By JenniferMayFloresEstaris
I am racist.
This I said to myself as I boarded the high rise elevator to find myself on the longest ride of my life.
There were four other mortals with me. And they were all Asians. My god, I thought. My biggest fear since I left the south... I'm surrounded by them.
My god, I thought again. I take that back. My biggest fear was realizing that I'm one of them.
Racialism: Belief in the superiority of a particular race leading to prejudice and antagonism towards people of other races, esp. those in close proximity who may be felt as a threat to one's cultural and racial integrity or economic well-being. (OED)
Well, actually, I can't find the right word for my animosity towards Asians, which is a bit uncalled for, as I could label myself as an Asian. It's not self-hatred; I cultivate my self-hatred without the support of my ancestors, thank you very much. It's more like, hey, welcome to the land of paranoia and suspicion!
The elevator stops at the second floor. Exotic Asian girl boards.
"Hey Min. What were you doing?"
"Studying. Got a bio exam next week. You?"
"Going back to my room... it's Command and Conquer night."
I skim the busy calendar of events of the DP supplement "Kaleidoscope."
It's not that I intended to become a full-blooded Pinay racist. And I can't go around blaming society (like I do for everything else), except for those pounding the ethnic beat "ASIAN PACIFIC AMERICAN HERITAGE WEEK" -- as if I weren't already aware that Penn is infiltrated by communities that are based solely on one's looks.
My vehement opposition today wouldn't exist without knowing that quite a number of angst-ridden Asians would agree that this week is better known as "Thirty-percent-of-the-campus-is-Asian-so-let's-take-a-week-off-shall-we?" as opposed to a week where the non-Asian-majority (read: not Chinese) could learn about other cultures. Sure, throw in some odd traditions and customs which, generations ago, made perfect sense in a world where science had yet to dominate, and you've got yourself a culture. So what does all this nonsense mean?
Third floor. Min gets off. A pager goes off.
The guys make a run for their side pockets.
I glance at the article about the debut show 'Big Dicks, Asian Men.'
Perhaps the common conception of racialism is amiss, like many other touchy topics of today, such as sexual preference, STDs, drugs, religious faith, scientifically playing God, the ever-so-imminent apocalypse (which has been ever-so-imminent since the Black Death of 1348). Ah biology, won't you ever stop controlling our lives?
Sixth floor. The elevator stops. No one leaves or comes in. It's another one of those unsolved elevator mysteries. I look at the authors of the articles. Hey, I know these writers.
As Penn is a school that wallows in theory, let us think of game theory. No, not prisoner's dilemma... "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon" theory. The idea: go to any Asian homepage. Click on their 'friends' page (this follows the proven assumption that all Asians have homepages and all Asians think they have friends). Think of any other Asian you know at Penn. In six homepages or less, you are guaranteed a link. Or you can do it in the language of community living, using High Rise South Korea, Communist China (top of HRE), Chinatown (a floor in HRS), Hill House Hong Kong, etc.
Seventh floor coming up. My floor.
I read Jason's short: "pinoys at penn and why they don't kick it with their kababayan."
I laugh.
God, I need a drink.
That wonderful westernized Catholic guilt sets in. Thank you Spain, for taking over the Philippines, before Japan or China or Laos did. I'm already naturally cursed as a result of a confused genetic algorithm. So I don't understand this pure ethnic bonding. Conrad, writing under the influence of six languages, often spoke about the difficulties grasping his ideas into words. Living in the drunken bliss of pink elephants, yellow fever, Spanish lullabies, and purple horseshoes isn't my cup of green tea either.
The tide has risen and is passively pulling me in. The water is warm and surrounds me, intoxicating my senses with the saltwater air. Both the tide and I are unconscious of the actions taking place. I am drowning, trying to swim in a culture that isn't fully mine. Will believing that I'm racist lead me to attempt a conscience or merely serve as a justification for my thoughts and actions? Is it worth it to wander along the shore when the ocean is right there, beckoning... whispering "Drink me! Drink me!"
The elevator lurches to a stop, and the doors open.
I leave. I breathe. I stare at the square light above me.
The moon is full of it.
Please E-mail StreetWeb@dp.upenn.edu
with any questions or comments.