you about the job of interpreter
when you're still playing with LEGO blocks but
you're English is already that much better
than your guardians
Let me tell you about honor and dignity
Let me tell you about a society that
projects us as nothing but the secondary role
and never the leading man.
Let me tell you all the things you don't want
to know.
Like how chink comes from
the clanking of metal to railroads
as the slaves built train tracks for
this country to be connected.
Like how the zipperhead down the street
is called that because of the way our heads
split open when struck with assault weapons
or how the Jeeps ran over and left marks
across corpses and someone clever thought
that we were only good to unzip.
Like how every time you lump an Asian person
into one culture is systematically making us
assimilate into an America we thought was
better than our war torn home and every time you confuse me
with some other nationality that I might share similar
features to is stripping away my individuality
And I still feel the shame of being Asian
the heat and pious dedication
of June 11th 1963
the envy of blonde hair
and blue eyes
And I still remember thinking where all the
boys that looked like me on TV were
the broken words
of my mother and father stage diving
off my tongue
the anger I felt when those
kids thought I'd get them sick
And I still feel the ash of the incense burn
my hands
when I prayed for my family
And I still remember thinking my skin
was what I was worth
And I still feel the ironwork of my bones
grow stronger with every train of thought
that
passes by
And I still feel pride
And I still feel heritage
And I still feel Chinese
And I still feel Vietnamese
And I still feel American
And I still feel

- Alex Dang, A Man Slams Down A Bigoted Question So Hard He Brings Down The House

017 An Epic (?) Poem and Happy Birthday Mom!

It's my mom's birthday!! Yay!!! Happy birthday Mom, thank you for being there for me when no one else was, and thank you for... bringing me into this world... I kind of owe my entire existence to you...? And dad. THANKS DAD.

Anyways, my mom's birthday is actually a very peculiar phenomenon. Not because it never happens, or because this is her first or anything (because that would be really weird). My mom uses the lunar calendar for her birthday, so it falls on different days every year. Her birthday is actually August 23, so I guess this is just a really great excuse to get twice the presents and eat twice the cake..?

I should start celebrating my lunar birthday.

Also, this means I never get to give her presents, because generally we don't even know it's her birthday until my uncle calls, because he has some lunar calendar app, so he just calls to let us know, you know, that it's my mom's birthday.

BUT IT'S OKAY! This year, I was prepared and downloaded the very same lunar calendar app and got her some chocolate and a necklace. So unless she reads this blog (which I HIGHLY, HIGHLY doubt), she'll have a nice surprise tomorrow!

Moving on, I found a really interesting (interesting?) poem on Instagram. I would share my Instagram username with you, but, as Nargles "so eloquently put it", stranger danger and all that. So here's the poem:

Grades are getting low,
Teens are getting high,
That 12 year old is pregnant
and her parents wonder why.

A 1st grader is swearing,
A 3rd grader's been raped,
Just take a look around you,
Isn't the system great?

Who isn't jaded these days,
Teens are sending nudes,
Kids are getting beaten,
The teachers see the bruise.

No calls for help are spoken,
Teens are smoking weed,
Young girls are cutting wrists,
This isn't what we need.

The marks of taunts and yelling,
Parents are divorced,
That 14 year old is drinking beer,
This can't get any worse.

A little girl has killed herself,
Nobody seems to care,
Another kid has been expelled
for a stupid dare.

But it needs to change,
Our world is officially broken,
It's time to take a stand,
Your thoughts need to be spoken.

--
That's why we're writing this blog,
We want our opinions to matter.
Thanks for reading our thoughts.
Quibbles and Nargles forever :)


(that didn't really rhyme :/)

- Quibbles 8/3/14