People forget about pejorative language and the hurtful connotations that may come about even a passing humorous way. There’s always going to be people who will claim that deragatory speech is meant only as a joke and that the words lack intent. But a blunted blade is still a blade, and if it cuts us nonetheless, does it matter if the edge is dull? I doubt it.

But as I mentioned in the last two paragraphs, I hold firm to the belief that no matter what sets us apart, that we can always come to an understanding. And that no matter how outcast we feel, there will be a day that we can feel accepted. And maybe for now it will only be ourselves that can feel this way. But that’s the great thing about a blog. We can share that feeling with an entire world, and that is something that is absolutely wonderful.

Keep writing. I’ll make sure to read. Thanks again for the great comment!

Even though I’m still learning to talk — I still don’t know why it can be so difficult sometimes. But I’m finding with the right person, talking can help things out tremendously. And face-to-face talking, too. None of this bullshit we’ve grown used to being our main form of communication: calling, texting, IMing. And when I do that, I feel less like I’m the only one compromising.

But it also raises the question: Would an average looking Caucasian growing up in an Asian culture have an experience similar to what you’ve described?

But in any case (putting cultural conditioning and subsequent ‘attitudes’ aside), perhaps the best advice to follow–and regardless of the cultural music blaring in the background–is this:

“The less you pretend to be, the more you are.” – Queng We

Oh, and I post what’s in your head because I just happen to rent a little corner of your brain. It’s cozy in here. Good music.

I remember when I got into middle school age and entering the “game” with guys. And I was a major game player because for as long as I can remember my M.O. has always been to save face and trust no one. When a guy would ask me out — I’d think…he’s not seriously asking me out. I mean, we’re 12/13 years old…and guys are little shits at that point. How do I know he isn’t fucking with me? And, I don’t want to be that girl who seems overeager. So my answer, every single time until I was in my senior year of high school was “I’ll think about it.”

Cut to now: games are quite literally killing me.

Sigh.

I’m glad you didn’t get hurt or arrested.