WHAT I SAID WAS

And we have opened! Come check out VIETGONE at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival running through October 29, 2016!

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.

Amazingly, I slept straight through from 9PM to 8:30AM this morning. Returning to the rainy skies here might not help my jetlag, but I’m glad I didn’t wake up as early as MGS. Then again, he’s a the gym and I am just … sitting here.

The trip itself was fantastic! It was nice to return to Barcelona having already seen the majority of the touristy sites the last time I was in town. This visit allowed me to sink into the rhythm of Spanish life. I’d get up late, grab a coffee and pastry for breakfast (under $3!!!), wander, eat lunch as the main meal of the day, wander again with a pit-stop for beer or another coffee, and grabbed dinner sometime past 9pm. I spent a few days with my great friend KM who moved to Barcelona for grad school and is now based in Sweden. I always love reuniting with friends when it feels like no time has passed at all, when in reality we haven’t seen each other in a few years.

MGS and I also took a side trip to Amsterdam. We bought an I Amsterdam card which gave us free or discounted entry to a variety of museums. The arts & cultural scene there is amazing, as is the scenery. Every turn is a postcard moment. We lucked out with the weather, which was freezing, but at least we were only snowed/rained on once the morning before we had to leave.

It is such a comforting feeling being back in our apartment. I love stepping in and seeing my books, bed, dishes — everything arranged as I left it — and being able to drop back into a familiar routine (for better or for worse). I was pretty ready to return to SF towards the end of my trip, not because I wasn’t enjoying Europe, but because my time here in the Bay is ticking away and I wanted more time to spend with friends and fam. Soon, “coming home” will be considered a “vacation” once my base moves to Oregon so I’m trying to enjoy it here as much as I can. So friends reading this: Call you soon!

Jetlag feels like a head cold. I’m a bit congested. Everything seems to move in slow-mo. My ears filter and dampen sound like I’m in a rehearsal room at the Oberlin Conservatory eavesdropping on my neighbor practicing.

I’m not really understanding how Heathrow is set-up. This airport is obviously enormous and after a 10 minute bus ride just to get to the correct terminal, I’m now in a waiting lounge staring at a screen that keeps blinking, “Gate shown at 15:45.” I’m surrounded by shops so maybe this is all a strategy to get people to spend.

Often when I travel, I look for the Asians (is this just an Asian thing?!). Now is no different. I see … 2. Potentially 3 out of a room of over 200. COME ON LONDON! You can do better!

In yesterday’s adventures in funemployment, my good friend treated me to lunch in the Rincon Center, a former post office turned into a fancy food court. One entrance still retains the original art deco decor. It’s beautiful to witness, especially the series of murals that run along the perimeter of the upper-walls that depict the history of California. I remember the first time I actually looked at the murals, I tried to locate all the Asian faces. You’d think we’d be in a good majority of them, but we’re relegated to mostly one and a half panels. Oh, how history rewrites itself, even in art.

My friend — one of those who’s blessed with looks, smarts, and talent — had a lot weighing heavily on her mind. Primarily, we discussed the artist’s path to becoming an artist full-time. She’s a musician, but also a lawyer. She wants to be the former, but the latter provides greater stability.

BOY could I empathize.

I didn’t really have much advice to give, except to believe in yourself as an artist and just do it. I shared how often we are fearful of failure, but in some ways, we’re also more scared of success and the work that needs to be done to get it. It took me the longest time to identify as an “actor” when strangers asked me what my profession was because I never felt good enough or didn’t feel like I had done enough. It was safer to say that I worked a 9-5 because that’s what was stable and what made the money and what I was “good at” according to my year end reviews.

Fuck that. I am an actor. I am a singer. I am a dance floor warrior. GRRRRR…

I also shared that it is dangerous to start asking people what they think of her music. There’s a pretty thin line between constructive criticism and subjective opinions so asking that question to just anybody opens way too many doors for the haters. We agreed that there are some things that you can objectively weigh like your proficiency at an instrument or vocal technique (to a degree), but there is only one YOU. You got to do you and trust that what you’re offering to this world is truly, wholly unique.

Now. Time to take my own advice.