Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: in-group

Why I don’t do groups

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I have written often how one of my traits is that I reach the end of things. This is both because of my neurospiciness (hyperfocusing on one object/thing until I am suddenly done with it) and because of how I was raised (give until you can’t give any more). I was well-aware of the latter, and I knew it wasn’t a good thing. I talked about it with my therapist several times. She plainly told me it wasn’t a good thing, and I retorted that I knew that already. Oh, here’s the post from yesterday when I started down this path.

Side note: One of the most frustrating things about being pretty self-aware is that I can know what my flaws are, but I can’t always change them quickly if at all. My therapist said that thinking too much was what got me into trouble, and it wasn’t what got me out of it. But thinking was the only tool in my toolkit for so long–I felt lost without it.

I understood what she was trying to say, but every fiber of my being fought against it. I could think my way out of a problem, couldn’t I? I was nothing without my brain! I rebelled against her statement for much longer than I care to admit.

I felt vaguely ashamed for how into things I got before completely abandoning them because I thought it meant something was wrong with me. Also, I felt bad for wasting money on a hobby for months only to let it fall to the wayside completely without ever using/doing all of the hobbies. I remember a time when I was really into jigsaw puzzles. I bought so many of them, and I think I managed to do three or four of them. Granted, I got cats soon after, which made it nigh impossible to do jigsaw puzzles without keeping them out of the room.

I have gotten better to some extent. I haven’t given tons of money to a hobby that I quit in quite some time. One of my latest obsessions, weapons, has lasted for ten years and is an investment. Also, I practice my weapons every day, so it’s not as if I have stuffed all the weapons in my closet and tried to shove them out of my mind, too.

I have to be careful, though, because I want all the weapons. Right now! Some of them are defensible (nice double sabers) and others are not (double butterfly swords). I can’t learn all the weapon forms at one time so it doesn’t make sense to buy them now. And yet.

My inner toddler is pretty demanding. Also, I have the money to buy both items whether I’m going to use them or not. To be clear–I already have a pair of practice double sabers, and I do know the form. I just want the nice pair because they’re gorgeous. Also, because I prefer practicing with real weapons than with practice ones. The real ones feel weighty in my hands and have real heft. The practice ones are lighter and flimsy.


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Being weird should be the norm

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Here’s the thing about being weird. Yes, I’m doing a cold open. Here was the last post about me being weird if you want to catch up. I think this is four? Something like that.

I don’t want to be normal, whatever that means.

Side note: (Yes, this early!) I was complaining to K several decades ago about how I was such a weirdo and didn’t want the normal life. I was complaining in the context of how I wished I could be normal and not such a freak. She said, and I’m paraphrasing, “But Minna, you don’t want to be married and have kids. You don’t want to do any of those things. You would be miserable.”

She is right. I don’t want any of that. None of it sounds appealing to me, and I realized that what I wanted was a sense of belonging–not the actual markers of being ‘normal’. I want to be able to be me, more or less, and not have to explain my thought process all the goddamn time.

Side note II: I love the word heuristics. I love the idea of a heuristic. We can’t function without heuristics because it’s impossible to analyze everything every moment of the day. For example, when you reach a stoplight, it would be difficult if you didn’t know that red means stop, yellow means caution, and green means go. If you had to figure that out every time you reached a stoplight, you would not be able to drive.

That’s a silly example, but it’s an easy one for people to understand. Heuristics extend to societal norms. We greet each other warmly when we meet, and we are civil unless we’re given a reason not to be. Societal norms dictate our interactions. Again, I’m not saying we should get rid of them all. What I am saying is that they shouldn’t be so rigid that people who aren’t a part of them can’t fit in at all.

Unfortunately, it’s very common for a group to close ranks. I am a lifelong Democrat, but that doesn’t mean that I approve of everything they say and do. This is my issue with groups in general–it’s too easy for the rules to become calcified. And for them to quickly close ranks. This is my issue with the weird epithet being hurled at Trump and Vance by Harris and Walz. It’s drawing a line I’m not comfortable with. I get that it’s signalling who’s in and who’s out–but it doesn’t do anything to make me feel like I’m in.

The probem with talking about ‘normal average Americans’ is that I’m not one and have never been. I’m on the fringe of the fringe, and it’s not even close. I’m weird, and I feel alienated by people in my party who are denigrating the weirdos.


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I can’t NOT be weird

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I’m weird. This is my third post about it. I have plenty to say, so I’m going to keep going until I am done. I ended the last post by asking whether I would be normal if I could. My short answer was, “I don’t know.”

For the most part, I like who I am. Well, let me phrase that a bit differently. I like the components of myself that are usually problematic to other people or ‘not normal’. Asian, bisexual, agender, nonmonogamous, aromantic, etc. I love my hobbies of writing, From games (well, that’s love-hate, but more love than hate. Just), and Taiji/Bagua.

My immediate thought was that I would change things about myself if I could in order to be normal. After a second thought, though, I changed my mind. When I thought about each individual aspect of my being, I couldn’t think of any that I would change. I’m not talking about my flaws, by the way. I have plennty of those that I would give up in a heartbeat. The different aspects of my personality, though? Let’s go through them one by one.

Taiwanese American? I like being Taiwanese American. It’s a unique perspective that not many people share–especially since my parents are pro-independent Taiwan. It does get irritating when Chinese people want to say we’re the same–we are not. And, no one knows anything about Taiwan, but I ain’t mad about that. It’s such a tiny island, and I don’t know much myself. I will say I appreciate that my Taiwanese genes are keeping me looking young. I look at least ten years younger than my age–if not more. no one thinks I’m in my fifties, which is funny because everyone thought I was older when I was a kid.

Bisexual? I’m not keen on the term, but I love being one. I also don’t like pansexual or omnisexual. They both are just a bit too precious to me. I would prefer just to say sexual, but that’s precious in and of itself. Plus, it gives out the wrong message. I prefer queer, but most people think that just means gay. So until I can find something that feels better, I’ll stick with bisexual. Some bis have taken it to mean, “I’m attracted to people like me and people not like me”, which will do for now. I like having the choices, though. I like that I can be attracted to anyone. What can I say? I like having my choices.

Agender? This one is iffy. I would be fine with being a woman if it didn’t feel so restrictive. Gender roles are still so rigid in this society. You would think in 2024, we would have moved forward in this aspect–and we have! But just, sadly, not that far. Or rather, not far enough for me. If I were twenty years old, I probably would have chosen nonbinary, but it doesn’t feel right to me.


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I’m weird–and damn proud of it, part two

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In yesterday’s post, I was talking about how the Democrats are harping on the Republicans being weird. At first, I thought it was a good move (and I still do), but then it started annoying me. As I mentioned, I have been a weirdo all my life. I have never fit into any group, really, and I got comfortable being on the fringes of society. I embraced ‘weird’ as a descriptor and wore it like a badge of pride.

There was a time when I was defiant about it. Being weird was my cloak and my shield against the brutality of the world. Once I embraced it, I didn’t feel as defensive about it. I was rather proud of being different and staying true to myself.

Side note: On the inside. On the outside, I was constantly adapting and molding myself to societal norms. I am really good at social interactions beacuse I’ve spent so much time making myself that way. It was not an option,o and I have learned it to a fault. I am not displeased about it, to be honest, because it has made my interactions with the gen pub easier in general. I can talk about weather until the cows come home without even breaking a sweat.

In addition, I can read other people’s facial cues and body language to a ridiculous degree. Sometimes, too much so. I jump the gun and freak people out when I react to how they are going to act, even before they do or say anything.

This has been somethnig I’ve been doing all my life–constantly adapting to how others react to me. That’s not unusual in and of itself. Everybody does it to some extent. In my case, though, I felt like I started on square -100. I liked to joke that I was raised by wolves, but it was not far from the truth. My parents had no interest in American culture. Well, more to the point, my father didn’t so my mother was forced not to because of course she had to do whatever my father wanted.

Back to being weird. If I were to shuck off all my masks and just be myself, I would be labeled a huge weirdo. Again, I’m fine with that–on a theoretical level. Meaning, I’m fine with being a weirdo, but I’m not so sure I’m fine with being viewed as a weirdo. Or rather, I don’t want to stick out all the time. I was talking with A about color. She likes to wear bright pastels; I like to wear black. All black, all the time. Right before the pandemic hit, I decided I wanted to branch out a bit. I bought a deep red tunic top with flowers on it, and I planned on buying more colorful clothes. Then the pandemic hit, and I lost all interest in buying clothes. Plus, black goes with everything. There is no matching needed, really.

I would like to try again, I think. There are other colors I like. Deep red; burnt orange; earth brown; racing car green. Deep earth tones, in other words. When I was talking to A about it, I said that I was hiding in the background and wearing color would make me noticed. She said, “Is it always bad to be noticed?” I thought about it, and she was right. It’s not, but I have spent so much of my life trying to hide and not be noticed. I was so used to being not seen even when I was seen tha I didn’t want to be seen–if that makes sense.


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I’m weird–and damn proud of it

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We have to talk about this weird thing. Or rather, I have to talk about it because it’s still bugging me. I get why the Dems have used it as a pejorative for Trump and Vance, but they are more creepy (and infuriating) than weird. At least the weird that was tossed at me consistently throughout my life.

Being Taiwanese in a white-ass suburb of Minnesota in the 80s? Weird.

Being a woman at all in the early 90s? Weird.

Being a woman who did not like ‘womanly’ things in the 90s? VERY weird.

Being bisexual in the early 90s? Weird.

Getting a tattoo in the early 90s? Weird.

Those were all when I was in my early twenties. Add to that not wanting to have children (BIG WEIRD) and not wanting to get married (also weird), then also not wanting to be in a monogamous long-term relationship.

Even the one area in which I’m in a ‘positive’ minority (money), I would be considered weird if anyone knew. I just don’t talk about it, and no one knows that my family has money.

When Harris and Walz started calling Trump and Vance weird, I was into it because it made the latter so unhappy and angry. It really bugged them because they, like most Republicans, like to trumpet loudly about how normal (and manly manly) they are, unlike the effete limosuine liberals from San Francisco who sip their lattes with their pinkies up and drink their milkshakes through a straw.

Granted, it’s hard to do that to Walz because he’s about as Midwestern dad as they come. I saw a clip about how his brother, whom he hasn’t spoken to in decades, ominously said, “Oh the stories I could tell about this guy. He’s not what he seems.” The deep dark secret turned out to be that no one wanted to sit next to him when they were kids in the car on a long ride because he got carsick and would throw up. When he was prodded on it, he said that was it. He added, “I don’t know why pyeople think there’s anything deeper.” Because you were pushing it hard that there were some deep dark secrets, dude!


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