Underneath my yellow skin

Category Archives: Musings

Tenuous connection between favorites

I have two set of favorite things. From games and Taiji weapons. I have ranked the former and likened the latter to different romantic relationships. I have not done the opposite, so I decided, why the hell not? Or at least take a stab at comparing the former to the latter. To recap, here is… Continue Reading

‘Healthy’ is a yet another dog whistle

I hate food culture in America. I just want to say that up front because I’ve been thinking about it lately. I re-read posts on Ask A Manager, and I’ve been absorbed in one about a nonprofit charity that deals with people with a certain chronic disease (and how to help them eat healthily*. That… Continue Reading

I don’t care…much

Back in my twenties, there was a big discussion in the community* about emphasizing that sexual orientation was not a choice. “After all,” they said. “Straight people don’t choose to be straight.” which, true. But. And this is where my brain gets weird. I’m bisexual, for lack of a better word. Which in theory means… Continue Reading

Being normal

In yesterday’s post, I talked about things that unwittingly push my buttons. Or rather, wittingly, but seemingly randomly. I know what it is, though. It’s me being understanding all over the place and not getting it in return. With every subject, I am in the invisible/ignored category. With race, it’s because I’m Asian. With sexuality,… Continue Reading

Compassion and reciprocity

For most of my life, I have been resigned to being ignored. I live in the in-between because I am not one of the two dominant groups in any category. I am Asian–not black or white. I am bi–not gay or straight. More recently, I am areligious–not a believer or an atheist. And, sigh, finally,… Continue Reading

Compassion is hard

In yesterday’s post, I touched on how we humans make things harder on ourselves. This is true in general, and even more so with family dysfunction. What we grew up with was the norm, and if it was unrelenting, then it can be hard to break free. In my family, women were subjugated to men… Continue Reading

Actions, not words–and destructive coping mechanisms

My mom called me last night and as usual, started the conversation by complaining. Wait. To be fair, she asked me how I was doing. She didn’t care, mind, but she did ask. Believe me. She does not care. I give her a bland answer, and we move on to why she really called–to complain… Continue Reading