Nightmares

People seem to have cool nightmares...you know, like being abducted by aliens or being attacked by a shark or being chased by monsters or something neat like that. Not me, though. I mean I've had dreams where I wake up in sweats, but it's never been cool like that. I can’t remember what kind of nightmares I had when I was very young, but as far as I can remember, my dumb nightmares have always been about schools.

When I was in college, I had nightmares about being late for finals. Come to think of it, that dream continued even after I graduated for several years…you know, the one where you wake up thinking, "Sh*t, not again!” to realized it’s Sunday and it’s the middle of summer.

Well, I guess for me it was worse because I did miss a final my freshman year. You would think I was a straight "A" student being a teacher and all (and because all Asians are smart); but back in college, I never went to class. (Okay, not never, but rarely.) The lectures were held in buildings a block from the beach in La Jolla (that’s San Diego for those of you unfamiliar with the city) and in the rare occasions I did decide to go to class, I’d have a bikini on underneath my clothes just in case the sun came out.

I was an Economics major back in school, (have no idea, why) and most of my classes were held in buildings across the street from the secret path that led you down to the famous Black’s Beach -- the nudist beach, also the best surfing spot in La Jolla-- where all the cool surfers hung out. I know what you dirty-minded people are thinking, but no, not to watch the naked boys, (only old, fat people got naked) but to watch my friends surf. So except for the cute, nerdy boys I’d befriend for notes, I really didn’t know many people in my classes. (Didn’t help that there were about 500 students in those freshmen classes...)

Anyway, the day before my math final, I spent the day at the beach & went to a late night movie with these cool, older surfer boys I used to hang with who weren’t in school. Because I’d already taken Calculus in high school, didn’t really worry too much about my final; and so the following morning, I had my usual bowl of cereal, biked over to the lecture hall, and strolled into my class finding a seat next to one of those brainiacs with coke bottle glasses. I was a little early, so I looked at all the faces, or should I say, the backs of heads of all the people I’d been missing out on the entire quarter. (UC schools are on a quarter system, not semester.) Man, everyone looks so intense! Look at them all studying their notes...they need to chil-lax.

“So, you never took calculus in high school, huh?” I asked the boy next to me engrossed in his notes.
“Yeah, I did. Why?”
“Just wondering why you are studying so hard. Isn’t this all a review for you?”
The boy stared at me through the coke bottle lenses like I was crazy.
“What are you talking about? This is nothing like calculus. It’s the hardest math I’ve ever had to take in my entire life!”

I saw heads turning from the seats in front of me, and as I looked into their faces, my stomach sank & the heat shot up to my face.
“Is this Math 10A?” I asked in panic.
They all laughed, “No, it’s 193B, Actuarial Mathematics!”
Actuarial Mathematics!? What the h*ll is that!?

I ran out of there, my face flushed, frantically flipping through the schedule of finals. I was in the right lecture hall. Sh*t! Where is everyone!? I knew no one looked familiar & looked really smart, but I thought I didn’t recognized them because I never went to class. I looked at the schedule again, and grabbed a guy walking in. “What day is today?” “Thursday,” he replied.

I looked down at the page to see Math 10B Tu 11:30-12:30.
Unbelievable...I was two days late. (Did I mention I was coerced into joining a sorority in college? This totally was a typical, air-headed sorority move!) And that’s only the beginning of my finals mishaps in college, which I won't get into today.

Well, for the first time in weeks it seems, I didn’t drink last night. Came back from the Opera (Don Giovanni-- an excellent show) quite early around 10:30 or so & made a few phone calls trying to get rid of some food I didn’t want to waste (without any luck) and went to sleep around 11:30.

The phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Miss Lee? It’s the office. It’s 9 o’clock, and we were just wondering where you were. Did you call for a sub?”

I turned my head, looked at my alarm clock & it flashed, 9:02! I jumped out of bed with the phone still in my hand, “OMG Maggie! My alarm didn’t go off! I just woke up! Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t! Sorry…I’ll be there in 15 minutes!” and with that, my adult nightmare of being late for school became a reality today.

It's not who you are...it's what you see.

A few weeks ago, Hasen told me a funny story about taking a bunch of Japanese girls on a week long river trip. (When is his story ever not funny, right? ) Anyway, he said on the final day of the trip, the girls wanted a picture with the guides. So one by one they sat on his lap for a souvenir photo shoot. Well, one of them turned to him & asked, "Which one are you?" He told her he was Hasen, and the girl giggled and said "So sorry. You all look the same. Can't tell you guys apart," with that cute Japanese accent.

Funny, right? Because most Anglos think all Asians look the same. Well, let me tell you something. It really has nothing to do with being Asian or Caucasian. It's not about what you are, but rather, what you see. Or more like what you're used to seeing. I know this from my own personal experience, having lived in an Asian dominant culture as well as an Anglo dominant culture.

I too remember the days when I thought all Anglos looked the same. That was back in elementary school when my parents brought me to the States from South Korea. I remember going home complaining to my mom that the teacher was making me sit next to a boy & he was going to be my buddy for the whole week. (This of course was when I thought all boys had cooties. You know, before they grew facial fuzz, had b.o. & the cracking voice to help me distinguish their gender, before I thought they were hot...go figure.) So poor Sally was dubbed a boy in my virgin eyes (this also was before I could distinguish the boys' names from the girls'), and I spent the first few months of school totally frustrated because everyone looked the same. But eventually, my eyes finally adapted to the Anglo features, and Sally the boy and I became fast friends.

Fast forward a few decades to Salt Lake City, Utah, late April of 2008. I've been here two and a half years, and I have to say, after having lived in cities like Los Angeles, San Francisco, and New York, it was a bit of a culture shock to step off the airplane to see so many blond, blue-eyed white folks. (It's a myth that the Californian surfers are blonds. All the stereotypical California blonds live in Utah.) In fact, it is rare that I go to an event here and run into a fellow Asian or any other "people of color" for that matter. I'm like the token minority friend my friends have here; and seriously, I even forget that I'm Asian sometimes except when I see one staring back at me in the mirror while brushing my teeth. I basically live amongst the whites, and actually don't even think about race or any of that stuff except when my friend Jared says, "Oh look, our Chinese friend has arrived," in his endearing way.

So what's the point of this long-winded background story?

Last Monday, my parents came to visit from LA. My aunt was picking them up from the airport on her way down from Layton. I wasn't expecting them for another hour or so, and was doing the dishes when a car drove up my driveway. I looked out the window to see three short Chinese people getting out of the car. What are these Chinese doing in my driveway? I'm thinking as I turn off the water and walk over to my front door. There are no Asians in my neighborhood!

Well, what d'ya know...the Chinese walking up the stairs to my door were no Chinese at all! They were my parents who flew all the way from California to weed my yard because their daughter (who thought they were just some random Asians walking up to the wrong house) never learned to do yard work. But for reals... I bet you anything, if you went and lived in China for a year or two, you'd all come back thinking all your relatives looked the same.

(And don't judge. Grew up in LA, for Pete's sake. No one works in their yard. That's what gardeners are for...)