Does anyone out there watch the Bachelor/Bachelorette? I don’t. But people in my office often talk about it, so I went on Hulu to see the video above (I cut it for y’all so that you only have to watch the interview.)
Man, that is the nastiest fight between a woman and a man that I’ve ever seen on national TV. It’s brutal. I remember that people once complained that the Bachelor/Bachelorette only showed White people, but y’all should be glad–by excluding us, the show is taking away our ability to embarrass ourselves. Sometimes I’m being tongue-in-cheek when I make statements like this, but in this case, I’m 100% serious. It would be bad to show us at our worse moments when there is no outlet on national TV that allows us to show our best. Chris Harrison, the host of this show, has the absolutely slimiest job in show biz. I think his job is much slimier than Springer’s–he feeds on broken hearts. I wonder how he sleeps at night.
My reason for posting this on an Asian American site: check out the video above while it’s still there, and note what Jake and Vienna are fighting over. They fight over how one navigates direction while driving, how they measure stuff they’re putting in their house, how they treat their in-laws, and how they manage their friendships with people outside the relationships. These are all issues that deal with stuff in real life. Nothing theoretical, hypothetical, intellectual, political, or conditional. Everything is real, and everything deals with real life interactions in the here and now.
What I found instructional about watching this clip was this thought–even if Jake and Vienna don’t work out, at least they gave it a shot. They were there in the moment, living life for real. Although they accuse each other of lying and stretching the truth, they at least gave themselves a shot to be with one another. Sure, they’re fighting right now, but they’ll emerge better and stronger because of the experience.
This is why I think Asian men should still shop the community store before forming opinions of Asian women. Unlike the IR disparity in the African American community, Asian men and Asian women don’t date very often–it’s fairly common to meet Asian women who’ve never dated Asian men or Asian men who haven’t dated anyone 
Asian women. I don’t think I’ve ever met a black person who has never dated another black person–male or female. There’s a big gap in understanding because Asian men and Asian women don’t share mutual experiences often enough. Sure, a big reason we don’t share mutual experiences is because a number of Asian women refuse to date non-White men, but I think it’s important that we do what we can to bridge that divide, even if it presents the possibility of Asian men getting turned down because of their race, even if it means things turn out bad. We need to create these experiences for ourselves. Not just for individuals, but as a community–we need to see ourselves dating ourselves. We owe ourselves that much.
No related posts.
But here is an...
I have to admit I’m not following all the way on how the clip of Jake and Vienna relate to dating patterns in the APA community…
That video should be entitled “White Couples Gone Wild!”
Getcha popcorn, pull up a seat, and watch as White fame whores humiliate themselves … I mean … find true love on national TV!
I don’t see how two people getting into fights and going in many relationships are somehow going to emerge a better people. I think it is the opposite. People who are serial daters are usually jaded. Being in more relationship doesn’t mean you are better at it. If that is the case, there wouldn’t be so many divorce.
I read this post and failed to connect how this relate to Asian men and women dating.
Actually, that’s a good point that many people miss, John.
Yes, very good point, John. AND…let me mention…I know lots of people who marry the first boy/girl they ever date, and many have turned out just fine.
I think my point in posting this was to say that Asian men and Asian women don’t date enough, and there aren’t many stories about us dating us. It’s good for us to have these experiences. Jake and Vienna, although they may hate each other, at least have some concrete experiences together.
This is why I think Asian men should still shop the community store before forming opinions of Asian women. Unlike the IR disparity in the African American community, Asian men and Asian women don’t date very often–it’s fairly common to meet Asian women who’ve never dated Asian men or Asian men who haven’t dated anyone
Asian women.
I think my point in posting this was to say that Asian men and Asian women don’t date enough, and there aren’t many stories about us dating us.
1912 – Great grandma and grandpa from two different villages were arranged at the age of 10 to be wed when they turned 16. Dowry was 1 cow and 4 chickens, a rather generous betrothal gift. They had 9 children and 3 of them died.
1960 – Father had a failed chicken farm, despite an animal husbandry degree from Korea University, so he went to work in a small newspaper company where he met Mother, who despite a Master’s of Journalism from SNU, could not obtain a position with one of the prestigious major dailies because the supervisors didn’t she wasn’t pretty enough to function as an office girl whose main responsibility was to serve coffee. Father asked Mother out. She said no. Days later, at a company hwaeshik, Father pointed out that there was a piece of kimchi stuck between Mother’s teeth in front of all the co-workers. She was embarrassed and angry at Father. In the ensuing months, after Mother would get off the bus after the commute home from work, Father would be waiting there, pretending that he just happened to be in the neighborhood, with a silly grin on his face. They started going out. When Father first met my maternal grandmother, she didn’t like him.
2008 – Father and mother would call me to meet them at some restaurant in the city. I get there and they’re there with some older couple whom I’ve never seen before and their daughter. I try making conversation with this person. She is about as warm and charming as a sack of ice.
“Sun” is a Korean thing where one set of parents introduce their romantically-challenged son/daughter to another set of parents romantically-challenged son/daughter. After raising their children in a strict, controlled family environment where studying, grades, academics were the sole reasons for existence…years later the same parents have difficulty understanding out why their over-educated grown adult children are such social retards. Mother says: this is her name, this is her age, this is where she lives, this is what she does, and her is the phone number. You cold-call a total stranger to ask her out on a blind date.
#1 I call V. V is busy. A week later V calls back and says OK meet me at this day, time, place. At that day, time, and place, V dont show up. I call her. She’s at a dentist’s office. She’s having oral surgery done and will be late an hour at least. During the date, conversation is very strained because the novocaine has numbed her mouth and she sounds like her tongue is too big for her mouth. She seems also very distracted and when her cell phone rings she bolts up to answer it without saying “excuse me” while I was in mid-sentence of saying something. Later, I found out she goes on these dates only because to get her mother off her back.
#2 M is one of those overly-churchy girls. She’s a teacher. On Saturdays she teaches Hangul school at church, which is all day. On Sunday, there’s church and then Sunday school. She does to church three times on weekday evening. I say, sounds like you’re very busy. Awkward silence. I say, Soooo…what are we doing here? Awkward silence.
#3 I never even met G. Just got her email. I email her and introduce myself and inquire about possibility of meeting up. She says sure but she 1. transitioning to a new position 2. take a shit load of graduate classes 3. moving and wont be available for a month. But hey, let’s continue emailing and while we’re at it send me your picture as well, she says. So I send her my picture. After that, I never heard from her again.
#4, #5, #6 were equally train-wrecky.
J, I met at a book store. She was a little strange. At the restaurant, she would order nangmyun and would take out all of the noodles, put separately it in a bowl, never to be touched again, and sip only the broth. She did this kind of weird crap constantly.
Are you happy now?
How is this different from me giving a list of my bad date stories? If there really is a difference, then what is it?
I’m not being facetious here, I would really like to understand.
Both grams and gramps have kind of Joy Luck Clubby tearjerker stories, the kind that make women go on man-hating rampages. So let’s skip those.
Two Asian-men-dating-Asian-women stories I happily share though:
Every warm-blooded female within a 30 mile radius had a thing for Dad, but he was oblivious. Mom was “cute,” said Dad. Took him 4 years to muster up the courage to ask her out. Dad wrote love letters, played guitar, and sent thoughtful poetic little charmy gifts to Mom. Oh, but Dad was from a ridiculously wealthy family and Mom was dirt poor. To break them up, Gramps sent Dad to U.S. to study. Mom gave Dad ultimatum. Come back and marry me, or you’ll never hear from me again. Dad came back to old country, married Mom, brought her to new country. When asked what his passion in life is, Dad will say Mom. When asked by his grown children why he loves Mom, he will still smile sheepishly and say, “because she’s so cute.”
I met Hubby at a friend’s house and we vehemently debated politics. Turns out we stood at opposite ends of the spectrum. First date was at Mickey Dees. We shared a box of chicken nuggets. Hubby thought I was cute, but wasn’t sure I was right for him because I was too “headstrong.” On a subway ride, exhausted, I rested my head on his shoulder and he said that it was that moment that he knew he was irreversibly in love with me. I move 3,000 miles away for grad school because I wasn’t sure he was right for me. He quit his job and followed me. We had a lot of ups and downs. He said it was after those ups and downs that he knew he was unconditionally in love with me. One day six years later, there was a bit of a miscommunication between our parents, and we found out from our relatives, via hearsay, that the two of us were engaged. (“We are?! You? Me? We’re getting married? Cool!”) I shopped around for a ring, showed it to him and said that’s the ring I want because it’s moissanite, not diamond, and there’s no blood on it, I’m sure because I ran a due diligence check on the company. Meanwhile Mom consulted a fortune teller who said Hubby and I had to get married in 2 weeks or all hell would break loose. So we got married in 2 weeks at City Hall. I wore a dress I bought off the clearance aisle of Macy’s for $9.99. He wore a suit that he rummaged out of the back of his closet. Hubby is my world and I am his.
Kobukson,
Thanks for sharing! That is some powerful stuff, and I’m in awe of your experiences. Thank you so much for sharing.
Might I offer some opinions? “Sun” sounds like it probably fails more often than succeeds. I just don’t think parents are good at picking mates for their kids. The woman might have been resentful of having to go through it. #1 and #3 might have been trying to avoid you. No worries–I think I and every other guy has had that experience before–something just doesn’t click with the first impression. You might do the same thing if there were a woman whom you weren’t attracted to. #2 is a church girl! Sure, some of those church girls might rock it, but others might be dull and tired from all the dogma and strictness.
I don’t know about J. If she takes out the naengmyun and just drinks the broth, she might be dieting. Can you cut a deal with the restaurants to just sell the broth? (Haha…that was just a joke.) I think some weird idiosyncrasies can sometimes be kinda cool, but I too used to prefer it when a date ate.
I don’t think there is any way to avoid the weirdness when it comes to dating. I think it comes with the territory. I’ve definitely dated more weirdos than sane women. But I think you’re on the right track to finding happiness by stepping up to the plate with the sisters.
TZ,
Dad wrote love letters, played guitar, and sent thoughtful poetic little charmy gifts to Mom. Oh, but Dad was from a ridiculously wealthy family and Mom was dirt poor.
So he had money, wrote love letters, had musical talent, and knew how to pick gifts? And to top it all off, he had money? It reminds me of those fairy tales where a guy courts a woman with his emotion and expression only to reveal in the end that he’s a secret prince.
You see, THIS is why I’m floored by the fact that people pay pick up artists to teach them how to get “better with women.” Instead of negging, amoging, or doing other cheesy dishonest tricks, your dad knew how to express himself. TZ, your dad puts ALL of us to shame!!!
“TZ, your dad puts ALL of us to shame!!!”‘
True, and now nobody wants to talk about their experience.
I keep checking back here to read more stories, so I HOPE people will share!
Oh, and what about Hubby! If more APA males were like Hubby, I doubt there’d be such an IR disparity on the APA dating scene!
If more APA males were like Hubby
- Talk about politics in the very beginning
- Take her out to McDonalds
- Follow her 3000 miles to somewhere. Hope that she doesn’t take this as “stalking”.
Got it. I’ll let you know how that goes…
I once met a Puerto Rican woman who had a thing for Asian men. Walking in the streets of NYC together, whenever she spotted a Asian Woman-White Guy couple, she’d say “these bitches look like whores”. Loudly. It even took me by surprise. At the time, the movie “Memoirs of a Geisha” had recently come out. She was absolutely enamored with that movie and the book. I had a copy of the book, which I never read, and gave it to her. She told me that she believed that she had been an Asian woman in a previous life. Her secret fantasy was to be a high-class call girl for rich, older Asian men. I had no idea what she was doing with me then since I was neither rich nor older but hey I didn’t question it too much. I chalked all this up to be “chick crack”.
I once met a Haitian girl at a class at NYU. She had a great smile and a wonderful personality. One day she gave me a Toblerone bar. Afterward, I asked her out. That night, I took her back to my place and tried to take off her clothes off. She resisted. She said, “you just want to have hot, exotic sex with a black girl, don’t you?” I couldn’t think of an answer to that one. We slept together on my bed. No sex. Just slept.
The same Haitian girl threw a party at her place and I was invited. There I met this Jamaican girl. I asked her what she did. She said “everything”. There was this white guy at the party who seemed interested in her also. After a while, the music started playing and people got up to dance. She asked me to dance with her so I did. We started seeing each other but we broke up because I made a big mistake. I was new to interracial dating and all my knowledge of it came from what I knew about our own IR disparity. Being that many Asian women date out because they think Asian men suck in some way, I asked her if she was with me because she felt Black guys sucked in some way. She said what do you mean by that? I said is it because Black guys are promiscuous, or too many of them are in jail, or they make women pregnant and leave them, etc. I must have gone through every negative stereotype of Black guys I could think of. Well, she got very offended and refused to see me anymore.
Years later, I realized that many Black women, even when they’re interacially dating, will still defend Black men and the Black community to the teeth. With Asian women…who the hell knows?
I was once in a relationship with a blonde white girl. She had been married to a Hispanic guy before but was divorced. So her last name was “Lopez”, even though she looked absolutely nothing Hispanic. One time we went on an overnight ski trip. She had booked the lodgings with her credit card. When we arrived at the place, we walked up to the counter where there was an older white guy. He asked us for the last name in which the room was reserved. I said “Lopez”. He paused and did a double take. Here, standing before him was a “Chinese” guy with an all-American looking white girl and somehow their name was “Lopez”.
She had an aunt whom we’d visit sometimes. By that time she had started calling me “oppa”. I have no idea where she’d picked that up. “Oppa” is a term of endearment used by young, often teenage Korean girls to address their older bf’s. Anyway, we’re at her aunt’s place and she’s calling me “oppa”. The aunt hears this and wants to know what “oppa” is. She explains. The aunt says “do I have to call him oppa too?” My gf says, no it’s only used by younger girls to older guys.” But the aunt insists on calling me something. Henceforth, she called me “oppie” or sometimes “opus”.
I met a German girl online. Bush was still in office at the time. I told her that I buy her a thong that says “Fuck Bush” on it if she’d send me photos of her wearing it. So I online ordered this thing and had it shipped to her address. And sure enough, a week later she emails me those photos. I flew out to Germany to stay with her for a month. I met her entire family, including her mother, father, brother, and 80 year old grannie. The grannie saw me and asked her granddaugther where I was from. She said, America. Grannie then asked if I arrived on a ship. Whenever, her granddaugther visited her, the grannie had toast prepared for her. It was an old habit from the times of war and starvation, when adults made sure that the children had something to eat before themselves.
The German girl and I took a drive out to Amsterdam. She drove because I don’t know how to drive stick shift. There she taught me how to smoke weed for the first time.
Got it. I’ll let you know how that goes…
Yes, see how it works with a woman as intelligent and accomplished as TZ. I buy the story…sounds like her hubby was just “himself” and look what it got both of them–a life of love and happiness together. And if you try it and things don’t go so well, then at least you’ll know it was some variable other than what’s in the plan above.
If more APA males were like Hubby, I doubt there’d be such an IR disparity on the APA dating scene!
If more APA males were like me, we couldn’t care less about the IR disparity.
Haha! Yes, everyone, I think it’s clear that Hubby didn’t follow the typical PUA advice for talking to women. And it turned out right, probably because unlike lots of PUAs, he was genuine.
By the way, I’d like to share a story. But honestly, it’s hard to remember life before kids! Plus, I don’t want TZ’s dad to show me up!
Kobu,
If more APA males were like me, we couldn’t care less about the IR disparity.
So you’re saying that you are a person who “couldn’t care less about the IR disparity?” After all this, you’re saying that you don’t care at all? Man, we really gotta get that podcast going!
@ RCR: Aww, thank you!! *e-hugs!* It’s an e-campfire and we’re sharing stories. Share! Share! =P
3000 miles…wow. Reminds me of a past relationship, and also my friend’s own story. I was seeing a girl who had to leave for California in order to continue her education. After a lot of waterworks on the day she left, we kept in touch for a while. I almost did go after her, but I’m glad I didn’t. I saved myself futher heartache, and having to start all over again alone (find new friends, new place, etc).
My friend, on the other hand, did chase after a girl…all the way from Boston to Thesalonikki. They did seem to have a strong connection, even long distance, but I was skeptical. Well, when he got to Greece, she wouldn’t let her anywhere near her apt, and had one of her roomates show him around and otherwise run interference. Well, supposedly she wanted him to give her some space and wait for her. He was happy that he got a peck on the lips at the airport.
About a month later, we found out the real reason for all the weirdness: she had shacked up with a Greek dude; which is what I had told him all along.
Well, my story is kinda muddled. Mrs. WOWO and I went on a date during college, but she said she didn’t realize it was a date. I did ask her shortly after, but it didn’t work out (i.e. she said, “No f#$king way!”). Then I asked her out four years after we graduated when we were on two different coasts–and I was probably a bit older, experienced, and mature–and then it worked out a bit better.
I mentioned TZ’s Hubby bringing TZ to McDonalds. Mrs. WOWO said that I brought her to a more expensive restaurant than Mickey D’s, but that I made her pay. I really don’t remember any of this. Y’all probably shouldn’t believe anything I say.
HAHAHA. Mrs. WoWo is awesome.
Maybe if you wrote her love letters, played guitar and gave her little trinkets that were metaphors for love and romance as derived from classic Tang poetry, then she would’ve said yes right from the get-go. I think maybe my Dad should teach some PUA classes.
I want to hear something, anything from Rev. He seems awfully quiet despite the fact that B alluded to the IRD in the Black community. Maybe it’s because of the fact that Black women tried the “unconditional love”, appeasement, and other assorted dog & pony tricks in coping with the African American IRD and it turned out to be a proven FAIL.
How does that old saying go?
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Hahaha! Mrs. Wowo sounds like fun!!
I love how she busts your chops, Byron! I’m sure you deserve it.
OK, let me see…
I’ll speak about J’Amadi (middle name) who was kind of a transitional person in my life. Like most guys, I grew up through my teens focusing primarily on girl’s looks, to the exclusion of almost everything else. I had just transferred from private to public university, because my family and I were out of money, and one of my grants didn’t get processed correctly. I had to leave all my school friends behind, in another state, and make new ones here in Cali., when a female friend introduced me to J’Amadi, who had recently moved into town. She was a caramel colored Jamaican girl by way of the U.K. and then 2 years in Canada. She spoke with a slight british accent, over pronounced her consonants, (to a lazy American ear) and had impeccable british good manners. She was also heart-stoppingly beautiful. I talked to her until I could make her laugh, and I made her laugh until she promised to go out with me that weekend.
Our fist date was to a large botanical gardens, so we could talk. I have to be able to talk (and listen) on first dates. So we sat by the pond and talked, as we fed bread crumbs to the geese. She was a writer of poetry and had brought her composition book full of political and ethic poems. She liked to write about the lives and history of Black people. For weeks and months afterward, I found myself immersed in her world of Harlem Renaissance writers and poets: Claude McKay, Countee Cullen, Zora Neale Hurston, Langston Hughes, Richard Wright, Nella Larsen, James Weldon Johnson, and the like. She was connected with all of the underground black playwrights, some of whom used her poetry in their plays. I was constantly meeting new people and learning new things—exposed to a world that I hadn’t really been aware of before—the world of Black Bohemia. I began writing poetry myself, and became fairly good at it.
So those were our days and nights, reading literature, writing poetry and prose, reading each other’s work, going to plays, concerts, small galleries at night. I had pretty much stopped watching TV, everything else seemed small compared to our relationship and the things around us in our little world. But in time, I realized that I really needed to go back to finish school. And she wanted us to move to NY. Also, to be honest, she was more mature than I was, at the time and the day came when an old ex-boyfriend showed up. Within a month she and him had moved to Brooklyn. I was devastated for a month. Then I wrote one last poem about her, in absentia, and went back to school.
Sometimes, it’s just not the right time for things. But ever since, I’ve been crazy for smart girls. I couldn’t go back to just pretty.
I could tell you about many one date flops, but mine are boring.
Ahh… Just read Kobok wants me to recall IR! Alright, I’ll tell one of those.
White girls have always been tough for me. Obviously, like any race, there are attractive White girls, but there is so much baggage to lift between mainstream and minority, and then there’s the problem with all the stereotypes that run between the two, and how you see each other. It’s just… I don’t know.. I have a hard time working my way through all of it and getting to something real.
There was a girl I met at work. I was working for the marketing department of a large medical conglomerate. She was a long-term temp who was set up in a temp cubicle camp on my floor. She was a proof-reader by trade, so I had to run my ads by her from time to time. At some point, we began talking about a mutual love of Shakespeare, so when I walked over, instead of knocking, I’d recite passages from Richard III
“Now is the winter of our discontent
made glorious summer by this sun of York;
and all the clouds that lour’d upon our house
in the deep bosom of the ocean buried.”
You get the idea. Anyway, it turned out she was crazy for Shakespeare and was even the editor of a monthly Shakespeare periodical entitled “En Quarto” which dealt with all things relating to The Bard. She was blonde, blue, tall, pretty cute, but I really wasn’t interested in dating her. I was just being friendly and I was friendly with all the temps in the cubicle encampment. I even had a long discussion with the nerds whether or not mithril could withstand the fiery breath of Smaug.
Anyway, she asked me to do some layout work for her periodical, which I agreed to do (pro bono), and then she lent me her Frente CD to listen to a song she liked. And still I just kept my distance to that of a “work friend.” Finally, she came over to my cubicle, for the first time, and asked me out for Thai food. I guess I didn’t know what to say, so I said yes.
It was a weird date because she had already asked me out and I think she expected that to be the catalyst for me to express my “true feelings” and make some kind of move. Instead, I spent the entire dinner trying to bring up tangential topics without being obviously evasive. I should have just been honest with her, but I didn’t know how to explain myself. I felt really terrible afterward.
I don’t know, there were cool parts of her world, and I listen to both Black and White music, so I got her tastes, her culture, and her sense of humor to a degree. She was cool, I just… I don’t know.
That’s the closest I’ve ever come to going out with a White girl.
(see, I told you it was boring!)
King,
Awesome stories! Thanks so much for sharing!
Yes, Mrs. WOWO lays down the law. You know, it’s funny too–I think she was joking about paying for me, but it’s possible she might be right. I was unemployed at the time we re-met.
Even though the White girl didn’t work out, it seemed like it was a good shot. You never know, right? Work relationships (and IR relationships!) can be tough, but at least she stepped up and you gave her a shot, right? And you took it, which made for a pretty cool experience.
I really liked your story about J’Amadi. What I thought was especially cool was the context–here you have a beautiful African American woman who was into a whole sub-culture (although I guess it was your own) and who made it a part of you. She was an independent spirit and an individual with her own strengths and tastes. It came out in your recollections.
Yeah, J’Amadi was 3 years my senior. I was reasonably aware of Black history when we met, but not to the extent where I had ever immersed myself in it like that. I never spent weeks reading Black literature anthologies and listening to Duke Ellington CDs. She was just tuned into this entire world that had been invisible to me. A world of Black coffee shop poetry readings, and beauty shop soirees, collegiate lectures, and off-broadway ethnic theater.
Her world was so much more powerful than mine. She had this amazing sense of herself and the things she was interested in. I could do little else but be swept up in her vortex. In later years, it taught me a lot about the power of developing my own world and interests, I was that much impressed with her aura. I wanted to emulate that sense of self I saw in her.
What’s cool about your relationship with J’Amadi was that you were in it for her and you. If you watch Jake and Vienna, they both wanted something specific out of it. They both wanted to be in charge of writing the story. With J’Amadi, you kind of just opened the door and let her run through it. That’s the kind of trust that leads to good things.
Heh… in the end, there is never anything more than her and you.
To King:
WOW, now that was a beautiful recollection of J’Amadi and you. Forget that cubical chick. One day you and J’Amadi might meet up again and pick up were you two left off. Regardless to race it can be difficult for anyone to find someone compatible, if you are lucky to find that special someone you better hold on tight to him or her.
Also, Kobukson appearly has no problem finding dates. Actually, I did not realize there were am and aw who have never date each other. That is odd, because a ww will date a wm in a heart beat, especially if he is financially well off.
Well, I feel as if I should say “thanks,” simply me, but I suppose that it was just something that happened to me. I’m sure that J’Amadi is married by now—at least I hope that she has found happiness. But, as for our meeting up again, the proverb of Heraclitus oft holds true, “You can never step in the same river twice.”
I love the J’Amadi story. (Joining the comment bandwagon late, King, b/c was out of town w/o Internet all weekend.) She seems intense and passionate and amazing. Vortex was the right word. Seems like anybody, male or female, friend or lover, would have gotten swept into her vortex.
And yes, I agree in the end there isn’t anything more than the two people in that couple, and it’s then that you find out whether it’ll work or not. In the case of Jake and Vienna, looks like when they were both after an object, it worked well; but as soon as they were stuck with just each other, things fell apart. That’s interesting, since most of the not-so-happy-ending couples I know are the opposite– when it was just each other, there was so much love; when they later “made it” in life, gained fortune or fame, that was when love disintegrated.
Damn, you guys and your storybook relationships are just ruining it for the rest of us. You do realize that, right?
I’ll volunteer some less spectacular experiences. When I was in junior high, all the Asians in my school (and there were quite a few) had this mad Asian Pride thing going on. We hung out together and did everything together. If you’re Asian, then you’re one of us. Either that or you’re a Traitor to the People. Everything that was Asian was awesome. Asians cars were better. Asian food was the best. Asian girls were the hottest, etc. I once commented how I thought this particular white cheerleader was pretty good looking and I got all kinds of grief from my friends. We were a fierce little tribe.
So when it came to dating, we dated exclusively within our circle. In a way, we were like communists, because we made sure everybody had dates, even casually, even for a day. Even the ugliest Asian girl or guy got hooked up when we went out because nobody got left behind (and nobody was really THAT ugly, but you know how young minds think). If you couldn’t find someone to be with at the dance, somebody’s cousin’s sister’s friend could use a partner, too. Even if you had nothing in common with the girl, it’s your duty to be her date if she couldn’t find one.
So through such machinations, I ended up going out with this girl to a water park. Now it was all cool, she was Chinese and had the Asian stamp of approval, and I was looking forward to it with just a minimal amount of dread. Then two days before the weekend, I realized that water park=minimal clothing. And I thought, crap, I ain’t no linebacker. So, I started doing pushups night and day and pumped like a maniac with this 20 pound dumbbell (which was probably double my limit and I had no idea what I was doing). Brilliant idea, right? Cause we all know we can become ripped in 48 hours.
So the big day arrived, and the girl was unimpressed. More like she didn’t even noticed anything , except I couldn’t swim. I came up with some lame excuse like injuring my leg while playing basketball (yeah right, I sucked at basketball). In reality, I was so sore I could barely move. She still had a great time, and I sucked it up like a real man (like totally). And reminded myself every minute what an idiot I was. Plus, I discovered that bikinis were the best things ever invented.
Welcome back from paradise, TZ.
Since you were without internet access, I will guess that you and Hubby were vacationing the weekend on a private island off Borneo.
“She seems intense and passionate and amazing. Vortex was the right word. Seems like anybody, male or female, friend or lover, would have gotten swept into her vortex.”
You describe her well, I wish you all could have met her.
@ Leon
“Damn, you guys and your storybook relationships are just ruining it for the rest of us. You do realize that, right?”
Hahaha! Leon, in storybook relationships the guy always gets the girl in the end, which I most certainly did not, I’m afraid. Now that you’ve all wrung this memory from me, I had a look in an old place. I found that, after all these years, I still have that last poem that I wrote about her when she left.
Now, I was under the influence of deep depression when I wrote it, so I’ll blame that, if you deem that it’s not that good.
“She was a temporary river
The kind that flows only after the rain
Announcing her coming
With the ventriloquism
Of thunder voices
She will lick the soil with her moisture
But only for a season
She will surge and subside
But only for a time.
She will speak her secrets in the water language
Under darkening clouds, and glistening earth
She will be laughter upon the rocks
And sighs upon the sand.
Yet this, only for a moment;
‘Til rain stops,
‘Til snow melts,
‘Til laughter ceases,
And thunder is forever
Silent.”
Funny, I never write poetry anymore. Probably just as well.
Damn King, you need to start holding PUA classes. With your game, I’m sure you’ll be making good money in no time.
Yeah, storybook endings would be nice (although I have to say I still envy you for having known a woman like that). There’s this Asian (of course) girl in my school orchestra that I had a crush on. Now she was every Asian parent’s model child: Cute, smart, played the violin AND the piano, played tennis, ran track and field, straight A student. I thought I had a chance since we were in the orchestra together (along with like half the Asians in the school, but anyway….).
I was quite elated when she decided to go with me to the formal dance. Although I suspected it was because I was the only one who asked her and nobody wanted to be without a date to the formal. So she agreed, and I was very happy. She looked adorable in that blue gown, and I was so proud of myself for having spent THIRTY DOLLARS on a flower pendant (that’s like a whole month of yard work). And it was a real flower too, none of that silk imitation crap, and she even let me put it on her, and I only poked her once.
That flower turned into the bane of my existence, because I discovered that I was allergic to it. I spent the night sneezing all over her, my eyes were swollen, and my nose was like Niagra Falls. She put up with it with grace, but I had a miserable time. I was too embarrassed to ask her out again.
@ Leon:
Story 1 – Did you go to school in New Jersey or NYC? The clique you described is very characteristic of the Asian cliques at those locations.
Story 2 – Haha what a cute story! I think the guys who liked me back then were poor, because all I ever got were mix tapes. Remember those? Ah, the days of cassettes and the fast response and coordination required to hit the “REC” button at just the right time when the song comes on the radio. No, no… to be fair… this guy once hand-made me a journal because he knew I liked to write… $30 flowers though, that’s over the top. What were you, a high roller back then?
Damn King, you need to start holding PUA classes. ASKhtrpfft!!!
Perish the thought!!!!
Haha! Another great story, Leon! What’s a little allergy? It’s the price of love <3
TZ- haha, I live in Southern California. Although I wouldn’t be surprised to find such cliques existing in all the major urban AA populations. It helped that most of my friends were immigrants with a few 1st gen ABCs. That Asian pride carried through high school and then it faded. I kinda missed that. I blame college.
And dude, mix tapes! Yeah, those mix tapes were a lot of work. I went through several boomboxes myself, and I had those double tape recorders. Nah, I wasn’t rich or anything, although I had a lot of rich Asian friends and I tried to emulate them (quite foolish, I know). My pitiful side job couldn’t keep up, though. One of those guys spent $300 on clothing for his girlfriend. In one night. In a way, it would’ve been better if I was poor (or hung around poor kids) so I had to be creative with my gifts, instead of trying to buy the girl’s love. A hand-made journal? Damn, I hope you at least let that guy take you out to dinner. And I here I thought some overpriced tropical flower (made out of evil) was original.
King- haha, man, if only I had you as a mentor. Us Asian guys are notoriously hard on ourselves. Every failure is like an epic disaster of overblown proportions. Or maybe it’s just me.
@ Leon: I was in high school!! So no. He didn’t get dinner out of it. He got a polite (but sincere!) “thank you, this was thoughtful, I’ll definitely use it.” There was no dating for me in high school, not unless the guy and I would be okay with my father tagging along!! I was extremely sheltered as a kid, so I have hilarious college stories, like the first French kiss — I leapt back in shock and was all like what in the hell do you think you’re doing!!? Yech, bleh, BLEH!! Bleh! Can’t we just sit here side by side and talk about Kant?!
TZ-LOL! You just reminded me of my best friend who kissed his first girl in junior high. I think practically the next day, her parents and his had a meeting. Everybody was convinced his balls were to be sacrificed in return for the girl’s honor.
Since you got me all nostalgic, I’ll share my final epic fail in high school about everybody’s favorite subject: IR! This was during the junior year when I noticed that all the girls (not just the Asian ones) have grown beautiful (seemingly overnight). There was this pretty girl from Taiwan that I wanted to get with, and of course she noticed me and thought I would be the perfect match. For her Caucasian best friend.
Normally, my alarm bells would go off when someone mention the other’s “wonderful personality” as the first trait, but I decided to play the gentleman because I secretly wanted to get on this Asian girl’s good side. Because, we all know that the easiest way to a hot girl is through her rather plain best friend (or at least that’s what I read in Maxim). So I met this blind date at the dance and was disappointed to discover that she was indeed white, plain, wore thick glasses (no braces, thank god), and was too damn tall. At least she had a large pair of knockers that she showed off in her low-cut sweater (which, in my mind, scored her some good points).
Now, I never thought out my plans very thoroughly, and during the dance I was every bit as awkward as she was. We exchanged a few pleasantries and I tried my hardest not to stare at her chest (too obviously). She suddenly had this brilliant idea to break the ice by pulling me to the dance floor (she didn’t even ask if I knew how to dance). It caught me completely off guard and I lost my balance. She was facing me at the time, when I fell forward and planted my nose right into her cleavage.
She was mortified, to say the least, and words could not describe how I felt. I mumbled my apologies and we spent the rest of the time there sitting quietly in the corner. It was the longest hour of my life until she mercifully decided to go home early. The next day, the story had circulated like wildfire. Among my chronic porno consuming, masturbating male friends, I was a hero. To the poor girl and her beautiful Taiwanese friend, I was without doubt, Hannibal Lecher. I bumped into her again a week later, and attempted another awkward apology. After that, we avoided each other and I resolved to never go to another dance again.
@ Leon: Hahaha you’re just a portfolio of cute stories! That last one takes the cake. We should anthologize these stories and publish them. What great reads!
King, that’s totally awesome. It’s great that you have a poem to help you remember her. I regret having to ask this…because I think it totally kills the mood…but did you ever try to find her on classmates.com or Facebook? Of course I probably wouldn’t bother contacting her because what’s in the books is in the books, but are you curious?
Leon, your stories are priceless! Damn allergies! And that poor friend of the beautiful Taiwanese girl! This would definitely be a great anthology. Hey, Larry, Mr. Publisher, what do you think?
TZ,
Kant we talk about Kant?
I do remember those mix tapes too!
Growing up, I lived in a small college town in the midwest. I think there was maybe one Asian guy in my high school and he was a year or two younger than me. Though there was this guy from Guam that I thought was interesting…unfortunately he and I only had one class together for a single semester and ran in totally different crowds. I’m much closer to civilization now, but back then my very limited dating experience was with white guys.
The town we lived in was so small that the speech and debate teams from the two local high schools always shared a bus to attend tournaments in a far away town. Team members from both schools ended up spending so much time together that we got to be good buddies, often socializing together on the weekends we were not travelling. George was a year ahead of me, a senior, and somehow we got to be chatty on the phone for a bit.
To be honest, I don’t remember much about him except that he did debate, I think he had a brother, and that we went on this date. He asked me out—but I don’t remember what he said, nor do I remember what we did or where we went. What I do remember was that apparently I must have mentioned that I liked the smell of Polo at some point, because when he came to pick me up he was wearing what seemed to be half the bottle. Which reminds me, I think it was winter—car windows were rolled up. We went somewhere—maybe the movies? …I’m sure things went fine, no major fireworks. And then at the end of the night, he drove me home to the university faculty apartments my family lived in at the time. The apartments were long, two-story boxes with parking lots at one end and along the back side.
When we pulled up to my building is where my memory starts. We pulled off of the street into the end lot, and the car slowly approached the door to the building. I remember looking at it in puzzlement as it disappeared over my right shoulder. George had driven past it. I thought—”Did he forget which door it was? Oh, no, he’s just turning around, pulling a U-turn in the parking lot to get out.” We continued around the end of the building and pulled into an open spot in the back parking lot and I waited for the car to shift into reverse. I knew he was going to back out and stop to let me out at the end or the building…but he didn’t. Strange… We were parked in the rear lot. Not near the door we had come out of. I was confused. I had been thinking he’d just drop me off and I’d go inside.
So I waited. George didn’t say anything. He was just sitting, with his hands on the steering wheel and looking straight ahead at the building, almost as if he were expecting me to get out of the car right there. Hm. Should I tell him it’s the other door? I waited.
And waited.
And waited…
I think someone cleared their throat once or twice. I began to quietly panic at the awkwardness of the situation. Thoughts raced through my mind—“What if he doesn’t remember where the door was? But, we just drove right past it, how could he not remember that? Maybe I should just say thanks and get out…and…walk…back around the corner of the building to the door we had passed. And then wave at him as he drives right past me on his way out? No, that’s dumb…”
The longer we sat there, the more paralyzed I became, and the more extreme my thoughts got… “Maybe he wants to tell me something Really important. (2 minutes of silence later)…guess not. Wait—OMG, does he want to Kiss me??? Eek!!! Omg, omg, maybe he think I’m going to kiss him! Does he want me to kiss him? …do I want to kiss him?” And Finally, “What the hell, are we going to be asphyxiated in here with the windows up and that goddamn Polo making tears run down my face? How come He isn’t passing out from the Polo, after all, He’s the one actually wearing it!!! Help! …maybe I should crack a window. No, I’ll just mouth-breathe…”
I couldn’t invite him in, because my parents wouldn’t have liked that…I was frozen. And so was he. All the while I was nearly gagging with the Polo fumes.
We must have sat there for 15 minutes (seemed like 2 hours) in total silence. Neither of us knowing what to do or what to say, me panicking/suffocating, and FINALLY, Thank God, he says,
“Oh, was it That door?”
I said yes, he pulled back around, we hugged or maybe shook hands and I went inside.
The End.
@ RCR: hahahaha… this story had me in tears. Guys were so adorable back then. We were all so adorable back then. Ah, the awkward years of high school. I, too, grew up in a small town, btw, population 1,000 or something close to it. There was a Main Street, and you could drive from one end to the other in 5 minutes.
@ TZ: 1000!!! That is miniscule! Thinking back, I guess I was pretty lucky that my parents at least kept us in college towns. I’ve been gone for almost 20 years, but I’m still relieved to be out of there. It was safe, schools were decent, local economy was decent, my parents had good jobs–it was a good place to raise their family. My town was larger than yours, but I’m sure we had some similar experiences. Back in 8th grade I always wondered why the kid who sat next to me in English class never said more than 2 words to me. When I saw the initials “KKK” scribbled on his folder, I wrote it off figuring that he was just an isolated weirdo. Today I’d still consider him a weirdo, but it was actually me who was isolated.
TZ- only 1000?!? Holy crap, how did you (or your parents, I should ask) end up there?
RiceCakeRabbit- absolutely hilarious. I think that’s one of the reasons why my friends back in school always went out on dates in groups when possible. The worse thing that could happen was to be left alone with the OTHER. It’s like, what the hell am I supposed to do now? Put my arm around her? Will she freak out if I try to kiss her? Will her dad find out and hunt me down with a butcher knife? Why isn’t there an instruction manual for this?
@ Leon: I guess the same way any of us end up where we end up, half by a fluke of fate, and half by the series of choices we’ve made.
@ RCR: Okay, I just looked it up and according to the Internet, the population of my hometown is give or take 20,000, so my 1,000 estimate was way, way off. But if I may say so, it FELT LIKE 1,000. Speaking of the KKK, a kid in 8th grade came to school in his Dad’s white KKK robe and cone hat (no clue what the proper terminology for this outfit is…). The worst part I think is that I wasn’t wigged out at all by it because I didn’t yet fully understand racism. KKK was bad in that abstract so-says-my-Social-Studies-textbook way. Like you pointed out, you don’t realize how isolated you were until after the fact. Oh and question: growing up, did you too feel like some sort of ambassador for all things Asian? If the topic for the day was Indonesia, Tibet or Chinese history or Honda Corollas or sushi or chow mein, Vietnam or the Korean war, Confucius or Sailor Moon, all eyes including the teacher’s were kind of on you to speak up and give the expert opinion? Ugh. Did. Not. Like that.
@ Leon again: Didn’t you have Internet in high school? All these things were online already. And I’ll bet money there was some early rendition of PUA up also. I was enthralled with Internet as a tween. Before AOL and those discussion forums on “AzN PryDe,” and meeting AngelxAznBabyLuv69 and AznPrinceMackHulaHula, I thought me and Connie Chung were the only two Asian people in America that didn’t speak with a thick accent.
Honda doesn’t make Corollas does it. It’s Toyota. DOH. ::blushes crawls into corner rocks back and forth and sucks thumb::
TZ- haha, of course I had internet. I’m sure you’re correct, but I only used it to download porn and games. This was back in high school, when a single naughty picture took minutes to load and Wikipedia didn’t even exist. I got all my love advice from THE definitive source: Maxim magazine (aka, softcore porn). We all know how well that works.
I didn’t hear about PUA until college, but yeah, it’s been around.
Shit, now you’re making me feel old.
@ Leon: Can you believe once upon a time (not long ago), there was no such thing as Google and Wikipedia? I had the Encyclopedia Brittanica at home. That was our Wikipedia, 2 shelves worth of heavy hard-cover gold-leaf books. And then when it came out on CD-Rom and I had the CD-Rom version and could type in anything into a search box and the entry page would magically appear rather than me having to flip through the books, I thought I was the shit.
Who else feels like stoking a campfire, toasting e-marshmallows, and telling another story?
“Speaking of the KKK, a kid in 8th grade came to school in his Dad’s white KKK robe and cone hat (no clue what the proper terminology for this outfit is…).”
I believe the correct term is “Dunce Cap.”
http://cientifica.eu/blog/wp-content/uploads/2007/03/dunce.png