The Asian Persuasion

I had a bit of a girly day today. An Asian girly day. Which isn't really that unusual, since the only girls I know and hang out with are Mari and Sozan, and they are both Asian.

We went to Bellingham so I could buy some nice paper to print my resumes on. Here's a tip for future job hunting: Ivory paper. Print your resume on ivory paper. It'll stand out in a stack of white-paper resumes.

We also went to Wal-Mart and Value Village. Because we're poor and classy like that.

And then.

Asian grocery stores. It is all about the Asian grocery stores. Tiny aisles packed with all sorts of things that I don't understand. For Mari and Sozan, it was like going home. Or going back in time. Or something like that. They spent a lot of time exclaiming over every item that is somehow associated with their respective childhoods.

Their lives have been so different from mine, at least in some ways. I grew up in a small Mennonite town, surrounded by other small Mennonite towns (and some French towns. But I wasn't really influenced by them). I grew up eating Mennonite foods and "American" foods. I had Mennonite friends and Mennonite teachers. I was quite culturally unaware.

I'm not saying that it's a bad thing. But when you experience culture shock simply by moving from Manitoba to Surrey BC, or to Bellingham WA, you know you've been a little sheltered.

When I was in fifth or sixth grade, a new family moved to our town. Their oldest started attending school with me and my classmates. He was brown. Half white, half east-Indian, but born and raised in Mennonite Manitoba, so other than his dark skin, he was just like us. He even had a hint of a Mennonite accent. He was the only not-white person I knew until I went to college.

My first encounter with a black person was when I was probably three. All I remember is that he bent down to say hello, and I hid behind my mom. I was scared of him.

My next encounter was when I was in the third grade. My family drove down to North Carolina to visit my uncle. A very very black man smiled at me and shook my hand; I don't think I said anything. I remember wondering why the palms of his hands were lighter than the rest of him. I remember thinking that his teeth looked so white against his dark skin. And somehow, I had the good sense not to say these things out loud. Also, I couldn't understand what he was saying because of his thick accent.

I hope none of these things sound shocking or racist. I didn't know what racism was back then. All I know was that I had never before met someone who wasn't white, so when it happened, I stared and stared. I only ever knew white people (and one brown person) until I went to college.

And now I'm married to an Asian man with an Asian family and Asian friends (except for Wayne. He's white). I am definitely out-numbered. Most of the time I don't notice. Until they take me into an Asian grocer.

For them, it's a delight, a treat even! For me, well, it's kind of weird. And I here myself asking out loud, over and over, "What is this? What is this?" Or, "Ew, people actually eat that?!" Or, "What does it taste/feel/smell like?" Do you think the man at the counter was thinking, "One of these girls is not like the other. One of these girls just doesn't belong...."

Anyway, those are my rambling thoughts for tonight. I didn't really intend to go in that direction, but it happened, and I'm not changing it. It's late, I'm sleepy, Art is conked out on the couch beside me, and I still have to do a little job hunting before I go to bed.

Until tomorrow!