Drift Reality

I hate stereotypes, plain and simple.

I recall visiting a friend’s family Ohio way back when, and my friend’s Father asked why I was studying English literature.

“Shouldn’t you be studying math or science?” He asked straight-faced.

I remember looking at him for a few moments, trying to gauge his intentions before realizing it was a sincere question.

“No, not every Asian studies math or science,” I responded briskly.

Growing up half-Asian and half-Persian, I’ve been graced with a steady stream of racially-driven comments and insults, which have admittedly tapered off as I’ve gotten older.

There was a time that any racially or ethnically-driven comments would have boiled my blood but now that I’m older I have to find myself conceding that some of them are true.

For instance, it is a simple fact of nature that Asians love karaoke.

Do you want proof? Well, how about the fact that Seoul has 30 karaoke bars per square mile versus 5 in Washington, DC?

Just joking, I don’t think there are any stats that can substantiate my claim - but anecdotally, I will admit that I went out with a Filipino friend of mine who shall go nameless the other night.

After hitting several bars and clubs and appearing quite manly and dashing, we stopped at his apartment and sang karaoke on his home machine for about thirty minutes before continuing to the next bar.

That just doesn’t happen with non-Asians!

Want more proof? Here is a video I shot when I was living in Korea. Fast-forward to 1:00 in the clip and be prepared to be amazed.

When we were all living in Cleveland, my Khaleh sent two of her sons, Kia and Kaz, to live with us. There was about two years separating the two of them, with Kia being the elder. From what I can remember, and what has been told to me by my Mother, I could not have asked for more from my two older cousins. The two of them read to me and played with me constantly.  Combined with the attention I received from my parents and Dorothy, a family friend who lived down the street, I was constantly surrounded by love and attention. 

Many of the stories of my childhood occurred in the company of my extended family.  Dorothy, for instance, one day decided to take me to the natural history museum where they had a feature exhibit on dinosaurs.  My Mother tells me that at one point Dot motioned towards a dinosaur and explained, “Jiyan, that is a stegosaurus.”She was shocked when my response was, “No Dot, that’s a triceratops.”

I was a strange young child to say the least. 

I was about three years old in the wake of the Iranian hostage crisis.  One night I was sitting with my parents watching the news when the coverage turned to an Islamic student rally in Tehran.  The students were pumping their firsts in front of a flag of the Islamic Republic of Iran and chanting, “Khomeini, Khomeini.”  Something about the passion with which the students were chanting stuck in my mind. 

Several days later, Kia and Kaz were taking me to K-Mart to pick up some toiletries for the house.  As we were walking through the crowded parking lot something caught my eye and I stopped in my tracks. 

My cousins kept walking and it was several moments before they relized that I was no longer beside them.  They turned to see me standing in the middle of the parking lot, looking up towards the store, absolutely transfixed.  Tracing my line of vision they realized that it was the K-Mart flag I was staring at.

As they watched me in confusion my arm slowly raised into the air, my hands curling into a fist.  I began pumping my arm in the air, slowly at first, but steadily gaining in fervence.  Their amusement turned to horror when I began chanting “Khomeini, Khomeini” at the top of my lungs, while staring at the K-Mart flag in the crowded parking lot.

As people began turning to gawk at me, my cousins rushed over and Kia quickly picked me before they began hastily walking back towards the car.

I made sure to maintain eye contact with the K-Mart flag while being carried away, continuing to chant until we reached the car.