To be shouted at and to be playful.

Or to be ambiguously ethnic and a woman at the same time.

Why yes, the thing you should say to me when I am carrying boxes down to the FedEx guy is, “Korean? Vietnamese? Which one?”

When I am coming back up the stairs, you should give me that awful look and say, “Venezuelan? Filipino? What are you? Korean?” Yes, both of you should join in.

That this is surprising every time, that this is a thing that is not rare in my interactions with strangers, that this is something most of my friends never have or never will experience makes me wish I were a white man for the tiniest activities, for the few minutes I find myself in situations like this. I don’t expect to be hassled about my ethnicity and to be ogled. And yet. Here. A thing that happens fairly often in the great cultural mix of this bright, shining city.

Because it isn’t easy to be angry and articulate (this, I wish to be this), but it isn’t easy to be angry and to ignore, I said, “Keep guessing.” Nothing. Because I closed my office door, went to my desk, and felt hot in the face.