in conversation

with my gramps

"are you friends with black people???"

sometimes i get as horrified as you probably are. and other times, i attribute it to a xenophobia so entrenched in his psyche that it's as much a part of him as, say, his pinky, and it really doesn't do me any good to judge. this' someone who saved himself during the japanese occupation by teaching himself how to play the violin and scoring a seat in the then syonan-to orchestra. this' someone who later went on to the colony's administrative service, taught himself jawi and was promptly sent to oxford for graduate studies. this' someone who was globe-trottin' before it became in vogue and who i hold responsible for my inherent wanderlust.

and yet despite all these finishings, the seeming acceptance of or resignation at the japanese invasion, learning the language of the bumi putra and subsequent exposure to the decadent west, you'd think his racist underpinnings would have been gradually eroded! but he still clings to his irrational aversions. nobody's perfect, and maybe avenue q was right.

p/s i'll be the first to admit that i'm racist in only entrusting my camera to japanese youth, and letting asian stylists touch my hair. there's probably more to it but let's not venture into the heart of darkness.