#the asian daughter experience

[tvmusiclife]

🥹

[tunapesto]

girls when they are their mothers daughter and the birth of a new self etc

[taikanyohou]

me @ my mum when she pushes me in front of absolute strangers that i dont even know and says go say hi to them bc they're family:

[like-butterflies-and-glitter]

the age when family drama and gossip starts happening in your presence is both wildly eye opening and so much fun

[ibreathhere]

Finally told my uncle (who said to my father that he shouldn't let me wear t-shirt and pants at home, but ethnic clothes) that he shouldn't have a say in my life, that I won't let the "man"in the house to meddle in my life, pointing the finger at him. It was so satisfying seeing his face of astonishment and trying to say it was wrong and not being able to speak cause I won't let him. Sisters today feminism wan a battle at a brown household.

[fullheartedly]

watched everything everywhere all at once and started crying like a little bitch out of nowhere

[randomcanbian]

.

[xtruss]

Living in Two Cultures! The Asian American and Pacific Islander Experience

— American 🇺🇸 Experience | NOVA—PBS

Andrew Lam is a California-based journalist, short story writer, and National Public Radio commentator. In this interview, he shares his thoughts on Vietnam and America.

How did you come to the U.S.? I left Vietnam on April 28, 1975, two days before communist tanks rolled into Saigon. My family and I were airlifted in a C-130 cargo plane out of Tan Son Nhat airport and a few hours before Vietcong shells bombarded the runway and effectively stopped all other flights from taking off. My father was an officer in the South Vietnamese government and he got us passage out of the country. He himself stayed behind and left on a Navy ship on April 30, 1975 when he heard on the radio that General Duong Van Minh, acting president of South Vietnam, had surrendered.

I remember spending a few hours at Clark Air Base in the Philippines, wondering what had just happened. I also remember eating a ham sandwich and drinking milk, my first American meal. It was the best sandwich I ever had in my life though I didn't like the milk. Next we flew to Guam where a refugee camp was already set up to receive tens of thousands of Vietnamese refugees. I was confused, frightened, and from all available evidence -- the khaki army tents in the Guam refugee camp, the scorching heat, the long lines for army food rations, the fetid odor of the communal latrines, the freshly bulldozed ground under my sandaled feet -- I was also homeless. I was 11 years old.

My family and I spent three weeks in Guam and then we went on to spend another week in Camp Pendleton in Southern California. It was freezing there. I had never been out of Vietnam before, and it being a tropical country, well, I was not used to the weather, to say the least. We all wore army jackets given to us by the GIs and mine reached down to my ankles. Luckily, my family was among the first few families who were sponsored out of the camp. My mother's sister was living in San Francisco at the time and she drove down and took us back to San Francisco with her. I went to summer school and entered the 7th grade in autumn and became an American.

Andrew Lam

What was it like for Vietnamese in America when you came? What is it like today? There were no Vietnamese in San Francisco to speak of when I came here in 1975. There was my aunt's family and five other families, and there were diplomats or foreign students who remained in the U.S.. That's how small the Vietnamese community was here.

In school, kids always asked whether I had killed anybody in Vietnam or had seen dead bodies and helicopters being blown up. It was interesting: Vietnam was the first television war and though traumatized by that war, everyone in America knows something about Vietnam. It gave me an entry to the American imagination that was not otherwise available to a kid, say, from Sri Lanka. The truth was that I had not killed anyone but yes, I have seen dead bodies, and had seen burnt out helicopters and villages during the war, being an army brat. I became a story teller. But after a few years, I fit in so well with my American life that I stopped telling my stories. I stopped speaking Vietnamese altogether. Not until college, not until I started dreaming about Vietnam and my childhood again, not until I wanted to become a writer that words came back, language came back, dreams came back, Vietnam came back.

The America that received my family in the mid-70s was not an America that could have imagined a Pacific Rim future. It was an America which had retreated from the Far East, traumatized by its latest adventure abroad. Vietnamese living in America had little access to Vietnam. It was the height of the Cold War. It took six months, if at all, for a letter to reach that country. We were cut off from our homeland in the United States. We adjusted quickly to life in America because of it.

Luckily the first wave of refugees were among the crème de la crème, as they say, of the south -- doctors, lawyers, government officers, professors -- and, having experienced far less trauma than what Vietnamese boat people experienced later on, and having no experience of life under communism (where children of the bourgeois class were deprived of schooling) we adjusted rather quickly in the United States. But we also managed to create a little community and gathered for various occasions, most of which were very political. We rallied each April 30 in front of City Hall in San Francisco and demanded freedom and democracy for Vietnam and so on. We celebrate Tet, Vietnamese new year, together. We mourn the loss of homeland and the fate of being an exile. In other words, we share a particular history, and were very close.

Andrew Lam as a child

Much has changed a quarter of a century later, in a globalized and post-Cold War world...

Today I can e-mail my cousin in Vietnam and I can send him money via a bank. I do not have to hide it in a tube of toothpaste. And movement back and forth between Vietnam and the U.S. is the norm after normalization. Vietnamese newspapers in the States freely advertise flights to Vietnam and phone cards so you can call home to talk to your grandmother anytime you like. If we all considered ourselves exiles in the late 70s, only a small percentage do so now. Now the picture of the Vietnamese community in the United States is a very diverse one. There are still a staunchly anti-communist faction, especially those who suffered life in re-education camps and whose family members were killed by the Hanoi government. But there are also foreign exchange students, tourists from Vietnam, American-born Vietnamese who have no memories of the war, people who go back and forth, and even those who went back to live and work in their homeland, and so on. It's estimated that more than 200,000 Vietnamese living abroad return to Vietnam every year during Tet. I myself have gone back eight times as a journalist. I am more familiar with Saigon than Los Angeles.

America, too, has changed dramatically. Years ago, for instance, it was impossible to find fish sauce, the prime element of Vietnamese cooking. Now you can go to Safeway and get it. Vietnamese and other Asian populations in California have indelibly changed its cultural landscape. America is more accepting of Asian cultures than ever before. When the Vietnamese monk Thich Nhat Hanh spoke at Berkeley last year, there was standing room only, and most of the people who attended were white Americans. Buddhism is on the rise here and the longing for the Far East is growing. Witness the number of Asian directors now working in Hollywood. What was once considered private or ethnic culture is moving into the public sphere... I was interviewed on NPR when Campbell soup decided to make Vietnamese pho -- beef and noodle soup. "How did you feel?" The interviewer asked. "Well," I said, "it seems inevitable. Think of pizza and burritos. Grandma still makes it best, but in America, if it's good, it's appropriated and mass produced." If I associated pho with a particular geography, I have to change my mind. It's an age of open borders and perceptions are shifting very quickly.

As a journalist, what is your perspective on Vietnamese-American community issues? There are several issues that the community is struggling with. There's the language problem. The older generation speaks Vietnamese and the younger English. This is particularly problematic when a person from the older generation speaks no English and the younger person speaks no Vietnamese. How can you communicate? There is a communication gap. Many books written by Vietnamese in the United States are written in Vietnamese, but a generation of Vietnamese born in the United States can not access them. Many turn to libraries as a way to find out about their own history. But books in libraries don't address the South Vietnamese experience. The South Vietnamese are losers in history and very little is devoted to their plight. North Vietnamese have the upper hand. Hanoi rewrites history and that history is now being accessed in the U.S. I met several Vietnamese American kids who asked me to tell them how they got here. "Don't your parents tell you?" I said. And they said: "No. All they said is that we lost a war and that's why we're here. I want to know more." And they should know more. The responsibility of the older generation is to translate or have their works and testimonies, i.e.. life in re-education camps, boat peoples' experiences, adjustment to American life -- translated so that it's accessible to the new generation.

The other issue is the question all diasporas tend to ask: how to sustain a community over time? There are several diasporas that the Vietnamese community can learn from: the Chinese, the Jewish, the Indian. These have been in existence much longer and can provide models for fledgling ones.

What are some of the areas of difference between Vietnamese and American cultures? I think Americans are fond of saying "I love you." Vietnamese are not. Vietnamese don't share words of affections very easily. In fact, it was unusual to see in Daughter from Danang the mother being overly affectionate and saying "I love you" repeatedly. My mother who loves me dearly never says "I love you" in such a way.

It's more typical for Vietnamese to demonstrate affections through gestures. When I went home to visit my parents, my mother would fry a fish as it's my favorite dish. And to show her I love her I would have to eat the whole fish. When I won a journalism award a few years ago, my father was very proud. But he couldn't find the words in Vietnamese to say this so finally he shook my hand (which in itself was very unusual) and said in English: "I'm very proud of you, son." It was the first time I heard him saying something like this and it was in English. In some way, English is used when Vietnamese words fail us. And they tend to be words like proud or love.

Many American-born Vietnamese have complained to me that their parents don't love them. "They never say 'I love you' to me," they'd say. But they don't understand: it's not the standard practice in Vietnam. You have to read affection through gestures and actions.

When I first came to the United States, I also failed to look at teachers in the eyes. In Vietnam it's a sign of disrespect when you look at someone in the eyes. In the United States you are shifty if you don't look at people in the eyes. Even now I tend to shift my focus when I look at someone too long in the eyes. I feel as if I am invading their privacy. Strange but true.

What cultural differences have caused the most difficulty for Vietnamese immigrants to the U.S.? Vietnamese culture puts a strong emphasis on being part of the We. Your individualism is below the need of the many. This is how families survived traditionally. Children are duty-bound to take care of their families. When I went to school at Berkeley, more than half of the Vietnamese student population majored in computer science and electrical engineering. Many told me they didn't want to. It was competitive and difficult. A few wanted to be artists or architects and so on, but their parents were poor or were still in Vietnam. They needed to find a solid footing in America in order to help out the rest of the family.

America, on the other hand, tells you to look out for number 1. It tells you to follow your dream, to have individual ambition. Take care of yourself first. Go on a quest. The Vietnamese American conflict is one where he has to negotiate between his own needs and dreams with that of his family.

I myself was lucky. My parents found jobs and moved us to the suburbs when I was in high school. I didn't have to make money to send home to someone in Vietnam. I was the youngest in the family. There were no big demands on me. I was free to decide what to do with my life. But if my parents had been stuck behind in Vietnam and living in the New Economic Zone, I would have been an electrical engineer by now.

In some way, for Asian immigrants, to learn to negotiate between the I and the We is the most important lesson to learn, a skill much needed in order to appease to both cultures.

Immigrants always face the challenge of how much to assimilate to American culture and how much of their native culture to keep. How has this played out in the Vietnamese American community? I think in many ways normalization with Vietnam has helped boost a revival of Vietnamese culture dramatically. I know young Vietnamese Americans who went back, or visited for the first time, and came back speaking Vietnamese whereas they didn't speak a word before. These totally Americanized kids suddenly feel connected to another place and it gives them an edge over their American counterparts.

I think all Americans would love to have another country connected to their history. Ireland, Italy, China, whatever. To have a hyphen connected to your identity makes you feel cosmopolitan and sophisticated, a bridge to some other place. You have something that you can call your own. This is a recent phenomenon. Before the idea of a melting pot was still the aim, at least by the institutions. But now it's chic to be ethnic, to speak another language, to feel connected to another culture, to another set of values, to a sensibility. It's a post-modern age where options are far more available than they were to someone who lived in America in the mid-20th century. And far more individualistic. You pick and choose. Stay traditional as you want or be as modern as you want. Options are available at your beck and call.

Besides, the pressure to assimilate is no longer as heavy as before. If anything, all Americans are learning to assimilate to new cultures that keep showing up at the American shores. In San Francisco, blacks, hispanics, whites, all know how to use chopsticks. Go to Bolsa in Orange County and see non Vietnamese eating pho and buying Vietnamese groceries. My mother complains that I speak to much English in the house, but as the most conservative member of our family she, too, has changed. She goes to the gym, does aerobics. She prays to Buddha, but bets on football. I don't watch football, but she's fanatic. So who's more American than whom?

Is it true that one of the areas of cultural divergence is the relationship with authorities such as police? Yes, that's true. The problem is that in Vietnam you cannot trust the authorities. In dictatorial countries, there's no good news when the police come calling. You function best when the authorities leave you alone. And worse, in poor countries like Vietnam, petty corruption is a daily event. A cop might stop you and say that you have violated some traffic law. What he means is: "Give me five dollars for breakfast and I'll let you go." The idea that the authorities are on your side is such a novelty that it does not occur to the newly arrived refugee or immigrant to the United States. If you call the police they might arrest you instead of the criminal. There's always a risk as everything could be deemed illegal in Vietnam (and nothing is). Everything can be settled with grease money.

It takes a while to learn to live in a civil society. It takes a while to have the idea that the police work for you sink in. At least that's the idea. In some neighborhoods, the inner city, for example, that may not be true. Also, many Vietnamese are afraid to fill out forms. Census or otherwise. They have this fear that the government will know everything about them and will use the information against them. And even in the United States, given the post 9-11 scenario, there is some valid justification for that fear.

Another is in the difference in health and mental health issues? There's a big difference. You must understand that traditional Vietnamese are Confucian bound. We worship ancestors. We light incense and pray to Grandpas and Grandmas long dead. That is to say, we talk to ghosts. Once I worked as an interpreter and there was a case where a Vietnamese woman was suffering from depression and told the psychologist that she kept seeing her dead husband. He thought she was having some kind of disorder. But I told him it's actually typical. Mind you, I was stepping out of bounds as an interpreter, but I couldn't help myself. My grandmother, when she was alive, saw her dead husband, in dreams, or late at night sitting in his old chair for a brief moment, and there was nothing wrong with her. Practically all old people talk like that lady. It was a way for her to say she mourns her losses. It took a while, but I think the American psychologist came around. They have to: they can't put an entire population in the insane asylum, can they?

The other classic example in terms of health problems is the one that I'm sure that's well recorded in medical school. A little Vietnamese boy showed up in school with red marks on his back. "Who did this to you?" the teacher asked. "My father," he answered. His father was immediately arrested. Having no idea how to explain what he did, his English limited, and lacking money to hire a lawyer, he ended up serving time in jail. He was so frustrated he hung himself. What he did was a typical thing: Vietnamese practice cao gio -- a kind of therapeutic massage for people who come down with a cold. They scrape the skin on your back with a spoon or a coin, using an ointment. He wasn't abusing his child. He was helping him, but nobody believed the man.

Had the U.S. prepared at all for addressing any "culture shock" that the airlifted Vietnamese children might have experienced? I think there was an assumption on the part of the Americans who wanted to adopt those Vietnamese children. That they will assimilate and become Americans. That they will forget Vietnam. That their personal history is not as important as the new reality in which they found themselves. What they were not prepared for is the hunger of memories. Many of those babies may adjust well to America as adults but they also long for their Vietnamese past. They want to know where they come from, who are their relatives, and how can they learn to connect to that past. They will always look, they will always search, they will never be satisfied until they have all the fragments of their life put together. It's an inevitable human impulse.

What parts of Vietnamese culture do you see thriving in Vietnamese-American communities? The wedding is the biggest event in Vietnamese American community. It's the time where people dress up, meet, exchange information and show off their children, meet new people, and so on. Vietnamese in the U.S. live for weddings and a typical wedding has about 300 people at the reception. Five hundred people came to my brother's wedding and it's not the biggest. People invite themselves. They want to come.

Vietnamese newspapers, television shows and magazines are thriving. So much so that the San Jose Mercury News has a Vietnamese language weekly. Vietnamese read quite a bit and they thirst for information regarding Vietnam. Go to any Vietnamese restaurants in the Bay Area and you'll see three or four give-away newspapers full of news on Vietnam.

Vietnamese love their Vietnamese singers. Some Vietnamese American singers make quite a bit of money singing in Vietnamese communities in Los Angeles, San Jose, San Diego, Dallas, Houston, New York. Tickets can go as high as $40 a pop.

Food is thriving. Vietnamese restaurants are packed. I know a Ph.D. student, an American-born Vietnamese. She speaks very little Vietnamese and is a feminist and a vegan. But she has a dark confession: she eats pho soup. Sometimes she can't help herself. She's got to have that beef broth

In a newspaper article, Heidi Bub's adoptive mother, Ann Neville, dismissed the importance of cultural differences, saying, "...we're all part of the human race..." Do you agree? I think we are all part of the human race, but differences will always remain. That's what makes the human race interesting. If everything is merged all you get is a bland, uninteresting picture. It's easy to dismiss other cultures when yours is the dominant one. It's easy to dismiss other sensibilities when you assume yours is the only one that's important, and that it's the only one that matters. We're all part of the human race, but we are different by degree -- and that difference will never go away.

In the film, Heidi rejects her brother's request for financial help. Is Heidi's response personal or cultural? It's expected of you to help your family out, no matter what culture you're from. In the Vietnamese case, it's even more so considering that those who left for the U.S. are in general far more wealthy than those they left behind. An average income in Vietnam is around 400 dollars a year. A Vietnamese American coming home for the first time will always save a few hundred if not a few thousand dollars to give to his family and relatives. For him to leave Vietnam in the first place the family had to sacrifice quite a bit -- gold, land, dollars -- to purchase a seat on a boat for him to escape. He owes them. Many Vietnamese living overseas become an anchor person — someone who will help the rest back home when they make it abroad.

Heidi doesn't understand that tradition or that kind of arrangement at all, having been raised in an American family. And her Vietnamese family didn't understand that she barely knew them. That, in essence, she was a stranger, not someone who was raised by them and shared their belief system. But I think Heidi was also overwhelmed by the needs of her family and though she didn't say it, she herself is not wealthy, or so that was my impression when I watched that movie. She held on to her fantasy of being reunited with her original family without being open to the possibility that it's not all rosy, that they have fantasies of their own.

Heidi did not experience much family closeness growing up. In Vietnam, she was amazed at the love and unity her family there showed. What are the ties that bind a Vietnamese family together? Love and a shared belief system and in many ways poverty. You don't leave at 18 just because you reach 18. You live with your family until you're married and even then you might not have enough money to buy a house for yourself and your spouse. So you create a three-generational family and to do so you must learn to suppress your individualism. You cannot get everything you want because you have to share resources to survive. You learn to live well together and you learn to suppress your own desire. You learn to sacrifice a lot to live in harmony with a large family. But in return, what you get is a kind of insularity that many Americans don't have. You know you'll never be alone. You know that you will be taken care of no matter what. You make that kind of promise to each other. You make that kind of promise to your ancestors' spirit. When you break away from all that, you are seen as selfish or unfilial, and of course, anti-Confucian.

Is it true that opening a gift in front of the giver is considered rude in Vietnam? Does this explain Kim and Vinh's awkwardness in the film about Heidi's gifts? I suppose it might be rude, but I'm also very Americanized and my family and I open Christmas gifts in front of each other all the time. But it's true, traditionally you don't open it in front of the person who gives it to you, though you can ask for permission to open it. I don't' know if Kimand Vinh's awkwardness came from that or rather that they had never received gifts from America before and they were simply awed by the experience. I was, when I was a child in Vietnam and received my first Sears catalog gift from an uncle in the U.S. It was like a miracle. The gift wrap was so beautiful. And the smell of my new pair of jeans was out of this world.

Toward the end of her stay in Danang, Heidi says, "this is not what I had pictured." Was there a way to prepare her for her experience? Hers is not a typical Vietnamese reaction. Vietnamese Americans gossip among themselves and prepare each other for the "shock" of returning. The heat, the mosquitoes, the smell, the needy relatives. You come back with a certain level of cynicism built in. But Heidi, being so disconnected from the community experience, did not have any of that. I think Tran Tuong Nhu, the journalist and interpreter, should have prepared her for it instead of just teaching her "I love you" in Vietnamese. Nhu should have been more savvy as to what happens to the naive returnees.

Do you think Vietnamese Americans might have a different response to the film than non-Vietnamese Americans? I can't say for sure. In some ways Heidi is a non-Vietnamese American with a Vietnamese American dream. Non-Vietnamese Americans can watch her experience unfold and say: yup, I would feel that way too if I were her. I would feel overwhelmed. I would probably run out and look for a McDonald's and get away from the heat. But a Vietnamese American who watches the film might say she should have known better. She should have prepared herself. Poor naive woman. What do you expect when you go to a Third World country that is yearning for a better life. Of course, they would have seen you as a life saver in the middle of a turbulent sea. Between Heidi and her birth family is a gap and it needs to be filled with stories: stories that Heidi needs to tell and stories that her mother and sisters and brother need to tell. They need to bridge that gap before they can make familial demands on one another.

[serenity-the-firefly]

amy tan and specifically amy tan’s the joy luck club really really get it

[excalibur-gone-missing]

Paring: jeonghan x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, 70's au, little to no angst

warnings: none, maybe a few swear words here and there

summary: Jeonghan might be a cocky bastard but when it comes to you he will turn the world upside down, or so he claims.

words: 2k

a/n: I request each and every one of you to comment on this fic don't be a silent reader it helps me as an author to understand my readers and i would love to communicate with all of you. Constructive criticism is always welcomed by me so do talk about this fic or send me an ask. Plus if you loved it enough don't forget to reblog, it will help me reach a larger audience.

a/n 2: i heard a podcast and it made me want to write this fic because the love story of the two hosts was sooo damn cutee.

You knew Jeonghan from when you were literally a kid.

His father had moved to your city after a presentation from little Jeonghan on how to make a pocketknife using ice cream sticks that he learnt from his local friends, his mother mortified that her little sweet child would grow up to become a goon forced his father to change cities to go as far away from the place they physically could.

It was during his fathers pursuit for a stable Korean community in Canada’s ever-growing cities did he come across the name of your grandfather’s in the phonebook that sounded very much similar to his. Your grandfather being the trusting and kind man he was invited his father for a dinner in his house the following day and this event kickstarted a relationship between the two families wherein, his father bought a house six minutes away from yours in the small part of your city inhabited by mostly Asians.

You both had met when he was seven and you were only three, he still remembers babysitting you when you were in middle school as your parents trusted no one more than him. So, when he broke the beautiful glass table in your living room, he had skillfully blamed you resulting in a three-hour long lecture from your parents about taking care of ones possessions.

You hated Jeonghan then, you really did, so you refused to talk to him for the next almost five years.

Until you both found yourselves in a duet dance opposite to each other because it was the neighborhood talent show and it was mandatory for the kids to participate. Typical Asian parents.

To no ones surprise your dance number got a tad bit too much hype from the watchers and it kickstarted another full year of you both not talking to each other at all because of the teasing glances and suggestive remarks from adults and children alike.

The time you both talked to each other again was when it was you senior year prom at high school and your father being the overprotective man he was, did not allow you to go because according to him ‘prom is how American kids end up getting pregnant.’

He was wrong of course; kids get pregnant due to having sex but you being the soft-spoken kid you were did not have the gal to inform him that. You would rather spend the night being sad and watching Simpsons and crying about how unfair it is for your parents to not let you go and experience the night considered to rank number one in peak American high school experience.

This was the first time you saw Jeonghan as your lord and savior, which you obviously will never tell him because it will do nothing but fuel his over-the-top ego. But that day he had stepped in and talked to you father.

“It’s an experience and everyone should be able to experience it, I think you are wrong sir to take away this from your daughter,” he had oh so righteously said.

“Son, I would let her only if you take her, as I don’t trust anyone but you with my daughter.”

“So, I shall then.”

Now did this conversation shock you? Yes, it did especially your father’s response to Jeonghan, but you were not going to stir up any feminist conversation with your father right now, not when you just got the pass to go to prom.

That night was something you barely remember; it has been twenty years since then and you barely care about the overly hyped kids and the future alcoholics that you encountered that night. Now that you are wise and older, you understand your parents concern. Suzy from you class had become a mother at the prime age of eighteen, nine months later. You are thankful that your father made the wise choice for you that day.

That night from what you remember was just plain boring, you had come back at 11 to a quite house, had talked to the boy for the entirety of the night, watched the sunrise with him and at the end had hugged him thanking him for taking you to prom.

After that incident, you both had again gone onto your own ways and had not talked to each other for another year till the next family function, where you both were the only kids of the same age present as all your other friends were out of the country for college.

That weekend had sparked a friendship between you both, as you always stuck to each other’s side seeking comfort from one another as talking to anyone else somehow always circled back to your marriage and their extreme concern for your depleting eggs.

The friendship you both wove lasted a long while, throughout your college. Till one day you come back from a trip to Daegu, and he was there standing at the airport ready to rush you away from your family to the nearest Starbucks because he had some news for you.

Once in the café he informed you that he had landed the job he had been trying for right after finishing college. You were elated for him, so happy that you almost forgot to tell him about the potential marriage partner your parents had whipped up during your two-week-long stay there.

Jeonghan being the man he was asked you up front to marry him, confessing his hidden feeling for you and how the weight of them might have just decreased his height. Dramatic bitch.

You being brough back to reality told him no and stated the reason to be man you could have potentially married. He obviously told you to say no to this unknown ‘son of a bitch’ and accept his proposal.

So being the bigger person, because Jeonghan obviously refused to, you reminded him that you had never dated anyone let alone him and you will not marry a man you have not dated.

This conversation then ignited your relationship the first step of which was turning down the said ‘son of a bitch’ while telling your father you wanted to focus on your career more, which you really did. Fast forward six months and while keeping up the long-distance relation with frequent phone calls late at night because your parents might pick up the landline and eavesdrop if its during the day, while at the same time trying to search for a job near Boston went on.

On one late Sunday afternoon as you were sitting on the kitchen island sipping on coffee you got an email from on of the companies, you had given an interview to, informing you had gotten an onsite job that would require you to move to Cambridge, and you were over the moon.

So, the preparations began for your send off and again Jeonghan stepped in like the messiah he is. He is absolutely not one, you refuse to accept. The man went ahead and told your conservative father he will give up his life to take care of you, till this date you claim it will be the opposite if a situation like that befalls you both. After packing your bags, you were on your merry way to live with the man.

It took you both some time to adjust to the new settings he would be over at your place during the weekends and sometimes you would be at his. This continued for another year or so before one night as you both were laying on the bed together when Jeonghan suddenly piped up.

“I think you should see other people.”

Not understanding what he meant you turned towards the guy and asked, “what do you mean?”

“I know we will end up marrying each other, so I want you to experience dating other men too, so you don’t get to ever claim I was the only guy in your life,” he explained to you.

You had yet to get a taste of exactly how much of a cocky motherfucker you are dating, said innocently.

“But Jeonghan you are the only guy I ever dated.”

That was the end of that conversation that night before you both went to sleep, but his urging never stopped. It went on for a few days till one day your exhausted and a tad bit insecure self, lashed out at him claiming he wanted to cheat on you, and he wanted a break. So, you gave one to him.

That entire year you had a flower bouquet delivered early morning to your house with an apology letter, although the apologies lasted only for a month before you forgave the terrified man, who apologized profusely after you accepted to talk to him. Even though you did feel a bit bad after seeing him, the guy looked like he was living during the great depression.

After that all was smooth sailing and he never ever tried to upset you at all, but his playful nature persisted anyways, not like you minded that.

Five years later during your sister’s wedding in Singapore was when his proposal was finally accepted. You had just arrived at the airport and yet again the man had swooped in and taken you away from your family under the guise of some kind of sound check that was needed to be done in the wedding venue.

Your clueless self agreed to go with him and without a second thought he took you to the cables to take you to an island that was nowhere close to the wedding venue. As you were getting increasingly confused, you kept asking him where exactly you both were going. He kept deflecting the topic, so you ultimately gave up and, as another family came up on the cable car, you started talking about your flight that you took with your family. The poor man did not hear one word, he was sweating bullocks and was essentially confused why another family was in the cable car that he had fully booked for you both.

As the family got down at the end, he stopped you from doing so too claiming it is not the stop, even though it was the last one. It was then the nervous wreck of a man got down on one knee in front of asking for your hand in marriage once again, and you being so in love with him accepted to spend the rest of your life with the man.

The rest of it was history, you both had to tell your parents none of whom were shocked at all, rather relieved that you both had at last agreed to get married and be together forever.

Now ten years later and with your two children, you are perfectly content with your life. Waking up with Jeonghan beside you everyday sounds like a dream and you are happy it came true for you.

As you tossed around the bed you saw Jeonghan eyeing you in his half-awake state.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“Us,” you answer snuggling closer to him.

“What about us, huh?”

“The way you forced me to date some other guy because you wanted me to have more experience in dating,” you laughed at the memory.

“Don’t tell me about that it still haunts me till this day” he retorts with a shudder.

“Why did you do it anyways?” you ask.

“I knew I was going to marry you so I wanted you to have some more experience with dating others so whenever you have an argument I could say ‘hey remember that looser you dated!’”, he answers with laugh.

With a laugh you slapped his shoulder exclaiming, “I sometimes forget how cocky you can get!”

"How else do you think I got the permission to propose you in someone else's marriage!" he states sassily.

With that Jeonghan snuggles closer to you some more, its Sundays anyways the kids are with their grandparents and you both have all the time in the world to just bask in each other’s presence and not do anything at all.

[tarjapearce]

Iridiscent

PirateAU! Miguel x Mermaid! Reader

Thanks to @sarapaprikas-blog for the idea ❤️✨. Been loving to experience with different AU'S lately ✨. Hope you like!

Warnings: Mild angst and historical figure mentions, implied mysticism ~

Prologue ✨

Pt. 2

As far as history was told, the sea had been the biggest grave in the world. Countless men, nations and civilizations perished under the might of the ever infinite sea. Not many dared to venture, after all, the stories of countless ships sunk under behemoth waves reached through all dry land known.

But that didn't stop the greatest empires to expand and colonize newly discovered lands thanks to years of observation. Many thought of the sea a living being, a being that could be tamed or at least controlled enough to small civilizations to be born in lands people only dreamed of.

However, as the sea earned it's title of a living creature, the mysticism around it grew. Many believed the sea was a she, and bringing a woman on board only made her jealous. A common belief among outcasts and pirates. Something that was debunked as the golden age of piracy advanced.

But even so, the word spread around was that the sea favored female pirates better than men. Lagertha, Mary Read, Anne Bonnie, Zheng Shi, Grace O'Malley, to name a few of the most iconic pirates that against all, conquered, navigated, commanded and plundered at their contempt.

Many believed that they had done a pact with the devil himself, but others strongly believed that there were creatures below that left no trace once the women settled for a target. Mermaids.

Creatures often described as the beauty of death itself embodied. Beautiful women luring men to their inevitable deaths. Something, that some men longed for, and feared by others. The rumor was that if you caught a mermaid alive, the creature was bound to grant you a wish.

But for Miguel, they were nothing but myths and lies. A once young and naive self had ventured in the sea to find one, so he could cure his daughter once the land medics had abandoned all hope. And so he did, once his little girl had closed her twinkling innocent eyes, full of dreams, forever.

He was a changed man after that. He didn't allow his men to talk about such nonsensical things in his ship, Reina Gabriela, and poor of the man that was caught red handed. Reason had gotten him where he was, a feared outlaw among the Spaniards and English folk alike. Not by his overall intimidating looks, but the ruthless and cunning of his attacks.

The Red Eyed Demon, they called him.

------

Miguel had settled the route towards an island that promised a proper restock of his resources. He would let his men unwind, he'd probably spend the night away with a well prepared courtesan. The type of woman that knew how to entertain him beyond the physical ways, once they were on land.

By sunset, he would be landing. The island itself wasn't a problem, the inhabitants of it were. At least for him, full of highly superstitious people, that were always showering him in foul smelling concoctions, lung itching fumes and heavy charms of protection to "cleanse the spirit of anything that could drag you and your ship down".

Isla del Sol, or Sunny Island as many called it, was like a secret hideway-paradise for Pirates that stopped by to rest. Opposite from what the Spaniards and English believed, the Island was run under the command of a council of five.

A retired English commander that did better as a pirate than a law enforcer named Edward, A Spaniard pirate well versed in the arts of administration named Xavier, A jamaican man which eloquence only rivaled the Queen's erudites themselves named Toussaint, An asian woman trained in the arts of killing and weaponry named Sheng Hyun, and a white haired chaman whose wisdom was often seeked by the rest.

So far the island had worked and thrived under their command. They had even asked Miguel to join them, because of his strategic and cunning mind. But of course, he refused. A man like him wasn't easily bound to bureaucratics, even though, ironically he had strict rules in his ship.

His men were loyal, after all, Miguel took proper care of his crew. Well fed, healthy, well armed, and now, well rested. Reina Gabriela approached the docks and soon the men worked. Some put the extended sails away, others put the weaponry in their place, others cleaned and so on. Everyone had a role aboard, and Miguel made sure for them to accomplish it.

He threw a small pouch of gold to a nearby man to watch over his ship as he was out. The island felt like another city, but difference was, that inside land there were no guards, no laws that didn't benefit them. And if anyone caused a ruckus, Sheng Hyun was sent to deal with it, personally.

His men scattered around, except for the quarter master, the cook, weaponry master, Navy Engineer and doctor. They discussed briefly the upgrades for the ship, new dishes to the menu, and new places to get weapons, medicines and sturdier woods from. He dismissed them once everyone had their list, then he was alone.

His feet took him nearby the merchants as they exposed their goods to everyone passing by. Guards uniforms, royal weapons and wax seals perfect for an unsuspecting ruse, medicines, a new type of powder that was a bit more waterproof, Chinese explosives, sedating darts, portraits of naked royal women, some gemstones, and of course, luck charms and talismans.

He scoffed as his eyes rolled at the various trinkets. He had to admit that whoever came with these ideas had found a gold mine that relied in people's blind faith, probably would shake their hand if he ever knew who it was. One trinket stood out from the rest.

It was an iridescent pearl, a quarter size of his palm, along some black and pearly scales protuding ontop. There was no chain around it to be worn, the merchant noticed him staring at the trinket and smiled.

"Good if y'wanna catch a mermaid. They love shiny things."

Miguel looked at him with an eyebrow quirked and a skeptical look.

"You seem confident enough to sell these... crafts."

"Ah, another nonbeliever. Tis'fine mate. I've dealt with so many like you before. Mostly of the non believing part roots from something denied to you in the past. Am'i'rite?"

Miguel's jaw clenched softly at the boldness of the man. He looked like the typical merchant with shady business on the side.

"Leave this man alone, Joseph." The chaman of the council spoke behind Miguel as she took the pearl in her old, wrinkled hands.

"Come" He motioned Miguel to follow. Despite being a highly spiritual woman, the council's chaman did not pressure him into believing, but rather spoke to him sometimes in riddles. Riddles that he grew tired of eventually. He followed.

"A surprise to find you watching these sort of trinkets, Miguel."

"Hard to not when they get stranger and colorful each time I come here."

The elder lady hooked her arm on his as she supported on Miguel, that secured her as he walked next to her.

"I'd be grateful if you wouldn't speak about anything mystic tonight."

"Wasn't my intention, boy. But I must say, you've got quite the eye for these things. It's a real pearl, if you wish to sell it."

Miguel kept walking, being led by the chaman.

"Or I could gift it to a mermaid" Miguel chuckled and the lady looked at him with curious eyes.

"Well, to do such thing, you'd have to find one first."

"I won't, cause they're not real."

The chaman smiled smugly at him.

"What would you do if your homeland got infested with rotting bodies, blood and so many other unpleasant things continuously?"

"I'd look for a new home." he humored, but the lady only nodded in approval.

"And what kind of home you'd look for?"

"One that wasn't near the cities or civilization. Probably a secret manantial or even a virgin island"

The lady smiled

"Congratulations, Miguel. You now have the first lead into finding a mermaid."

"You can't expect me to believe such things."

"No lo espero, pero sé que tu curiosidad por dichas criaturas ha aumentado. ¿Qué es lo deseas tener?" (I don't, but I know for sure that your curiosity for such creatures have peaked your interest. What is it you long for?)

Miguel looked down at the lady, wistfully and she rubbed his arm comfortingly. Like a grandma would.

"My dear. Mystical creatures can only do so much, Miguel. Sadly, bringing back the dead isn't something they can do."

"No sabes de lo que hablas. No me conoces" (You don't know what you are talking about. You don't know me)

He seethed the last words as his grip abandoned the lady. His body tensed when the chaman reached out again to take his large hand.

"Loss is part of our lives, Miguel" Her wrinkled hands put the pearl in his hand, hers covered his warmly, pushing the trinket further in his hands, "And we all move on eventually. Life is full of wonders, and who knows, maybe what you find ahead in your path is exactly what you need"

He nearly growled as another riddle was added to the list.

"Te dije que te dejaras de-" (Thought I told you to quit the-)

His mouth gaped slightly, the lady was gone. He was left alone with the pearl in his hand, "Acertijos..." (Riddles...) he sighed and stared at the pearl, to then tuck it back on his pocket.

What was he longed for?

[txttletale]

i don’t know if you’re white or non-asian but. i do think that your take on EEAAO fundamentally misunderstands a lot of the commentary about immigrant east asian parenting and family units. it’s not a retelling of the “abusive parent” trope it’s bringing light to the specific generational trauma that asian immigrant families often experience, especially low income ones like the Wangs. talking about the “very lib model of The Family” and saying it’s “ideologically repellent” rubbed me the wrong way because it’s absolutely a story that has Never Been Told Before.

it’s fine if you didn’t like the movie. but if that was your main takeaway and you don’t see how any of the things i mentioned make it an important film, you might want to think about that.

i am not asian-american but i am latina which also means my community is full of the same normalizing / excoticizing bullshit about how our abusive parents are just Culturally Misunderstood or whatever & i simply do not buy it or care for it. & of course i have seen many asian people espouse this same perspective 'cause yknow any minority group is not a monolith.

it is also very silly to call the wangs low income when they are literally small business owners and the impetus of the film is the threat of getting tax audited. the aspirational model of the immigrant success story is absolutely deeply liberal and the film is absolutely very focused on the family as moral good and the restoration of it as prima facie correct and healing. i also personally think it drops the ball on intergenerational trauma conceptually because while evelyn goes through a whole personal journey to become a better person and stop inflicting her trauma on her husband and daughter, the old fuck who gave her that trauma doesn't go on a journey for shit and the film just gives him a pass for having done absolutely nothing

overall, like i said, i think it handles its themes better than most mainstream films (low bar), but i do not think being about asian immigrants meaningfully changes the film's politics around or relation to the concept of the family which i was critiquing.

[desertdollranch]

As 'Barbie' becomes the only billion-dollar blockbuster solely directed by a woman, one doll maker in the Bay Area is hoping to break barriers of her own.

When 3-year-old Jillian Mak asked for her first doll last year, her mom, Elenor Mak, couldn't wait to get her one.

But her excitement turned to disappointment the moment she set foot in the store. 

"There were rows and rows of Caucasian dolls [with] blond hair and blue eyes," she said. "And then, on the very side, there were these ethnic characters that looked ambiguously Asian, Latina. You just weren't sure."

She ended up buying the closest thing she could find, a doll with big green eyes and dark brown hair. But the idea that in 2022 she couldn't find a single accurate Asian American doll, in San Francisco of all places, was hard to wrap her mind around. 

"Dolls are not just a toy that's in passing," she explained. It's the child's first imaginary friend. It's the child trying to make sense of the world."

That's when Elenor Mak decided to do something about it. She started by doing an online search for "How to make a doll?"  

Then, she searched for an Asian toy maker. For the next few months, they researched everything from eye shape to skin tones to hair color.  

"We would go out in the sun and look at our black hair and compare it to these samples," she said. 

While there were a few Asian American dolls by big-name companies like American Girl, she thought they were "too stereotypical."

"We talk about how she loves sports," she said. "It's not a traditional association."

She named her doll Jilly Bing — Jilly for her daughter's nickname, and Bing is the Chinese word for cookie. One of Jilly's accessories is a hat that flips into an egg tart.

"We wanted kids to have fun and delight in learning about different Asian foods," she said.

Maria Teresa Hart, the author of the book 'Doll,' said being able to see yourself in them is critical. 

"We have all of our feelings and assumptions about society are all contained in these toys and children are smart they do pick up on that" she said. "They may not be able to articulate it as well as we can, but they do understand what is being shown to them."

Elenor Mak is now planning a whole cast of "lovable characters" she said will reflect the entire Asian American experience, including bi-racial dolls. 

Jilly Bing, which sells for $68 online, seems to have struck a chord, the dolls began shipping on Aug. 1, with hundreds of pre-orders. 

But the only customer that really matters is the one living in her house. 

When asked what she loved most about Jilly Bing, 3-year-old Jillian exclaimed: "Everything!"

[whore-ibly-hot]

UGHHHH I THINK JOEY IS THE LITERAL VILLAGE DARLING AND HEART THROB!!!

i think almost every girl in the village wants him and gets love struck when he's around. a lot of parents introduce their daughters to him but he just simply and politely rejects them. he is always watched by village girls while he's doing work. he even gets gifts, but he just simply can't accept. i think that he's the youngest and most desired McCall since he's not married yet and is extremely youthful and handsome. every grandparents thinks he's cute and he's always polite to elderlies and often gets bread or fruit. a lot of young men gets pretty jealous to joey too.

plus, i think a lot of redneck girls get pretty jealous of the reader since he's only paying attention to her. they're also angry too since, how dare she be mean to sweet boy Joey?!

i also headcannon reader, to having really dark, silky, black hair. i think it's one of the reasons why Joey got attracted to her, maybe because she's different? i also think that she has pretty close genetics to the town people since one of the parents may come from the village, but i think the other parent is another descent, maybe her father is asian? im not entirely sure, and that's just my headcannon. but of course this is different for everybody's taste, it's just mine!

anyways, i love your writing and you are now one of my favorite authors here on tumblr! i hope the best for you author-chan!

~ 🩷

I don't ever apply headcanons to the readers physical attributes, but Joey would definitely like a reader with attributes not found in his town. The poor boy would definitely look up ways he could compliment you without seeming like he was fetishing you.

One misconception is that Joey is the youngest overall! His family has 6 kids, two older boys and one older daughter, then Joey (the youngest boy), then two younger girls.

The townsfolk only know of reader because of what Joey has said, so while the adults think it's cute there together, the girls and boys in town do not think so. It doesn't help that they have probably had first hand experience with pur readers bitchy behavior. They had better hope that Jory doesn't catch wind of any rumors being spread about his baby, because any girl or boy caught talking like that are in for a grounding, or scorn by the town and church until they apologize for spreading 'contemptuous rumors and slander', as the priest would say.

(Thank you some much for the compliment, I really enjoy writing here!)

[rederiswrites]

One of my favorite stupid human tricks is the way we share unpleasant experiences, which is handy because it's also a very Tumblr thing.

When I was in college, I took a couple of my best friends to the greenhouse I worked at as a teenager, and in the time since I worked there they'd started growing and carrying stevia. These days most nurseries have stevia, but it was a very new thing then, and I'd never encountered it in plant form. So I picked a bottom leaf, popped it in my mouth, and bit down.

In case you've never done this, lemme tell you, fresh stevia is very powerfully sweet and very powerfully flavored. I bit down exactly once, then my eyes flew open and I *plep*-ed the leaf right back out into my hand, only slightly crushed, and I said, "OMG. You have to try this."

And they both did. The specific leaf I had already chewed, too. We're not heathens, pulling apart nursery plants! I don't remember them needing any convincing--clearly they both also wanted to experience the extraordinary and not pleasant thing. Because we are human, and that sort of nonsense is how we got here.

I am glad to have cultivated this same open-armed curiosity in my children, as well. I have a wonderfully fond memory of sitting in the car at the Asian grocery store with my daughter as we both tried our new experimental drinks. We hated them. Just awful. And we laughed til we cried, watching each other try them again just to be sure, watching each other's faces of disgust and bafflement. We declared it an excellent experiment.

Because if I have to see it, so do you.

[milknhonies]

Sir Sherlock Holmes & The Indian Princess MasterList

शर्लक बाबू और भारतीय राजकुमारी

Story Summary: It's 1890 in the height of the British Raj occupation of India you are unexpectedly hired as the housekeeping attendant of Detective Sherlock Holmes. The mystery he must solve is the death of his best friend's parents. Cultural differences might bring you closer than ever before.

Pairing: Sherlock Homes x Newalkar!reader

Story Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Dark!Content, Kama Sutra, Religion, Religious Icons, Murder, Poison, Death, implied Genocide, Racial Discrimination, Loss of Virginity, Loss of Innocence, Rough Sex, Humiliation, Kink, Sword fights, Outdoor Sex, Age Gap, Royalty, Generational Trauma, Daddy Issues, Internalised Misogyny, Sexism, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Spanking.

Author Notes:

★The Reader character goes by the last name Newalkar and is the daughter of Damodar Rao Newalkar → the adopted son of Rani Laxmibai. I must advise this story is pure fiction but based in the occupation of the British Raj that invaded and Colonised India.

★This story may contain scenes that provide a "White Saviour" theme. The reader is a strong character but Sherlock does have white privilege.

★I am a White European/Australian woman, I apologise for any cultural or historical inaccuracies. I am receiving help from online sources and desi Tumblr mutual @livesinfantasyland and I heavily encourage other Indian/South Asian/Desi readers to share their thoughts, constructive criticism and help as I write this story.

★I would like to express the knowledge that I do not approve or perform of any of the actions the characters of this fanficition demonstrate.

★This story is not fit for every viewers eyes and it will be glorifying acts of trauma and of characters that shouldn't be in reality.

★If you do not wish to see this content please block #SHTIP (scroll and you'll find it is the first tag.)

★This story might be alarming and severely upsetting for people who have had experiences with racial discrimination, misgonistic sexism, religious trauma and sexual coercion.

★If you'd like to be included in or removed from the Taglist, please comment below

★Chapter List★

Chapter 1 - Word Count: 6k

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★Helplines★:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.