My time thus far in Paris has graciously taught me that, being open-minded leads to new opportunities, and marvelous experiences.
It’s been a month and a half of living in Paris. Fortunately, life has been sheer joy. Every day, every moment.
After three months of emotional agony, constantly wondering why I live such a different life than my peers – nomadic, abroad, and single – I decided to live by the rule of not saying no to dinner invitations, dates, or drinks with friends. The Parisian life I’ve set out to live has been colorful. But more importantly, my heart is, once again, open.
In order to keep up with what’s current back in the U.S., I start out each day watching news videos and scrolling through various websites. It’s no secret that recent stories involving Rachel Dolezal, Sandra Bland, and even Caitlyn Jenner have proven racism and judgement still run deep in our country where we pride ourselves as an apotheosis of democracy, defining ourselves as the ultimate modern melting pot.
I’ve never really encountered racism, despite growing up in America as an Asian starting out not speaking a lick of English. Maybe it was the Bay Area, then Berkeley where open-mindedness was (and still is) just as much a part of the local culture as the visceral bitterness toward Stanford. Then living in Tokyo and Paris in my late-twenties further verified that I’m indeed diverse yet never judged for it. Being culturally and racially different, in fact, was celebrated.
It wasn’t until a trip to Morocco with a group of my Moroccan-Parisian friends (Moroccans who were born and grew up in France,) that I felt, for the first time in my life, stereotyped yet open-minded at the same time.
To this day, I’ll still say that Morocco was a life changing experience. During the first week, I stayed at a friend’s house situated in a side alley, far from glamorous settings. Every summer, this house was jam-packed with aunties, sisters, cousins and children. I slept on cement floors with my friend, but I would wake up with a toddler cuddling next to my body and the smell of handmade couscous exuding from the kitchen downstairs. I, of course, was the only Asian, but felt enormously accepted and loved.
After a week of surfing on the Moroccan beach, a few friends and I were gearing up for the second part of the trip to drive down toward the Sahara desert. The night before our road trip, we had a huge party at a friend’s house. At one point, a friend of mine made a joke about Chinese eyes. The joke was repeated several times because some people didn’t hear it at first. I immediately grew agitated and stormed away. Never had I acted this way about “Asian jokes” before, I’m not even Chinese! Maybe it was the Moroccan heat, or the fact that I was the only Asian in the room so it felt exceptionally personal. But I was simply not okay with the laughs, even if it was lighthearted. It just felt…personal.
To escape drama, I went to the rooftop and sat in silence for hours. One of my friends came up to join me. We didn’t speak, he simply sat next to me as we watched the sun rising over a nearby mosque. The sky turned from violet to marigold. Then, the Muslim prayer call occurred and I knew I was surrendering to peace.
I had never felt this way before, such sensation of mockery due to my culture or the color of my skin. It was a joke that’s probably repeated hundreds of times throughout the world each day, yet it pierced straight to my soul, ironically in a foreign country where I learned so much about family, loyalty and love that make us no further different than the person next to us. I still had one more week in Morocco, so it was a smart decision to let go of anger and open my mind to new experiences.
Letting go and opening up meant that we leisurely tanned our bodies by the pool in Marrakech, strolled through ancient pathways in Ouarzazate, sang from the top of our lungs during camel rides into the desert, then camped underneath shimmering stars in the Sahara.
Today, when I talk to someone new, I don’t see colors. It won’t be until someone later mentions that person’s race then I’ll think, “Oh, that’s right! I didn’t even think about that.” Maybe visiting different countries starting from a young age has led to a fascinated curiosity toward people’s stories, rather than the racial or cultural category this person may belong to. I certainly wouldn’t want to be judged for being a Taiwanese or an American. I’m simply…me.
Every person comes with an interesting journey since birth. We were all born from mothers and fathers who also had their own stories to tell. I can be at a party and speak hours to strangers only if they are willing to be just as authentically themselves as I am in that moment. THAT is true human exchange, where the best connections are enriched.
My time thus far in Paris has graciously taught me that, being open-minded leads to new opportunities, and marvelous experiences. Furthermore, when someone asks me how’s my heart? I can wholeheartedly say: it’s open.
With love,
