Sometimes, when P and I walk holding hands in Bangkok, I will notice someone’s confused gaze. “Just ignore it.” I can’t. “You know it’s not like in America, in the South. Here they’re staring because they don’t understand. It’s not hate.” (Figure I) I glare at the observer, but they don’t look away.
• Members of P’s family have expressed their bewilderment.
• Aunts and cousins have asked:
• Why didn’t she marry someone like her, Thai-Chinese?
• Why, after spending over ten years in America, hadn’t she chosen a white man instead?
• With P already possessing coveted light eyes and hair, P’s relatives believe her half-Caucasian children would have been beautiful. P’s hypothetical offspring could have grown up to become Thai soap opera stars.
• When I asked P how she felt about these comments, she offered me the same dismissive shrug I imagine she gives her inquisitive kin. On one occasion, P’s indifferent gesticulation was mistaken for doubt, and a concerned cousin told P not to worry. The cousin said she understood—one can’t help whom they fall in love with. She praised P’s bravery. And, if P decided to have children, her cousin could procure supplements and traditional remedies to ensure the baby would not look black like its father.
• P can repeat her cousin’s words with a smile. “She means well. Try not to take it too personally.”
• I wonder how many other well-meaning people view my appearance as something in need of a remedy.