Four Things You Cannot Do
A Gentle Reminder
I’ve been as clear as I know how to be, but you are so willful, so stubborn. I’m nothing if not patient, and I’m happy to run through it all again at whatever pace suits you. You ready? Let’s do this!
One…You cannot tell me who I am
And yet sometimes you tell me I’m Chinese. Or a bitch. Or a Chinese bitch. A month ago, we drove past each other and you called, “Cunt!” into my open window. Why’d you do that? Anyways: you’re wrong on all accounts because I am not Chinese, a bitch, or a cunt! Your streak of utter wrongness continues when you insist that I’m the nanny. I am not the nanny. I would be remiss if I failed to point out that I am also not the Japanese-American woman you vaguely know from somewhere (first clue: I’m not Japanese-American!), and the longer you continue in this vein the more embarrassed we’re both going to be at the end of our awkward exchange.
Two…You cannot make assumptions about who I am
At the bookstore, you followed me from fiction to nonfiction and, finally, to the magazine rack, where you spoke to me under the assumption that I was somehow an illegal immigrant. You’re such a silly goose! Remember that time you asked to see my identification, and all I had on me was my United States passport? I do! I remember it like it was yesterday! You held my passport in your hands and said, “What country are you from?” And I pointed to the cover and said, “It’s a United States passport; I was born here.” And you said, “I don’t believe that.”
Three…You cannot make me uncomfortable in my own space(s)
Well, actually you can do this, and you do it often. In my own place of business, while sipping your Starbucks, you wanted to discuss “the Asians,” remember? That was a good time. And once you followed me up and down the aisle of a grocery store demanding to know the difference between various types of oyster sauce. I wanted to scream, “Hey, how the fuck do I know?” but I just smiled and pretended not to speak English because sometimes the joke’s on you.
And last…You cannot tell me what to do
I will not cede this parking spot to you. I will not wait an hour for a table when everyone else is told, “Fifteen minutes.” I will not be stared or glared out of your fancy store. I will not be told to “Stop. Just stop.” I will not calm down or lighten up. I will not laugh at your racist joke or your racist e-mail or your racist anything. And I won’t be quiet. Why do you keep telling me to be quiet?
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See, it’s only four things! Four things you cannot do! With a little bit of effort, I feel confident that you will find success. If not, and you need additional assistance, I’m happy to provide you with more real-life examples of things you cannot do. The supply is virtually inexhaustible and…so am I.
Veronica Montes is a writer with a soft spot for fiction about the Filipino-American experience and productive rants about many things…so many things.
