Eyes
By Erica Juarez
West LA
Ching chong. New York? Nah, this girl is from China. You’re so exotic. I like my girls with piel canela and eyes like yours. Look, my girlfriend looks like you.
Why is it that I have been reduced to nothing but my eyes, or more so, “the lack of them”? As a child, because of remarks like these, I have grown resentful of my Asianness, my Japaneseness. Afraid to look at the mirror because of these “ness-es.” Whatever that even means.
But, maybe I can fix it? Maybe I can cut my bangs and grow them out long enough to cover my eyes? Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.
These third graders won’t catch on. I just moved here. The whole school year I’ll be just like this. I’m emo anyway.
At the Pool
Oh no. I’m at the pool with my friend and her mom. They’re Ecuatoriana. I’m not.
Her mom’s friend is going to notice. Uh oh. She’s already talking about it. She’s not talking badly. But out of defense, embarrassment, shame, I’m trying to spare the possibility of it. Just pretend your eyes are in pain, Erica. They burn. It’s the pool water. Wipe your face. Keep blinking. Look away. Whatever it takes, just hide them.
My bangs can’t protect me. They’re laid back by the tight elasticity of a blue swimming cap, accentuating the Asianness of my eyes. She found out. Just call me Chinita already.
¿Su mamá es Japonesa? Su papá es Mexicano? Ah, que bueno. Thank you. Thank you, I think, with the greatest relief ever. Thank you for saying nothing more of it. That is all I need.
20 ASIAN OUTLOOK
