I’m Sorry, I Don’t Speak Kung Fu, but Welcome to Our Country

Speak to me in English, Korean, Spanish and sometimes even German, and I will understand. But sorry, I don’t speak kung fu language.

It’s a bit bewildering that since I moved to Ventura a year ago, there are some people who insist on communicating with me using martial arts noises.

Just the other day I ran past a 14-year-old-looking boy along the Ventura beach who acknowledged me by saying, “Hoi ya.”

And it’s not just the young who feel this urge. On the same beach months back, a 50-something man greeted me with, “Hwang tang.”

Then there are those who have the need to announce random thoughts to me in quasi-accents.

“I like flied lice,” said a student at Camarillo’s high school as I strolled through the outdoor walkway.

Well, thanks for informing me about your dietary preferences. I hope you relish the little critters in your bowl.

After every one of these greetings and announcements, I have stopped dead in my tracks and walked back for clarification.

“What did you just say to me?” I ask.

After all, I need time to decode these things. I didn’t take Kung Fu 101 or study quasi-accent deciphering while I was a student at UCLA and UC Berkeley.

Why is it that when I ask the question, I see a look of shock on their faces, sometimes even mild fear?

Boy, do I look intimidating at 5-foot-2, 105 pounds with bangs.

After some hesitation, I’ll hear, “I didn’t say anything, just hi.”

Or when I asked the Camarillo student about “liking lice”:

“I was just kidding.”

I have had comments like this hurled at me before while growing up in Los Angeles County.

I distinctly remember riding my blue bike around my block in Glendale when I was 12. On the corner a group of teenagers was gathered.

Suddenly, one chuckled, then yelled out, “Chink!”

I remember being confused. I couldn’t react.

I was thinking, “I’m Korean, not Chinese, but hey, what’s wrong with being Chinese? And why are you saying the word with such hate?”

Rather then riding over and beating them up as I felt like doing, I just biked away, fuming.

Since then I’ve heard such comments every five years or so. Until I moved here.

I don’t know if this commonly happens to other Asian Americans in the community or if I’m just a magnet for these types of comments.

While covering schools in western Ventura County and Moorpark City Hall, I’ve met many compassionate and open-minded people--the type who inspire me.

I’m sure that the few people comfortable--or crass--enough to say such hurtful things are in the minority.

But every time something like this happens, it reminds me of that day on my bike. And it brings home the isolation I feel.

I’m used to living in places--Los Angeles or the Bay Area--where I see faces like mine everywhere I go.

In Ventura County, there are many days when I could drive, work and walk and never see another Asian American. The kung fu comments make me distinctly aware of my race. It makes me feel that I do not have the luxury of being judged as an individual.

It may be ignorance and a racist upbringing that fuels such idiocy, but somehow none of those explanations offer me much solace. I just know that I no longer walk away, but stop and question these comments.

As I left Adolpho Camarillo High School after the student expressed his penchant for lice, someone shouted out after me: “Born proud.”

You betcha!