So where is my romance?

Here it goes, again. I put on a smile on my face, again, when I listened to my friends, that happened to be white, talking about how guys hit on them, again, how they hang out and talk about mundane life, how guys try to hang out with them. I sat there, feeling ambivalent and torn, while trying to not self pity that I don’t ever get that.

I wish I had something to contribute, something also romantic, about a boy stumbling on words when they try to start a conversation with me, about a boy trying to create opportunities to hang out with me, because they are interested in learning about me.

“You are intimidating, because you are so, exotic,” they said. They never said it outloud. They just stared at me when I walked by, when I put dishes away, when I danced around with my friends at parties. They said it so out and clear, when they moved away when I tried to speak to them, when they avoided making eye contacts, when they only spoke to my friends who happened to be white when we stood in a circle, when they drunk message me on Facebook, or matched me on Tinder.

“White guys love Asian girls,” they said. I guess I am flattered?! I am so flattered that I got to be put into a box called “submissive Asian woman”. I am so flatterred that being in that box is the only way my “romance” will come along. I guess I am so flattered that I don’t have to do any work to be an amazing woman or an individual, because my parents’ genes have done those work for me, because I have black hair, dark eyes with whatever color skin you would like to assign me and whatever box you put me in.

Why like a thousand times do you refuse to talk to me yet you feel absolutely comfortable puting your hands into my pants? Or how are you feeling so comfortable having a one-night-stand, but yet never going to ask me anything about me? Better keep it mysterious right? You want to taste it. You want to have a taste of the orient, yet you refuse to know the girl who is also a person, not an idea, not a thing that seems sexy and gorgeous and you are just so curious and just want to taste “the exotic”. I am not a piece of meat.

I guess I am old-fashioned? A romantic?

I just want someone to look into my eyes and tell me that I am gorgeous, beautiful, cool and interesting and he cannot help but approach me, talk to be me, feel intrigued by my story, either it has anything to do with the orient or not.

I will put on that smile, again, and move on.