Hello, Yellow

When I was an elementary student and a lone asian face in middle of nowhere texas, the other kids had a little saying. They would pull the corners of their eyes and move them in time to a sing-song of "Chinese, Japanese, Korean." For Chinese they would push their fingers up creating a downward slant with their eyes; for Japanese they would pull the corners of their eyes down creating an upwards slant; and for Korean they would pull the corners back up to normal creating a horizontal slit with their eyes.

I was never really offended by this routine. I was too young to know what racism was and I was more confused why Korean eyes were somehow a half-way point between Chinese and Japanese. Since then, I've yet to experience the feeling of being the lone Asian...until now. That's a bit of a lie. But I'll explain.

There's an expression here in Spain: "Trabajar como un chino." Work like a Chinese person. Virtually all of the Asians here in Madrid are Chinese and fairly recent immigrants who live in the "seedy" neighborhood of Lavapies--which borders my street. They live here with all the other immigrants from Latin America, Africa, and the Middle East. And as far as I've seen, and confirmed by Spaniards that I've met, they keep to themselves. The middle-aged couples run wholesale stores, convenient stores, or restaurants that serve bar-style Spanish food. Someone told me that there are laws that keep businesses from staying open all day, but if there weren't, the Chinese surely wouldn't stop working. These Chinese immigrants are Spaniards. They are Madrilenos. Just not the ones I had come to know via my Lonely Planet.

On one night out, a stocky girl in semi-goth waddled over to me and asked in a thickly accented English,"Where are you from?" I told her in Spanish, "I'm from Texas!!!!!" (I was a little tipsy). I knew exactly what she wanted to know, but I wasn't going to give it to her that easily. She asked again (this time in Spanish) "No, no, where are your parents from?" "They're from Los Angeles," I replied. She kept on asking me where "I was from" and finally I conceded and told her Korea because quite frankly I had lost interest in the conversation on first waddle. "Oh ok! Korean. We think you look very Tokyo. My friends and I bet that you were from Tokyo." I hope the winners of the bet got a good deal.

I should have been flattered. I love Tokyo. I've never been, but I'll admit a sense of pride when people in Korea tell me I dress like a Japanese. But it wasn't flattering. I've been called chino on the streets in the most endearing of tones--"chinito!!!"--as if I were a Japanese school girl. And I've also been muttered to as a chino or given sideways glances as if I were the SARS. I'm often the only Asian person in an entire club or bar, and by the way I've been treated at times, I could see why the Chinese here don't make more efforts to assimilate.

Ah, I just used the word assimilate. I promise I won't delve too far into issues yellow. But here in Spain, it's all downward and upward slanted eyes; the only exposure they have of koreans is a potential nuclear threat. There's no room for a Korean that's not an immigrant Chinese or a high-rolling Japanese tourist. But every time I walk by a small bar/grill on the way home and see the chinese owners behind the counter with the Spanish customers, I can't help but think of my mom back at home in her own deli with all her customers. I definitely feel a connection with this community, further evidenced by fleeting moments of eye-contact with other Chinese on the streets, and at the same time I feel the need to dissociate myself from this group that's so looked down upon by the hard-partying madrilenos. The story of my life: wanting to belong, but having to reject. After all wouldn't you rather be, as the Spaniards would put it, a funky Tokyo than a seedy Chinese?