Melodrama aside, I guess it's not that terrible to be Asian, despite the unbecoming title of this post. On Chinese New Year's (a month ago), my parents and I went out to dinner with about ten other families = 40 people = >10 children = 4 tables at an Asian restaurant. I distinctly remember that there was a time when we'd all pile into someone's huge house, and the unfortunate hosts would cook the entire dinner. Now, eight years later and much lazier, we all pile into cars and vans and head towards Happy Garden or Lucky Star or something like that.
It's strange to me that we would go to a Chinese restaurant, considering how horrible the food usually tastes. However, it's not so strange once I realize that besides my dad and I, no one else likes American/Italian/other non-Asian types of food. We get to the restaurant late, and I get the dubious honor of sitting at the table with the grown-ups. Everyone ooooohs and aaaaahs over me while I smile politely and fleetingly wish that I hadn't come home this weekend or that my parents didn't feel the need to be social once a year.
When I was little, I would remember that all the little kids formed a little clump, our parents sat in a separate group, and the parents' parents would be in yet another group. As I got older, I wondered when I could join the big people's table (the parental table). First, it seemed obvious that I needed to have at least one kid, then I could happily join the adults. Then, I realized that when I had kids, my parents would migrate to the grandparents' table, so that was futile. Alternating layers of water and oil.
The kids aren't as loud as I thought they'd be, probably because they're all four years older than when I saw them last. The little boys 'share' a nintendo game, and the teenage Asian girls troop in late, having been at the shopping mall. I continue sitting with the adults. Meanwhile, my mother pokes me and tells me to pour the tea, because I'm at least twenty years younger than everyone else sitting at the table. I go around and everyone mentions how responsible, wonderful, etc. I am.
A young couple whom I don't recognize come in with a young baby girl in their arms. The set of grandparents at my table (I think I know who they belong to) immediately go into predatory mode and swarm over the young mother and hold her baby until the poor thing starts crying. They sit down again, and I can't helping that this must be the best day of the year for them. Everyone comes over to our table to greet them and shake their hands. If nothing else, we are very polite to those much older and much younger than us. All the attention is split between the children and the grandparents. I'll refrain from commenting on this system.
After dinner, we head over to a religious center at Brown to sing karoake. All the little kids go off and play tag. Honestly, I don't know whether to join them or the adults. I decide to join the adults. I wander around and talk to a few people, then eat persimmons and clementines for the rest of the time. Although I don't blend in seamlessly, I don't feel completely out of place. It's that awkward feeling of not being a child anymore but not exactly feeling comfortable in my adult skin, either.
The men play Chinese poker and listen to the women sing karoake. A few of the more adventurous/americanized women attempt ballroom dancing to non-dance music. I look around and realize that they're limited to the waltz. There is one American guy there. He's dating (married?) a Chinese woman that everyone sort of knows. He doesn't look uncomfortable, which I would be had I been in his place. To his credit, he learns Chinese poker very quickly and is soon beating all of the men at his table.
I practice my horrible Chinese with a woman who wants to know how her son can get into a good university. She's not nearly as strict as lots of parents I've met, and I try to give her some advice, emphasizing extra-curricular activities and steering away from academics. She's pleasant and listens to me intently. My mom sits down next to me during a breaking in singing, and I tell her that I want to go run around with the little kids. She tells me to go ahead, bur I wisely decide to remain sitting.
At the end of the night, my parents and I drive home and I'm exhilarated at being included in the adult world, if only for a few hours. Honestly, being Asian isn't too bad.
Another thing that I love about the Smithsonian are the roses growing outside...I love pure white roses and deep red roses. They're so vibrant and absolute. In a world of no absolutes (except for the fact that I'm not dead, as Amy so generously pointed out to me), it's nice to see such beauty.
