You know

sometimes I get really fed up with my apparent inability to take people at their word and trust that they'll follow through. I actually have some really good reasons, since I've gotten burned hella. And usually when I do rely on other people, it doesn't go very well. But at the same time, sometimes I wish I could just take people at their word. It would be a lot more emotionally healthy and I would save myself a lot of worrying time that could be devoted to be something else.

I think I'd write more

If what I wrote wouldn't be so depressingly emo. Probably it's better to not say anything at all.

I've got insomnia again. Which makes everything either too fast or too slow. Anyway, I think I've got stuff to say. Maybe later.

Just give me some black eyeliner and call me Raevyn

There are days when life seems like it consists of walking uphill into a wind blowing in the opposite direction. While I recognize the utility of putting one foot in front of the other, I sometimes wonder if wherever I end up is going to be worth the bother.

Meme

Instructions:

Remove the link of the top blog and add your blog at the bottom:

Sunrays and Saturdays
VirusHead
Virtual Bourgeois
My Beautiful Wickedness
Feline Formal Shorts
Love Songs (Are for Losers)

Replace the last person’s answers to the questions with 5 of your own.
Pass this meme on to five fellow bloggers

What were you doing ten years ago? (Five things)
1. being offered my first job
2. getting ready for my second year of high school (I think, I generally forget anything 5 years out or more)
3. walking a lot with my mother
4. going to the public library every Saturday
5. trying to disappear

What were you doing one year ago? (Five things)

1. Cursing the heat
2. Teaching an insane amount of classes
3. Staying inside to avoid the heat and avoid officious old women
4. Hanging out with my friend from college who was visiting at the time
5. Eating a lot of crackers, drinkable yogurt, and fantuan from 7-11

Five snacks you enjoy.

1. The Korean style nori, that's super oily and salty, and kind of tastes like popcorn
2. Flax cereal without milk
3. Mochi
4. Cinnamon toast
5. Milk candy

Five Songs you know the lyrics to…

1. 髮如雪-周杰倫
2. 突然累了-林俊傑
3. Trouble- Voxtrot
4. 心中的日月-王力宏
5. 我的果汁分你一半-花兒樂隊

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire.

1. Invest in my parents' retirement
2. Buy a condo and use it to store all my books
3. Buy a house
4. Buy my mother several tons of birdseed and hummingbird nectar
5. Pay my sister's college tuition

Five Bad Habits.

1. Excessive and inappropriate use of parentheses
2. Telling people "Oh, I've heard a lot about you."
3. Weeping for the soul of humanity (I'm only half kidding here.)
4. Being surly, sulky, and/or uppity. (One day I will tell the story of how my 7th grade PE teacher locked me in a closet for being insubordinate. But not today.)
5. Tactless honesty

Five things you like to do.

1. Reading
2. Taking pictures
3. Looking in people's windows at night
4. Walking around the city at night (when it doesn't seem likely to get me killed)
5. Listening to the same song over and over again with the headphones on

Five things you will never wear again.

1. My parents once convinced me that I needed to have things with patterns and colors in order to be normal, I've never made that mistake again
2. Braces
3. An animal costume for the purposes of employment (No lie)
4. A hat
5. A Halloween costume

Five favorite toys.

1. The computer
2. mp3 player
3. the internet
4. rice cooker
5. Amity, the 11 year old parakeet

Five things you hate to do.

1. talk on the telephone
2. active listening
3. attend "Kawasaki" family reunions (like Hell, only with leftovers)
4. buy pants
5. argue

I tag, hm, Vox, Blackamazon, little light, factorial, and anyone else who actually reads this thing.

Who I'm reading

So long long long ago and far away, Vox tagged me for the who I'm reading meme, but I was in the process of preparing for the vacation that I've already talked so much about, and where all these pictures came from. So I didn't really have time to think about it much.

Unlike most other people, I don't have a blogroll of godlike proportions. And most of these people have already been tagged. But hey, I don't get tagged for a meme very often, so why not? I'll try to pick some people who aren't super ubiquitous.

1. I've been reading a lot of Rachel's Tavern. (Did I say I was going to pick people who aren't super ubiquitous, sorry, I can't help myself.) I like thinking about how race is constructed, and she's usually got something for me.

2. Sepia Mutiny. I don't agree with it all the time and most of the desi pop culture references I don't get. However, it's a damned fine blog and I find a lot of what's posted there very interesting. I often wonder when reading it, "Why can't we (East Asian Americans) do something like this?"

3. I read Vox ex Machina. This smacks of sheer suckuppery, (and self referentiality) but it's true. Vox always meticulously follows through on news stories and link roundups. Between her and Magniloquence I'm really set for life. I'm a lazy little netizen. Vox and Mag are kind of like Tivo for blogs. (Actually I've never even seen Tivo, but I've been told by several reputable commercials that it's very convenient, so I'll go with that analogy anyway.)

4. Having Read the Fine Print. It's kind of hard to describe why I like this blog. However, it makes me think, and I sometimes read the posts several times in order to make sense of them.

5. Oh and finally, I snagged this from Little Light's blogroll. I don't like romance novels, (you might infer this from the handle) which is the main subject of Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Books, however I love well written and hilarious book reviews almost as much as I dislike music reviews.

so that's that. I've got a job interview tomorrow. Wish me luck.

In which the Loveless Cynic hates on America

not that I don't do this all the time. But I took my computer to Best Buy to get more RAM. In the process, my last name underwent a series of metamorphoses.

Let's say my name to start out with was, oh, Kawasaki. For some reason, my mother's account has her listed as Kasasaki. And by the time I got my computer two days later, the name on the folder with the RAM card in it read Kasakawa. Making it all but unrecognizable to me.

Perhaps this isn't such a big deal for most of you. But I'm oversensitive and irritable. I have a longish and somewhat difficult, somewhat ethnic last name, I should be used to this. But it still bothers me every time.

There are enough people in America with ethnic last names, we should be able to get them right.

Oh yeah

and I should mention in reference to the thing below, the worst time I think I ever saw something like this go down, my uncle was holding a twenty dollar bill up to me (I was probably about eight at the time, and I got 25 cents every two weeks for allowance, so I was hella impressed) and was screaming at me to take it, and my parents were screaming at me not to take it. I remember being kind of conflicted, since I had had it drilled into me that one should always be polite to a guest no matter what, and he was a relative, and also that my parents were telling me not to do it. Since I couldn't really reconcile these two paradigms, I just buried my head in the proverbial sand.

Looking back on it now, it's pretty funny though.

Leavin' again

I'm going to be gone for a couple days. I'm going to Hawaii for a couple days. My grandfather's ninety-something-th birthday is coming up, so I'm going.

I was born in Ellay, but my mom's family is from Hawaii. From the Big Island. Hawaii's always been this kind of weird place for me, and my perceptions of it are really different than most people's perceptions of it. I even lived there for a month with my grandparents' house once.

I guess most people's ideas of Hawaii are probably from TV or movies. Bikinied white people in Waikiki etc. I grew up reading Hawaiian versions of Goldilocks, and other fairy stories, and stories of the pig god and Pele the volcano goddess. I wasn't really aware of it at the time, they all got mixed up with the other books that I read.

Hawaii's as close to an Asian American mecca as we're likely to get. Actually, Asian Americans were the majority, or at least the plurality of Hawaii, until recently. It's the only place I've ever been where I've never had to spell my last name, they just write it down. And anyone who has an ethnic or long nonstandard last name will realize how powerful that is. It's also the only place where you can go buy spam musubi.

When my extended family goes out, they act loud and laugh loud. On the mainland, you get this sense of looking over your shoulder, what will the white people think? In Hawai'i we're with the locals, we were here first, so we don't really care.

But I mean, at the same time, we're not local. We're mainland cousins, so it's home in some ways, but again, not home totally.

At the same time, Hawaii can be kind of a ghostly place. The Big Island, where my family lives is the only island with an active volcano. And while most of the other gods have probably been forgotten by the locals, as far as I know, Pele still makes herself felt fairly frequently. When we were kids, my sister and I used to collect iridescent lava rocks, Pele's tears, or peridot, or the gold strands called Pele's hair, but we weren't ever allowed to take anything back. It's bad luck.

Apparently my great-grandfather was fishing once, and he looked back and saw a woman in white walking through the lava rocks much faster than she should be. He turned to tell his friend, and when he looked back she was gone.

My uncle told us never to turn our back on the ocean, because it could suck us under. Nature is still very dangerous in Hawaii, or it was when we were little.

At the same time, the tourist industry is pretty present. My cousin's idea of a good time was to go to the Hilton, which had a tram system, at least 7 giant swimming pools, at least 5 restaurants, a boat system, and a dolphin pool. I don't think any of the tourists that visit there ever leave the hotel. That's certainly not my Hawaii experience.

My experience are trips to beaches where no one ever goes in my aunt and uncle's Bronco, which was probably 20 years old then. It was shave ice, haupia, tako poki, my cousin eating opihi off the rocks raw, eating malasadas in Waimea, and the mango tree in my grandparents' backyard. Hawaii is also watching Pat Robertson on TV with my grandfather, and all the rock piles made in honor of people who have crashed their cars and died.

I kind of envy people whose grandparents live close by. If we were lucky we saw my mom's parents maybe once a year. I haven't seen them in 5 years. The last time I went there, I hadn't seen them in 7. These days, every time I go there, the next time I go, I expect it to be for one of their funerals. But they've kept on living, and I'm very thankful for that. Still, with both of them at 90 plus, this probably is the last time for real, unless someone wins the lottery.

I have never seen stars so bright and so numerous as I have in Hawaii. They're close, so close it seems like you can reach up and touch them.

See you in a couple days.

On being Japanese (American)

I mentioned before that for Chinese people, it doesn't seem to matter where you were born, if you're Chinese you're Chinese.

And I can't really say that's the reaction I got in Japan. To be honest, I wasn't expecting it. If I had gotten that reaction I would have been kind of shocked I think. I've met Japanese people in America, and I never felt that they thought I was one of them even once.

I met some Japanese students in Shanghai, who pretty much had no reaction whatsoever when I said my great-grandfather, (and everyone else in my family) was from Japan. It's not like being cold shouldered, exactly, so I try not to take it to heart. It's just like in their way of thinking there's no 關係 between us.

In Kyoto, I hung out with this Japanese guy. He'd lived in Tasmania for 4 years, going to college. and we talked really briefly about Australian racism, or xenophobia, I guess is how he classified it. And he related it to how Japanese Brazilians had come over to Japan to work, and Japanese people had an easier time accepting them, because they looked like Japanese people.

I asked him, according to most Japanese people, if these ethnically Japanese Brazilian people were Japanese or Brazilian, and he replied “Brazilian."

Perhaps any of the Chinese people who read this blog can contradict me on this, but I think it's rather at odds with my experience with Chinese people and their views on 華裔.

Packing Up

As I put my life in boxes, I feel sort of compelled to sum up my time here. Perhaps in the hope of convincing myself that I have accomplished something. In my online reading, which I've been doing a lot more of, I've packed almost all my books and there are just only so many times you can read Fun Home and W. H. Auden's Collected Poems, I came across a couple things that resonated with my experience here. Like this entry from Sepia Mutiny,

As an ABCD, I want things both ways. In the USA I want to be recognized as fully American; hyphenated American to be sure, but still just as American as any pink-skinned Mayflower descendent. This is especially true when I need consular support or when I am re-entering the country.

But in India, I usually want to pass. I was really proud when a Delhite came up to me on the street and asked me for directions in Hindi. The only time I’ve been amused to hear “You speak English really well” was when it came from an Eastern European tourist at Fatehpur Sikri. [I ruined the illusion by responding “Thanks. I watch a lot of American television” whereupon he recognized the American sense of humor.]

I've also sometimes been a bit unreasonably obsessed with passing here. Sometimes to the point of going to great lengths to avoid talking, or talking very little so they won't hear the accent. For some reason, it's been very important for me at least pass for being local here. Probably, because in America, you've always got to be conscious of what you look like, where you are, and it's a good idea for you to be there. I mean really, this has been the only time when I could be relatively anonymous, well, until I opened my mouth anyway.

I have to admit, I also really dislike the condescension that sometimes comes out when people realize I'm not from here. White people have asked me why I have such a chip on my shoulder about it, probably it bothers me so much because I get that in America anyway, I really don't have to put up with it here too. And having it come from people who look (well sort of) like me, makes it hurt more somehow. I'm not sure why.

he finally discovers that the purpose of his journey was not self-discovery, but self-abandonment; that he may have moved abroad to find himself, but his real achievement was losing himself. For a period of time at least, he belonged not to his mother, his church, his middle-class upbringing, his debutante girlfriend’s idea of the perfect beau, or even black America. Outside of the “fish bowl” better known as Los Angeles he could breathe, try on identities without the fear of judgement, and get to the bottom of his enigmatic black self.

I also related to this, which is from the HNIC Report. It's pretty self explanatory I think. Certainly I've had to define myself in different ways here. I've known for a long time that I wasn't really American. Now I know that I'm not Asian. And I've also known for a long time that I'm an exceptionally inauthentic Asian American, but that's another story for another time, so let's leave that shall we? However, it's probably the first time that I got to be just a person.

I've met quite a few people who were pretty interested in finding the "real" Taiwan. Often rejecting what they saw around them as being not what they were looking for. The unreal Taiwan I guess. (If I was going to give in to my pretentious side, I would use some word like simulacrum or something, but I'll be good.) I don't know. I generally thought what they were looking for an idea that they already had about what their experience should be, and were trying to find something that fit. If you want to find kooky artists you'll find them, if you're looking for seedy brothels you'll find those too. If you're looking for suburban housewives, you'll find those too. Trying to find the "real" Taiwan seems to me to be about as easy as finding the real New York City. Your impressions and experience really say more about you than they do about Taiwan. So what do my impressions add up to? I'm not really sure honestly. It's sort of corny to say that I probably ended up learning more about what I was not than where I was. But at the moment, that's about the long and the short of it.

It's been one of those sort of gloomy, putting up the chairs and counting the day's take kinda days. We'll be at the 7 day mark on Wednesday. So I guess that's appropriate.

Choosing

I once had an intense argument with a friend of mine about the politics of choosing. My friend was of the opinion that one should fight equally for every cause, against racism, sexism, classism, homophobia, ablism, lookism etc. And I maintained that, while one can be an ally on every cause, eventually you have to choose what you want to work for. And I still feel this way. And in the end I chose racism, because at least for me, it's important to be able to work to within a movement where I don't have to listen to upper class white straight women tell me what to do (feminism), or rich gay men tell me what to do (gay rights).

Plus there are things like ablism, which are not a part of my personal experience, and attempting to get involved to the point of hijacking the issue seems both dangerous and patronizing. In these situations, I think it's better and more helpful to be an ally

I read this post by Black Amazon and I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Relieved that someone else felt the same way I did about feminism, and also kind of disappointed, since I'd be hoping maybe just the self identified feminists that I had met were like that and "real" feminism was better.

Anyway, Magniloquence is righteous and everything. And said most of what I think, only better and clearer. But I have to say, I've listened to white straight girls complain about the burdens of being beautiful and thin, I've heard rich gay men say that we must all try to make ourselves inconspicuous and maybe the government will give us some civil unions (or possibly some candy.)

And then I think about Vincent Chin and somehow those things don't seem that important to me. So while I try to be an ally for other people's causes, because there are other struggles than mine that are important, and worth fighting for, I still do believe that you have to choose, in the end, where you're going to be.

You can call them pet issues if you want, but who is going to fight for us if we don't fight for ourselves. And if you won't fight for me, why should I fight for you?

So it's a couple days late

but I've been pretty busy. Anyway, I was surfing the internet and was reminded that it's been fifteen years since Rodney King. For those of you who don't know (or don't remember) I was actually born in Ellay, and I was living there at the time.

My memories of the actual event aren't all that profound. I remember hearing about the video from my mom. And I remember not understanding how a guy could be beaten almost to death by police officers. I really didn't understand how they got let off. I didn't at the time, I still don't really.

Where we lived, we were pretty much away from what was happening. I still went to school. But for about three days half my class wasn't there. (Proof the magnet schools were doing their jobs I guess, even if the school was in Brentwood most of the kids weren't from there.) My class was part of a team teaching thing, and it was actually the only time class A and class B had class together that I can remember.

I remember watching stuff on TV. People looting a Toys R Us that my family went to sometimes. People holding things up in front of their faces before the news cameras and things like that.

I remember a Korean woman crying on TV.

I don't have any adult assessments of the whole story. Or any moral lessons to take from it. There have been a lot of studies and historical research done on it, and how it fits into a larger picture of uprisings in the US in general. I'd like to read them when I'm back in the states. My Hella Whitewashed Institution of Higher Learning didn't really have those types of books, and I was really into the Chinese studies thing at the time anyway. However, it did leave an impression on me, and it's one of those things, when people bring it up, I remember that I was there.

Japan (This is going to get heavy.)

I've been sort of depressed recently, and this kind of all came to a head yesterday, when I ran into a student of mine and her younger brother, who's maybe 5 or 6. And he said "Didn't the Japanese attack the Chinese?"

It demonstrated with a problem I've been wrestling with for a long time. That would be my relationship to the motherland. How do I relate to a land that my family rejected, but we're still marked by, and a legacy which involves, as highlights, ethnic cleansing, imperialism, rape, mass murder, and wartime atrocities on a large scale?

I guess I'll start at the beginning and when I come to the end I'll stop. I remember as a kid, watching the Olympics. I was cheering for the Japanese, I mean they looked like me right? And my mom said, "You're not Japanese, you're American." It was set out for me pretty early on that there was a distinction, a separation between my family and our place of origin.

That of course would be World War 2, and my family's internment. The experience divided us, between those who had been interned and those who had not. It was portrayed to me as a difference between Japanese and American. The passive Asian people who went behind barbed wire without a struggle, and their righteous American children who made redress possible for them later. I only see now that this is quite racist against ourselves. But I digress, I was clearly marked, as American.

And there were the little things too, switching from saying "Banzai" at weddings to saying "Kampai" because Banzai recalled the kamikaze pilots in World War 2. And this was told to me in the 90s. But I kind of figured this was all over. My grandfathers had paid their dues by fighting against their cousins in World War 2. Showing America that we were American (yeah right).

However, when I was in middle school, I used to get a lot of Korean kids telling me they hated me, because I was Japanese. Once I found out why, I never really knew what to say. I couldn't deny that they had a very legitimate reason to be angry. And I still feel vaguely responsible, especially as Japan continues to deny that it has done. However I often also feel quite resentful, how many times has my family taken the fall for Japan? How many more times will we continue to take the fall for Japan? And what was the mother country done for us anyway?

It's weird to be the collateral descendant of the Japanese empire, with its host of war crimes. Should I feel guilty? I don't really benefit from Japanese imperialism. Arguably, I have in fact been disadvantaged by it. However I certainly look Japanese (I've also been told I look Chinese, by Chinese people, whatever), I've probably benefited in some ways. (Ok in concrete ways, the history geek in me will point out that due to the superior political position of the Japanese government they did enact the Gentlemen's Agreement which banned Japanese men from immigrating to America, but managed to keep a loophole open which allowed Japanese women to continue to immigrate, allowing the Japanese American population to grow significantly in comparison to Chinese, and Filipino populations of around the same time, whose countries had no such bargaining power with the US. Thank you Ronald Takaki.) However, at the same time, y'know, my grandparents did not kill those people, my grandparents' cousins killed those people. So where does that leave me?

What exactly is the right thing to do here?