Labrador & Shih Tzu

Dogs. They’re man’s best friend. These little creatures are adorable. They come in a variety of breeds. We have the Pit Bull (that are not a problem by the way, the owners are), the Husky, the Spaniel, or even the Terrier. Anyway, my point is that there’s a lot and they’re all different and they’re unique in their own special way. Imagine a group of Labradors. It doesn’t matter if they’re black or white (yes, I’m quoting my man…R.I.P. the King of Pop). They all fit in. They’re all a family even if they’re not related because they look the same. If you put one different dog in the mix, let’s say a Shih Tzu, it would be weird. This last one is going to be the only one that’s completely different from the rest of the group. Eventually, there’s probably going to be another dog like him that’s going to join in or the Labradors won’t even mind him anymore. What happens when two dogs, one Labrador and one Shih Tzu, fall in love? Please tell me that you already know about the birds and the bees. The result: a baby! Now, it’s not going to be a puppy that’s going to be 100 percent Labrador or Shih Tzu. It’s going to be half of each. The little one is going to stand out a lot more than a simple difference in breeds. It’s a mix of two different objects. When you mix two distant things you get a weird/unnatural result. The pup is going to be the easy target in the bunch, getting teased, pushed around, ridiculed, etc. At this point, you probably get what I’m trying to say. The fucked-up mix is going to be miserable and alone. Well, that crazy baby is me.

My dad is Chinese and my mom is Canadian (I’m proud of myself because I researched a Canadian dog breed and a Chinese dog breed for my comparison). My face stands out more than the rest. I’m white but I have slanting eyes. At school or at work, I never truly fit in. I’ve heard them all: “Oh, it’s going to get better," “It’s only a phase,” or “Kids are mean so don’t worry.” Well, that’s not true (except the last one. Kids are Satan’s poisoned gifts). I live in a small town near Montreal (in Quebec, Canada), so there’s not a big diversity in nationalities. When I was a kid (I’m still acting like one but that’s a detail) I was teased but I didn’t understand it. I saw myself exactly like I saw the other kids. I thought I was normal. I was playing with them. They laughed but I didn’t know why and I didn’t mind. When I got a little bit older, let’s say around ten-years-old, I understood why the other kids were pointing their fingers at me and teasing me. For example, in my lunch box, I had Asian and Canadian snacks. People were curious about them. Some idiot started saying that I was eating dogs or cats. That shit escaladed quickly (faster than the USA’s desperate cry for a new, or even just a decent, leader). In high school, I had the chance to be in a strict school, so there was no bullying or teasing. Well, not a lot. I had a sticker (not a literal one) that was always on my back saying that I was THE Asian of the school. It was okay. At this part of my life, I thought that it was going to get better, that kids were indeed mean (I still think that), but I wasn’t going to be with them anymore. I was on my way to becoming a woman, an adult. The last part of this shit show, the present. I was wrong when I thought that I wasn’t with kids anymore. Adults are just big-ass kids. I have received multiple racist nicknames and extremely mean jokes about my mixed-race self. “Yellow face,” “Are you being paid $3.50 for the day?” “Oh, shit I won’t let you meet my dog because you’ll probably eat him,” “Your parents must be disappointed in you studying in arts instead of becoming a doctor!” etc. These are some of the awesome names and jokes (of good taste I might add) that I receive daily.

The sad truth about this story: I was never white enough to fit in with the “normal” kids and I was never Chinese enough to fit in with the Asians. I was, and I still am, stuck in the middle. The awkward part: it’s like a popsicle. The first part is awesome. The ending is the best. The middle is the part where you stab your own mouth with the freaking wooden stick.

The fun truth about this story: You get fucking strong, physically and emotionally. When someone makes fun of you it’s only because they’re not satisfied or they’re not okay with the life that they are living. So, if you’re feeling good and enjoying yourself, everything’s going to be fine. I wish I had known this a long time ago.