Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: identity

In the in-between In My Ideal World

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In my last post, I intended to talk about the little things around the big things in my life, but ended up talking about writing–which is a big thing. It’s not one of my identity issues, though, except that I’m struggling with writing fiction now in a way I never have. Before my medical crisis, I had stories in my brain all the time. I had one writer’s block that I could remember, and it was for a month. That was very tense for me, but it went after that month or so with no problem. Now, however, while I still have ideas and fragments in my brain, I don’t have the stories I used to have.

I have been mulling over an idea for a trilogy for the last year. I’ve been refining it as I go, but I can’t make it gel in a coherent whole. Acutally, I have a few different ideas (for different trilogies), and I’m trying to find a way to bring it all together. I don’t want to talk too much about it before I start writing because I find that the more I talk about my writing, the less I actually write/the worse I actually write. That’s not unique to me, by the way. A lot of writers find that if the talk too much about their writing as they’re writing, it takes the verve out of said writing.

Here’s the thing. The big things such as sexual orientation, race, gender, etc., are important, yes, but so are the spaces in between. Or the things that don’t quite fit into any one character. And they’re all connected–at least in my mind. Which I’ve discoverered might be because I’m neurodivergent.

Side note: It’s refreshing to know that I can still learn things about myself at my old age. Refreshing, but also daunting. Daunting because there is so much about myself that I would like to fix. Refreshing because apparently, you can teach an old dog new tricks!

This is one of the reasons my writing has stalled. I think that since my medical crisis, my brain has become even more wedded to the idea that everything is related. If I want to write about one thing, say, my medical crisis, then I have to start with my family dysfunction. I have to add in my Taiji practice, not to mention just my life in general.

When I start thinking of all the things I need/want to add to the story, my brain mentally gives up.

Side note: After Elden Ring came out, Ian urged mo te pitch to his editor a story about FromSoft games and my medical crisis. See, before my medical crisis, I was so hyped for Elden Ring. It was announced….before the pandemic? Or at least rumored, and then it didn’t come out. And didn’t come out.


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In My Ideal World, all the little things

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In talking about my new series, In My Ideal World, I realized that I wanted to talk about little things, too. Or rather, things that don’t fall neatly into identity categories. Things that are tangentially related, but not necessarily in a category of their own. Such as weddings. They are definitely related to relationships and gender identity (not to mention sexual identity), but they aren’t something I would consider necessary to any of those categories. (Here is yesterday’s post.)

And yet.

This is one of those issues that is so huge in our culture, and yet.

I’m hesitating to write how I feel about it because it’s SUCH a huge aspect of our culture (and most cultures, really). I’ll save the deeper thoughts until I’m going to write about it for real, but I’ll just say that for me personally, it’s not important. Marriage is a positive as long as it serves the couple/throuple/community, but weddings themselves? I hold no truck in them.

I do get the need for ritual and to anonuce to the world your intent. But, I don’t get why it has to be a BIG WEDDING. I know it doesn’t, but many people seem to think it does. Even people whom I consider pretty progressive seem to get stuck on this tradition.

As with many things, I’m libertarian with a small l. I wish and want people to be free to do and be who they are. As long as that doesn’t hurt other people (actually hurt them and not “hurt” them. I’ll explore that difference in future posts), have at life as they wish. Want to be in a monogamous relationship with a person of the traditionally opposite gender? Have at it! Want to have children and watch cheesy Disney movies with them? Have at it! (Well, no, don’t. Don’t support Disney!) Want to go to church on Sunday and tithe religiously? Have at it!

I mean all that, truly. No hate, no snark. Well, maybe the teensiest bit of snark. My biggest issue is that I don’t get the same accord from the normies. Believe me I know all about how being a minority means not being seen–especially when you’re in the categories I am. It makes me cranky, though, when I’m asked to show empathy to someone in the majority because I always have to think about others.

Like with marriage. I have known since I was in my twenties that I didn’t want to get married. That was Not Done, apparently. I dated a guy in my late twenties who said to me, “I know you have said you don’t want to get married, but what would you say if I proposed to you?” He also once got really excited after going to a wedding (or maybe a bachelor’s party? I can’t remember) because the couple got a toaster oven. He waxed rhapsodically about it and said jokingly (but not really) that maybe we should get married so we could get a toatser oven. I looked at him in amazement and said, “We’re adults. If we want a toaster oven, we can buy one.”


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More about In My Ideal World…and beyond

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One of the weird things about my brain is that I never can just let things be. By things, I mean ideas. Part of it is because I’m heavily influenced by others (though I try not to be), but most of it is because my brain is constantly churning. In addition, I know that I don’t know everything, so there is always more for me to learn.

In this case, my learning is about–well, let’s get there the long way, per usual. My brain connects thins that most people wouldn’t think are connected. Or rather, everything is connected in my brain. It used to frustrate me when teachers wanted to talk about one thing, but not another. Such as feminism (in a feminism class), but not racism because ‘we don’t have time for that’. Which, on the one hand, I get. On the other hand, though, fuck that shit.

I realized in my early twenties that I contained multitudes. We all do, but I am talking about me specifically right now. I was Asian, bisexual, a woman (then), agnostic (then), and just Weird with a capital W. Now, I’m still Asian, bisexual but not liking that label, agender, areligious, and still fucking weird. I’m also aromantic and ethically nonmonogamous. I don’t want a long-term relationship, and I’m more interested in sex than dating at the moment.

I see all these things as connected. I was feeling interconnectivity before it was a thing. In yesterday’s post, I outlined a series I wanted to do called, In My Ideal World, in which I would take a topic and explain what I would would like to see related to that issue. I am verbose, which means I’d spend several posts on each topic. The thing that bogs me down, though, is that I don’t know how to talke about one without bringing up another.

Let me group it like this. Gender identity is linked to sexual identity loosley. Sexual identity is linked to monogamy/nonmonogamy and being aromantic. Gender is related to race. Religion is related to nothing in particular, but it’s something I could write ten-thousand words on. I have some deep wounds because of religion, and it’s taken me a long time to heal from it. I’m not completely there, but I am so much better now than I was when I first left Christianity (early twenties).

I want to find a hook that will bring them all together, but I’m not quite there. I don’t have a problem writing several disparate posts, but I would like to find a throughline.


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Free to be me?

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I’ve been talking about gender a lot lately. Why? Because I don’t get it. I say this with zero snark. Every time I hear people talk about gender, I feel like I’m listening to a foreign language. Follow the way my brain works. I’m going to be as honest as I can be here. Which means that it might be uncomfortable to read.

Other people say that they feel their gender deep in their soul. That being a man or woman (in this case, the binary) is a core part of their identity. People who are nonbinary also feel this deep in their souls. I have heard so many people talk about their gender and how important it is to them.

Whenever I think about my gender, I try to concentrate on what it is, and I get–nothing. I know I’m NOT a man, but as for woman or nonbinary, I mostly just shrug and say, eh, maybe? I’ve used this analogy several times. Being called a woman is like wearing an ill-fitting raincoat. It’s going to keep the rain out, mostly, and it fits, mostly. But it’s uncomfortable, and I’m going to take it off as soon as I can with a sigh of relief.

I don’t mind if other people call me a woman or want to connect on that level (we women, we’re sisters, etc.), but it’s becasue I’ve had similar expenciees. I am coded as a woman and I look very much like a woman is expected to look. I have hair down to my hips and I’m very curvy. VERY booby. And I love my body (now). I’ve never hated my curves, even when I hated my body in general.

I’m very comfortable in my body now. In a large part because it saved me from dying. Twice. Literally. But even at my most “I loathe my body” time of my life, I never hated the boobs, pussy, hips, or ass. Well, mourned the lack of ass, but that’s different than hating my body in general. Also, I can thank Taiji for giving me an ass! Ian has confirmed (very diffidently) that I do have one now.

Other people calling me she doesn’t bother me. Being called sir on the phone (which ALWAYS happens because I have a double alto voice. About as low as possible for someone who is AFAB) does not bother me. I used to be called sir when viewed from behind because I wore a black trench coat and had very short hair (this was on campus for college), and that did not bother me, either.

To be clear, I am not a guy. But I don’t care if someone calls me sir. It doesn’t bother me, even though I don’t identify with it. I am fine (sort of) being called she/her, but I would rather not be. And I will not call myself that. Though I have by mistake.

If I had my druthers, I would just ignore gender. It doesn’t matter at all to me except as to how others treat me. That’s the biggest thing about gender for me–it causes people to view me through a certain lens. Because I’m AFAB and LOOK like a woman, that’s how I get treated.


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Taking stock of my life

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I’m coming up on two years of bonus days. That’s a lot of extra time, and I’m still grateful every day for it. The thing, though, is that I’m no longer assuming that it’s just borrowed time. I mean, it’s not just borrowed time. I don’t know when I’ll die for the third and presumably final time, but I have to make the most of my remaining time before that.

It’s too easy just to let each day slide by when I work from home and don’t really drive any more. I mean, I drive to the grocery store, and I’ve driven a few other local places in the last two years. But, for the most part, I no longer drive. It’s because my perception is terrible and I can’t cover my blind spots any longer. My perception has always been shaky, but now, it’s just awful.

The only reason I would want to drive, even, is because of my Taiji classes. They are in South Minneapolis, and I am in the north (suburbs). We’re talking a half hour drive. I used to do it three times a week before the pandemic. Now, however, it’s more than I’m willing to drive.

My mother asked me to go to Taiwan to help out with my father. Or rather, she phrased it as, “You wouldn’t be able to come, would you?”, but then was angry when I said I couldn’t and I wouldn’t be that much help, anyway (because I can’t speak the language). She said I would be a help, which, yes, I probably would have been. But I haven’t even flown in the states, let alone internationally.

My mother is now pressuring my brother to go. I get that she’s in a terrible bind and needs help, but it’s sad that she thinks guilting her children into going there is the way to go. I have a pretty iron-clad reason not to go (my health and the flight), but my brother has of a valid reason (in her mind) to not go. Especially as he just went to NYC for pleasure. I countered that was a great reason to say she couldn’t go to Taiwan–he couldn’t take back-to-back vacations. Granted, he’s a realtor and has no set schedule, but most people could understand not being able to take two lengthy vacations in a month.

We both agree that it would be better if they came back here, for them, I mean. the political climate in Taiwan right now, especially for Taiwanese people, is terrible. In addition, if they moved here, my brother and I would be able to help out much more. Me more than my brother because we would be living in the same house, but my brother as well becasue he could come over every day or at least several times a aweek.


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I’m finally at home

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If I could have given my younger self some advice, it would be fuck the police. Er, fuck everyone olse. I can’t emphasize to her how little everyone eles’s opinion matter. Sure, you want to be kind and thoughtful. And, yes, you want to have good friends and connect with individuals, but those assholes who want to tell you what to do? Nope. don’t give them a second thought.

I would tell her, this includes your parents. Especially. This is somethin I really wished I had known much earlier in my life. My parents should not have had kids, and it’s not on me. It’s not because I was a bad kid that they treated me the way they did. You see, as a kid, I had cause and effect backwards. This is true of most kids who experience a less-than-great childhood. It’s human nature to assume there’s something wrong with you if your parents don’t love you.

And, yes, my parents don’t love me. I realized that when I was in my thirties or so. Before that, I thought it was just that they didn’t know how to show it. I didn’t fully acknowledge it until after my medical crisis because I didn’t realize it until then. I mean, I knew in the back of my brain that they had issues and did not show their love in a way that was meaningful to me. I danced around it because who wanted to admit that their parents didn’t love them? But with my medical crisis, I had to admit it because it was costing me to pretend it wasn’t true.

I’ve talked about it before, but what made me realize it was when I came home from the hospital. It was the second day home and my mother wanted me to show my father a stretch that helped me with my back. On the sceond day as I said. From dying twice. Well, to be more accurate, a week and two days after that. She wouldn’t listen to me when I said I was too tired to show him the stretch. That showed me that he was more important to her than I was, which I had known–but I hadn’t fully embraced.

I would tell Little Me that it’s not her fault that they did not like anything about her. My mother wanted a daughter to be her clone.  Or rather, to be the perfect little girl my mother wanted her to be. She made it known to me as an adult that she had had issues with her mother so part of her solution was to have a great relationship with her own daughter–which in theory was me.

The problem was that she didn’t allow for the possibility that her daughter would not be like her or like what she believes a girl should be. In other words, me. She had no idea that someone like me could even exist. Everything about me is offensive to her, apparently, and she takes it as a personal affront. She once said to me in exasperation that something being traditional didn’t mean it was wrong. I retorted that just because it was traditional, it didn’t mean it was right. That really pissed her off, but I didn’t care.


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I don’t care…much

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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 I DO choose who I want to date/fuck. And, I prefer sex with penetration, but relationships with people without the hardware. This was back in the day of binaries, remember. I had a more simplistic idea of things.

Anyway, I do think it’s a choice to an extent or a preference. I like people of all genders, but back in the day, I prefered sex with men. I haven’t been with someone in a decade, so I’m not sure where I would stand on the subject these days. I will say that the last person  I was eying on Bumble was a woman. Bumble is sadly limited, though, gender-wise.

I have the same feeling with gender identity. I don’t have a strong affinity for any. Yes, I know I’m not a man, but other than that, I feel mostly meh about it. I can’t fully understand peolpe who are rigidly set on their gender, but I respect it. I mean, if someone says their gender is important to them, then I accept that as true. I don’t have to feel something to believe that other people feel that way.

I do wonder if there was no sexism, would I feel the same way? I think if there wasn’t abject sexism in our country, I would be fine with being a woman. Again, I don’t have much affinity for it, but I don’t have animosity, either. I just don’t…care. Much. I think I would be more comfortable with ‘woman’ if it wasn’t so laden with bullshit and impossible expectations.

Story of my life, really. I wouldn’t care so much if not for the gross implications. “A woman is what you want it to be”. Except if you don’t like ANYTHING earmarked as traditionally feminine. This is where I get stuck with people who feel a deep affinity to their gender. I don’t know how to ask without it sounding snarky, condescending, or nasty: Why do you care about your gender? I certainly would not ask someone who is trans because that would be beyond insensitivity.

I really don’t get it, though. It’s not genitalia. But then people with misaligned genitalia can feel body dysphoria. I get both those statements, but not together. And, granted, it’s usually one or the other, but it can be both. That’s what I don’t get. I don’t have to get it, I know, but I would like to when it comes to me.

I like my body. I fucking LOVE my body now. It took a licking and kept on ticking. I like my boobs and my pussy, my thigh-length hair, and all my curves. I love the soft folds of my flesh, and I love that I look the way I do.


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Accepting additional info with ease

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People talk about how difficult it is to adjust to the new pronouns of someone they’ve known and love for quite some time. For some reason, I do not have this problem. When gender identity started becoming more talked about as a social issue, I struggled with ‘they’ in the singular. When I changed my thinking to ‘Wait. I use ‘they’ in the singular when it’s a generic person, then it was no longer an issue for me. In other words, when I realized I already used they in the singual, I hod no problem accepting it as a singular pronoun.

And, yes, I kow it used to be one. That is an argument that is proffered frequently, but I don’t find it that persuasive because there are many things that used to be standard that we no longer use. Such as thou and thee. For me, personally, knowing that we currently use they in the singular is a better rationale to me. The other reason that resonated with me was that it’s what people want to be called. I can dig that.

I also had difficulty with neopronouns. I will admit that I’m not as comfortable with those, but that’ss a me-problem. In part, it’s the purpose of pronouns. There is a reason for a set amount of pronouns. They are meant to be stand-ins and not personally applicable to each individual. But, I do agree that he and she is way too limiting. Personally, Idon’t like they for myself, and I have no affinity for the rest of them. I will say that ey/em/eir are the closest to ones that I actually identify with, but it’s more an intellectual connection than a personal one. Honestly, call me any of them other than he/him, and we’re good.

It’s easy for me, though. I rarely slip up, and I also think it’s because I’m in so many ‘other’ categories. I’m not black or white–I’m Asian. Not gay or straight, but bi (or pan, I guess, but I really don’t like that. I tried to just leave it at ‘queer’, but people think that means gay). I have been trying to get away from bi for years, but there really isn’t anything else that I like.

When It comes to religion, I’m not Christian and I’m not an atheist. I am areligious, meaning I don’t care. I like using apathetic for religion, but it’s more hostile than I mean it to be. Or rather, it imparts an ill-intent that I don’t mean. Areligious is good for pubblic consumption because it’s about as bland a word as you can get.


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The more things change

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Dying changed my life. And it didn’t. On the regular, I’m doing pretty much the same things I used to do. Writing a shit-ton of words on my computer, playing FromSoft games, cuddling with my cat, Shadow, from time to time, and nattering in the internet. Doing my hour-long Taiji routine every morning as I wake up. I eat the same thing almost every day, and I rarely go anywhere. That’s my life before I went to the hospital, and that’s mostly  my life now. I’ve added to my Taiji routine and I’m thinking of adding even more.

Right now, I’m obsessed with Chun-Li. I’ve never played a Street Fighter, but I’ve always loved her because she’s Asian and has dem thicc thighs. I also have muscular thighs, but nowhere near as thiccccc as hers. I seem to remember some fanboi angst at them slimming her thighs a bit or putting her in less revealing clothes. I don’t want to Google it, but I did. i can’t find the specific thing I was looking for, but there was the usual muttering about how she’s fat, not muscular, blah blah blah.

What the fuck ever. She’s my girl and I will not hear a word against her. I have never played any of the games, but that doesn’t matter! I wear my hair in the two buns and I have the thick thighs, plus I’m East Asian. And the boobs. How could I not be her? So I want to be known as Chunky Chun-Li.

I am so into my body right now. I don’t give a fuck if it seems like I’m arrogant. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I spent decades hating my body. I thought I was gross and disgusting, that I wasn’t fit to live. I felt like I had to apologize for taking up space. So, pardon me if I’m showing a bit of self-love.

When I realized I didn’t want to have kids, I felt a huge sense of relief. I cannot tell you how amazing it made me feel. I felt light and airy, and I had never felt better than I did in that moment. Man, did I get shot down repeatedly for responding that I didn’t want kids when asked. I tried to find other women who felt the way I did, but I could not. All the articles I read about it were of women who shamefully said  they weren’t going to have them, then provided a zillion reasons why not. I don’t blame them. It’s such a strong societal stricture: thou art destined to procreate if thou art deemed a female human.


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I am, but. And, again, but.

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I’ve struggled with identity all my life. Growing up as a fat, brainy, weirdo Asian chick in a very white Minnesota suburb was all but guaranteed to make me feel like a freak. I got picked on almost every day, and the days I didn’t, it pretty much was me wandering around lost in my own thoughts and never quite understanding what was expected of me. I like to joke that I was raised by wolves, but it’s pretty true. I have an apocryphal story about how the first pop song I heard was Electric Avenue by Eddy Grant when I was in sixth grade. The first movie I remembered seeing was Star Wars (the original, whatever the fuck it’s called) when I was seven or eight, and I hated it. I also saw Superman at the time with my youth group roughly around the same time and had nightmares for a month.

I’m just going to say it. I don’t like movies and TV for the most part. I once told a professor I had in grad school that I didn’t like movies, and she looked at me as if I said I ate puppies for fun. She said it was like saying I didn’t like sandwiches, which was a bad analogy for me because sandwiches are delicious. I realized then that my opinion was objectively Bad, and I should keep it to myself.

Side note: I wasn’t going to get into why I don’t like movies and television shows for the most part, but it’s actually an integral part of this post, so here we go, the Cliff Notes version. I have a vast imagination, and I like to let it run wild. It’s one reason I can write fiction almost endlessly, and I’ve only had one serious writer’s block in my life. Tandem to that is that my brain never. stops. thinking. Worrying, ruminating, chewing over every goddamn thing. It’s exhausting, but it’s something I’ve dealt with most of my life as well.

Put these two things together, and you might be able to see why I don’t really care for movies or television. The whole time I’m watching a movie, the criticizing part of my brain is chattering on and on about what is wrong whatever I’m watching while the other side of my brain, the creative side, is thinking of a dozen ways it would have done the scene differently–and better. I can never forget that I’m watching a movie or television, and I never really get into it.

To that end, most of the shows/movies I like either are based on the premise that the theatricality is part and parcel of the show (one reason I love musicals), or the writing is good enough to pull me in and allow me to override the chattering in my brain.


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