The Asian Stereotype[slow updates]

CHAPTER SIX- THE ASIAN STEREOTYPE

OH MY GOD GUYS i'M SO PISSED I WROTE LITERALLY A THOUSAND PLUS WORDS HERE AND THEY'RE ALL GONE BECAUSE MY WINDOW CRASHED AND I HAD TO REWRITE EVERYTHINGG I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATES UGHHH SO SORRY BUT WATTPAD GET YOUR DAMN GAME UP PLEASE ;(

liu- "but I have INDIGESTION!"

I am literally the dumbest arse to ever walk Planet Earth. I mean, I was worried for absolutely nothing; dad's coming back from Chicago today. And whenever he comes back from a long business trip, he'll always bring some of the "new place's delicacies" for dinner. I remember my disastrous encounter with India's cuisine after a long trip to Delhi--curry and my taste buds do not mix. My lips still tingle with pain at the lovely memory, of me being all "Since I'm Asian, I can hold my spices" and stupidly slurping up a spoon of that spicy--albeit DELICIOUS--curry, and then fanning my lips, eyes bugging out like some reptilian’s, and rushing to the kitchen for not one, not two, not five, but a grand total of fifteen glasses of water from the tap. It's coldest that way, and cooled my tongue down considerably. Not all the pain was gone, though, and I had to suffer the entire meal, not being able to talk (okay, rant) to everyone in my household about my utterly-disgusting day filled with sweat, deodorant-less, disgusting people with even more disgusting personalities, and had to continuously stuff my mouth with rice to ease the swelling of my tongue.

I am such an optimistic person.

And the worst part was, when I got back to school, my friends (admittedly a friend) ((I’m so popular, I know)) just laughed at me and asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be Asian?”

I bet with my tiny-ass eyes, I could aim my fist at your face, mister, and knock the living daylights out of you. Just because the rest of my tiny-eyed population seems to be able to tolerate spice and chug down gallons of rice and noodles every day, doesn’t mean I have to, and I will eat a burger right in your damn face if you want me to.

Ugh. People piss me off, in general.

I hop off the bed and start skipping to get the door, ready to greet dad and his new food—they do say ‘food is the key to every girl’s heart’, don’t they?

I think of pizza and chocolate Frosties and Thai food—yes, baby, yes.

The doorbell chooses that precise moment to ring and I start humming as mom yells for me to get it.

“Dad!” I shout, instantly scooped up in a hug when he sets his eyes on my face. “Have you grown taller?” he asks mockingly.

I narrow my eyes at him as he removes his arms from my waist, his tall frame filling the doorway.

“You did not just say that, mister!” As I continuously fake-punch  him, him offering playful commentary like oof and I’m so scared, I feel a flutter in my heart. Boy am I glad that not all Asian parents strictly enforce the values of “respecting your seniors to your utmost capabilities” in their houses; I’m allowed to play around with my parents, but not directly insult them—not that I will, anyways, unless mom comes down in some ridiculous, ‘80s piece of cloth—

“Mom!” I gasp, horrified. “W—what are you wearing?”

Fuchsia pink is the only color I see, and it pains my poor eyes.

“Sweetie, you look amazing”, my dad remarks, a smile lazy stretching over his face. I snort and cover my eyes as they smooch, rekindling their “love” or whatever, that seems to exist between no-one’s parents but mine. I’m secretly glad that they’re so lovey-dovey; a divorce, broken household or dysfunctional family like any of my friends’ would utterly wreck me.