My ex called me on his birthday. I picked up, and put him on speaker,
“Is there something you should be saying to me ?”
I took my time to cringe, and then reluctantly murmured, “Happy birthday”
“Hmmm, no, say it like you mean it.”
He thinks it's funny to talk like this. And of course, I was the one who needed to "have a sense of humor" to find him funny.
If you feel bad for me, don't, because they said that I have no one else to blame but myself. They said I signed up for it. This is what I should've expected from "controlling" Italian men.Now that I've taken one gender and sexuality course, this should be categorized as hegemonic masculinity, easily.
See Tanya, I'm learning.
And apparently there is a stereotype for me too. Over the past couple of years on and off gay dating apps, in and out gay circles, or just talking to people, i've been educated about the gay man that i am expected to be. Skinny, short, perfect skin, hairless. Submissive too. Oh how can one forget that. Men won't come talk to me only because I'm Asian, they don't "like it like that"; men come and talk to me only because I'm Asian, because boy are they obsessed about Asians. Well, over these years I've gathered very little knowledge of how attractive I actually am, since all the feedback i've received are almost exclusively based upon my race. Well to be fair, some do give me kind-hearted compliments, “you are cute for asian.”
But, I don't know, I think Asians are as cute as the next racial group. So fuck you very much Kevin. If this is not enough, one guy once told me that I speak "too much English", "I want someone that doesn't speak this much."
I don't want to make this a session of "how i've been suffering", but much as I try to ignore or even reverse the stigma -- refuse to become a twink, anchor my ambitions in the sciences, or just be a kind human being, i find myself ever more astray from the mainstream gays, who are skinny artists eating salads in colorful chucks, who are built gym-hitters chugging protein shakes in lululemons, who are sassy drag show goers sipping Metropolitan in docs, and of course, promiscuous lovers in whatever they are wearing, or not wearing. The difficulty of fitting into these categories, reminds me of having to choose a reuben for lunch when I'm feeling very Asian. They just won't make the cut. My friends always reassure that I deserve better, but really, much as I'd want to take their words for it, I can't bring myself to believe it. How am I supposed to think of myself as superior when no one from my community approves of me?
Maybe that's why I have a hard time turning away men who have the Asian fetish bad. After dating a few, and dealing with more at bars and other queer spaces (e.g. a skincare counter at Bloomingdales), now I'm fully prepared for them. I have an alternative personality ready -- I giggle to their try-hard broken mandarin; I make bad asian jokes, I cover up my mouth and gesture peace signs. When they land their hands on me, I pretend that there's nothing wrong. Very pathetic, yes. But I was also dying for approval directed my way, no matter how I was perceived.
Knowing my insecurities, my ex, like those before him, reassured me time and again that he loved me for what I am, and that I'm unique and should be loved, which I'm grateful for. However, upon his graduation, he asked me to give up my studies here and move with him to the west coast. “Worst case scenario, you can just pack lunch for me.”
Whoa. What pack lunch? What happened to his support for my ambition of a cognitive neuroscientist ? True one can argue that he wants to be with me so bad he said crazy stuff like that. But at what price? My career? Why not his career? Why do I have to be the one that's making sacrifices. Why does it have to go all the way to me being a stay-at-home soccer mom? The before/after contrast of his expectations is more staggering than the commercials of those weight-loss pills i saw on Chinese TV. "I already feel my calories burning !" Those already skinny and attractive women yelled at each other on the TV screen, their hands on the pad adhered to their belly. Only if it's calories that are being burnt in this case.
Hell, after all, the "love me for what i am " was nothing but a happy illusion. I am still expected to be the satellite to orbit the planet that he is, because of course, he is "the man" of the house.
And me, oh poor me, gave that packing lunch life a serious thought. As his commencement pressed closer, I leaned towards that idea even more. My friends all want this relationship to end, but I truly didn't know if I wanted to do that. To say the least, I didn’t know what i could expect from this community. Like how I was brainwashed by Sephora ladies that i need all the makeup in the world, all I knew was that I wanted a boyfriend, and that I have no guarantee what’s gonna happen in the future. I wanted to keep whatever i had in my hands. Desperate, yes, very. I’ve never moved closer to just feed all my efforts to flames, get some recipe from Martha Stewart, walk the dog that he already named Tokyo that he will get in a 5 year frame, and just sit home binging tv shows waiting for my boyfriends’ return. Give it another 15 years, my duties will include a pair of children that he already named, made with his goodies in a test tube, a boy and a girl, with his last name. If i really want to, the girl can have my last name hyphened-in. Not the boy's, never. They will be sleeping on a bed sheet that he already put in wishlist on Amazon, and messaged me just so I remember too.
Of course I broke it off eventually, but took me long enough. I wanted to give him a transition period until he can find himself on his feet in his new city. Or so I say. Part of me, just didn't want to be the asshole that break hearts. Another part of me, felt guilty, that I wanted to crash and burn all the plans he had for us. Then I remembered that all these plans are just for him. No tailoring for me whatsoever. It was like joining a plan at Verizon, pay this money, and you will have these much data per month; or Cinderella trying on that damn crystal shoe, fit or leave.In that sense, I can't crash and burn anything. Verizon doesn't need my broke ass, and the crystal shoe is still there, and I am just one of those people that decided that the shoe just hurt my foot too much.
It was one thing that i broke it off, it was quite another to get over it. At the end of the day, It was my self-awareness as a Chinese immigrant that really did it for me. I looked back on how difficult it was for me to leave China for America two years ago. And the people who witnessed my battle with my parents and helped lift me out of a manipulative family. Oh boy Romy and Max would have slapped the life out of me if i left school for that packing lunch life. My hard-earned life as a free-will human being has just started, and I’m already giving it up? No, no, hell no. Weird how my identity of a first generation Chinese immigrant, which has given me nothing but trouble here in Trump's America, was the one major force that combated the stigma for Asian Americans, and helped me stay buoyed.
Couple of hours later, he texted me hammered at a famed gay sex dudgeon in San Francisco, “you are the only person who can excite me both physically and intellectually”.
Oh yeah, that's why he won't pack your fucking BLT.
