Category: Writer Brain

It seems like every couple of months, or even just weeks, we see a hashtag like this following a terrible tragedy. And every time this happens, I feel this burning anger inside, and yet I don’t have the right words to say (despite being a freaking writer). This time, with news of the Atlanta spa shootings, I don’t really care about eloquence — I just have to let this out.

Since the very beginning of this crazy COVID life, I’ve been afraid for my mom, who is a Korean woman. She’s the one who goes out and buys groceries, attends other errands, etc. She always wears a mask and, when she’s being extra cautious, a hat or visor to cover her entire face. She’s told me that she’s gotten stares but that she doesn’t care, because, in her words, “They can fuck right off.” As far as I know, she hasn’t experienced any verbal or physical attacks, but I worry about it all the time. I know she does too, because she’ll approach me with her mask/hat and ask, “Can you tell I’m Asian like this?” How messed up is that, that she has to ask me that?

Just yesterday, when we were outside our clinic, standing in line to get vaccinated, she asked me the same thing. We were speaking to each other in Korean, and that alone made me nervous. What if people hear? What if they look at us with disgust? What if someone decides to hurt us? I kid you not, I was seriously mapping out escape situations in my head. The news of Atlanta struck me that hard. The virus itself is already scary enough, especially when both my mom and I suffer from anxiety. We worry about getting sick, about getting our loved ones sick, and on top of that, we have to worry about our race? Yeah, sorry, no.

I am proud to have Asian blood, but I am not proud to live in a world that looks at Asians like parasites. That looks at anyone like parasites. It’s 2021, guys. Wake the fuck up.