Ice Cream is Universal

The other night at the theater, I was seated next to an older, white lady who kept glancing over at me. She proceeded to lean over and asked, “May I ask you a personal question?” Oh boy. “Sure,” I replied. “Are you Chinese,” she asked. Good lord. “Yes.” She pointed at her entourage of two, middle-aged white men oblivious to our conversation (or my interrogation?). “They were saying that there’s no dessert in China. I don’t think that’s true. Is there dessert in China?” Seriously? “Uh. Yes.” “That’s what I thought,” she said and then in a hushed voice, “So what kind of desserts do you have?” MOTHER LOVER. “WELL, I’m Chinese AMERICAN…” “Right, of course, of course…” “But yes they have desserts in China. And we live in a pretty united, global world now in the 21st century so I imagine that whatever we have here, it’s likely you can get there depending where you are.” “Yes, yes,” she replied, relieved that I proved her correct, but oblivious to how I’m squirming in my seat. I had already turned my phone off and didn’t pick up a program so could only stare straight ahead at the stage in hopes the conversation would end. “Do they have ice cream,” she asked. I chortled. My mouth replied, “Yes,” but I’m pretty sure my face read, “I am done with you.” “Yes,” she said, “I suppose ice cream is pretty universal these days.” ******** You know what sucks about these situations?  Everything. On a personal level, I hated the way the conversation made me feel. As trivial as her question was, I wanted to scream in her face, “Go read a cookbook, go to a Chinese restaurant, or GO TO CHINA! It’s not my job to be the expert on my root country for you.” Why do I have to entertain such a stupid question? I just wanted to see some theater and be another face in the crowd! But as a person of color in this country, I am always aware of my Asian-ness and situations like these remind me that in most parts of the country, it would be impossible for me not to stick out. On a broader level, I couldn’t help but connect moments like these to greater movements like what’s happening in Baltimore. What is our understanding of Baltimore and the communities living there? How can one community be so misunderstood, oppressed for GENERATIONS, and yet, the protestors and activists fighting for change are now the ones labeled as the aggressors? The word that keeps popping up in my brain is, “insularity”: Divisions upon divisions upon divisions are created in this country as a means of oppression whether it be through race, class, sexual preference, education, and so on. On the surface, these divisions are based on commonalities, but really they are meant to preserve a certain way of life, isolate a certain group of people, and protect the influence of outsiders. It’s through this insularity that myths of “the Other” are formed: Black people act this way, Asians eat this food, gays do these things, poor folks buy this stuff. After all, in these insular communities, how many Black, Asian, gay, poor or “Other” folks do they actually know and interact with on a day-to-day basis? These divisions are defensive tactics, where mainstream media becomes the main source of offensive combat. The media is feeding these insular communities all the knowledge they think they need to know. Worse, most people are lazy and content enough not to want to know. After all, why bake something for an hour when you can microwave it for 30 seconds? So back to my conversation with that lady. I didn’t want to be her teacher. But I couldn’t help but feel that if I had taken a moment longer to engage her in a deeper conversation about desserts and where the hell her entourage got such a stupid idea, I could have reached a more meaningful connection. I could have opened the door to another conversation — maybe about foie gras, pudding, red bean, Baltimore, SCOTUS rulings on gay marriage, etc. Ice cream IS universal. We could’ve started from there. I don’t really know what I’m writing about anymore. I have a lot on my mind these last few days. My heart aches for Baltimore and my friends and family who face harassment on a daily basis. There are days I find my role as an artist is for naught — that I should be on the front lines of the protests. But movements have been built out of art and I have to remember that even my face on stage is a huge statement in and of itself. Still — there’s got to be more that I can do. Stay strong, y’all. Stay strong.