Asian

This summer, I've gotten back in touch with my Asian side. My two roommates are Asian, and so, predictably, are many of their friends. Why "predictably," you say? Well, do you have eyes?

Neither my sister nor I ever has run with the Asian crowd. There was a while back in high school when I thought I ran with them, but boy did they let me know I was mistaken. So ever since then, I've been happy with my friends of many races, not content to confine myself to a mono-ethnicity clique. Sometimes I question myself, and wonder if I've done myself a disservice by not having more Asian friends.

So that's why this summer I've been happy to get acquainted with APALSA-San Diego. They are a fun-loving bunch, inviting me whenever they go out, and trying to coax stodgy old me into going with them to parties in Hollywood. (Bless their hearts.)

But best of all, they cook. Friends, APALSA can cook. I was treated to a tropical feast on Independence Day, a veritable smorgasbord of Guamanian, Filipino, and other Polynesian food. I ate, and ate, and then I ate some more, and the best part - I didn't even feel guilty about it. APALSA must be magic.

At one point in the evening, though, I did notice something awry. My roommate's half-Mexican, half-white boyfriend was there, the only non-Asian. I felt awkward for him, wondering if he felt awkward, too. My old habits came flooding back, "Oh why can't the Asians be friends with other races?" I thought. But then I had another thought - I am often the only Asian in the room, and only rarely do I feel awkward about it. Not because I'm incredibly self-confident or self-aware, but because I've learned to deal. I've toughed it out. And maybe I shouldn't be the only person to have to do so.