33. I am not made acutely aware that my shape, bearing or body odor will be taken as a reflection on my race
50. I will feel welcomed and "normal" in the usual walks of public life, institutional and social
It was Thursday of Spring break. Our writing class was optional, and I had the concession to be able to go home two days early. I took the Amtrak train since the snow was too ferocious to drive. My friend and I sat side by side, among many other people, wondering what was going to happen to us with this virus that was going around. How it was going to affect us, our family, and my sister Mia studying in Paris? I was visiting my sister the next day. Our tickets, hotel, and arrangements were all in place. My parents and I wavered with the idea of cancelling because of the scary news, rumors, and common word of mouths circling around. We didn’t know if it was safe to travel to Europe, but then again my sister, their daughter, was there. There was a reason for us to go, and comfort knowing that Mia was safe, so we should be fine. Our rationale for going.
We had the privilege of traveling to Paris – ate crepes, explored the rainy streets, saw Van Gogh and the Eiffel Tower. We took in all Paris had to offer and we followed our new tour guide, Mia, around. When we weren’t sightseeing or eating delicious ethnic cuisine, we were talking and scrolling. Discussing what was going to happen to Mia in Paris, which of her friends had gone home from Italy, feeling sadness and remorse for her time studying abroad to likely be cut short. I felt bad that she would have to come home early, that this unique and special experience would probably be over quite soon for her. By the end of the trip, I was itching to go home. I was sick of Purelling every time I left a public space, wiping down every table we sat at, concealing every sneeze that came. I was ready to go back to Ann Arbor, where this virus wasn’t rampant or a worry. At least wasn’t yet. I left Paris thinking Corona would never travel back home with me. It would never be a problem of mine, affect my school, affect my graduation, affect my last two months as a college senior. It was in Italy. It was in China.
My mom and I wore masks back home on the plane, (now a privilege that I’ve recognized I shouldn’t have bought or used masks since I wasn’t sick). People looked at us funny on the ride home. The flight attendant hesitated when he asked me nuts or pretzels. No one was wearing masks. I felt silly. Overprotective. Privileged. I said pretzels and thanked him.
I eagerly awaited my last drive back to Ann Arbor. I was ready to take in the last two months: spend every waking second with my friends, check off things on my bucket list, find a job for the summer and year to come, finish out my last schoolwork, graduate. A week in, I quickly realized that those activities would never be “checked,” and I would soon be driving back home. I realized that this virus wasn’t just in Paris, and that it didn’t only affect people in Europe, Italy, China. It was affecting me, my family, my grandparents, my friends, and the entirety of the nation and world.
I cried for a bit. In party city when my friends and I found out graduation was cancelled. In my bed as my roommates sulked in the living room. At home, when I realized I would be living here indefinitely. But it has now become my normal. The weekend blends into the weekdays. Family dinners every night. At home yoga classes instead of in person. And I’m okay with it. I’m grateful. I’m grateful that I have a place called home that I can come back to. A family unit who loves and cares for me. Food to eat. A bed to sleep in. School to attend (online). I’ve learned and understood that people have it much much worse, and my senior year ending two months is a grain of sand compared to the mound of sandhill problems that are heaping in our country.
This pandemic has been a learning experience for us all. A time to truly reflect on our consumption, our needs, our attitudes and beliefs. I’ve learned that in crazy, dire, situations, there can be a lot of beauty and a lot of evil. That people will grocery shop for the elderly, create masks out of miscellaneous materials, donate as much as they can, or that people will steal toilet paper, spit on Asian Americans, and deny loans.
While I’m scared of the virus and the health of my grandparents and my future, Asian Americans are scared for their life. They are increasingly buying guns for protection and trying to shield themselves from discrimination. In a New York Times article written about xenophobia, Mr Du says, “And when all of these bad things come, I am a minority. People can see my face is Chinese, clearly. My son, when he goes out, they will know his parents are Chinese.”
This isn’t new. There is a longstanding history of blaming diseases and asserting stereotypes onto minority groups Ebola was blamed on Africans. The Spanish flu was blamed on Spaniards and Mexicans (hence the name), smallpox and tuberculosis was blamed on Jews and Italians. We have a President who refers to this virus as the Chinese virus. Who is blaming the virus on Democrat’s immigration policies. The stereotypes about Asian Americans as dog eaters, dirty, disease plagued humans are stereotypes that are global and are globally understood.
Why is this? Why does this pattern continue to happen in times of fear and anxiety. It’s yet another way White people can feel at ease and find a scapegoat to uphold their race’s status in the United States. The notion that we have to put other groups down to make sure we come out unscathed.
It’s unprecedented times like these, where I remember that my skin color and race are benefiting me. That race is always interconnected to the problems that our country and world endures. That people’s problems are much larger than mine. I have the ability to hide behind my religion, sexual orientation, gender, and not be affected by the severity of racism, xenophobia, and sinophobia (anti-Chinese sentiment) happening around me.
I have the privilege to be invisible.
One way to speak out and help is by using my voice. By reading and understanding what is happening around me and educating others on the consequences of these thoughts and beliefs. In historic times like these, we must keep writing.
​
Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter, Dr. Martin Luther King.
​
​