I had this neighbor. We were never very close. We were civil, or even friendly, in a neighborly way. Now and then, we would get together over some drinks or a bite of food—until one day when he started to feel “apprehensive about the articulated levels of anger expressed” by me. Not at him, but at my then six-year-old daughter, who—on a dare—had decided to sprinkle candy all over her bed and top it off...
“We’re going! If you can’t handle being around people, you shouldn’t be around people. So, we’re going!” And that little piece of conversation is how I could have gotten arrested tonight. Context: After a long day at an amusement park, I headed out to one of the local fish markets with my partner and our seven-year-old daughter to pick up dinner. (And to add to the context, I should mention that my daughter is Caucasian...
A few years ago, I lived in Cape Town for some time with my partner and our then two-year-old daughter. The former was collaborating with the university there, through his PhD project, while the latter was … well, doing her best at being two. As for me, coming from Sweden with the luxury of sharing 480 days of paid parental leave between me and my partner (and that is why I love paying Swedish taxes),...
“That white girl cannot possibly be your daughter, so I am just going to talk to the man behind you, who actually looks like her father!” …No, the cashier at the department store did not actually say that, but she could as well have done just that. More on that later. Growing up, I used to stay away from racism—and by that, I mean actively avoiding racist-themed books, movies, and other forms of narrated life....
Since my last post, I have been addressed with questions and comments about my Asian identity, or lack thereof. It then struck me, that for the past two decades, I have lived in a privileged, white bubble—albeit bordered with fifty shades of racism—far away from anything slightly resembling an Asian community. Being pushed to a sudden exit, and being in need of a clean slate, I indulged in a twenty-year-long whitewashed wanderlust. Well, perhaps not...
Spoke Wintersparv—probably a name as far from Chinese as anyone could imagine. But then, what is Chinese? What is it to be Chinese? Are you Chinese? Is Ai Weiwei Chinese? Am I? I very rarely present myself as one. In fact, the few times that I do, I am almost certainly cracking a questionable joke at my own expense. Now, analyze that (or actually, I would rather you did not)! Chinese is just … too...
