I realize—this was how my mom behaved around white men. She kept her distance from white fathers of classmates, crossing the street even. I’d assumed she was being demure, immigrant, Korean. But here I am at thirty, the woman whose combat boots were the loudest on campus, along with her voice, as she stomped into lecture halls to stand in front of the whiteboard, now moving through Stockholm with head down, mincing steps—the shy, frightened, meek Asian girl she vowed never to be.
