I take the BART from Berkeley to San Francisco, ride the MUNI to the Castro District, and walk along the streets of the friendliest gay neighborhood in the U. People welcome my arrival with two- or three-second-long stares, sly smiles, and the occasional, “Hello, cutie.” All of a sudden, I turn from a stressed-out college student into an alluring object of fantasy.
Then the interaction launches into what has become a familiar routine: He asks why I’m sitting on my own, introduces himself, and compliments my facial features he finds pleasing.
He gets my attention by giving me tons of attention.
I know some people think that this is very rebellious but it's not.
I have a secret escape whenever I feel like I’m losing my grip because of the exhausting course load that accompanies being a student at the University of California, Berkeley.
I’m almost always tempted to call out these fetishes, but I also want to keep the drink.
So I take the come-ons as a validation, even when it’s clearly an empty gesture of approval.
You guys are easy to handle.” He was tall and huge. I’ve never really known whether I should take these come-ons as a compliment or not.
I asked him if his preference had anything to do with his own insecurities — that he needed to dominate small-framed guys. My so-called beauty only gets validated and recognized if I fit what "rice queens" believe all Asians should be.
Those who don’t correspond with the stereotype can feel disoriented and deeply rejected. I match most of the perceived stereotypes about Asians in general: I’m slim, I look younger than my actual age, and I’m pretty good at math.
But according to the men who buy me drinks at bars and compliment those traits, I’m actually too forthright and mean “for an Asian guy.” I remember one time when a guy approached and informed me, “I like Asians.
I just take everything in; every comment feeds my confidence and ego.