A Rocky Start to the New Year Smooths Its Way Out

Every New Year’s Day, I head for a beach so I can reflect on the past and set goals for the future in a peaceful and awe-inspiring setting. This year, I chose Albacore Cove, a rocky beach on the Palos Verdes Peninsula, and was rewarded with nice weather and a clear view of Catalina Island.

Sitting on a flat rock, I watched crystalline waves curl toward the shoreline, which ran up to brown cliffs topped with emerald grass. The steeple of the famous Wayfarer’s Chapel peeked out from behind a leafy knoll.

Soon, however, my calm turned to pique. A white man, about 35, who passed by my perch addressed me.

“Do you like uni?” he asked.

I sighed. You see, I am an Asian American--a Korean American, to be exact--and Asian Americans often find themselves being grilled by complete strangers who want to know whether they’re (fill in the blank with Japanese, Korean or other Asian designation) and where they’re from (because they certainly couldn’t be from here). Because I was being asked about uni, which sushi lovers know is Japanese for sea urchin, I knew the “Are you Japanese?” question was not far behind.

When it came, I said, “No, I’m American.”

Only a few months ago, I was approached by a man at a North Hollywood gym. Pointing to a tattoo of a Chinese character on a well-muscled arm, he asked, apparently trying to strike up a conversation, “Can you read this?” “No,” I answered. “Are you Chinese?” he asked.

These kinds of questions tick me off because I have spent only five of my 30 years in Korea: four as a young child and one as an adult. Ironically, that year in Korea was when I realized how American I really was, in outlook and identity.

Fast forward to the present. The beach guy, who I later learned was a surfer, said exasperatedly, “Well, what’s your heritage?” Before I could give him another one of my terse answers, he stomped off, tossing this offending remark over his shoulder: “I’m sorry you’re not proud of your heritage.”

That made me angry. One minute I was enjoying a sun-kissed day at the beach; the next, I was being accused of being ashamed to be Asian. My New Year’s Day soured, I tried to gather the shards of my shredded tranquillity.

*

Sometime later, when the air grew cool and I was starting to feel like I had sat on a hard rock for a long time, I made my way back to the path that had led me to the beach. As luck would have it, I had to walk past the surfer on the narrow strand. When I drew close--and as I was making up my mind whether to chew him out--he spoke up.

“Look, I’m sorry about what happened back there,” he said, looking earnest. “That wasn’t a very good way to start the new year.”

That was cool; I respect anyone who can own up to his mistakes. I explained that it was tiresome for Asian Americans to constantly have to remind people that they are American, even if they are tanned and almond-eyed. Carlo, as his name turned out to be, said he had thought I was a Japanese tourist because I was carrying a camera.

Carlo also explained that all four of his grandparents had been born in Italy. Sometimes, people would ask him where he was from, whether he was Israeli, and it didn’t bother him. People are just curious, he said, and he had just been trying to be friendly.

*

By now he had grabbed his surfboard and we were walking up the steep trail back to the beach parking lot. I noticed that tall weeds were blocking us from other people’s view, and with an Angeleno’s caution, wondered whether I should worry about safety.

Forging ahead with the conversation, I pointed out that although people may have asked him about his nationality, it probably didn’t happen to him as often as it did to people like me, and it probably wasn’t one of the first comments that people would spring on him.

And so the dialogue went, two people from different backgrounds who had clashed on a beautiful beach, discussing race and sometimes disagreeing--but in the process coming to understand each other better.

As we parted ways, we wished each other a happy new year. It seemed like a good omen.