How to be Asian: A Manual
Updated: Mar 12
This is the manual we all received
When we were born
Asian:
Step 1: Look the part.
You know what I mean.
Pale skin.
Thin almond eyes.
Slick black hair.
Skinny and short.
Tiny feet.
You’re a white man’s wet dream.
Until you don’t want him.
Then you’re ugly—
Then it’s
Dirty yellow skin.
Slanty, beady eyes.
Dull hair.
Big ugly teeth.
The face of a rat.
And the kids on the playground
Will stretch out their eyes
Everytime you pass by.
And you will hate the face
Your mother gave you.
Step 2: Talk the part.
You say, “Ching chong.”
That’s how white people talk to you, too.
You tell the white man, “Me love you long time.”
You talk funny
Because you can’t speak English well,
So for that you are deliciously exotic.
But you’re also stupid.
So you need him.
He’s your only voice.
Step 3: Act the part.
You have a tiger mom
Who won’t get off your back.
And boy, isn’t she awful?
Your mother
Who gave everything for you?
Who learned to live in a new, cruel world
And would do anything for you
To survive it?
You have to hate her.
But you also have to do what you’re told.
Because you’re submissive.
And weak.
And that’s how the white man likes you.
And the food you like to eat is gross,
So you’ll have to learn to eat something else
Besides bats and dogs,
Or else the kids in the cafeteria
Will laugh at you
And plug their noses
When you unpack the lunch
That your mom woke up early to make you,
And you’ll have to shamefully pack it back up
And make up an excuse for later
When you have to tell your mom
Why you didn’t eat today
As you avoid her gaze
Because you know her eyes look worried,
So you lock your eyes
On her pained hands instead.
And your clothes,
Like those rice hats
And chopsticks in your hair,
Or strange robes and dresses—
They’re too weird.