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I realized, walking through the streets of old Guangzhou, that China is my home. There’s no one way to “look” Chinese or be Chinese, and that any way I feel is true to me should be sufficient for everybody else.
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But I am not a doll for anyone to parade around and brag about. I am not a dish spiced mildly enough to round out a white man’s palate without challenging his Eurocentric views.
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“Oh God, not again,” I thought to myself as a new Tinder match messaged me. “So… what are you?” I could honestly make a living from charging $5 every time I’ve been asked this question. My ethnic ambiguity is so confusing to people that they feel entitled to know exactly
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Learning to embrace my name has been a constant struggle. In both China and America, people attempt to use modified versions of my full name to make me palatable. I no longer, however, am compelled to break myself into pieces to fit in. Both my Chinese and Jewish-American heritages are central to my identity.
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Seared into my memory is the first time I fought with my friends. We were in ninth-grade world history when my friend offhandedly joked, “Yeah, but Rona’s Asian and has a big house, so she wouldn’t get what we’re going through.” “Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
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UC Berkeley announced Jan. 30 that it has suspended new collaborations with and research funding from Chinese telecommunications giant and electronics manufacturer Huawei as well as its corporate subsidiaries and affiliates after the U.S. Department of Justice, or DOJ, brought criminal charges against the company.
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The entirety of “You Mean to Do Me Harm” revolves around a short comment made about a past camping trip. What would usually be a passing comment is turned into a tension-filled series of conversations, all incredibly suspenseful despite its apparent mundanity.
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For me, paradise is dirt-cheap street food surrounded by people from all over the world who have stories to tell and wisdom to impart.
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Throughout its sharp critique of American musicals and the culture from which they are made, “Soft Power” still manages to play like a love letter to all it is critiquing.
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Film would not be film, cannot be film, without the written word.
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