I Realize This Looks Bad

Many of the relationships and associations I have had in my life have been with Asians, but it has been serendipitous. I am actually a bit insecure about this pattern and I recently had an impulse to post 3 stories to my Instagram that triggered this insecurity. Let’s do a brief recap of relationships in my life (I will not use names, because I haven’t asked anyone if I could write about them):

  • My best friend from elementary school to freshman year of high school was of Korean descent (though had been adopted by white parents) (P.S.)
  • In my senior year of high school, I asked the Korean girl whose locker was right next to mine to go to prom with me (She said no)
  • For much of my junior and senior year of high school, I hung out and played on the golf team with a Taiwanese guy.
  • In college, almost half of my core friend group was of various Asian descent. Because of this I was friends with many people associated with one of the Asian fraternities at Rutgers.
  • After college, of my core friend group, only the Asian guys moved to the city which is where I was headed as well (this makes it look like I only associate with Asians). Quite often I was the one white guy present and it was worth noting every time there was another besides me.
  • I literally never dated an Asian girl in my entire life, but it just so happens the girl I meet and fall hopelessly in love with… is goddamned Chinese!!! (How could you do this to me, Maria!?)

This is a pattern that makes it seem that I have a preference for Asian people, and I really don’t like the idea of it seeming as if I have preferences based on race. I was especially sensitive to people guessing that I had “yellow fever” or a special attraction to Asian girls. You can formulate your own opinions, though.

I have been following the Woke movement closely for years now, and I have been generally concerned that it was creating a system in which racism would once again surface (not that it had ever left completely), and that people like me (in their words “privileged cis het white males”) would be the first to be targeted. I think I sound a little crazy and paranoid when I say things like this and so I self-censor. When I bring this fear up to people, I am often confronted with the assumption that I “only care [about the flaws of Wokeism] because I am white”, a claim whose validity I can only deny with words and assurances.

It seems as if my estimation was off. Asian’s are being targeted more heavily first. In my estimation it is because the Wokies are creating a narrative against Western Liberalism and Asians are living proof of the merits of Western Liberalism. They immigrated to a country that did not care much for them with nothing in their pockets. They formed strong communities with focuses on sacrifice and hard work. They parented their children to value education to an incredible degree and have catapulted themselves into amazing financial success. The Wokies want you to believe that white people oppress minorities in order to exert economic and political dominance, but the Asian example shows that either white people are ineffective at exerting this dominance or there is no cabal of White Supremacists pulling all of the strings in this society. Either way, it shows that the system of Western Liberalism allows for ethnic minorities to rise from poverty to wealth (not easily) over the course of a few decades. This destroys the Woke narrative, and thus Asians must be cut down. See my other essay for more of my thoughts on this.

So now, I feel compelled to post on Instagram to assist in the destruction of the Woke narrative, but now it looks like I am obsessed with Asians again. I literally cannot escape this. Silver lining: if the Chinese invade, perhaps they will think that I am a sympathizer and spare me.

P.S. When I was in elementary school, I met David Tyls, who was of Korean descent but had been adopted by a white family. He was my best friend until high school when his issues with drugs caused him to break into my mother’s car looking for money or something to sell (he lived around the block from me). We never reconciled and he tragically passed away when he was 23 from a heroin overdose. Upon attending his funeral and hearing from his parents, it was apparent that the child I had befriended had persisted even as drugs and addiction destroyed him. They spoke of his undying generosity and I was brought back to all the times he welcomed me into his home and was an incredible host for someone who had only been on the earth for 8 years. He also had this amazing habit of barging into my house without knocking or calling ahead and just shouting my name to see if I was home. To be clear, this tradition was started by him just doing it one day. I don’t usually include stuff like this in my essays, but David did not have much of a chance to write his own story in this world, so I felt like I should tell a bit of his story with the tools I have.

P.S.S. While double checking David’s online obituary for details, I scrolled down to see that some people had left messages. As I was reading them, I was surprised to see one written by my father. He never told me that he wrote that.

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