race

I wanted to look as white and non-threatening as possible because the invisibility of my disability in conjunction with the vulnerability of being a Black woman was absolutely unbearable.

I used to ask the kids at school whether I would be white or black or brown if I didn't have red skin.

Over the years, Girls has been both praised and skewered for its niche portrayal of urban twenty-something life. I binged all the episodes last week and came to a weird conclusion. The lack of girls who physically looked like me, a Chinese girl, on the show made me feel — good.

I am shocked, perplexed and a little bit dismayed over the amount of “good liberals” who have pushed my friendship to the point of no return over the term “white feminism." As a matter of fact, I would go so far as to say the cries over white feminism vs. intersectional feminism is the new #BlackLivesMatter vs #AllLivesMatter. You might not see it that way now but you will by next year. Trust me. I’ve been through this before and damn, am I tired.

“Is she Black or white?” I asked another mom who was describing a little girl in her son’s class that she thought my family might know.

When you’re married to the only white man in your apartment building—and one of the very few in the neighborhood—you, as a woman, make a habit of observing him, especially if you’re a woman of color or a mixed race woman. “Will he use his social privilege for good or evil?” is the simple question, but evaluating him in those terms is not so simple.

This week I have been thinking a lot about home, and how home shapes the way we feel about our bodies.

Can you name an elite female athlete? If you asked me to name someone other than Venus or Serena Williams I’d have a tough time.