the other white meat

Yellow seems to be the color of choice for the so-called open-minded elite.  Yes I’m talking about you preppy private school boys that date something off the white spectrum, which shows everyone you obviously can’t be racist, but not too off spectrum that you find yourself with someone with that “funky smell.”  Yes you know who you are and yes I heard you say it.  But let me just say, we (as in all Asians) are not the other white meat.  And I have to say we, because you’ve clumped us all together.  We may not be as blonde, long and lean as chicken, but apparently we’re “perfectly acceptable” on your carnivorous diet.
 
In prep school, We yellow girls were the girls that were “okay to date,” the token so to speak, a yellow notch on the worldly belt of the top percentile.  And by date, I don’t really mean date.  I was over the moon when approached by the dashing Mr. Popular.  I didn’t even think he knew my name.  Then came Mr. Legacy and then Mr. Old Money and then ... the attention quickly faded when my pants didn’t magically fall off in their glorious presence.  Turns out they didn’t want to date me.  It was more a yellow right of passage, a classed up “happy ending” so to speak.  It was appalling, for sure.  But more so than that, (and I really hate to admit it) it was self-esteem-shattering. 
 
But, contrary to what stereotypes purport, I did have a backbone when it came to this.  I didn’t open my legs for a fabulous 16 second quickie in high school.  Yeah for me!  And they couldn’t slap that nerdy Asian stereotype on me, cause I was really bad at school!  So I fell into the last Asian stereotype – the eager-to-please virgin sidekick, the Robin to the blonde bitch brigade – i.e. the purse carrier.  (It turns out my backbone didn’t extend to being okay with being a social nobody.  It was a low time for me, don’t judge. The Asia you see today is a buildup of one hardened callus after another.  Calling the Waaa-ambulance as we speak).
 
Some might say my outspoken outer voice is classic over-compensation for being put in my place in high school.  I say who gives a crap where my outer voice comes from.  At least now, my outer voice more closely resembles my inner voice .. and it’s loud.  Yes it’s often off-putting, I know.  I’m working on it.  Sort of.  After all, Rome wasn’t built in a day.  All I know is I am no longer number two.  I am no longer the agreeable choice.  I am Asia.  Hear me roar.