Hinky Kindness of Strangers

I was knee deep in bureaucracy today. I think there is much to be said about comparing bureaucracy to guerrilla warfare. In both, one is fighting against massive, oppressing, dominant force. Exaggeration? Well, I did have nearly two hours of standing in line today, so I had a lot of time to ponder imaginatively. I basically had to argue that a computer record was wrong, which incited interesting responses. I discovered that everyone I talked to today in official capacity defaulted into trusting a computer more than a person. Even I thought I was confused for a while, but thankfully I had kept a record of it with a date stamp so I will just have to wait and see...

But today was also a testament of kindness of strangers, and, of course, of friends. I could not have gotten through today without it. One instance of it was quite interesting, and relates to race, so I thought I would share it here.

I went to see a lecturer to say hello, and to ask about a paper she is teaching this semester. She was incredibly lovely and welcoming, even though it was a spur of the moment visit. A couple of things bothered me though, and I am now bothered that I was bothered about it too.

She said she welcomed "all perspectives from different cultures" and asked "how to pronounce my name". I was sorry to inform her that despite my Asian appearance, I mostly grew up in NZ. And I was raised Christian even in Korea, where 18.3% and 10.9% of the population are Protestants and Catholics respectively (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/South_korea#Religion). And I have a very common English name. So common I almost always had someone who had the same name in class always. And I should know too - this is a sore subject for me, and I still want to change my name to something a little more interesting.

This is by far not the first time these things have happened to me. And no, I do not have a Korean accent, and my spoken English is very good. I may have a slight American accent, from having American English teachers in my early childhood education and from watching far too much telly. I am rather proud of my English. I tell as many people as I have the opportunity to, and then some (I am sorry friends), that I was second best in English when I graduated high school, and that my best friend, also a Korean Kiwi, received a prize for being the best. Please feel free to tell this story as many people as you can muster. And then tell them again. ;-P I am quite proud, especially considering I failed English four years prior.

In one particularly memorable class, "my people" were welcomed as well as my own meagre self. Allegedly, I was the first Korean person to take this class, and I was the only Korean person in the class. I felt like a pioneer. It cheered me up, to tell you the truth. I felt like a fraud too. I felt like I should go to a Convention for Koreans and tell them that we were all welcome to take this class. I could get up on stage, and address a club that belonged to fifty million people, and say, "just so you know, our people are welcome to this class now, in case you were wondering".

I find all of these instances endearing. There are so many other times when people are actually being racist and horrible. But I wondered, how do other people feel about it? It is alienating as well as welcoming. As I said in a previous post, I am sometimes surprised that I am not white in a room full of white people. If I do not notice it, why do they? Am I doing something wrong? I fear that these acts of kindness also delineate me as "the other". And believe you me, I do not want to be "the other" all the frakking time.

I have this recurring thought experiment: for some crazy reason, I have won a gold Olympic medal for god knows what sport. Say synchronised swimming, just for the hilarity of it. And there, on the podium, I have to choose whether I accept the medal for NZ or Korea. And you know what? I would always choose NZ.