Early April I was at a stoplight and a man on the cross walk lowered his mask, spat on my windshield, and called me a chink. Kept cursing but I couldn’t hear him as he was walking away, flicking me off. Obviously offended, I was shook but had to go on a zoom meeting with an influencer client shortly after. I brought it up cause it was so fresh in my memory and she brushed it off like “Well that’s how it’s gonna be for a while so let’s move on. Chinese people are fucked up for keeping this from us. Are you even Chinese?”. This same chick is now lionizing the BLM movement and using protests as an aesthetic backdrop cause she can’t make it to Coachella this year and can use the fresh content.
If this is what being an influencer is like, I don’t want any part of it.
And people believe everything they see on the internet.
I understand now that it’s important to share when you’re given such a large platform. It took me a while to understand that because I thought that if I donated my travel savings, if I sell my cameras to donate, if I woke up early everyday to buy food and water to pass out for free at protests, that would make more of a meaningful impact. But silence is deafening and some people on the internet just want to nitpick and pick fights when they have no idea how hard you maybe trying off screen.
I grew up in a racist household and I feel that inherently makes me racist. I don’t think I ever attempted to voice my opinion to my parents when I knew what they taught was wrong and that makes me racist.
When I was young, my mom told me a story about how god made 3 loafs of bread; stuck one in the oven and took it out too early and that’s white people. Stuck another loaf in and left it in for too long, and that’s black people. The third he took it out at the perfect time and that’s Asians. My parents thought us that Asians, are the superior race. I knew, even as a child, this story was fucked up but I never opened up that conversation before. Why did I fear my parents so much?
I am so ashamed that it took me this long to realize that it just isn’t funny to “make light of the situation”.
I don’t want to grow old and be that person who used the N word and everyone assumes they’ll never change cause they’re old.
I know I still carry some prejudices inside and I’m working as thoroughly as I can to unlearn these things. Opening up these conversations with the people I love the most is fucking painful. I made my mom cry on her birthday.