Vandalism is an Attack
I belonged to an American community in Kentucky for seven years. Underlying racism against me was manifested in more ways than one. I was a little, fresh off the boat, Asian who drove a sporty red
“Look! She’s going 60 along Broadway,” one of the ladies in my car said, apparently observing my driving.
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.
“Duh! You don’t read the speed limit?!” She replied and pointed to me one that says 35. We all laughed.
During those years, friend or foe, no one took a step to vandalize Slick.
In the Philippines, for years, I drove for acquaintances I met in urban poor areas. Some were a shower away from looking homeless. Some of those were uneducated. Some were on the run from criminal record. I never charged for the ride. It was endearing to see them be very careful not to make a mess in my car. I saw one or two wipe off a smear they didn’t create, in gratitude for the free rides. Once in while I got an offer to wash my car that I always declined. I wanted them to see me as a friend, not a benefactor. One of them, a woman, was observing my driving and admiringly said “Look! She just made a U-Turn going 60 without stepping on the brakes!” I did not even know that was wrong. I liked that it make me look cool without trying.
Here in California, for five years, I drove Filipina associates who didn’t have a car. As my usual, the ride is free. One difference is that every ride is a driving test. My riders here keep criticizing my driving worse than a cop on duty, as if they’re expert drivers even if they never drove. They speak to me like I’m a thirteen year old student driver. I’ve been driving for forty years, since I was twenty six years old.
One of my Filipina frequent free riders developed a controlling attitude. When we were shopping, she questioned my spending like it was her money saying, “Didn’t you just buy one of those recently? Why are you buying again?” She kept giving me directions even when I knew perfectly well where we were going, even to places I had driven to, so many times. I should have seen red flags when she said, “Why don’t you associate with an American group?” She was trying to get rid of me. I didn’t get the message, so she did this behind my back, while I was driving.
See also:Keying In A Filipina's View of Rural Kentucky Memory is Selective
“Look! She’s going 60 along Broadway,” one of the ladies in my car said, apparently observing my driving.
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.
“Duh! You don’t read the speed limit?!” She replied and pointed to me one that says 35. We all laughed.
During those years, friend or foe, no one took a step to vandalize Slick.
In the Philippines, for years, I drove for acquaintances I met in urban poor areas. Some were a shower away from looking homeless. Some of those were uneducated. Some were on the run from criminal record. I never charged for the ride. It was endearing to see them be very careful not to make a mess in my car. I saw one or two wipe off a smear they didn’t create, in gratitude for the free rides. Once in while I got an offer to wash my car that I always declined. I wanted them to see me as a friend, not a benefactor. One of them, a woman, was observing my driving and admiringly said “Look! She just made a U-Turn going 60 without stepping on the brakes!” I did not even know that was wrong. I liked that it make me look cool without trying.
Here in California, for five years, I drove Filipina associates who didn’t have a car. As my usual, the ride is free. One difference is that every ride is a driving test. My riders here keep criticizing my driving worse than a cop on duty, as if they’re expert drivers even if they never drove. They speak to me like I’m a thirteen year old student driver. I’ve been driving for forty years, since I was twenty six years old.
One of my Filipina frequent free riders developed a controlling attitude. When we were shopping, she questioned my spending like it was her money saying, “Didn’t you just buy one of those recently? Why are you buying again?” She kept giving me directions even when I knew perfectly well where we were going, even to places I had driven to, so many times. I should have seen red flags when she said, “Why don’t you associate with an American group?” She was trying to get rid of me. I didn’t get the message, so she did this behind my back, while I was driving.
See also:Keying In A Filipina's View of Rural Kentucky Memory is Selective
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