I wait for the light to turn. “Is that aspirational or in practice for you?”
He hums a few beats to the song on the radio as he considers this. “Aspirational, usually.” He shrugs so fatalistically I can feel it. “A guide rather than a command. Life is life and it’s unpredictable. How about you?”
Living with your heart is exactly what I don’t do. “Thinking with your head,” I say.
“Does it make you happy?”
I feel my head and heart have been on divergent paths for a while and I’ve only just noticed. “Not sure.”
We’re quiet for a bit, listening to the radio. “Did your parents both come from China?” he asks as if he’s been thinking about it.
“No, my mom’s parents immigrated here from Malaysia before she was born, and my dad’s family has been in Canada since the late 1800s.”
It’s a question I get a lot. People seem to forget Asian immigrants have been making homes here for generations. Some of my teachers had been openly astonished that neither of my parents had an accent, like somehow it was as much a part of the Asian phenotype as black hair.
“Your father’s family came from China?”
“They came from southern China to work on the Canadian Pacific Railway. Dad says we’re descended from one of three brothers. The other two died during the construction.” Like hundreds of others. I remember in school the teacher barely pausing on that page in the history textbook. “My ancestor married a merchant’s daughter, I was told.”
“Your country has much immigration,” he says. “So many different people.”
“We look Chinese, but the closest Phoebe and I got to Chinese culture growing up was going to Chinatown for dim sum and getting red envelopes for Lunar New Year.” Always with ten bucks, no matter how old we were.
“We got sebaedon,” he says. “My favorite time of year when I was young.”
I sigh. “It’s weird. I look Chinese but I’m Canadian.” It’s frustrating to explain this because I am obviously Chinese, ethnically, and at the same time, I’m not. Or am I? What does that even mean? Why do I even assume that to be Canadian means you can’t be Chinese at all, that only a Brittany or a Richard can wear that mantle? I can hear Hana’s voice intoning,Internalized racism, duh.
Jihoon thinks about this for a bit. “You are expected to be someone you’re not because of how you look.”
“People sometimes have trouble when your face doesn’t match your culture,” I say. “They come to me with ideas of how I should be, what I should eat and like and think. If my grandparents were from France, no one would expect me to go around wearing a beret or come to me for baguette recommendations.”
He nods as I keep going.
“I was raised here. Apart from my appearance, there’s nothing that connects me to China.”
He touches my arm. “You get to choose who you are, Ari. No one else.”
I relent a bit. “It sounds like I hate being Chinese. I don’t. I love being who I am. I only wish other people could accept me for me and not make up a person based on my appearance.”
“That takes time, and many people would prefer the ease of superficial judgment,” he says.
“I know.” An ad about mufflers comes on the radio, and I turn the channel without thinking. “Hey, it’s that song we heard before dinner.”
There’s no answer, so I glance over to see Jihoon staring at the dashboard as if it’s going to sprout snakes. “‘Candor,’” he says. He squints at the dial. “This is a Canadian radio station? Broadcast radio?”
I check the station. “Yeah, they play a lot of pop. First time I’ve heard K-pop, though.”
“No,” he says softly. He wears a big smile, I assume from hearing a song from home on the radio. “It’s not usual.”
“What’s it about?” I ask when the song ends. I wasn’t paying full attention to the English part of the lyrics. I hazard a guess. “Love?”
He laughs. “Most songs are, aren’t they? This is about a love of honesty, to see what’s in front of you with clear eyes unclouded by what you wish to see.”
I frown. “Really? It sounds so peppy. Dancy.”
I can feel him turn his face toward me. “There can be serious lyrics to upbeat music,” he says. “You expected it to be ‘baby, my life is nothing without your loveboom boom yah’ because it’s a K-pop band?”
“No.” I speak with some authority because, despite Jihoon’s impromptu songwriting tutorial, I haven’t thought deeply about what K-pop songs would be about in the first place. Although I’ve listened to Alex’s playlist, most of the lyrics are in Korean, so I have no idea what the songs are about. My next step is doing some research into this StarLune, but I have time before I start with Hyphen. I’m about to ask Jihoon more about the industry, but he runs his hand down my thigh, giving me shivers. There’s time enough for work questions later.