We, The Yellows
Amplifying my voice through poetry to fight back the recent spike of senseless assault towards the Asian community.
Maybe you don’t like my almond-shaped eyes, and the fact that they become two thin lines when I smile. But maybe… you’re just mad because you never have a reason to smile.
Maybe you are bothered by the color of my skin, and the fact that it has color. But maybe… you’re just jealous because of how monotone your life is, and that you get burnt after only 15 minutes in the sun, like zombies in one of those overly-saturated apocalyptic movies.
Maybe you think it’s funny to tell me that I look oriental, and the fact that it’s kinda like an expensive china fragmental. An object of rare exquisite. But maybe… that’s just because no one has laughed at your jokes for… quite a while now.
Maybe you think you’re giving a nice compliment by saying that my English is so good as you tilt your head, and the fact that I don’t have an “accent”. But maybe… you just simply suck with words and you can neither write or speak poetry as good as this one.
Maybe my loving parents don’t have as much dollars, and you think the fact that they speak broken English gives you permission to haggle us to half a dollar. But maybe… that’s because you’ve never had anyone to look up to, who is priceless, and could melt your frozen heart.
Maybe my kindness and sincerity fool you to think that I’m innocent and oblivious of how the world functions, and the fact that my yellow geeky baby face doesn’t scream leadership. Well maybe then… you are truly a fool.
Maybe you’re turned off by my higher-pitched voice and the fact that my masculinity is more feminine, and you think you can talk over me. But maybe… you’ve been sold to toxic masculinity as a slave your whole life whose voice was always silenced, so you pathetically try to find a scapegoat clone and use it as a disposable megaphone.
Maybe you cannot accept that I am a proud citizen of America as if I’m stealing your job, and the fact that there is now one more splash of migrant yellow on your desaturated canvas. But maybe… you just don’t know the sacrifices we had to endure for 21 years. Oh, that’s right… you were born here without even realizing the privilege in your blood. So please ask, before you accuse.
Maybe you think it’s appropriate to “ni hao” me on the street just because of the fact that I look East Asian, or avoid eye contact when we converse as if I’m a transparent tour agent. But maybe… that’s just because of how miniscule and close-minded your brain is to the rest of the world.
Maybe you feel like unleashing your rage to an elderly just because, and the fact that he died gave you peace? But maybe… peace is not what you need. Karma is what you need. She will behold you when you are 84 years old. That’s if, of course, if you can make it till then.
Maybe you will eventually realize that we, The Yellows, are not going anywhere. And no matter how many chings, or chongs, or bananas, or kung-flus thrown at us, we will get stronger and spread even more.
Maybe you will regret what you’ve said and done on your deathbed, and your teeny tiny little heart will be asking for forgiveness. Well then… too bad. It’s too late for anyone to forgive.
© Joshua Theodorus Kurnia 2021
