Birds and Cowards

Birds and Cowards

BY SABINA LEE

Staff Blogger

Monday, March 25, 2013

Nothing like a few “chings” and “chongs” and a bird realize my own cowardice.

Over spring break, I had a chance to spend a week in Manhattan. The blue-tinted skyscrapers, clichéd bumbling taxis, aromatic ethnic street carts, streets busy with tightly packed restaurants and bright lights – there’s nothing quite like the humming energy and sharp ambition in the Manhattan water. But let’s be real – does anyone ever ignore New York’s food options?

In an attempt to test whether New York style cheesecake was a myth or reality, a friend and I decided to check out a famous diner-like restaurant in Midtown. I don’t write a food blog – but let me tell you, it would be my dream job to do so – but let me put it this way: that single slice of cheesecake was certainly worth its $11. On our way out, we decided to take a peek at the restaurant’s other cheesecake flavors: blueberry, pineapple, cherry, chocolate, oreo, double mountain, you name it. While my friend basked in the glory of these calorically frightening cheesecakes, I heard a few “chings” and “chongs.”

I looked around and made eye contact with a young man in chef’s attire in the back of the restaurant with another colleague as he went, again, “Ching chong ching chong.” I stared unbelievably at his cheeky grin – was this man for real? I looked away, hoping that if he were out of sight, he would disappear; but in reality I contemplated: Could I realistically confront this man and risk potential public humiliation in an attempt to stand up to my ethnic identity and individual sovereignty? Not willing to potentially lose face I angrily – and helplessly – flipped him the bird on my way out.

Outside, I told my friend of what had happened and anguished over my cowardice. She hesitated midstep and did a double take: “What? Where is he?”

“I mean, he’s in the back of the restaurant. Should we go back in?” I asked.

She and I faltered and halfheartedly decided not to. But ultimately, this reluctance to confront those who have done us personal wrong, this timidity to individually stand up for our personal rights reflects upon my Asian-American upbringing. My parents, like many other Asian immigrants, taught me to follow orders obediently and blindly, regardless of whether or not these orders impeded upon my rights as an individual. This Confucian lifestyle, I believe, suppresses social unrest – which is beneficial for society (or, in this instance, the family) – but never promotes confrontation, which is required when one’s rights are curtailed and one’s honor and dignity is endangered. I grew up understanding that my parents liked my mute obedience to orders I didn’t understand; I outgrew this belief, but sometimes I regress back to it when my fight or flight instinct kicks in.

I don’t blame my parents for my cowardice – far from it. It’s simply difficult to change instinct in the face of personal insult, as my first instinct is to whatever is familiar to me: (Confucian) social stability.

If I could rewind time, I’d forget about birds and fight the bigger battle: I’d walk up to that son of a gun and ask to speak with his manager.