L is for Love
2 Love Stories
One
I have too slow a reaction time to be capable of anything but pacifism. However, one fine Saturday I stood in the doorway of my local coffee joint, fists raised at a stranger’s 80 pound Rottweiler.
Perhaps I should back up.
When we adopted Nuri, he knew how to sit, recognized doorbells and desperately coveted a seat on the couch. He’s full of contradictions, climbing mountains like a little goat, yet too scared to venture up a spiral staircase. He’s the only dog I looked at in person and it was love at first sight.
He’s joyful—but, he’s a little damaged and I’m not sure why. His story goes like this: he was found behind some apartments, un-neutered with no visible collar ring. He was put into a Sacramento shelter, where an adoption group saw him and put him into foster. While he’s silly and loving, he’s also frightened. The sight of certain friends or even a strong scolding inspires an unstoppable pee puddle. He grumbles even at me sometimes when eating and hates to be kissed.
Nuri’s a grumbler, but he’s no fighter. Even so, I’ve lost count of the time that other owners have looked at me wide-eyed, grabbed the necks of their former pets, now transformed into snarling cerberuses, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s so unlike her to attack anybody.”
I joke that Nuri’s my little fratboy, always running to meet new dog-broheims, always ready to party. His recall isn’t great yet, but his alpha play style is why I always keep him on a leash. He growls colorfully when he’s excited, tail wagging as fast as he can manage. His mixed messaging sets some dogs off, and I’m still not 100% sure when it will or won’t happen. It’s almost like these dogs can see the story I haven’t been able to figure out, and when they do, they go straight for the neck.
That’s what happened that Saturday. I saw the rottweiler from across a little public Dogpatch lawn. He was off leash, fast and alpha. The owner watched him hurry over, lean to tower over Nuri, and ultimately take a big bite. This was one of the worst fights Nuri’s ever been in, and being a 30 pounder on leash and mostly just a loudmouth, it could have ended way worse.
Cue the familiar dread, the yelps, the yelling from both parties, the apologies. The rottweiler’s owner held onto him and we continued our way down the street, tucking into our local coffee place.
The rottweiler wasn’t done, though. He’d crossed the street and run down half a city block to find my dog and finish the job. And so, with Nuri barking behind me, I leapt out at this dog with my fist raised and screamed at him. He threw back his ears and ran away.
To this day, Nuri is scared of all rottweilers, including one of my friend’s sweet dogs. I want to convince him that he’s safe now, that I’m going to take care of him forever. But any day I see a dog bounding towards us across the park, stiff-legged and puffed up, I don’t know if I can keep that promise.
Two
A few weeks ago, a man sat on me on the MUNI. I tell it this way because it’s funny and so San Francisco, but in reality it was actually a bit scary.
I’m a good Connecticut girl and riding the Metro North for years means I’m paranoid that any of my belongings (or God forbid body parts) intrude onto the seat beside me. So on the MUNI, I keep everything neatly in my lap. I recognize this is not very important to many people in San Francisco. That’s okay. What’s not okay is deciding that you want the entire bus bench, pushing your body into mine and putting your arm around me until I move, and then plopping your bag in my vacated seat.
On a New York Subway, I would not have moved. I probably would have glared at this guy and gotten some others to do the same. But everyone is always doing their own thing here and letting everyone’s freak flag fly. It has its ups and downs. This guy could have spat on me or punched me, and from what I’ve heard, it’s likely no one would have helped.
I got very frustrated with myself for being cowardly. And then I got frustrated with myself for labelling myself as a coward for avoiding this confrontation. This is a common theme in my life, people telling me to be aggressive, to speak up, to be more immediate with what I’m thinking. No matter that I do my best thinking alone and get overwhelmed by too much stimuli at once. I’m told I would get way better results if I stopped being such a doormat and started just talking. Loudly.
I know it comes from a place of caring, that people are trying to help me. But it doesn’t come from a place of love, it comes from a place of fear. Fear of watching me fail or get pushed around. And so people try to drop wisdom on me or protect me from others’ retaliation.
Don’t get me wrong. Even as an extreme introvert, I can perform when the need arises. I almost chose the stage as my career. But this notion that life’s a fight, and that as a little Asian girl I have to fight twice as hard to get heard in a big tuff world—I didn’t ask to be born into this circumstance. I didn’t ask to have to fight twice as hard. And besides, there are big benefits to being a thoughtful emo kid.
After my emo pity party, I remind myself that I’m fortunate to have found a career I love, one that lets me transcend all of it. With some keystrokes and lines I can communicate louder than most. There’s the maniacal joy of knowing your work flashes beyond you and says what you want it to say.
Biology no longer controls the volume of my voice. It doesn’t matter that I’m small enough to push around on a bus.
