Oh, Never Mind (Kindle Single) by Mary H.K. Choi

Author:Mary H.K. Choi [Choi, Mary H.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-09-01T06:00:00+00:00

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New York City is home to 67 percent of New York State’s Korean residents, which works out to about 103,335, according to the Asian American Federation Census stats for 2013. Sixty-seven percent of those Koreans live in Queens. It wasn’t until I moved to New York, on my own at 22, that I met a critical mass of cool Asian kids. Asian kids who liked what I liked (though, if I’m being honest, were far more well-adjusted).

When I started my first job in New York, as the editorial assistant of a graffiti magazine, one of our columnists was a Korean woman who was hilarious, beautiful, and the popular gossip reporter for the city’s number-one hip-hop radio station. I’d expected a chilly introduction, but she was excited that I was a female staff member and offered nothing but support and encouragement. (While I’d like to think I would have behaved similarly in her position, I’m not sure I would have.) I befriended two other Korean editors at rap magazines, and for the first time, white kids were minorities in the group for which I held the highest regard.

I met writers and artists who loved talking and joking about race. I was thrilled that they spoke of Koreans with precise derision. Turns out, bon mots about Korean rage don’t sting coming from a Haitian kid from Astoria, Queens, who has more Korean friends than I do. In loving my people, I am a late bloomer and feel horribly prodigal for it.

Twelve years later, in Los Angeles I sometimes find myself in a large group of mostly Asians, all of us solidly in our thirties, some of us with kids. A collective of purebreds, a whole bunch of hapas (half-breeds), and other races who spend considerable time with our kind. I love it so much. Afternoons, we descend upon a friend’s yard. A grill is fired up. There are no hot dogs. Instead, pounds upon pounds of pork and beef marinated in Korean flavorings, a rice cooker toted out by its handle, carne asada. A vat of kimchi appears, and Chinese roast pork buns, gently toasted in the oven, cut in half with scissors, and passed around by hand. We don’t give a shit that so many hands touch our food because we trust one another. Somehow we put down 10 bottles of tequila and everyone gets meat sweats. Tupperware is filled and distributed. The people with kids get first dibs. Children make me anxious, but for these people I slide into easy child care. I am Auntie Mary. The tiny Asians and I eat snacks and watch YouTube videos of friendly people opening presents or icing cakes. Common sense feels like a real thing and not something to be guessed at, and I think how my mother would be comfortable with my Asian friends even though most have tattoos and only some are lawyers and virtually none of them is Catholic. This makes me happy in an unalloyed way. I love us as a pack.

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