How to Spot an Asian Girl

It was my friend’s birthday. She turned 29. Everyone at her party was in their late 20s, everyone except me. I was in my late 20s a decade ago. Most of the people my age are now married, have 1.5 kids, a house, two cars, and three pets. Me, I’m happily unmarried, no kids, no pets, no drama. “You have commitment issues,” my friend said. “Happy Birthday darling,” I kissed her on the cheek, “let’s talk about happiness and shit like that,” I said, “tonight is all about you, not me.”

“You need an Asian girl,” she said. “Well, I’m in China, so it’s not like I have too many choices,” I laughed. “I didn’t mean Asian Asian, I meant Asian Girl,” she said. I raised my eyebrows. “You’ve never heard of Asian girls?” she said. I shook my head. She looked around, “right now I can see three of them at this party,” she pointed at them one at a time. “How can you tell?” I asked. “First, tell me some of the stereotypes about Chinese girls?”

“Well,” I said, “most of them don’t like men with facial hair,” I touched my beard. She nodded. “They use umbrellas even when it’s sunny outside because they don’t wanna get dark,” I said. “You got that right,” she slapped me on my arm. “And they’re needy,” I said. “Well, that one I don’t agree with,” she said. “Oh and one more,” I gave her my biggest grin, “when they travel outside China, they still wanna eat Chinese food all the time.” My friend laughed so hard that half of the room turned to look at her, while she slapped her thighs, and wiped the tears off her cheeks. “Am I right or am I right,” I put my hands on the side of my waist.

“An Asian girl,” my friend said, “is the opposite of all the things you mentioned.” I widened my eyes, “Oh,” I said. “She’s someone who loves dating foreigners, loves tanning, and doesn’t give a damn about what people think of her.” I scanned the room, and saw one of the three Asian girls my friend spotted earlier. She was chatting with a few people near the sushi bar. “Give me sec,” I winked at my friend, and walked up to the first Asian girl.

I picked up a paper plate, and filled it with a few pieces of salmon sashimi, pink ginger, whole wheat crackers, and brie cheese. I noticed her noticing me. I looked at her, and smiled.

“Do you hate yourself?” she said, grabbed a big piece of oily tempura with chopsticks, dipped it in soya sauce, and put it in her mouth. “Is that some sort of a pickup line?” I said. She darted a glance at my plate, while she chewed the tempura. “Ah,” I smiled, “I like to eat healthy.” She took a sip of her coke, “you’re boring,” she said. I looked at her plate, it was filled with onion rings, pork rinds, and jalapeño poppers. “I see you love yourself,” I said. “Life is too short,” she shrugged her shoulders.

My friend came over, filled my glass with red wine, and smiled at the girl in front of me, “I was just telling him that he needs to meet an Asian girl.” The Asian girl shook her head, “he needs to meet a health whore,” she said, put her plate down, and walked away. “What’s a health whore?” I asked my friend. “Someone who eats like you,” she nudged me, and gazed at the second Asian girl, who was smaller than the first one, and held a glass of rosé in her hand.

I grabbed a bottle of rosé, and walked up to her, “some more?” I showed her the bottle. “Sure,” she smiled, and passed me her glass. “Did you try the sashimi? It’s so fresh,” I said. She shook her head, “I don’t eat after six PM.” I guess drinking is not eating, I thought, and poured rosé for her.

“What do you do?” she took a sip from her glass.

“I’m a writer who travels.”

“Interesting,” she raised her glass. We clinked. “Tell me more,” she took another sip of her rosé.

“Everything I do is to entertain and empower people, to be different, to be unapologetic, and to be proud of their identity,” I said.

“Do you have a blog?”

I nodded, “and a few other things,” I pulled out my phone, and showed her my new series of portraits that I recently created, to celebrate the people who inspire me. She took a quick peek, “cool,” she said, and pulled her phone out, “one sec,” she said.

Is my work that bad? I thought.

“You should meet my neighbor, Chloe,” she said, “Khloe with a K,” she pointed at a girl from across the room who stood next to the birthday girl. “She’s an artsy bitch,” she said. The birthday girl noticed us, and raised her glass in the air, and so did we.

“What’s an artsy bitch?” I laughed. “You should go find out,” she touched my arm, and then walked away.

The third Asian girl looked like a fashionista. She wore a burgundy leather strap across her chest, which was tied to a mini Leica camera. She held a paper plate in her hand that had three pieces of salmon sashimi, some pink ginger, two whole wheat crackers and brie cheese.

“What happens when an Asian girl, a health whore, and an artsy bitch go to a birthday party?” I asked the third Asian girl.

“Well,” she looked me in the eyes, “they all meet the most corny man in the world,” she smiled, and raised her glass, “hi, I’m Khloe, Khloe with a K.”

“I guess I’m Corny, Corny with a C,” I laughed, and clinked her glass.