It happened again. I was walking out of the T station, at least three other East Asians in front of me, when I was pulled over by a lost old man. Do you speak Chinese, he asked. And well, I do. At least three others in front of me.
I later relayed this story to coworker Joyce (at a not-at-all-awkward work function), who sometimes receives my emails and vice versa, and she told me that she's never been asked that question, ever, in all her commuting days. Joyce is at least 10 years more Taiwanese than I am. People apparently think she's Japanese. Sensing my exasperation, Joyce tried to comfort me by saying that perhaps it's my friendly face that makes people ask me. And that she thinks I look more like an ABC. Neither of those tidbits were actually comforting.
Now for the last time, white people, I am proud of my heritage and happy with my looks. I am just puzzled as to why I look more Chinese than anyone I know. And extremely annoyed that my face seems to say "A Hearty Welcome to You and Your Family from Your Local Chinese Reception Committee Representative. "
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