It's My Father's (Gingerbread) House

Last night, went with KASA (the Korean American Student Association) down to Portland for some sushi and bubble tea. I know. Sri Lankan. Not Korean. But my last name passes me from nationality to nationality quite easily. Plus, the majority of those that went were Chinese. I think the final break down was 6 Koreans, 6 Chinese, 1 Vietnamese, 1 Burmese, and 1 Jewess. Then there was me, the Sri Lankan. Most kids present, Chinese, Burmese, Korean, or otherwise, were unfortunate enough to either have taken Chinese on campus or in the midst of it, so the air of Chinese dominance hung so thick in the air that we thought of an internal coup- changing the name from KASA to CASA. (I suggested CHASA, still pronounced the same, but would weed out a few confused Spaniards.) The evening was mainly nondescript, until waiting in line, talking to Richie, who I vaguely, vaguely know, and he relayed this story...

Moi: So where'd you study abroad last year?

Richie: Japan.

Moi: Oh yeah? How'd you like it?

Richie: It was great. I found a skull there.

Moi: Uh... uh... er... how? Weren't you concerned?

Richie: Yeah, it was a little scary.

Moi: Was it a human skull?

Richie: We thought it was a monkey one first, because my friends and I were trying to break into a monkey zoo when we found it, but no.

Moi: Um... uh... are you ok? Isn't that traumatizing? Did you call the police?

I think I'll just leave y'all hanging now.