For me, racism has been a reoccurring annoyance in my 19-year-old life that frankly, needs to go.
It’s something that I’ve illogically come to expect when meeting new people, and I’ve often (rather regrettably) found myself giving people the benefit of the doubt- a lot of the time, more than once.
Whether it’s via the words of a friend or a stranger, I’ve grown a thick skin when it comes to copping racism.
In primary school, a classmate told me to go back to China, followed by a lengthy two-minute ordeal where he circled me, screeching “ching chong, ching chong” while forcefully stretching out his eyes to apparently resemble mine.
During high school, in attempt to garner a few laughs, a close friend asked me whether I had different coloured blood because I wasn’t white.
But lately I’ve been introduced to a whole new breeding ground for racism – clubs and bars. They’re places that are supposed to be a fun time, except just a couple nights ago, I was approached by a fellow bar-goer who decided to use a technique I’ve become very familiar with – the attempt to speak Chinese.
This encounter got me reminiscing about the many other enjoyable encounters I’ve had with these men of evidently high intellect.