Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio
Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
“Don’t worry, I’m fine. Please, Mom, the weather in Los Angeles is just like San Francisco. You know that. Why would I be cold?” Wang Yang held the handset close to his face and leaned on the payphone booth as he admired the scenery at the campus. “I just met Robert Zemeckis a few days ago. That’s right! The director of Forrest Gump. He’s a USC alumnus, and our dean invited him over for a lecture. It’s great. We chatted for hours. Yep, and down-to-Earth, too. He’s such a nice guy…”
It was sunny April in Los Angeles, and the weather was incredibly inviting. A spell of freezing rain had just passed, gradually giving way to the boisterous warmth of summer. Young students dotted the lush, green lawn at the USC School of Cinematic Arts, lounging, reading, and chit-chatting among themselves. A few could be seen tinkering with their DV camcorders. The air was filled with youth, optimism, and promise.
“Uh-huh. I’m going to volunteer with a film crew later… Oops, speak of the devil. My friends are asking me to go now. Got to hang up now, bye!”
Wang Yang put away the handset and let out a long sigh. His perky, cheerful face had abruptly deflated. As he peered at the lawn and all the students frolicking on it without a care in the world, he couldn’t help but pull his hair out in anguish. “D*mn it!” he said bitterly.
He fastened his windbreaker, picked up a cardboard box filled with miscellaneous belongings, and began his long, painful departure from the campus. He counted his steps, taking frequent, longing glances at the beautiful campus. The USC School of Cinematic Arts was supposed to be the launching pad for his dream. But now, his dream had been ruined.
Wang Yang was Chinese. His grandfather had set foot in America many years ago, where he made a living by setting up a Chinese restaurant in San Francisco’s Chinatown. The restaurant was passed down to his father, who operated it until today. However, after two generations of hard work, the “family business” saw hardly any growth. Instead, business declined and was scraping by with the patronage of a few old neighbors and regulars. For many years, the shop had teetered on the brink of closing.
Although Wang Yang had grown up in a restaurant, he had no interest in cooking. Instead, his passion lay in films. When he was nine years old, he watched Cinema Paradiso, the film which cemented his ambition. He was going to become a director! Though, at the time, his idea of a “director” was someone who worked the projectors like old Alfredo.
Nevertheless, he stayed true to his ambition and worked steadily toward his goal. And at the tender age of 18, he’d done it. He’d finally been admitted into the USC School of Cinematic Arts as a film and television production major. It seemed everything had panned out as he’d hoped, and success was within his grasp… if it weren’t for that incident.
The incident happened a week ago, and he was expelled as a result. In the second semester of his first year in college, he was gone.
Whenever he recounted the incident, Wang Yang would sigh resignedly and feel his head throb painfully. He was going to complete his bachelor’s degree in USC, get a master’s, find a job as an assistant director, learn the ropes, and take on the mantle of a director when the opportunity presented itself. But, with his untimely dismissal from school, becoming a director had all but became a pipe dream.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our favorite chink. Where are you going in such a hurry?” A few youngsters approached him from the lawn. There were four guys and two girls. Apart from a black male, the rest were Caucasian. The blonde, white male, who looked to be the leader of the pack, was grinning mischievously. He postured himself like a monkey with its arms extended and started dancing and squeaking in a clowny voice. “Ping pang, ping pang? Ching chong, ching chong?”
His playful antics caused the rest of the gang to crack up in laughter. As they glanced at Wang Yang, he could see the scorn and disdain on their laughing faces.
Although Wang Yang was American, he’d become accustomed to such derogatory behavior ever since he was little. Nevertheless, he took pride in his yellow skin and dark eyes. He appreciated his Chinese heritage. He loved the language, the food, and the culture. He’d never looked down on other people, and he never took kindly to racial discrimination. Ironically, that was the very reason he was expelled–racial discrimination.
He’d been wronged. The incident started not unlike his current predicament when a group of black students taunted and teased him. Profanities were exchanged, and patience was tested. In the heat of the moment, he snapped and hit him.
The black student’s name was Terrance Ben.
He had the build of a bear, but Wang Yang had been taking Bajiquan lessons from an old master in Chinatown. He wouldn’t call himself an expert, but his skills were more than enough to butt through Terrance’s brute force. “Is this what you want? F*ck you!” Wang Yang cursed at Terrance, who had been defeated and was laying on the ground.
Unfortunately, his “F*ck you!” was overheard by a professor, who’d been tipped off and was just arriving at the scene. The professor was black, and his name was Gary Martin.
After the incident, despite being the instigator, Terrance pointed the finger at Wang Yang instead and accused him of using racial slurs before assaulting him. Wang Yang tried desperately to bring truth to light, but to no avail. Without any witnesses at the lawn at the time to verify his claims, Wang Yang’s words held little water. On the other hand, Terrance had the full support of his fellow African-American, Professor Martin. The university sided with Terrance Ben and expelled Wang Yang.
The funny thing was, no one stood up for him when he was surrounded by a group of people and being discriminated against for being Chinese.
“Hey Bruce Lee, what do you want? A banana? Here, come and get it!” teased the blonde Caucasian, Matthew, as he did a mock kung-fu pose. “Come on, I know you want it!” he said gleefully.
The other five youngsters broke out in laughter. They knew about Wang Yang’s expulsion and wanted to rub salt on his wounds. It wasn’t as if Wang Yang had provoked them. It was the color of his skin that made him the object of ridicule among the ignorant.
Calling a black man a n*gger would invariably be judged as racial discrimination in the court of law, but calling a Chinese person a chink or a chinaman seldom warranted similar attention. Such was the ugly side of the society which prided itself on democracy and equality.
“Okay, now you’ve pissed me off.” Wang Yang put down the cardboard box carefully. He walked up to an amused Matthew, seized him by the collar of his shirt, and said, “I give you two choices: one, apologize to me, or two, let me send you to the hospital.”
“Whoa dirty chink, you want a piece of me? Panic flickered on Matthew’s freckled face. “If you want to go to jail, just hit me,” he said, putting up a stout front.
Unfazed, Wang Yang smiled and said, “If you want to be a pastor, I can break your balls with my leg right here and now.”
Matthew recalled Wang Yang’s fury, and how he’d made short work of the quarterback-sized Terrance Ben, and felt a lump in his throat. Even the three guys and two girls standing beside him were thrust into a panic. “Hey, calm down, calm down,” they said. However, as Wang Yang darted a look at them, they fell silent. Who knew? He might have run amuck and beat them up as well.
“All right, it’s time to devote yourself to God.” Wang Yang’s face darkened. No sooner had he finished his sentence than he yanked Matthew’s collar, and lifted his knee as if he was about to kick him.
Matthew’s heart lurched. “Wait, wait!” he hollered as he struggled against Wang Yang’s grip. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! It’s my fault, it’s my fault!”
Oh! Matthew’s quintet of friends, as well as the other onlookers, pressed their palms against their forehead and chorused, “Come on!” They were obviously let down by his cowardice.
“You’re an asshole, aren’t you?” While Wang Yang’s tone was still calm, he’d managed to stare the fight out of Matthew with his menacing gaze. Wanting it all to end quickly, Matthew nodded and said, “Yes, I am, I am…””What are you?” Wang Yang asked. “An asshole…” said Matthew bitterly.
The crowd booed. Matthew’s gang rolled their eyes, and a few blonde girls were muttering and giggling amongst themselves. All of a sudden, Matthew’s face had turned a bright red as he was overcome with embarrassment.
Wang Yang smiled lightly and patted Matthew’s face with his hand. “You want to kill me, you little b*tch? So shoot me!” As he said that, he gave him a sharp push, and Matthew staggered backward frantically.
Amidst the boos and jeers, Wang Yang picked up his cardboard box from the ground and continued his exit from the campus. As he approached the college gates, he couldn’t help but stop to take one last look at his school–the institution that he’d been yearning so much to be a part of was about to become a memory. Goodbye, tall, majestic trees; goodbye, soft, green lawn… He took a deep breath and strode out.
But where to? Wang Yang wandered aimlessly in the streets of Los Angeles with nothing but a cardboard box in his hands. Cars buzzed by him, people came and went, traffic lights dinged incessantly. Wang Yang stood at the crossroads, feeling somewhat lost. He didn’t know where to go or which direction to take.
It was through sheer effort that he managed to keep his dismissal a secret from his parents up to that point. Otherwise, he’d have been forced to go back to San Francisco, to inherit the family business, and to take his place as the third generation of a long line of Chinese restaurant cooks.
“Dealing with the heat, the kitchen, and staring at food all day? Over my dead body!” Wang Yang shook his head. “I’ve dreamed and worked so hard all these years to become a famous director and make great films. Now, because of a stupid misunderstanding, I have to go back and take care of a dying restaurant?” he screamed in his head.
He remembered the elation he felt when he received the admission letter to USC and the look of admiration in his best friends’ eyes when they congratulated him. He reflected on his parent’s love, their expectations, their concerns about his future, and the tender way in which they’d encourage him without giving too much pressure. “Son, if you can’t hack it in Los Angeles, you can always come back to San Francisco. The spatula is always waiting for you…” they would say to him.
Oh, God, whatever would his parents say when he showed up at home? “Son, I knew you were never cut out for showbiz, you should stay here in the restaurant and cook.” The mere thought of it made Wang Yang scream out in agony. He’d rather step into the traffic and end his life!
D*mn it! Wang Yang huffed out a self-deprecating laugh. “I like Chinese food, but that doesn’t mean I want to cook Chinese food for the rest of my life! I’m not going to back with my tail between my legs. I’m not going to be the laughingstock of my best friends, and I’m not going to let my disappointed parents console me! I won’t give up!”
As Wang Yang walked across the street, deep in self-motivation, a baby stroller suddenly slipped from a woman’s hands. The stroller rolled down the street uncontrollably, gaining momentum as it charged straight toward Wang Yang’s behind. Wang Yang was completely caught off guard by the rogue carriage. With a loud crash, the stroller sent him tumbling forward. His cardboard box flew into the air, spewing its contents all over the road.
“Oh, God!” Passers-by held their hands to their mouths in suspense as the baby, who’d not been secured to the stroller with a safety strap, jettisoned into the air!
With a loud thump, Wang Yang’s body slammed hard against the ground; and with a second thump, the baby landed right on his head, unscathed.
So dizzy… Wang Yang could feel his head spinning. And, in his daze, images arose. He’d yet to even realize what hit him. The only thought that came to his mind was, “Am I dead?”