Hey everyone, a July update for you. I’ve just said goodbye to Athens officially and have moved just down the street to Atlanta. I was in Athens for 9 years (wow!) and honestly I wish I felt more strongly about leaving. But everything has felt so weird for so long now that making this big move just felt like another big weird day. I am sure that the scope of what that chapter meant to me and my friends will be revealed and understood slowly over time.
Today, I wanted to write an update about moving, listening, redefining, and my idea to push this blog forward as a diary of new adventures and explorings in my new home.
I posted on instagram that this would be my first time writing about my experience and perspective as a minority who grew up in a white space. If you would like to skip to that section, it is under the heading, “Listening.” But if not, please enjoy some updates about moving and some things I have been considering spiritually.
Moving
I wanted to reflect on all the work I had done in music since moving to Athens and made a catalog of all the music I had produced and recorded over the last 9 years. After going back through my hard drives and counting up the releases, I calculated that I had produced and mixed roughly 260 songs since 2011. I realize that I never really felt like I was doing “a lot” or really anything. I’ve realized that doing things never feels like you’re actually doing them. It’s just a process that takes a long time. But after a while, say 9 years, of just trying song after song after song… you’ve built something and you didn’t even know it. Brick by brick by brick. I heard the saying about young people that we “overestimate what we can do in the short term and underestimate what we can do in the long term.” How true. So for anyone out there who is working on something, or you have a big dream that feels out of reach - it is wise and practical to begin putting something in every day. Something small. Drop something in the bank, even a penny. Each and every day. Refuse to be dictated by your fears and your inability. Don’t look around too often except to learn. get off instagram. Don’t wait to feel ready to start anything. Just do it every day and you’ll eventually get going. One of the most convicting and helpful quotes I’ve read in a long time is “Don’t confuse your cowardice for prudence.” And boy does that cut.
Anyways. I have moved to a town just east of Decatur called Clarkston. One of my best friends from college just made big boy moves and purchased a house there, and has so kindly offered me a room and the basement to begin Bloom Sounds’ operations in Atlanta. I’m still getting a feel for what is around me. I’ve been drowning in all things Asian food, since we’re right by Buford highway. One of my goals this year is to learn more from my mom about how to cook Taiwanese meals we had growing up. So far, I’ve gotten the tofu stir fry to lightly slap. A good start.
The move has been kind to me. I feel like I’ve made the right decision.
REDEFINING
I’m starting a new chapter in life. It feels overdue. The move has really helped because I found that the shift of the physical location for me has been a good tangible reminder that the last chapter of my life has closed. With the change has come an opportunity to take a good, hard look at what I’ve built my life around thus far. I feel like everything is under scrutiny - my faith and all the practices that came with it, my values, my friends, my way of thinking, my habits. Everything. Has this been good? What needs to go? What needs to change? What is no longer useful? What do I need to dig deeper into? I am energized by the possibilities while I am simultaneously terrified of the change. My musical tastes have taken me away from Christian music, and I’m exploring other ways of writing and expressing different aspects of life. just human ones. I’m dealing with my frustrations with Christian culture, how I’ve felt deceived, how I’ve felt hurt, how I’ve felt jaded (note that I am saying “felt” rather than “been”)*. I feel my values shifting. I feel myself caring more about being honest than appearing to be a certain Christian way to everyone. I am seeing the impracticality of acting. Why do we pretend like everything is one way when it’s really another? Why do we feel the need to feign a holiness or a godlikeness that is absent in most moments of our everyday lives? I have found that the pressure to be perfect or to have a perfect life in order appear like a “better” Christian or better person is altogether unhelpful. We need an honest dialogue that addresses the secrets and the shames that we carry in the unseen parts of our experience. We can only pretend for so long.
For the first time in my life I am letting myself feel frustrated, doubtful and angry about my experience with religion… with the franchised, capitalist, American Christianity that has pimped the story of Jesus to make much of our own personal lives and agendas. But I am so hopeful that a real God might not look anything like what I’ve seen. After all, if you think about it, if God is much bigger than us and looks nothing like us, then it might make sense that our institutions might have missed the mark in some small and large ways. Some of us are so hurt because we placed an unrealistic expectation on human beings and man-made institutions. If you’re around my age, middle to upper class, have gone to church with mostly white people, and have engaged with American Christianity and the culture surrounding it, you have most likely, in many ways, been indoctrinated into a celebrity Christian culture that deified its leaders and their ministries. So no wonder, when these people and places inevitably failed us, it felt like God himself failed us. To use a Biblical allegory, a lot of my generation innocently and unknowingly built our houses on the sand - celebrity pastors, Christian trends, so-called movements, or the most recent hit worship song or band. And then life, just as life does, came in wave after wave, and as we grew up and saw more of the reality and harshness of our world, our foundations were revealed and for many of us, those foundations were destroyed, leaving us lost and embittered.
In millennial Christian speak, one might say I have entered into my deconstruction, but I honestly hate using that word because I’ve seen too many jaded people use “deconstruction” as a pass to disengage from the conversation, naval-gaze, and act like assholes. I understand that there are times when it is appropriate to burn the whole house down, and I think it is necessary. But I implore all of us (I’m writing to myself)… please, after you’ve burned down the village… build something better for the people using what you’ve learned. Every experience, and I’d say especially the painful ones, are useful if we allow them to be.
I am just beginning to unpack this part of my life. It’s taken me a while to be honest but I feel ready to start talking about it. I’m definitely going to continue to process this on the blog, but I just wanted to give an overview of where I’m at. I’m definitely afraid of what some of you might think of me if I continue to be more honest, but ultimately I’ve come to realize that it’s not worth it to appear perfect and to feel unknown and disingenuous… and I know that there are a few of you out there who are wrestling with the same thing, and I want to be a voice for you through telling my story honestly and unapologetically. That’s what makes it worth it to me. And, if you’re looking for writing that acknowledges the beauty of life without the pain it takes to cultivate and understand it… you might be reading the wrong blog.
*remember that we are always tempted to shift blame and responsibility as far away from ourselves as much as possible. If we can create a narrative that says that we are the good guys without any fault and that the people or places that hurt us are surely bad, then we can escape any responsibility to understand, listen, and ultimately forgive. I am growing increasingly aware of how people paint themselves within their own pain. With the exception of extreme cases, if someone tells a story in which they are 100% the victim of a 100% ill-intended individual or institution… there is much work that needs to be done.*
Listening
I remember, very specifically, a conversation a friend and I had my freshman year in college. We shared a similar Asian-American experience - we grew up middle class in the suburbs, we were popular among white people, we were typically the only asian people in our crews, and we were leaders. I remember so vividly, parked outside of our dorm hall, connecting over the fact that neither of us liked asian people. In that moment, our conversation was our response to watching a group of Korean girls cross the crosswalk in front of us, arms linked, giggling. We ripped them apart. We were racist against our own race. Our gripe against asians was that they seldom engaged with mainstream white culture. We criticized asians for always sticking together and never assimilating into whiteness like we did. I can’t speak for my friend, but in my eyes, I considered myself better than other asians because I was accepted by white people. I made it onto the team and others didn’t. In my mind then, rejecting my asian-ness and assimilating into whiteness was a noble and good thing, as if I had earned my way into some higher level of society where most other minorities weren’t allowed . I felt like I belonged. I had made it to the inside.
I look back on this moment I had with my friend in college and see that it indicated a deep and important dynamic that minorities have dealt with their whole lives. And only in my 27th year of life have I begun to face and unpack the ways that I have been affected, and how I want to respond. And now, we’ve found ourselves in an unprecedented time in history. People are starting to listen. When it has come to the race conversation, I’ve been slower than a lot of the people around me to come to conclusions, and I have not yet felt it timely or appropriate to take my opinions to the internet arena. I have felt incredibly awkward, because of my Asian American-ness. Essentially, I grew up with white privilege while I was simultaneously oppressed by the same system. I was receiving the benefits of a privileged system while also feeling like I was never really a part of it, dignified by it, nor respected by it. This realization, exacerbated by the nation’s current social climate, has been life altering to my core and has brought so many things that have been a part of my life into question. I am looking back on times that I felt so strange, out of place, and out of touch in white spaces… and I’m realizing that I wasn’t crazy for feeling those things. That I wasn’t wrong for feeling those things. White culture, in my experience, seldom yelled… but always whispered to me, “get like us, or get out.” I have carried such a shame about myself for so long because I thought that there was something innately wrong with me because I could never fully identify with the spaces I occupied at a cultural level, both white and asian. Simply, I wasn’t white so I couldn’t fully be embraced by whites, and I alienated myself from Asian-American cultures because I learned to view it as less-than, which hurts me so much to even type. The reality is, I was living in two different worlds, culturally, while 99% of the people around me were living in one. This, over a lifetime, has had immense consequences on my sense of identity, belonging, and nationality… and I know I’m not alone in this. I have had a feeling during this time that one of the big assignments for me over the course of the next chapter of my life will involve understanding these dynamics, speaking out for others who may have had this same experience, and reconciling my heritage, which I have been running from for 27 years.
And so here we all are, finding ourselves becoming more and more aware as a society of racism and racial injustice. And during this time, where sensitivity is at an all time high and our nation continues to polarize, deciding how to move forward can feel intimidating and overwhelming. I have felt that my course, personally, has been to listen. To try to understand a broad scope. To be slow to speak. To learn as much as I possibly can from many differing perspectives, especially the ones that are challenging to me. I have had issues with the language that claims that “silence is violence,” and I think that some of the white voices that were quick to speak could have benefitted from some time to understand and reflect on what it is they were actually saying. Remember, I’m asian. The resting state of an average Asian American is passive and submissive. We have, in many ways, been dominated by the all-powerful white voice and way of thinking. White culture’s resting state, in my experience, has often been presumptuous and quick to speak, and far too quick to offer solutions before trying to understand how it might affect someone different than them. From my point of view, white people have always felt the need to be the heroes in whatever space they occupy, they presume that their opinions are necessary and should be prioritized, and I see that m.o. being fleshed out in this race conversation as well. White people have never been good at listening before they attempt to offer solutions. And so suddenly, virtually overnight, white people all across America started to care about racial justice and fighting oppression, feeling the need to raise their voices loud and clear, while the majority of them had not gone so far as to dip a pinky toe into the justice conversation at any previous moment in their lives. If you’re reading this and you’re white, the following may push a button, but please remember that I do not share the same perspective as you. I am a minority, and as a minority, you grow up feeling like things only truly matter when the white people around you decided that it mattered, and I am grieved that this power dynamic only seems to repeat itself this time. It feels like the things that minorities like myself had been fighting, whether externally or internally, our whole lives are finally given some dignity… but only because white people decided that it was time. This reveals, still, where all the power rests.
I suppose what I’m suggesting is that you begin to listen. Listening is not an American pastime. It’s not built into how we interact with each other. Listening gets in the way of an American’s agenda, and it opens up the possibility that you might be wrong. Listening also opens up the possibility for you to hear that you participated in the problem. And if there is anything that is Un-American, it’s letting someone who isn’t like you offer you a different perspective. White people, you must see that the majority of you have always been in a position of power, and when you hold all the power, listening becomes a chore, an inconvenient thing you have to do so that you can continue on with your lives. But I implore you. Listen before you speak. Listen before you post. Maybe don’t speak. Maybe don’t post. Release yourself from the pressure to be the hero. You cannot be. Sit with people. I see all these posts from my white friends on social media offering solutions and opinions and wonder what percentage of them have had any sort of real, open and honest conversation with a minority friend about their experience. And then I think about most of the white people I know and see that they don’t actually know how to engage with other cultures, and a lot of that is due to the fact that Americans have seldom truly listened to anyone other than themselves. Listening is a posture that is yet to be learned.
I’ve grown up with white people. I have had hundreds of white friends. I’ve lived with mostly white people. I’ve worked at churches with white people. Most of my best friends are white. I’ve dated mostly white people. And of all these people, do you know how many of them have ever thought to stop and ask me, intentionally, about my experience being Asian American? I can count them on one hand. I’ve had white people say racist things right to my face while my other white friends stood there silently, and then we’d all go on pretending like nothing ever happened. I confronted someone this last week about a comment he made to me that I felt to be racist. He responded with, “I know I know” and a quick apology. I felt like I was inconveniencing him by even bringing it up. No follow up questions. No conversation. I just felt like he was trying to get out of that position as quickly as possible. Our phone conversation lasted two minutes and eleven seconds. I only remember that because of how weird I felt when I hung up. I want you to hear that I’m not blaming these people. I’m blaming the culture. In a way, we are all victims of a larger system that is in place. There have been so many times where I wonder if it’s even worth the trouble of having the conversation. I feel like I could never truly understand what it’s like to be white and I feel like a white person will never be able to understand what it’s like to not hold the power. But in this time, I have found some hope.
A couple weeks ago, my friend asked me about my experience being Asian American. Simply and humbly. He didn’t bow down before me and repent for the entire history of white people, he didn’t slice his hand open and offer me a blood oath to never think a racist thought again. Tt wasn’t a big thing, it wasn’t an event, and he never posted about it on instagram afterwards. In essence, it wasn’t about him. He just asked me, “what’s it like to be you right now?” And he gave me 10 minutes to talk, without interruptions, without justifications, without defenses… he just let me talk. And right then and there in that parking lot of the Value Village, I experienced healing.
So if you’re still with me, and you’re white, and you’re wondering, what do I do with this? I humbly propose to you that you stop assuming that everyone around you has had the same experience as you, especially the minorities. Even if they go to your school, even if they are on the “inside” of your community, even if they share the same faith, even if they appear happy to be the token, even if race doesn’t seem like a big deal to them. I would almost certainly say to you that 1. race is absolutely a big deal to them and they’re afraid to tell you for fear of being silenced yet again and 2. they are dying to be heard. It’s the nature of the system - us minorities have been taught be quiet, to not be too different. We’ve been told to minimize our experiences, to pretend that racism doesn’t exist or doesn’t hurt us, and we’ve come to believe that ultimately no one cares to listen. But you have the power to change this. I have so much hope based on the tiny the things I’ve seen. Those of you who’ve been willing to read this, who’ve encouraged me, and who are have said, “I’m here to learn.” You’re my hope. You’re our hope.
So, what if you began to listen? What if you took the time to let someone different than you tell you what it’s like to be them? What if you forfeited your position of power? And what if for once you let someone else write some of the rules?
It may seem small, but I imagine an entire culture learning, slowly, how to assume a new posture. And this gives me hope for all of us.
Thank you for listening to me. This was critical for me. With Love, AB