MyTien

"So when you sail across the ocean waters
and you reach the other side safely
well could you smile a smile for me'
Cause I'll be thinking about you."- Norah Jones

With all my rebellion, they're going to drop me off in the middle of Lawrence or Lowell MA, where the poverty level is high, and the income is low, and the papers are BIG..... with BIG crime in the headlines. And I will be by myself in a small rundown apartment somewhere..... as I chuckle nervously, hmmmmmmmmm...., because I'm not sure that I'm ready.

A few days ago we drove into S.O.A.R conference at Trinity in Hartford, Connecticut. From the looks of it, they're more disconnected from the community than even Colby from Waterville. We drove through a very poor, highly guarded neighborhood and there it was "LIQUOR", there were your neighborhood liquor shop, your neighborhood barber. Hartford has a high Hispanic and black population,... first shallow impressions of the city very much reflected the media stereotypes of a poor neighborhood.

Never in my life did I think I'd be housed in the center of Hartford alone with 2 Colby students, going to a Mike Jones, Fabulous and Juelz Santana concert. I didn't stay long enough to understand the city... I'd probably lie if I said it didn't intimidate me.... or the dialect and"boldness" in questionable clothing choices of female concert-goers was.... umm... different. Something like a laughable scenario of a suburban white girl entering into the real world... Peter always tells me I'm very green, very "white".... This summer might be accompanied by several anxious moments. In the end though, the workshops were realisticly useful.... a refreshing group of diverse students and faculty members-- different ideologies. We got thanked by an older gentleman advocate for sharing our stories during one workshop....... humble little me with my un-unique story, I greatly appreciated that.

This entry that follows is something which I've thought much about concerning myself, my place... and my realization of me. It began in my journal about 3 weeks ago and as since spiraled.

Here goes.

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"Since this is going on my blog, how do I write what I’m about to write without sounding ignorant? As much as I try to run from it, my life’s calling I know, has everything to do with children, and minorities, and especially studying and changing how society raises them. Part of the reason I wanted to be a nurse was because I saw the stigma of how minority men are treated in the healthcare system because this society accepts the fact that young black men or young Cambodian men or Hispanic men are supposed to get into trouble and get hurt, so they become a statistic and no longer a person.

Part of (or the whole reason), I wanted to be a nurse was to “change” the way doctors are so detached from patients who are hurt and suffering because they can’t take the emotional burden of seeing all these people die or to see all the same people over and over again. There is a stigma to being black in this country- I took the Harvard test- I hold it myself. I find the stereotype of the chains, the pimps, the misogynistic rapper, the materialism, and the idea that black men (or Hispanic/Asian though the black and white dynamic is most prominent is American culture, and I tend to deny my black identity, so I’ll use black.), treat women badly. My younger brother, and the gem in the life of my mother and I, is only 14 and yet, let’s just say, he’s very intelligent, and athletically gifted, and lucky to be growing up suburban Maine. At 14, how does a kid know that he’ll cheat when he starts dating and is immensely intrigued by the idea of playing the field and breaking up with one girl for another and many sex perceptions which I won’t speak of? He has standards for the type of girls he likes and how much he’d like them to talk (minimally- not too much of world-saving tree hugger (because he thinks I am) and without too much of an opinion). I’m sure his friends reinsure this type of thinking, and what’s ironic is that my mother and I don’t discourage it. Not for one nano-second do we discourage it. I think mother and I would not be content if he were to marry the Michelle Obama type, but more so if he marries an Asian or White woman who knows how to be a woman, take care of him, and “keep the peace.” We laugh, “you’re not enough of a player to know how to cheat.” He asks, “What am I going to be a wimp, and stay with ONE girl throughout high school? Those guys are losers.”

So let’s recap, my brother is child who does well in school and athletics, is quite respectful and nice for the most part, grew up in a middle class neighborhood, yet his brain at 14 is flooded with harmful ideas that he holds as fact.

So I digress. My brother is still a minority. I am still a minority. We don’t exactly get these gender ideas from the Brady Bunch. You would think that in Portland ME, there’d be no segregation, well… In 2007, Deering had a 25 percent drop-out rate, and I don’t know the exact demographics of that rate but I do know that I was 1 of 2 Asian students in each of my honors classes, even though the school had a 33 percent minority rate. (Yes, my classes do consist of more than 6 students). Debate teams, drama club, Art Club, National Honors Society, sports teams (besides the few African American students who joined basketball and track), were white. On the contrary, (and I will be very blunt) Cambodian, Vietnamese, Spanish, and Somali boys would have the reputation of constantly skipping class, hanging out in big intimidating groups, getting busted for marijuana and get suspended and kicked out of school all together. (Not that they had the reputation of even going to school.) So as an Asian student at Deering, one could be multicultural and hang out with kids who liked me, (many of whom wore clothes like they were 50 cent in a rap video, thought it was un-cool to get good grades, or to be white-washed, or to speak properly and respectfully to girls.) Or in my case, my best friend was/is/will always be Brittany Gordon, daughter of an educator, avid language and cultural learner and 13th in our class. She’s also, despite her vase knowledge on cultures, white. My quirky best friend in middle school, Anika, was white. My best friend at Colby during my freshman year, the beautiful, intelligent, and lovely Erin, is white. Kim and Sarah, who have helped me maintain my sanity at Colby this year, are white. My roommate, the people I’m around in general, the older women I get my guidance from are white. Speaking in a politically correct manner, there shouldn’t be anything wrong with this, they’re the people who are there and who listen, and I love them. So there shouldn’t be anything wrong with this, at all, except that, epiphany, epiphany, there’s so much wrong with this.

What did I say in the beginning of the paragraph? Right, my brother is still a minority and I’m a minority. So, is it simply because I happen to get along better with white people, or is it because subconsciously, all of my dreams, ambitions, everything positive I see for myself derives from white culture? And my limitations? You guessed it. I don’t have an accent, as a very young child, I probably did that purposely, because somehow accents, and words pronounced incorrectly annoyed me. I remember telling my boy Miguel that, “If I ever get married (unlikely) he may very well be white and conservative, idk- maybe I'm racist- but they just seem so much nicer- and not afraid to be dorky- whereas Spanish men, Asian men, Black men- are often more of a diva than I am and have such big chips on their shoulders.”

In an ideal world, it has nothing to do with race, but in the real world, it has everything to do with race. Everything I said to Miguel was probably a lie. It shouldn’t bother me, nor should it be my business, that a lot of Asian, Spanish, and Black females on this campus, a lot of exceptional ones here and in the corporate world chose to date white men. Generally speaking, they have more opportunities to be educated, and more role-models who aren’t martial arts artists or gangsters or basketball players or rappers. They have images of themselves which don’t consist of working in manual labor and construction and lining prison cells. (Don’t hate me for generalizing), but they know how to talk to women. The difference in the way Euro culture raises men and the Euro concept of male/female relations is arguably much more progressive than Asian, African American, and Spanish cultures where both what daddy says and what “sugar daddy” says become law. Yet, despite this great white male phenomenon, knowing myself- even though I’ve been with white men, I won’t end it up with one. I’ll generalize some more as to why. (I’m sure my uncle would like to know.) I don’t fault white men for society’s ills but let’s count the odds, of why, even in high school, a large percentage of minority males are already the way they are. I don’t fault many of them for having a free pass- but as a minority women, knowing the clear minority struggle- how could I take that free pass or even find it desirable?
What about not owning up to that, fighting to get the word out that minorities are still facing inequalities and filling the sectors of undesirable jobs, we hate on the rappers but it’s the white men who own them. So I don’t imagine myself taking the free pass because it would be like turning a blind eye on the issue for my own gain, I see black men working at MacDonald’s, Asian men working manual labor, and I date a white lawyer and get my pass? Not that he doesn’t work hard, not that he doesn’t see the pain, but how relatable is it, is he on the ground dealing with it? I probably didn’t make that much sense. I don’t fault white men for being born in the middle class or the upper class, or having the credibility of white skin, but I would blame myself if I were to count out minority boys and men the way society has. In a way, if I ended up with a white man, I would be reemphasizing that fact that minority men aren’t good enough, and that I don’t see them and their struggle.

Damn, this is long!

But allowing myself to admit that it has everything to do with race is hard to swallow. Because, (shall I dare say), that if it weren’t for my relationships with minority men, I would be a lot happier, more open to the world, and not have a wall taller than me up nice and firm. I love my white friends, but there’s a difference between my love for them and my admiration of seeing black men enrolled in a college like Colby, many of whom are standout students a top their class, taking leadership positions, erasing stereotypes. Of course a lot of black and Asian college men are as ignorant or more so than white men, and some are impolite especially to women, and some give me hell but they’re here, kicking ass, being entrepreneurs, smarter than society gives them credit for, they know the logic, the chemistry, the novels, the writing.

I take it as unfortunate that people are unkind, especially since I don't believe in entitlement so I'd never demand anything from them, except a simple acknowledgement of me as a friend and the sensibility for them not to be arrogant. I think I make excuses to let it fly because I feel either the chip on the shoulder of many minority men or simply their desire to have the best of both worlds- be smart but still stoic and tough. As stupid as this sounds, white men don’t have the pressure of being “a gentleman and a gangster.” Unfortunately, with white men, I wouldn’t be so empathetic.

I used to joke with Raf that, “I deal with all your shit, not because I have to, but because it gives me material to put in my memoir.” Raf, who is mulatto, 5’10, and thin is still probably the most gorgeous person, (including any celebrity), that I’ve ever laid eyes on. He’s also probably the reason why I hate men (which I really don’t…. but I say it) yet love boys. Once you see a person this messed up, you don’t even know where to begin placing blame. He knew he’d be on the blog because he knew I was a writer and this is my therapy for having to deal with it for nearly 3 years. Til this day, I romanticize that whole thing to a nauseating extent.

Raf and I were the same person from completely separate worlds. He had an abusive father, no relationship with his mother, he was quiet, he didn’t have a lot of money, he didn’t have college, he didn’t have a real home, he did things I don’t even think I could write on here. I just turned 17, I was this protected, loved, probably quite shallow girl, green, naïve, ....how many other ways can I say this? We were barely middle class, but we pretended to be more and my house had this large pool in the backyard, I worked for the fun of it like 10 hours a week, I was being a geek, doing well in school and life was dandy.

But I always knew that it could’ve not turned out like that, with the hard work and shit my father went through. With the shit my grandmother went through, raising so many children by herself in a poverty striken country, and one them was black after the war? I don't know how she survived that. And the struggle wasn’t over yet, we have all these things but because my father and mother work their ass off, in undesirable jobs, and Peter and I don’t see it. My father buys things he never had, never dreamed he could have, but I knew that we’re one sickness…. a couple lost paychecks away from, living a working class lifestyle. I was protected from it, but I knew who I was and wasn’t blind.

When this handsome, intelligent, potential filled human being came into my world, at his 19 years of age, already disintegrated, already hurt beyond repair, already able and willing to say “fuck it” and to not give a shit about anything; he was ready to mess up anyone who so much as says a wrong word to him-- he wasn’t even human.

And I just saw this beautiful person even when he was in Maine drowning in his own bitterness, his own beliefs of governmental conspiracy theories, the definitions and violence it takes to be a minority man in a poor neighborhood, of seeing that they’re kicking him so he’s kicking himself more and saying “fuck you” and questioning my motives of every time I would bother to care. Why care? It’s this crazy, angry, stupid guy who people tell me to stay away from, and who won't amount to anything, and we will die young, save myself the drama, why bother? He doesn’t appreciate my friendship, he doesn’t see my effort, he doesn’t acknowledge my presence, he doesn’t acknowledge himself……….. how could he acknowledge me?

He left his job without a warning, Maine without saying bye, and I took it, (panicked, cried hysterically for hours, was tempted to get on the bus to wherever, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, praying to the lord proclaiming that I didn't care if he was out fucking 45 women, please let me know he's ok), I had never seen defeat and hurt like that. We got in contact by phone and I took more of his stupidity and neglect and hurt for 2 years because I wasn’t going to be that stupid, ignorant, selfish, superficial girl, that didn’t care like everyone else and who he could easily push away. It wasn’t about my stupid needs for a boyfriend (I have a good life… I don‘t have needs, right?), I was there to be his friend, and he could have sex with whoever… so of course he did.

BECAUSE

There were bullets of history everywhere in the stories that had no emotions. There was laughter that wasn’t cynical from time to time. There was talk of politics and lost dreams. There was so much potential that was crushed upon this kid (upon many kids in poorer neighborhoods) that I know if they received my education in my neighborhood, forget Colby…… he’d/they’d be in Harvard right now. If he were me, if he didn’t see all that he saw, experienced all that he’d experienced, was as lucky as me, he’d be somewhere great right now. How does one proclaim that the perpetual cycles of race and socioeconomic status, especially down South, doesn't have to do with it?A lot of men and especially minority men say they “don’t need shit, get the fuck away, stop the talking, stop the worrying, stop the trying to understand nonsense.” And with every chance and all insistence he does, acts like an ass purposely, we argue, HE hangs up. And I took it.

Because with all his stoicity he would call back. And with the stoicity, one can hear every ounce of pain. The stoicity in saying that these women are only after the men for the money, the stoicity in saying he was beat as a child, the stoicity in saying that one doesn’t want to think or remember and weed kills the brain the cells, the stoicity in saying that this neighborhood sucks and his friend is dead. The tough guy façade, intense coldness, or argument would inevitably ensue after he caught himself being vulnerable enough to say “I love you.”, “I can’t believe you could care about someone like me.”, “I miss you- I wish you were here.”, “I value your friendship”, “I value your advice.”, “I don’t want to die yet.”. I think the one which sets his automatic wall up the most is when he would catch himself admitting that he cares. Because, come on, no one cares about him, society doesn’t give a shit, I’m probably faking it, how stupid is he to care back? He probably hated me because I was so persistent, for apparently no reason, in making him feel vulnerable by giving him a forum to talk.

And I can be quite bitter about men because he treated me like shit and most guys couldn’t do 1/100th of the things this boy can without getting a piece of my bitchiness and messing up their chances completely. Yet once in a while- as messed up as he’s got me- I do allow myself to miss my friend. I trained myself for the last two years to know that it’s not relevant, and I’ve moved on, but his lasting impact on me is that I know how many Joshua Rafael’s there are out there growing up right now, and I know how many give up on themselves before they allow society to inevitably and eventually give up on them first, and I can see how many end up like.... that. It scares me that sweet young boys could grow up to macho, and angry, and women hating men.

What does one say? People like Raf are bad? No, especially as men and boys who have the pressure of providing for their families when they’re not given that much of a chance, but they end up fitting these stereotypes. Because they’re hurt, and they give and they give and they give, and they still have no chance, they’re still nothing, they’re still invisible.

As a minority, it’s a flip of the coin whether you end up in a good neighborhood or a bad one, - I don’t know what happened to Raf. Sometimes I even get extremely disturbed at how people who look like me act, but my brother could have been him. Smart, handsome, deep, geeky, amazingly loving when he allows himself to be--When it comes to race and class and masculinity…. America is two separate, foreign nations.

So my last digression, I’m sitting at the same table surrounded by my white friends which I’ve been sitting at for some 21 years. I'm lucky, I’m not at all that book smart but I work hard so I’m somehow surviving at Colby and my parents, even with limited resources, take care of a lot of it. I might go out with this white top 10 in his class boy. And I might end up the upper class, at least middle class. And it’s like this very very safe box that’s carefree and sweet. And the box allows one to ignore everything that isn’t sweet, that doesn’t fit in that box. But then one realizes that, if she/me gets all that, and she/me is all this, then me as a minority woman is helping to perpetuate racism and hatred for those underprivileged by going along the safe, blind, and easy ride, while a million other MyTien’s, a million other Joshua’s are kind of floating around aimlessly. All this while I emulate everything that’s good about white society and puts that into my personality while getting rid of my side of "commoness", and detaching from those “common people” floating around out there…but flip of the coin. So not only can minorities feel like they’re put down, but also other minorities can proclaim that, “we made you, you must just be unmotivated or inferior, what’s wrong with you?” The latter is so much worse.

So maybe I’m starting to see the “epiphany epiphany” because college and higher education is there for a reason, it allows me explore myself and speak for those who can’t. "

I've written somewhat angry poems about this which I've either lost or left at home- but hopefully they can be found....... I'm 20.... somewhat in a middle of a life crisis.