I am back from Italy. It was amazing. Here some more general thoughts:
Venice is, hands down, the most interesting city I have ever visited. From the narrow cobblestoned alleys, to the views by the water, the gondolas, bridges, corner shops, and delicious authentic Italian food, everything about Venice is simply fantastic. I will definitely go back again.
Bologna is not very tourist friendly. I would give it a 6 out of 10, and for the “food capital” of Italy I was quite disappointed. Sure we only ate at about 2 places, but I did not see how the food and restaurants were any different from Rome or Florence. I would not recommend visiting if you have limited time.
I am back at site now with about 3 months left in my service. Looking back it’s hard to believe that time went by so quickly, but there were definitely moments where it moved slower than it is now. This year was definitely better thanks to my new apartment, and had I not moved I’m not sure I would have been able to gut it out another year.
Ciao from Bologna! I am going to Venice tomorrow morning to cap off my final 2 nights in Italy. So far it has been better than I could have ever imagined. I heart Italia.
Some highlights –
Florence is as beautiful as advertised, as is Michalangelo’s David.
The Vatican Museums are absolutely overwhelming. Did you know that if you gave every work of art in the Vatican Museums 3 seconds it would take you 12 years to see them all?
The Sistine Chapel is something you gotta see to believe. Unbelievable how a human being from the 16th century could paint and sculpt artwork that has yet to be surpassed to this day.
PLUS Hostels are amazing. They are a chain. Check them out in Europe when you travel.
Bologna may not be as showy as the aforementioned cities, but it has some good food and a very authentic feel to it. Perhaps no one speaking English (other than hotel staff) and a minimal tourist presence has something to do with it.
Laura almost lost her foot from an exploding bottle in Florence.
Italians are super friendly and helpful; especially when you try to speak Italian with them.
There are tons of immigrant populations in Italy. South Asian, Chinese, Latino, Senegalese, more sub-Saharan Africans, French, the list goes on and on. America isn’t the only melting pot on Earth apparently.
Bologna is smoggy. Good food, friendly people, but smoggy.
The Euro is expensive for a backpacking American without a source of disposable income.
Rome takes at least 8 days to fully explore and appreciate. 3 nights is a good amount, but there is tons more I wish I had seen.
Tourists abound in Florence, it is almost ridiculous.
Risotto is overrated. It tastes like undercooked riced in chicken broth, at least the one I had anyway.
Happy Days Hostel in Rome is terrible. DO NOT stay there!
Imperial Hotel in Bologna is a 3-star hotel that offers double rooms for 30 Euro, or 15 per person. FIFTEEN for a 3 star hotel. Unreal.
Americans need to adopt the douche. The bathroom douche, that is.
Bulgarian yogurt is, so far, the best yogurt I have ever had in the world. Italian is OK, like a 6 of 10, but Bulgarian is about an 8.5/10.
I think NYC’s best pizza is actually better than the authentic Italian pizza I had in Florence. That’s just me though.
Gelato definitely has something addicting in it. I am convinced. I think I have eaten about a gallon of gelato since I have been here. And by here I mean in Bologna. Don’t ask me about the previous 7 days.
Joining Peace Corps was the best decision I have ever made in my life.
Laura is fantastic.
Pictures to come. Til then, this is me saying PREGO!
Hello from Rome! Laura and I have been here for one night so far and will stay for 2 more. So far it has been a great ride, filled with lots of sight-seeing, gelato, Italian cuisine, and trips through history.
Let’s start with Day 1.
Day 1:
We arrived in Rome at about 7 AM and arrived at Happy Days Hostel in the Prati neighborhood of Rome at about 9 AM. The first thing we did in Rome was purchase a Roma Pass which will gives plenty of perks and discounts at museums, historical sites, and exhibitions and such. It is 23 EUR and definitely worth it.
The train from Fiumicino (airport) to central Rome was far nicer than what I have become used to these past 2 years; Bulgarian trains. It was about 25 minute ride and at this point we were about ready to pass out because we had risen at 4 AM to make our flight from Sofia.
With Roma Pass in hand, we began our trek to the Colosseum ready to absorb the sights and sounds Rome. Since we were on foot, we were able to walk around the area near our hostel which includes Castle Angelo and of course, the Vatican. This explained the jaw-dropping number of American tourists (and international ones) we witnessed as we walked closer to Vatican City. No John Paul sighting, however.
Naturally, we went to the first Italian store to buy some meat and cheese. (When in Rome…) The lady there spoke some English and was helpful enough to suggest some meats and cheeses for us, since the extent of my Italian is “Ciao!” and “Grazie”. I did use both of these terms however and felt quite proud… for saying two words.
With meat, cheese, and bread in hand we proceeded to sit by the wall outside of Angelo Castle and stuff our faces. It was some of the best meat and cheese I’ve ever had, though I’m sure being absolutely starved had something to do with it.
No longer crabby and tired from hunger, we proceeded to look for the next bus to the Colosseum. We caught a bus and arrived at a ruins site nearby the Colo. With time to spare and being surrounded by the beauty of Rome, we took our time leisurely appreciating the layout and subtleties of Roman side streets/alleys. Without a doubt, Rome has some of the most beautiful houses and apartment complexes towering over quaint, cobblestone streets. One really has to see it to believe it.
One would be wise to watch what he writes on the Internet. Common sense? Really? Tell that to the blogging community then. I don’t know about them, but I would rather not lose my job over a misconstrued statement on my blog.
Team USA just defeated the #1 team in the world. In SOCCER. Futbol. No it was not men vs. women. It was a 100% legit international match of the Confederations Cup. In fact, it was the semi-final where the US should not even have been in the first place! But thanks to defeating Egypt 3 – 0 and Brazil defeating Italy 3 – 0 in the final match of group qualifying (what are the odds?) the US made the improbable leap into the semis based on goal difference.
And they just defeated a team with a 35-game unbeaten streak. A Spanish side that hasn’t lost an international match in 3 years. I watched the last 20 minutes of the match and was very impressed. The US hustled their tails off and earned the win it seemed like. Now it’s onto presumably Brazil, if they beat South Africa.
Every moment is a choice. We are forever faced with choices. Don’t let the sensationalist title fool you either.
I have pleasant neighbors. Most days they say “Hi, Eddie!” when I am to and fro and the man whom I about to write about is no exception. I don’t even know his name, but he has always struck me as a kind soul whom I could turn to if I had some sort of house trouble.
Why do bad things have to happen to good people?
A bizarre and shocking thing happened to me this afternoon as I was walking to basketball practice. My friend and I were conversing when all of the sudden, a man whom I recognized to be this neighbor abruptly interrupted our conversation. Not only did he interrupt us with the most random of statements, he also shoved his face literally a few inches from ours. Only one thing was different:
The left side of his face look as if it had been burned off.
Literally, he had boils and serious burning all over his face. I was so taken aback at his appearance that I couldn’t even fully process his Bulgarian warnings and lamenting. It went something like this: (keep in mind that he is literally standing with his face a few inches from ours)
Neighbor (visibly shaken): “Don’t ever be careless with motor oil. Or else this will happen to you.” (points to his face)
Me (caught off-guard): …what happened?
(He then explains that hot oil had spilled or somehow splashed out of it’s container and onto his face.)
Neighbor: Look at this. LOOK! (points to his ankle which has a few minor burns then points at his face) Only here. Only my face. I didn’t get hurt anywhere else. Not even my legs are burned.
Me (unsure what to say): I’m sorry. Have you gone to the hospital?
Neighbor: Yes, of course. I went to emergency room right away. But look at this. Look at me now. This had to happen to my face. Just my face. Nowhere else.
Me: …I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.
(The man starts walking towards our blok and we continue on our way. I keep saying ‘I’m sorry’ in Bulgarian. He is clearly still upset and disoriented.)
I wasn’t sure what else to say at the moment given the gravity of his situation and how off-guard he had caught me. Here was a man who had a family and always greeted me with a smile, and now nearly half of his face was burned and disfigured: all because of a freak accident that could have happened to anyone.
I’m not writing about this because it’s “an interesting story.” That would just be sick and twisted. What happened to my neighbor is beyond comprehension. Life can take a turn for the worst to the best of people and we have no say in it; we can only dictate how we respond. However, when I walked home from basketball that evening a realization smacked me in the face: I am a cold-hearted and calloused bastard.
Here was a guy whose life will probably never be the same again because of a freak accident that may have permanently damaged his face. Here was an ordinary man who never sought to do me harm and sought compassion from someone, anyone, yet all I could say was: “I’m sorry.” The worst part about this is that this man didn’t even cross my mind for the next few hours.
Have I really become so numb? Have I really become so cold that I can selectively disregard human misery to the point where I can regard it as an ‘inconvenience’ to my comfort bubble, filtering reality as I wish?
Here’s what I mean. What scared me the most was the fact that immediately after our brief encounter I thought: “That was so strange. Why did he just go up to us and shove his face in our business like that? His face looked horrible. That must have been so painful for him.”
And I went about my business for the next 3 hours.
While walking home I realized how cold I was. I like to believe that some of my role models are people who epitomize compassion, but here was a blatant instance of how human selfishness superseded any compassionate tendency I had. Rather than offer comfort, I looked for the quickest way out. “It’s his problem not mine, right?”
I write this as a reminder to myself. Are situations like this really so uncommon? Is callousness really so unheard of amongst ‘idealistic’ souls, even ‘kind and noble’ Peace Corps Volunteers?
How many times have I told a Roma beggar to ‘махни!’ or get away from me? Of course I rationalize this in my mind, but more often than not the simple fact is that cynicism trumps compassion once again. And of course, I always find a way to rationalize it in my mind’s eye.
How many times have I chosen ‘to accept that which I cannot change’ and tune out the material and spiritual poverty I see here? How can I let that which led me here in the first place deteriorate to the point where I say: “Well that’s just Bulgaria.”
I’m not exhorting those who read this to once again take up the idealist’s torch and ’set the world aflame’ in a moment of passion. We all know that doesn’t last. But I know that every time I get up I’ll fall at some point, but just because I fall down that doesn’t mean I’m not falling forward. Just because I grow weary doesn’t mean the fight isn’t worth it anymore.
Reality may wear at my soul, but overcoming it is a choice; not only when I reflect, but every time I pass my scarred neighbor. Every time I walk by the same lonesome people who have no one to speak with. Every time I choose comfort over compassion, resentment over acceptance, or bitterness over understanding. The list goes on and on and on. And the only place you need to look is inside yourself.
Every moment we are faced with choices. I hope that I’ll never make the wrong one again. It’s the jihad in all of us: between that which would have us be inwardly focused rather than that which we were all meant to be.
And I’ll leave on that note; open to interpretation.
The following took place at a Bulgarian high school between me and a Bulgarian 8th grader who was my friend’s student. I was visiting the school and this student and I had the following enlightening “exchange” of words, if you could even call it an exchange.
I was walking with my friend during a break between classes when this 8th grader (who will henceforth be referred to as QPTMA-TOE or Quite Possibly The Most Annoying – Teenager On Earth) stops my friend and asks:
QPTMA-TOE (indirectly referring to me while I was standing not more than 2 feet from him in a voice so whiny it would make slapping him in the face feel like a knee-jerk reaction): Umm, TEEEEEEAAAACHER? Is he like Cro, Kor, Croee, Croeechaneesean? (Quoted verbatim. I shit you not.)
Billa (blinking): …he’s American.
QPTMA-TOE (blinks while just blatantly staring at me with a gaping mouth, then turns back to Billa): Can he speak EEEENNNGLISHHH? (NOTE: He seriously talks like this. I don’t know how my friend restrains herself from smacking him upside the head for some of the things he says/does.)
Billa (clearly annoyed): Yes, he’s AMERICAN.
Me (deadpan, looking at the kid): I’m from New York. I was born there.
(QPTMA-TOE opens his eyes wide and gasps, then turns and runs away to his friends giggling like a pansy. We leave to go downstairs understandably annoyed. I just shake my head.)
After checking my hit counter over the past few days I’ve become a bit concerned. My last few posts are pretty opinionated (which is exactly what a blog is for in my opinion, oh wait there it is again) and frankly the entire internet now knows some thoughts of mine which I would rarely share unless an event prompted me to. That’s exactly what happened and what is out there is out there. I’m not taking back anything and there is no use looking back in retrospect and changing my statements, because I meant every single one of my words. However, I do have a few concerns about my blog which I think bear mentioning:
1) These are my opinions and thoughts alone. They are not indicative of anything or anyone else. Literally, the entire world has access to this page at the click of a button which is both awe-inspiring and incredibly terrifying. I do my best to write about subjects that are interesting (well, to me) and always try to add something relevant in my posts from which people can learn; kind of like a cliche after-school special, only I actually believe in the lessons I write about.
2) If you have heard something about my blog through the infamous “PCV Rumor Mill,” chances are it is 90% inaccurate or fabricated. For example: I once wrote an entry about a discussion I had with my colleague about the term M.I.L.F. Clearly, it was not an entry to be taken 100% seriously and was intended for laughs. However, a few months later a PCV whom I am not even friends with blurts out how he has heard about a blog that referred to a certain staff member as a “MILF.” No, he did not say the blog was actually in reference to my friend. He falsely said it was about someone who could potentially send me home. Oh, the measures people will resort to in a vain attempt to look interesting. It’s pretty pathetic and childish if you ask me.
And I just have to say this: In the context of using the word “MILF” why on Earth would I ever want to implicate my employer in an anecdote? What possible good would come of that? Frankly, if someone with a public blog was ever that inept they would deserve exactly what they would receive: a one way ticket back to America.
But I am not that inept and have never been so with my blog. Upon hearing this rumor I realized that the PCV grapevine was not only out of my hands, but completely out of control. And quite frankly, it can become an overextended game of Telephone: flat-out ridiculous. What is actually said becomes something altogether different and, if my entry was any indication, falsely exaggerated.
Is it really that hard for some people here (particularly the person who brought the distorted rumor to light which was based on my original comedic entry) to find subjects to talk about that they have to fabricate rumors to make them(selves) sound interesting? Honestly, that is just pathetic and you know exactly who you are. It’s one thing to reference my blog as it actually was written for laughs, but it truly pisses me off when someone manipulates a light-hearted entry to the extent that it can reflect negatively upon me. Some people really need to think before they open their mouths. (See: ‘You know exactly who you are’)
3) To quote one of my favorite hip-hop artists of all time: “And if that offends you, then I’m sorry: f_ck you.” If I actually wrote everything I wanted to here, well, we know what would probably happen. But the fact of the matter is that my blog is read by (it seems like) everyone I know and I haven’t even been aware of it. I’m not just talking about my friends who actually concern themselves with what I have to say. I’m not just talking about my employer and program staff. I’m talking about 75% of my Facebook friends whom I haven’t even spoken to in the past 2 years. That would make any man think twice about what he’s writing, even if he was already being cautious about how best to express himself. That’s why I need to make these disclaimers.
4) My blog is just one, small, superficial facet of my life. It is not me. So if perchance you don’t know me yet and have read my blog, I know you will associate what I write here with me, but I wouldn’t judge someone simply based on their personal blog. I would, you know, actually get to know them first before coming to any veritable conclusion about them. But again, that’s just my “opinion.”
And if something here truly bothers you, you could always tell me. Or at least put it out there and state why. If I had to give my blog a “purpose,” it would be this: The whole point of my blog is to get people thinking. To help people think outside of the box and think twice about certain issues, whether here in Bulgaria, America, or my personal life. That is all. I’m not trying to rant or rave or opine for no reason whatsoever
And if anyone out there may think that, then I have to say: You are flat-out wrong my friend.
I haven’t written a blog that actually means something to me in a while. But as soon as I watched this I knew I had to write something. I have edited this post a few times over the past few days. Initially, it came across as angry and admittedly I was pretty irate. However, the last thing I want is for an angry tone to detract from the message. In my opinion, what I am saying here needs to be said.
Before I start, allow me to say that the tone of this post is more serious than usual. I’m not trying to say that I won’t laugh at a good joke from a friend when I hear one or that if I hear the word “race” or “Asian” I’ll immediately become defensive. These are simply real concerns that bear no origin from how my actual friends joke with me. I am simply expressing my concerns and experiences with the ignorance that is all too real in America and the world over today.
NOTE: Also, to the thoughtful readers who have said that this post is a personal vent relating to my own ‘endowment,’ I just gotta say this:
After reading something specifically about ignorance aimed towards raising collective Asian-American consciousness, what on Earth could prompt you (as Asian-Americans or not) to make comments about me personally? Not about my opinions, not even about the issues at hand, but about ME. Do you enjoy looking idiotic and bragging on the internet?
What does say about you really if you can’t view the issues with at least some seriousness? Insults and mindless comments about your opinion of my ‘junk’ don’t really say anything about me, but they say a ton about you… like the only things you can think about when reading an opinion piece is penises and yourego.
Some background: the video is of Ken Jeong aka Dr. Ken on Jimmy Kimmel Live talking about his role in “Hangover,” another quintessential college humor movie geared towards American youth. He’s a Korean-American actor who used to be a doctor and got his big break playing comical roles in similar movies like Knocked Up and Role Models. It’s a pretty funny interview and KJ is by no means an unlikeable guy. In fact, I have no qualms with him as a person. He talks about his past profession as a doctor, his roles in movies, his family, and of course, his much talked about frontal naked scene in Hangover where he then proceeds to make fun of his penis size. Fun stuff right?
Sure, the interview was funny, but from my point of view do I really want people to laugh at this guy for saying “I’m just trying to make all the other guys out there feel better (in reference to his dick)? Do I really want another visible Asian face on American TV to be a guy whose primary mode of humor is ridiculing himself for things that people already ridicule him for already? Do I really want Bulgarians to start saying “Ken Jeong!” instead of “Jackie Chan!” or “Jet Li!” when they see me for the first time and think “Eddie is this, that, etc.” Ken Jeong had (not has, he pretty much blew it in my eyes) a golden opportunity to be something original, yet he used his publicity to reinforce stereotypes which Western society find laughable, and quite frankly, belittle himself.
I’m not sure what he was aiming at with the impersonation of his father’s accent either. Does he not realize that people are laughing because he’s giving them free license to laugh at Asian stereotypes without feeling bad since he is Asian himself? The lines about smallness weren’t even delivered well; they were clearly just uncomfortable and awkward.
Sidebar: To be fair, the dude is a comedian first and has found a ‘niche’ so to speak, so bravo to him. As for me, I will never support a sell out -and that is exactly what this dude is. Is it really a surprise that Todd Philips (the director of ‘Hangover’) casted Jeong as some laughable, sardonic, scrawny Asian crime lord who can’t speak English well? Probably not.
I was born to lead; not to follow and conform to some ridiculous standard or expectation of me because of my ethnicity. Perhaps the most frustrating part is that I have never identified with the majority of ridiculous labels people place upon Asians. I know who I am and what I’m capable of regardless of what some pop culture stereotype from Sixteen Candles, Full Metal Jacket, Rush Hour, etc says.
You would also think that one small Asian man who also happened to be a doctor would not be a spokesman or indicative of 15,000,000 people in America, but the sad truth is that he will be for an overwhelming majority of people who, whether they want to admit it or not, buy into stereotypes in some way. The rest of us have lost face as a result and we all suffer the consequence of reinforced stereotypes because of it; in the form of more ridiculous Asian-American pop icons like this guy and Bobby Lee who are only as valuable as they are good to laugh at (not with) by the rest of America thanks to their laughable roles. Coincidental? Not a chance.
(NOTE: Before I continue, let me just say that there are so many good-natured and well-informed people in my life who understand that stereotypes are never to be taken seriously and respect others first and foremost as human beings. However, the reality is that there is still an overwhelming majority of Americans and people in this world who in their heart of hearts only have stereotypes from which to inform their opinions about other ethnicities. In other words, most people in America still DO take stereotypes seriously and these are the people whom I have encountered for most of my life. These are the people from whom most of my opinions originate and I am by no means attempting to blanket all Americans, especially my friends in Bulgaria and elsewhere, as ignorant or narrow-minded people. This is simply the reality I have had to deal with most of my life and I am commenting upon my experiences from this perspective. Oh, and I’m still going to watch “Hangover.”)
Some may think my opinion is somewhat extreme. Extreme? Really? Listen to this story: I was in an elevator in downtown Boston (quite a diverse city in itself) with a Korean-American friend when a white, 20-something couple (not some elderly couple mind you) joined us. As soon as they walked in, the guy turns to his girlfriend and says (I shit you not): “Hey, doesn’t he look like the guy from Harold and Kumar?!” with a huge grin on his face as if he said the funniest thing ever. His girlfriend just smiles harmlessly and they walk out. No, he doesn’t even look at my friend when saying this. No, he doesn’t realize the absolute idiocy of that statement because my friend looks NOTHING like John Cho. Instead, I’m caught completely off guard looking at my friend and wondering why that young guy would say that. (Obviously because he found it amusing and harmless; but that’s the problem exactly.)
Would I say about a white guy: “Hey, doesn’t he look just like [insert generic white actor here]?!” just because he’s white and has a big nose? No, because that would be oblivious and above all, ignorant and stupid. Yet this elevator guy said it as if it were absolute comedic genius. Although this seemingly benign interview with Ken Jeong is comedic, it’s also another instance where Americans will ridicule people by association thanks to one person; in this case Ken Jeong and Asians. Instead of “Hey, doesn’t he look like John Cho?” my friend could have heard “Hey, doesn’t he look like that Ken Jeong guy? You know, the one with the dick? Ha ha.”
If you think that’s a stretch, let me remind you that this guy is one of the few visible Asian faces on American television. If the elevator story is any indicator, that means the overwhelming majority of America will now associate Asian people with this guy just as they did with John Cho and my friend who looks nothing like him. This guy is pandering to ignorance in people by ridiculing himself, not just about his ’size’ but Asians in general; particularly Asian-Americans i.e. his horrible Korean accent/impression and poking fun at how Asians all look the same according to his daughters. It’s one thing to find humor in who you are, but it’s another to humiliate yourself and others at the expense of self-respect.
To be honest, I would much rather be pigeonholed as Jackie Chan than this guy and I probably still will be, if my being in Bulgaria almost 24 months now is any indicator. At least those guys could whip the sh_t out of you with their eyes closed, even if they might as well have been robots or clowns (or robot-clowns?) based on their on-screen personalities.
Let’s be real about this now. This guy is one of the few Asian-American actors in Hollywood today. I can count the popular ones with one hand, and they almost have always played roles where they speak minimal English or fit some sort of stereotypical Asian mold i.e. John Cho the spineless banker from Harold and Kumar, or Daniel Dae Kim, an American who speaks little Korean and flawless English in real life yet plays a native Korean who speaks no English whatsoever on LOST. Can anyone say two dimensional characters? Paper thin suit your fancy?
This is just one facet of how Asian-Americans are viewed that disappoints me. Let me tell you about the town in which I grew up. Dix Hills is one of the most affluent suburbs on Long Island. I went to a high school of about 1000 where there were only about 50 Asian people like me. Growing up I played sports all year round and got decent grades in school. But I was by no means some Asian “whiz-kid” or nerd who spent all of his free time studying or trying to please my parents. No, in fact, I was quite the opposite. I lived my life the way I wanted to and thanks to my parents I had the liberty to do so. I always loved sports and always will. School was always a priority, but I never wanted the rat race that SO many Asian American families indoctrinate their children with.
(Sidebar: Hey Korean parents here’s an idea: why don’t we let children BE WHAT THEY WANT for once? Why don’t we encourage creativity and risk-taking rather than brainwashing our kids with a preconceived, superficial definition of ’success’? Now there’s a real idea.)
I wasn’t a book worm, but I wasn’t a lazy ass either when it came to school. Yet I always received snide comments from teammates, coaches, and even so-called friends who loved to poke fun about the American ‘associations’ with my ethnicity:
“Hey Shim, you’re good at math, what’s 36 + 27?” – My high school Lacrosse coach
“Come on Shim, you’re an Honors student you should be able to get this easily.”
“Hey Charlie (my neighbor really called me Charlie. Watched too many Vietnam movies I guess) can you throw me that ball over there?”
“Shim, you’re Asian. You will never be good at basketball.” – Some douche bag I schooled a few years later.
And it goes on and on and on and on and on. And let’s face it: if you’re reading this, chances are you know exactly the kind of BS I’m talking about. Perhaps you are in agreement with some of these statements, that would not be a surprise either.
But you know what is even more irritating at the moment? The fact that I hear this kind of nonsense here. IN BULGARIA. Get this: I was riding on the bus and listening to the news on the radio, and apparently the women on the news just happened to know that “men in Japan have so-and-so smaller penises than European men.” Even if that’s true according to some study, this just gets people believing that every time they see an Asian man, well, his junk must be lacking. That dude must somehow be a lesser man than me because he isn’t Caucasian. I love surprising Bulgarians when they actually get to know me. I have to keep reminding myself that the people worth getting to know in Bulgaria will actually appreciate me for who I am, not what I can do or look like.
That’s not the only thing that I encounter here. I can’t count how many times I have been greeted with the following motion: person X takes their index fingers and proceeds to pull their eyelids so that they are extremely slanted, as if my eyes were about the width of dental floss. And the best part is they are always ignorant and smug enough to wear a huge grin on their face as if they just told the funniest joke ever. I mean what the fuck? Have I ever gone up to a Bulgarian man and greeted him making a motion like I was Pinocchio? No, I haven’t, because I’m not a complete ignoramus. People aren’t defined by how they look or their ethnicity. People are fuc_ing people. Then of course there are the immediate comparisons to Hollywood martial artists like Jet Li, but you knew those already. I have become numb to this kind of BS, sadly. (Sidebar: my eyes aren’t the width of dental floss either, but apparently every single Asian person has the tiniest eyes ever according to some Bulgarians.)
And this truly angers me for a few reasons. For one, I have spent nearly my entire life fighting stereotypes that I didn’t ask to have placed upon me. I’m proud of who I am. I’m proud of the fact that I am 100% Korean. I’m proud of being Korean-American, because we are awesome and my family and friends are living proof of this. My family made something out of nothing.
If my father, who came to this country broke, destitute, and unable to speak a word of English, can build a business literally with his bare hands, sweat, blood, and tears, then honestly I have no excuse to man up to my business. If there ever was an example of a real man in my life, it is my father. He is the epitome of courage and heart. In our Western society, my dad has always kept me even-keeled because he knew that real strength and confidence came from within; not from some ridiculous standard of height or weight.
Now “Hangover” looks damned funny and KJ is a pretty funny guy as well. But come on Ken, do you really have to emasculate yourself to make a name for yourself in Hollywood? Do you really have to work the crude stereotype angle to make people laugh at (not with) you? You might be alright with this, but I for one am not. Because I’m not some sell-out. I know that if given the chance to represent an oft disrespected and overlooked voice in America, I would represent us with sincere dignity and pride as individuals; not a coarse, crude collection of stereotypes. That’s who I am and I wouldn’t change a thing, because I am proud of my heritage and know that there is far, far more to the myriad Asian cultures represented in America than America will ever recognize or (want to) understand.
One of the reasons I’m psyched to live in Korea is because it will be the first time I have lived in a place where I am part of the majority, not the minority, and won’t have to experience the feeling of being an outsider all over again (thanks Bulgaria.) It will be the first time that I will be defined by the content of my character, and in no way, shape, or form, by some sort of ignorant stereotype. It will be the first time I can learn in-depth about the nation of my parents’ birth which has literally thousands of years of history, as compared to the 400 years for America.
In the meantime, as an American I am not going to sell-out and never will. Thanks, Ken. I hope you can sleep at night with your Hollywood paycheck knowing that you’re helping to ridicule, not respect, an entire race of people in America. And in case you forgot, it’s your people.
This heat is KILLING ME. No, seriously. If I had to guess how much water I drank yesterday, it would probably fall somewhere between 5 liters and a camel’s stomach. Playing basketball in this heat probably didn’t help, but hey, it sure felt good to sweat buckets (which I literally think I did.)
The worst part about this heat is that it is keeping all of the kids indoors until after 7 PM, which means I can’t coach or play with them at all before then. I really don’t blame them though. If I was a kid living here who couldn’t afford to buy 10L jugs of water every freaking day I would probably be hesitant to work up a sweat too. (Not saying that I do, but admittedly I do have the luxury of a water distiller that makes water taste like, well, absolutely nothing.) And speaking of water, these kids drink from the tap like it’s Gatorade. I can only wonder what kind of fun stuff is in the tap water here other than plastic bag particles and horse sh_t. But they do it daily and they seem to function just fine, but whose to say drinking tainted water isn’t going to have long-term consequences? Just a thought.
But the kids come out every evening like clockwork, and I have to admit that it makes me feel like an old fart sometimes. I actually felt tired for the first time since I can remember from playing basketball. I used to be able to run for hours on end and would remember always chiding my friends to keep playing, calling them lazy asses or questioning their heart or whatever. Granted some of the guys I played with regularly in college were absolute lazy asses, but if someone is tired, they really can’t help not being able to push it so it’s not up to me to make them feel worse. Actually f_ck that I am still going to incite people to play hard no matter how old they are: playing with heart is a choice.
However, if someone did that to me I would just tell them to f_ck off, which is what my friends did anyway, but now I understand how difficult playing with someone like that can be. I thought it was just mental, but as one ages your body really does catch up to you. I’m not going to lie: this really scares the sh_t out of me. Not so much aging as what comes with aging and how it affects the body.
After the 15th of June we can practice in the mornings which will be very helpful, but it’s 11 AM right now and already I want to lay on my terrace naked with a gin and tonic; the ideal summer beverage.
Климатикs, how I adore you right now.
11:22 AM: Summer – the season of the watermelon. I will never look at watermelon’s back home in the same way ever again. Not just because I ate watermelon for about 10 days straight last summer. Not just because it costs 40 stoitinki a kilo some days. Why you ask? Well…
(caption) The Season for the Watermelons. Indeed it is. I’ll also probably feel differently about apples as well. To my fellow PCVs, let us not forget the wonders of Bulgarian advertising when we go back home to the tame and timid marketing tactics of America.
