Fairy Kei – Alternative Black Girl

First of all, I apologize profusely because it’s been ages since I last wrote a blog post. Needless to say, a lot has happened. Let me condense the last five months super quickly so I can get on with my topic for today:

Ahem.

Old best friend became new boyfriend. JET didn’t work out. New bf moved in. Newer better job. Better job was bad for my mental and physical health. So I got an even BETTER job as a “job coach” and will continue substitute teaching in the fall. (Oh, did I mention I’m a substitute teacher now?) I threw a book launch party in June for my fantasy novel, The Adventures and Shenanigans of Bastien Falco — that was FABULOUS. Sold like 30 books that month. Also, my birthday was July 5th and I’m 24 now. Yay.

Now. On to the topic at hand. See that dork with the purple hair in this post’s featured picture? That’s me.

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Yep. This is me. When you weren’t looking, I turned into a fairy.

Yes. I’ve done it. I’m a fairy. By that, I mean that I’ve recently gotten really into this style, this lovely slice of Japanese street fashion, called Fairy Kei. As soon as I saw this style, I fell in love immediately. My first thought was: MY PEOPLE! All these pastel rainbow dreamy fairies and unicorns roaming the Earth! I made it my mission to become one of them.

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fairy 1

I’m well aware that they’re Japanese, and that Fairy Kei is a Japanese street fashion thing, but stuff like that has never bothered me. I’ve always been an alternative black girl, searching for my own style. I spent my angsty teenage years dabbling in Goth, Scene, and Punk. I even tried Gothic Lolita, but that was simply to expensive. I never could have afforded it. I’d bought one dress from Hot Topic, and some cute black chokers, but that was just about it.

But then I got to college and realized that I actually look pretty cool in light colors and that wearing all that black wasn’t really flattering on me.

And then, just five months ago, I discovered Fairy Kei, and I realized that this was what I’ve been trying to be. I mean, who cares that I’d be the only black girl I know dressing this way? That had never stopped me before. I’d been teased so many times before, since junior high (when I loved wearing MCR and Green Day t-shirts), so I’ve become numb to it. Why should I feel bad about myself when people who wear nothing but t-shirts and jeans — BORING CLOTHES — all the time make fun of what I wear?

Summer of 2013 started my own personal era of fashion. Forever 21 was my best friend. Then, I went to Japan and lost my mind, shopping in Shibuya, Tokyo. I was drunk on compliments in both Japan and the U.S. But see, even though I was stylish back then, I was still sort of conventionally stylish. I wore bows and stuff and dressed up — I looked like a doll going to class — but it was nothing compared to trying to imitate Japanese street fashion.

Street. Fashion.

You know, like those Harajuku Girls that Gwen Stephani was so crazy about.

Gwen Stefani Visits MTV's ''TRL'' - December 10, 2004

Gwen Stephani and her Harajuku Girls

Except now, Harajuku has pushed street fashion to its limits. We’re talking going beyond Fairy Kei. The fashion style in the photo below, my friends, is called Decora:

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It’s a bit too much for me, but I can respect it.

But back to Fairy Kei.

My family and friends are pretty much used to me by now, dressing the way I do. No one bots an eye. I get compliments on how cute I am — even from strangers. Thankfully, I surround myself with loving and open-minded people, so I never really have to worry too much about feeling weird about the way I dress. Fairy Kei makes me feel girly. It makes me feel good.

However, some alternative black girls aren’t so lucky. It doesn’t matter if they’re Goth or Fairy Kei or anything in between (Pastel Goth is literally smack dab in the middle). They are dressing in a way that makes them happy, but for some reason, dressing “out of the norm” is not widely celebrated in the black community. To more fully understand what I mean, consider reading this article, The Issue with the Perceived “Whiteness” of Being an Alternative Black Girl.

When I go on YouTube and watch videos by Fairy Kei vloggers, they are almost exclusively white and Asian. And when I dared to post fairy videos of my own, I will admit that I felt a little self-conscious.

But I mean. Pastels look good with my skin tone, too.

And it helps, that, from what I’ve seen, the Fairy Kei community seems to be very inclusive and warm. It welcome fairies who are trans or gender-queer without question. There are plus-sized fairies running around.

And, of course, there are us, black fairies. ❤

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I don’t know who this girl is, but I seriously need to get on her level.

So, if you’re a secret (or not-so-secret) alternative black girl, wear whatever the hell you want to wear! If Fairy Kei looks appealing to you, I encourage you to try it out! There may be people out there who will call you names and make fun of you, but those idiots aren’t worth your time. Life it too short for boring clothes. And life it too short not too wear what you want to wear. (I mean, depending on where you work, you may not want to wear Decora/Fairy Kei/Goth/Lolita/Punk/Metal-type stuff to your job. But, you know. Compromise.)

So, long story short: If you want to do the thing, THEN DO THE THING! ❤ I promise you, it’ll feel great.

 

Also, if you’re interested in my super new YouTube channel (it’s really silly and dumb — don’t check it out), it’s called Star Blush Universe. As of today there are two really boring videos. You’re better off just scrolling through my tumblr.

Until next time~!

 

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Relationships: Flirting and Celeb Crushes

Hello all once again~!

I don’t really talk about things like love, relationships, and romance, and stuff. I don’t know why – I just don’t. I barely write it into my stories. That said, after binge-watching a few Buzzfeed videos (I have a life, I swear. I’ve just been so busy and on-the-go that I thought a little couch-potatoing wouldn’t kill me) I’ve developed a phase known as THE CELEBRITY CRUSH. And look, I love my boyfriend to bits – he’s the love of my life – but god damn, Buzzfeed’s Eugene is everything. I mean. Damn.

JUST LOOK AT HIM

JUST LOOK AT HIM

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HE’S FUNNY, HE CAN DANCE, AND HE’S STYLISH AS HELL

Can I switch places with her?

Can I switch places with her?

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Sigh

Yeah, as you can see, I have a problem. (I’m not the only one, though. Look at the comments of literally ANY Youtube video he’s been in. This guy has an army of admirers.) But… it’s quite embarrassing for me to admit because I generally pride myself on abstaining from celebrity crushes. I mean, what’s the point? It’s so silly. It never gets anywhere. I mean, you don’t even know the person! They could be a serious asshole or an idiot or a secret serial killer. On the screen, Eugene may seem like this intelligent stylish, super funny, super hot…….. (I’m sorry, what was I saying?)

But okay, I’ll get serious now. When I’m single, I go a little boy crazy because I can. But when I’m with someone, that someone is the single object of my affection. Ideally, anyway. When I start dating someone, I generally loose interest in looking at other guys. And it’s pretty great. It feels secure. But then, there’s always that one celeb that slips through! In my last serious relationship, I discovered BBC’s Merlin and therefore discovered the perfection that is Bradley James:

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THIS VERSION OF ARTHUR AND GWEN IS MY OTP.

THIS VERSION OF ARTHUR AND GWEN IS MY OTP.

I had to stop and wonder why I felt like I needed to make his face my wallpaper and fawn over pics of him. Most importantly, I came to the realization that I wasn’t secure enough to handle that idea that maybe someone I’m dating might have these silly crushes as well. My immediate thoughts generally go:

Oh my god he thinks she’s prettier he’d rather have someone who looks like her she’s skinnier than I am I could never look like that if he ever meets her my relationship is over help

I spent so much time Googling this dilemma to see if it was common. Normally, people say, “Yeah, but you’ll never meet them. So it doesn’t matter.”

Yes! Yes, it does matter – in a way. It’s not impossible. Celebrities have dated non-celebs before. It’s not entirely impossible to meet one. What if they do meet and hit it off? So, saying “they’ll never meet” doesn’t make me feel any better whatsoever.

Before I had my anxiety issues under better control, my current boyfriend made the mistake of mentioning his attraction to Asli Omar to me:

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Isn’t she positively gorgeous??!! And she’s a lovely singer; she’s the vocalist for one of our favorite bands, The Tontons. But at the time, when I still let my anxiety and depression get the best of me, I automatically assumed that I’d lost, and that she’d won. Rationally, I knew that that wasn’t the truth and that my boyfriend loved me, but… it just made me feel less than. Since then, I’d resolved to continue to pretend celebrities weren’t all that hot and that the Asli Omar incident never happened.

But it’s human, isn’t it, to have a bit of a wandering eye? That’s the only explanation I can think of. It’s very complex to think about. If I saw someone like Eugene out and about, and if situation permitted, I would flirt like hell. (Probably. I’m really shy and would probably talk myself out of it…. But I’d still daydream about flirting with him.) And I would do this knowing quite well that at the end of the day, I’m going to bed with the best bf I could ever ask for. What is this cognitive dissonance?

Do you believe that flirting is disrespectful in a relationship? Some people do. I don’t make a habit out of it. Normally, I just admire from afar. But when I ask myself questions like these, I generally flip it around to see what I would be okay with dealing with.

For example:

What if I saw the bf fawning over pics of Asli Omar or Janelle Monae?

What if I jokingly commented on a Buzzfeed vid: “Eugene = bae.” Would I be okay if the bf did something like that?

What if we were watching a movie, and he just randomly said, “Wow. She is hot.”

Okay, present-me would be a little irked, but I’ve also learned that there’s more than one kind of attractive in the world, and that liking the looks of one person doesn’t cancel out the looks of another. I also know that he loves me and that that’s all that matters. It also helps tremendously that my bf is extremely understanding and compassionate – I mean, he’s a nurse, and he learned a thing or two from mental health courses – so he weathered this rough journey with me… from me being jealous and anxious to me just being a little irked but okay overall.

In fact, I was recently proud of myself for acquiring the guts to ask him if he ever had fantasies. Was I in them? Were other women in them? Stuff like that. Much to my surprise, I wasn’t irked or hurt at all. I guess that shows my progress.

That said, I still have a long way to go. I’m not going to go posting Eugene pics on Man Crush Monday any time soon because if the bf did anything like that on Woman Crush Wednesday, there would probably be some problems.

Or not.

Who knows? Maybe I’d surprise myself and only be a little irked.

SO! Ladies and gents – how do you feel about flirting and celeb crushes? Where do you draw the line? Do you care? Does it bother you like the dickens? Do you go a little overboard?

Let me know! 😉

Where Are the Forks?

A bunch of my friends and I lived in the same apartment building – so our parties were pretty awesome.

For whatever reason I can’t remember, I decided to call it a night around 2 a.m. and walk across the hall back to my own apartment.

Moments later, there was a knock on the door. A couple giggly drunk girls asked where the party host keeps his forks.

I said, “Um. In his kitchen, presumably?”

They looked at me wide-eyed and said, “Oh my god, where are you from?”

“I’m from here.”

They were shocked.

Later, I had to ask someone if “presumably” is that uncommon of a word and if it really is odd that it’s a part of my regular vocabulary.

Like… really?

From a young child, I took the things I learned in English classes to heart. Standard English was the name – to master it was my game. Don’t as me why. Maybe it’s a language thing. I’m the same way when learning/teaching myself foreign languages. Also, I like sounding intelligent and well read. (Correction – I am intelligent and well read. And I like to show that with my speech.) For this reason, I’ve been called things like “white girl” and “oreo.” As if proper English only belongs to white people?

Some people even thought my family was rich based solely on the way I speak.

Alas.

Feeling Pretty White Bread

Since I started college, I’d always pride myself on my diverse group of friends. One night, a bunch of us went out to Ihop. We took a look around and realized that we pretty much look like the United Nations.

Another time, years later, a small group of us was hanging out, engaging in shenanigans. One of our newer friends, a white guy, looked around and said, “Man. You guys make me feel pretty white bread.”

I looked around, and I realized I was the only black friend – black as in, not mixed.

All of my biracial and multiracial friends are beautiful and come from interesting families. Thinking of it that way, it’s kind of hard not to feel like a ho-hum plain Jane.

I mean, take ice cream, for example. I always opt for the most delicious mixes of flavor.

But I have to remember that vanilla and chocolate are still classic flavors.

Where Do I Go From Here?

I noticed that some Americans really like to ostracize other Americans. I often hear the phrase, “Well, if you hate it here so much, you should just leave.”

Yes, leaving is definitely an option. Another option is stopping to wonder why these people are so unhappy in this country.

Look, I’m American, born and raised. I love America with all its free speech and ubiquitous free wi-fi. But… I also know that America is pretty fucked up.

We were the 18th country to legalize same-sex marriage (took along enough), and people are still fighting it tooth and nail. Many people are using the same excuses that were used when interracial marriage was illegal.

On a related note, a surprising amount of people are unable to separate church and state. To some, a completely secular government would be the end of times. Fire and Brimstone!!

red guy

Apparently this is what they think a secular government would look like.

Little do they know, Sweden, France, the Netherlands, and many other nations have secular governments and are doing just fine.

And when I was in Japan for a month, I felt more like an equal and a human being than I feel here sometimes. The Japanese never made me feel self-conscious about being black (except for the three times I was asked to get my picture taken. One of them was when I was standing next to my tall, handsome, blond-haired, blue-eyed friend). Here, I’m sometimes followed around stores even though shoplifting is the last thing on my mind. People sometimes lock their cars when my dad strolls by, even though he’s a hard-working, productive member of society. And even though my boyfriend takes his profession seriously, in nursing school, he still encountered patients who refused to be treated by a black nurse.

America isn’t even among the top ten nations with the best education systems! And there’s no sign of that changing any time soon.

We’re not in the top ten for health care, either. Surprise, surprise. (Even though ours is ridiculously expensive.)

And, we also have a bit of a prison problem: “Not only does the U.S. lead the world in incarcerations per 100 thousand of population, but it is home to largest total number of prisoners. Roughly 2.2 million people are incarcerated in the United States. China’s estimated prison population totals to only 1.6 million people.” (Statista). We’re second only to Seychelles. This is kind of embarrassing.

Obesity is out of control. (Seriously, people threw a fit when McDonald’s first tried to sell apples, but all hell broke loose when Twinkies went out of business.)

Our cops are out of control. (Not all cops – yes, I know. But you can’t deny that we have way more bad apples than we need.)

And let me tell you, we’re on no one’s list for happiest country.

So, taking all this into account (and this isn’t even all of it), it’s natural to wonder where else I could live.

Denmark, Sweden, and the Netherlands have some of the happiest people.

Japan, Canada, the Netherlands, and the U.K. are among the top ten education systems.South Korea is number one, but I wouldn’t touch South Korea with a 50-foot pole. Case and point:

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(Pretty ignorant for the so-called best educated nation in the world, hm?)

The U.K., France, Canada, Switzerland, Sweden, and the Netherlands are all among those in top ten healthcare.

And I also did a search for the “most tolerant” countries. And after various perusals, the Netherlands was consistently the top choice.

The Netherlands is also extremely energy efficient. (Germany is number one.)

Look, I am seriously considering learning Dutch and moving to the Netherlands. (I’m also told New Zealand is a great choice as well.)

And before you say it: I do know that racism is everywhere and no nation is perfect. I also realize how lucky I am to have been born an American. I don’t hate this country – you won’t catch me burning flags or shitting on them – but at the same time…

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(Side note: And yes, I know “Black Pete” is a thing. But, to be fair, if a character who is Santa’s helper is the biggest racial issue in the country, I’m pretty sure I can overlook it.)

(Side-side note: Does anyone know what ballroom is like in the Netherlands?)

The Giant Ballerina

I dance ballroom.

I started about two years ago (I was 21) and I got serious about it pretty early on.

When I was 22, I had enough money to take ballet classes (where my older brother goes, and also where he teaches advanced contemporary) to help me become an overall better dancer.

I couldn’t sign up for the adult classes because they were scheduled at the same time as evening ballroom, so I registered for an “age 7 and up” class. I thought, “Seven AND UP! So surely there will be mixed ages!”

I was wrong. I was oh so wrong.

I showed up in my baby blue leotard and pink tights, towering over all the 7-year-olds, feeling awkward as hell.

Towards the end of class, my brother peaked his head into the studio.

I heard him say to someone, “Yeah, that’s my little sis. Isn’t she so cute?”

Oh. Yes. I bet those little girls’ parents thought I was adorable.

Anyway, to make things worse, I’m kind of scared of little kids. They make me uncomfortable. The fact that I was able to suck that up and show up to every class proves how serious and determined I was. They never really addressed me, although they looked at me sometimes, probably wondering why the hell some “old lady” is in class with them.

Their tiny bodies were far more flexible than mine. Their little feet made perfect points that my feet will never achieve. But I couldn’t let that discourage me. I had to endure awkward stares from the teenagers, too. Awkward, awkward, awkward.

Unfortunately for me, I could only afford ballet for one semester. I miss it so much. And it really did help me. Let me explain how.

In the collegiate ballroom world, competition ranks are like so: Newcomer, Bronze, Silver, Gold, Novice, Pre-Champ, and finally, Champ. Everyone is allowed to compete in Newcomer for exactly one year. After that, you have to move up to what many of us call “Bronze Purgatory.” Many dancers make it to Bronze and never get out. It’s the most saturated of all the ranks. You could be the best dancer on the floor, but it won’t mean anything if the judges can’t see you in that massive sea of competitors. You have to really stand out.

stand out

The more ballet I learned and applied, and the more ballroom lessons I attended (group as well as private lessons), the more I was able to connect all the things I learned. With hard work, I made it from Newcomer to Silver in two years, which is uncommon.

Sadly, due to financial reasons, among other things, this dancing queen is on hiatus – a very agonizing hiatus – and I’m itching to dance again. But, when I made it to Silver finals, I thought I would have a heart attack. I wanted to pour all my money into lessons (and, I basically did) so that I could move up to Gold. It was within my grasp.

And it wouldn’t have been possible without those awkward ballet lessons. If anything ever taught me to get the hell out of my comfort zone, it was prancing around a dance studio with 7-year-old girls.

Right now, my writing game is on hyper drive. I’m writing, editing, and submitting as much as I can, since all I have is time. But soon… soon…

soon

I will wear my dancing shoes again…

Big Swedish Heart

‘Kay don’t judge me for this one. But get ready for a feel trip.

Shortly before I was with the wonderful boyfriend I have now, I had a thing for Japanese and Swedish men. Oddly specific, I know. Let me explain why. I’d studied Japanese language and culture for years, for fun, and had been to Japan and made Japanese friends. I watched Japanese tv; listened to Japanese music. So naturally, I developed a fondness for Japanese men.

When I started teaching myself Swedish (for fun), I mused about the idea of finding a Swedish guy. Then the inevitable thought popped up. “But… do they… do they even like black girls??” There was only one thing left to do.

TO THE INTERNET.

Some sort of weird dating profile thing came up for Swedes wanting to date blacks, so I clicked to look at it, for shits and giggles. It was mostly Swedish women wanting black men.

But there was one older Swedish guy. He was bald and looked like he was in his forties. His profile said something like: “Would like to meet a beautiful black woman to love. I have two children, and I have a big, warm heart.”

I closed my laptop, and I walked away.

I did not ask for those feels.

It kind of struck a chord with me because of a poem I read in one of my poetry workshops in undergrad like three years ago. I can’t find it now, but it was a poem of about four verses. Each verse was written like a singles ad in the paper. The first three were just screwing around. Business man not looking for anything serious. Biker looking for a good time. You know, that kind of thing.

But the last stanza was pretty serious. It was a Jewish mother looking for someone to love; she had three kids who she said needed a father figure.

Can you imagine? All these business men and bikers and Swedish women on ads like these get one night stands for fun, but people (with children!) who really want to find someone to connect with, and who couldn’t meet someone face-to-face, and had probably had accounts on sites like E-harmony, had been reduced to advertising the love they’re willing to give away in the newspaper (or in weird ass, oddly specific personal ad sites).

Meshed in with these “no strings attached,” “looking for a  good time” advertisements, the real love that these single parents are offering has been cheapened. They’re not looking for a night of clubbing and drunk sex. They are, first of all, looking for someone with enough love to give a partner, along with said partner’s children.

Look. I’m only 23. (I just turned 23 yesterday, actually). I’m childless, and I don’t plan on ever having children. So, I can’t possibly understand what these singles are going through, but I can somehow feel a sense of melancholy emanating from them. Pain, hurt, desperation, hope.

The woman in the poem may not be real, but the inspiration to create someone like her must have come from somewhere.

And I hope that Swedish man and his children, wherever they are, are happy.

Revolutionary Dodge Ball

Gym class at my elementary school was sometimes pretty… creative.

One day, we played Revolutionary Dodge Ball. One side would be the Americans – the other side would be the British.

I chose American, because why not.

We were told that the British were very neat and tidy and never left their battle formations. Therefore, the players on the British side were not allowed to move.

The ‘MURICANS, however, did not follow rules. So we were allowed to move however we wanted.

I don’t need to tell you who won.

I’d never been prouder to be American.

Wall of Shame

The nicknames my elementary-school peers gave me paint a vivid picture of what they thought of me: “Smart Girl,” “Miss Perfect,” etc. (“Teacher’s Pet” didn’t come until junior high.)

So, I was smart, and I was a good student, and I prided myself on things like good grades, perfect attendance… and never having to go on the Wall of Shame (that’s not what it was called, but that’s how I felt – shameful).

I had cheer-leading practice or something after school, but our coach didn’t show up on time, so we were left in the auditorium, waiting. And what did we do? Play on the stage LIKE NORMAL KIDS.

We got in trouble for basically being kids instead of waiting outside like the building like lost puppies.

So. We all got detention – standing against the wall. I was mortified. (“Haha, look at Jasmine, on the wall!! Ha!!)

I asked one of the older kids, “What does regret mean?”

“It means you wish something never happened.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well. I regret this day.”

Thankfully, it was but a blip in my elementary experience. Nobody cared the next day.

In junior high, I was spotless. The teachers loved me. I had the top GPA in the school both years (4.5.), perfect attendance, never got in trouble. In one class, I was teased so much that the teacher had to move my desk up next to hers (and that’s when they started calling me teacher’s pet). But, being a good student was so important to me. It was pretty much all I had.

I made friends in high school, though. The fact that I was salutatorian instead of valedictorian shows that I actually had some inkling of a social life. I had friends, crushes, and boyfriends. I cared about my weight and my looks. I wanted to be fashionable. I wanted to be all those things – plus a good student. So I was second-best in the school. Not the worst thing that could happen. Besides, if I had isolated myself from potential friends, I never would have learned guitar or joined drama club, or entered Smash Melee and Brawl tournaments. People did hurt me, yes. But not all of them. So then. This interacting with people thing started to look like it had some potential.

By college, I went from getting mostly As to a fair mix of As and Bs. I kept a steady GPA of 3.7 all throughout undergrad and grad school (how the hell I managed that, I have no idea). I didn’t use sparknotes until I was a sophomore in college. I was always early for class and never skipped… until I learned that perfect attendance doesn’t mean shit in college. By the time I reached grad school, I had learned to skip strategically by keeping track of how many absences I had before they started affecting my grade.

I learned that grades aren’t everything. I learned that I benefited more by half-assing classes I didn’t care much about so I could put my all into the classes that I loved. Even as a masters student in literature, I found time to read for fun and write my own stories. And I have friends, a wonderful boyfriend, a great sense of fashion, way too many books (and I need more), and a masters degree.

They say that you can only choose two of these three: Sleep, Good Grades, and a Social Life.

Crafty little me – I found a way to obtain all three.

Take that, Wall of Shame.

My Chinese Boyfriend

My junior high was like, 99% black – or something like that – but every weekend, I went to a college prep program.

Formed a huge crush on a guy. We talked on the phone every day for hours, even though I was pretty sure his whole family hated me… For reasons I was never able to find out.

But I liked when he spoke Cantonese. And we were both interested in Japanese things. I liked to draw, and he’d admire my drawings. Oh! And we both played violin! We liked each other as people – I just happened to be black, and he Asian.

And I really was infatuated with this eyes – huge and brown and completely adorable – and his hair – jet black and shiny.

One day at school, all the girls were talking about their little boyfriends, so I decided to chime in. They all looked at me like I was Bigfoot.

You have a boyfriend? LOL. Yeah right.”

(You see, the teachers loved me. The students loved to torment me. I was the weird kid who liked Japanese things and rock music. I had a 4.5 GPA both years of junior high… due partially to my book smarts, and partially to my pathetic lack of friends.)

Anyway, as soon as I told them he was Chinese, they were just floored.

(lol wtf is wrong with her where do you even find chinese guys what a loser)

You know, after a couple years, when me dating became a regular thing, whenever my family found out I had a boyfriend, they would ask, “Is he white or Asian?” It was with a joking air, of course, but there’s always some truth to joking. Is it really that big of a deal? Did those girls really have to laugh so hard? You almost never see black women/Asian men represented on television, so whenever it happens in real life, people think it’s bizarre.

Anyone remember that show

Anyone remember that show “Flashforward”? No? Probably because it didn’t get a second season.

And is it really so hard to see people as people? Seriously, when my college prep program took a zoo trip and invited the parents, his mother kept calling him away from me. And when he and I sat on the bus on the way back, his mother glared at me. I was 12 years old! (I’m 22 now. Weird to think how that happened so long ago and how much it had affected me then…)

Sigh. I guess that was just as well. When he and I went to high school together, he turned into a complete douchelord for reasons that remain a mystery to me.

But that’s fine. No more death-stares from his mother – whoo!