Shout-outs, Offenses And More MRFLF Interviews

My dear Hip Hapa Homeez,

In my excitement to write last week's post, I neglected to send this shout-out to Cassie: HAPA birthday, girl! Cassie's special day was June 24, and she is one Hip Hapa Homee, let me tell ya.

I was also in such a hurry to relaunch this blog that I totally forgot about two recent incidents that still cause me to shake my head.

A couple of weeks ago, I was in line at the supermarket when the mono-racial Caucasian woman in front of me turned around, gestured at her four six-packs of beer on the conveyer belt and said, "You know it's bad when beer costs less than water."

She then looked intently at my chest and asked, "Are you fluent?"

I had forgotten that I was wearing my Cherry Blossom Festival t-shirt decorated with kanji so I mumbled incoherently before following the woman's gaze and finally getting that she was asking if I spoke Japanese fluently.

"Oh, no," I interjected, about to explain that I spoke some Japanese, but didn't read it, when she interrupted me in a voice of absolute authority.

"Well," she instructed me, "all their words end with a vowel or the letter 'n'."

I was like, okay, and you're telling me this because a. I don't look Japanese to you so what would I know or, b. I do look somewhat Asian, but you still don't think that I would know anything about a language that (half) my own people speak because obviously you, the mono-racial European, is the expert on the subject. By the time I had decided that I was sufficiently insulted, the woman had collected her 24 cans of beer and gone.

Lest you think that it's only "white folks" who don't get it when they're offending us blendies, let me tell you about what I heard on a bus ride a few weeks prior. The bus driver, either a light-skinned African American woman or MGM (multi-generational multi-racial) and I were chatting about several topics. Towards the end of the route, an African American man moved forward from the rear to inquire about the stop where he should get off. Suddenly, he looked at the driver closely.

"So, what are you?" he asked. "A mixed breed?"

To her credit, the bus driver simply chuckled.

"No," she responded. "I'm the same as you."

But the idiot passenger wouldn't let it go. He kept harping about how light she was, how she didn't look purebred, how she must be something else, etc., but I had already checked out without hearing the rest of their conversation. I was still stuck back at the 'mixed-breed' part, and I was seething.

I wanted to ask the moron, "Do you think our driver is a puppy or something?"

You know, I keep thinking that we've progressed as a people. A few months ago, I clipped an ad from Essence magazine for Moen, a faucet manufacturer. The photo showed a white man and presumably his wife or girlfriend--an Asian woman--preparing a meal. I was like, wow, even if it's somewhat of a stereotype to some (white male/cherry blossom female), it's still progress over showing only mono-racial couples. That same week, the local health food market featured an obviously biracial (black and white) girl as part of their sales ads. More progress, I thought at the time. But evidently, it was just a little too much progression as the following month backslid into the "I'm going to tell you what I know that you don't know about your own people's language" and/or putting us mixies in the same category as animals.

On to better things. This week's featured Hip Hapa Homee is Dora Love, the wife of author Sam Cacas who was a participant on the Mixed-Race Relationships panel at the Mixed Roots Film and Literary Festival. A photo of the couple taken at the MRFLF is below.

Q: How did you participate in this year's Mixed Roots Film and Literary Festival?

A: Of course, I sat in on the Mixed-Race Relationships panel on Friday. I also went to several other sessions on Friday and Saturday.

Q: What was the most exciting aspect of the festival?

A: The most exciting aspect of the festival was seeing how the issues that mixed-race people have also occur with me. I've always been told since childhood that I sound different than other black people, and I should be an English teacher because "you're not like the others". These types of comments are not used exclusively with mixed-race people or black people that grew up in rural areas. We share some of the same experiences. The festival only made me realize that people of color need to gather more often to express their shared experiences in this strange and sometimes cruel world.

Q: What did you learn from your experience there?

A: I learned that this is one of probably several organizations or groups that deal with the issues of people of color. Mixed Roots and other organizations should collaborate more on ideas. These collaborations could end in some educational materials to disperse throughout different communities via film, more festivals, etc.

Q: How do you think this festival helps mixed-race people? Non mixed-race people?

A: The participants of this festival were able to express their feelings through spoken word, panels and films about the issue of being mixed-race in America. I can't say that I'm not mixed-race because American Indian, Caucasian and Dutch blood runs in my veins. However, being as dark as I am, I felt a kinship with the mixed-race people at the festival. I think it brought all human beings closer together. We are all mixed in some way. Unfortunately, not all Americans feel this way. People need to be educated through film and well-publicized films. There will always be ignorant people who just won't believe they need to know anything other than their own views. But now is the time for festivals like this to be more visible to everyone. Let's bombard the airwaves with the message of unity.

Q: Will you return next year and, if so, in what capacity?

A: I would love to return to the festival next year. I hope I have something to contribute. I've written a book with a brief mention about interracial dating. I'm presently working on my second book that talks exclusively about interracial dating. I'm presently editing the first book, "A Change is Gonna Come". The second book is still in the writing stage. So, I hope that I could be on a panel next year talking about interracial dating.

Thank you, Dora.

Finally, guess who was on Nodojiman this past Sunday? Evidently, Jero has a new record although it didn't rock quite like his other enka tunes. Here's a peek at him as he appeared on the show. Apologies for the image taken with my cell phone camera.

And, here's another shout-out; this one to One Brown Girl for posting an article I wrote about race. You can read it here:

http://www.onebrowngirl.com/page.php?pageno=bgw5

Hey, I love hearing from you HHH's so please keep your emails coming to me at hiphapa@comcast.net

You can also join our Hip Hapa Homeez group on Facebook.

And, don't forget our Hapa*Teez t-shirts! Very soon, I'll have some updates about the film, Watermelon Sushi.

Until we meet again, I will always be

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

A Birthday, A Senior Loving Teen, A Faux Pas, And A Mall Cop

Congratulations are in order here, folks. Thank you. Hey, I made it through another birthday! But since my SanDisk memory card reader decided to malfunction (how timely--one year and an expired warranty later), I can't download my party pix. So, I won't waste any time writing about the festivities you weren't invited to. I don't want to rub your face in how much fun you missed and not be able to share with you the images of me partying with my senior parents and their spoiled brat dog.

Speaking of seniors, two weeks ago on NHK's Nodojiman (Japanese amateur singing contest), a teenage girl appeared on the show along with her grandmother. As the two held hands, they sang a song. But I forgot to ask my mother what the song was about. I was so awestruck that a teenager not only didn't mind being seen with her grandparent on international television, but was proudly holding her hand, too. I kept imagining the show being American Idol or something, and I couldn't. Are you kidding me? No American kid would be caught on TV performing with an elderly relative. What is it with our society that makes aging such a horrific event that women race to get face lifts and men stock up on Viagra as soon as the wrinkles and gray hair appear? Isn't aging a natural process in other societies where the elderly are actually looked up to as being wiser or something? In our culture, it seems like we want to hide our old folks. Yes, I am sensitive to this issue especially since I've acquired another birthday. Sob! Still, the image of that young girl and her grandmother singing together was so sweet that I just had to take a photo. But it's another one you won't be seeing tonight.

As I've mentioned many times, I just love receiving your emails and Facebook Friends requests. Keep them coming. This week, I got an interesting message from Mary who is also Japanese and African American. After reading my last week's post, Mary experienced her own "huh?" moment with a monoracial friend. Here's what Mary had to say:

"I thought about you last night and your experiences with the monoracial white man who told you that your name didn't sound Japanese. There is someone in my life who I'm trying to tolerate and be friends with. He's white--half German, half American. Even with a law degree and a Masters in psychology, my friend Eric said the stupidest thing to me. As we were watching television, we noticed a biracial boy on the show.

I told Eric, 'Aw, he's really cute!'

Eric responded, 'I hate biracial people.'

Stunned, I said, 'Thanks a lot, Eric!'

He replied, 'Well, you're not biracial because you're half black and half Japanese. That's all the same race. There are only two races--white people and everyone else.'

Mary went on to write, "How does one argue with an idiot without becoming one?"

I'm sorry, Mary, but as you know from reading this blog I have no answers--just lots of questions. It's truly amazing how misinformed people are, but even more amazing is their sense of entitlement to tell you--a mixed-race person--exactly what you are. I mean, who put these people in charge?

Somewhere during the existence of humans, someone decided that the word biracial means that you are half black and half white. Then, some others decided that the word hapa means that you are half Asian and half white. It's crazy, I know. In my dictionary, biracial means someone who is of two races period, while hapa is the Hawai'ian mispronunciation of the English word 'half'. But back to Eric's declaration that there are only two races--white and everyone else. I'm stunned myself, Mary. I mean, does Eric think he hailed from Whiteland? And, why does he hate biracial people anyway? If any of you readers have comments, please leave them here.

On another note, it seems that today's mainstream movies are casually introducing the idea of mixed-race families to the public. Recently, I saw Mall Cop (don't ask) and was surprised that the protagonist was a monoracial Caucasian who lived with his white mother and his Latina daughter. It turns out, ha ha, that the mother was an illegal alien who only wanted her green card. So, she married the mall cop, birthed a daughter, and split. Somehow, this was a big family joke and a picture of the mother on a burro, I believe, was supposed to make us hysterically roll around in the aisles whenever they showed it. I found it kind of sad, really. Couldn't the writer have created a Latina who was not the stereotyped alien lusting for a green card? Couldn't she have been a successful business entrepreneur who decided to dump her mall cop hubby because he was such a loser? Jeez. Think, people, think! You're writers. Write creatively!

Speaking of writing creatively and films, we're still accepting submissions for Watermelon Sushi. If you'd like to audition for our producers in Los Angeles in June, please get your reels, resumes and headshots to us ASAP. You can find all the details, including breakdowns, on the Hip Hapa Homeez group page at Facebook. While you're there, please join us. With mixed-race notables like Jasmine Guy, Lonette McGee and Rain Pryor as members, you'll be in good company. Not to mention Kool Mo Dee, Professor Griff, Biz Markie and Ghostface Killah!

The pix I've posted are all from birthdays long gone. At the very top QBwoy hosted my birthday party at his reggae club in Hollywood. Beneath that one, QBwoy hosted another one of my birthday parties in Santa Monica where Mikki joined us. The other three photos are all from the same birthday party at Siam Place restaurant in Santa Monica. From left to right: Lisa, me, Karen. Next pix: Cat, me, Kristina. And lastly, Chi, me, and Cat.

Until next week, I remain Your old...

Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

Haru Ga Kita!

Yes, my Japanese-speaking tomodachi, believe dat. Spring is coming! Along with bringing us longer, stronger, brighter days, Haru will also, I hope, envelope us in lightness. It's been a heavy Winter, and I'm ready for something luminous.

My friend Terra called today to say that she really enjoyed reading the blog about my father that I posted a few weeks ago. In it, I mentioned that he had been enslaved along with other black children in his Texas town, and forced to pick cotton for local whites. Terra's words today really encouraged me. And, because she is of Asian and Jewish descent, I know she gets the whole mixed-race bag and why it's an important topic.

After Terra's call, I went about my day and as Fate would have it, ended up in a conversation with a mono-racial Caucasian woman about my ethnicity and family. When I told her about my father suffering from fighting overseas in a segregated military for a country that denied him civil rights, she broke out in a wide grin and said, "Well, that's over. Now we have a black president!"

Somehow, she seemed so proud of this fact that she was inadvertently dismissive of what my father had endured. But I just smiled back weakly. How could I ever educate her about the atrocities committed against black folks since our forced migration from the Motherland 500 years ago? How could I tell her about a 14-year old Chicago boy named Emmitt Till who visited Mississippi and was beaten to death by white men for talking to a white woman? How could I convey to her the many revolutionaries whose lives were arrogantly ended by those who fought against change during the Civil Rights movement? How could I tell her of all that occurred to others in order to bring us to this intersection of having a "black" president? I knew I couldn't, so I simply left the conversation.

What would you have done? I know those of you who are mixed or of color have encountered many such moments. What did you do? What would Buddha do? Drop me a line and let me know.

Well, the subtitled version of NHK's Atsuhime is on its last episode this weekend, and at the same time a new taiga has begun. Tenchijin had been shown at least twice before but, without subtitles, I couldn't really figure out what was going on. Last week, though, the first episode aired with subtitles, and I'm addicted even though it's about two males--a local lord currently 13 years-old and his five year-old vassal. I'll miss the girls of the Ooku, but this has promise. I never thought I'd see anyone who could cry more than Atsuhime, but the kid playing the kid in Tenchijin cried buckets--on cue!

Nodojiman was also interesting last week because another brother won. I can't remember his name, but he was from Brazil and cried both when he was selected as a finalist and later when he won the Champion. The poor guy was so nervous that he forgot how to speak Japanese when the announcer asked him personal questions. My mother laughed and said, "Jero better watch out. Somebody going to beat him. He better hurry up and practice more."

As for all those Oscars going to Slumdog Millionaire, no comment. People of every racial persuasion keep asking me if I have seen it or will see it, and I tell them I don't think so. For one, I've been reading a lot of articles, especially on the BBC, that indicate the child actors, who really live in those slums, were exploited. I don't have any facts. I'm just repeating what I've read. But, right now, I don't feel comfortable contributing to anyone's exploitation--especially children's. Further, there are two perfectly talented Indian women filmmakers--Mira Nair and Gurinder Chadha--who could've made such a film. Although they've had successes in the past, I haven't seen them doing anything lately. It just makes me wonder; is it a gender or a race thing? But, hey, if you've seen the flick, and you think I'm wrong, drop me a line.

Right now, I'm working on a proposal for the Mixed Roots Film and Literary Festival to be held in June, so if you'd like to be on a panel or part of a workshop, drop me a line so I can factor you into my submission. One of the topics I'll offer will be about blogging and new media, but I'm also considering presenting one on relationships.

We're still in open casting call for Watermelon Sushi, too, so email me for a copy of the breakdown. And, I promised to post that link to the AAPEX blog--thanks, Jaz!--so here it is:

http://africanamericanplaywrightsexchange.blogspot.com/2009/02/yo-its-yayoi.html

And, here's a vid clip to entertain you this Spring:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bi9wttT8TZE&feature=related

Finally, that's my baby sis, b.r., doing her Sakura thing in that pix above many moons ago. The story is that she was slated to appear in a dance recital with three other girls with Japanese moms. On the day of, b.r. was riding her bike, fell down, and scratched one of her cheeks pretty badly. My clever, creative mother cleaned the wound, then added lots of rouge to both cheeks to make it look as if b.r. was just naturally rosy.

Ja matta ne.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

No Dead Animals In My Tendon, Jero And Atsuhime

I don't know about other hapas, but whenever I spend time with either one of my parents, I take on the cultural qualities of that one's particular ethnic group. For instance, if I'm hanging out with my dad (my folks have been divorced for decades), I end up reading all of the Ebony and Jet magazines laid out on his coffee table. Now, that's not to say that all black people read Ebony and Jet, but you get my meaning. My dad and I will often discuss politics, too--the state of black folks today versus the Civil Rights movement of yesteryear. However, I don't tend to eat the food my dad eats mainly because he's from Texas and his parents owned a barbecue joint. I am, after all, vegan (even though I'll admit to stuffing many a pig's foot into my mouth back in the day when I didn't know any better).

Whenever I visit my mother, though, I'm always ready to chow down. Mindful of my special diet, my mom tends to make me my own meal separate from what she serves her husband. And, like a true Japanese mother, she will eat what I (the guest) eats instead of what she cooked for her husband. A couple of weeks ago, she made me tendon; that's slang for tempura donburi. Tempura, as you may know, is veggies (and shrimp for those who insist on murdering the poor crustaceans) dipped in batter and fried. Donburi is a dish served in an individual bowl featuring veggies and/or dead animal flesh (call it what it is!) simmered in a slightly sweetened shoyu-based sauce and heaped on hot, white rice. The tendon my mom made me was tempura carrots, onions and pumpkin on top of fresh gohan. I was also treated to her home-grown edamame (steamed soybeans). Oishi!

Earlier, we were watching our favorite show--The NHK Amateur Singing Contest (aka Nodojiman)--when, lo and behold, the phenomenal Jero appeared as a guest singer. This is the kid who hails from Pittsburgh, whose mother is hapa Japanese and black, and whose Japanese grandmother taught him to speak her language and sing enka--a type of music that reminds of me the old R&B songs where the man is begging, crying and carrying on over a woman. Enka is very emotional like that, and is almost always about love. So, I don't think it's necessarily a stretch that a brother like Jero is so into it. Like the old school crooners, he feels the lyrics deep down in his soul. True, he's singing in Japanese, but he knows what the words mean because he knows the language. There's also some very specific expressions that go along with singing enka. One can't be too showy and drop to one's knees like James Brown because Japanese culture isn't about that. Even though Jero wears his signature baseball cap and baggy jeans, he's got the Japanese inflections down.

Later on in the day, my mom's husband and I watched another episode of Atsuhime. My mother claims not to care about

Japanese history, but her Caucasian husband and I can't get enough of the taiga series. Sadly, Atsuhime's husband, the shogun, dies in this episode and because of the turmoil surrounding the choice of heir, no one tells Atsu about his demise until a month later. Now, she's mad because weeks before the shogun instructed her to attend the cabinet meetings and become a part of the political process because she's so smart and beats him at go all the time. But now that he's no longer around, none of the guys are taking Atsuhime seriously. I can't wait 'til she starts kicking some butt. Her kimono may be wrapped around her legs like a mermaid's tail, but you watch--she'll figure out how to strike back. That girl is baaad!

Hey, drop me a line and tell me how your parents' differing cultures affect you. Do you act the same way with each of them, or not?

Above are pix of my tendon dish, my mom's garden-fresh edamame, Jero's appearance on Nodojiman, and NHK's Atsuhime.

Until next time, I swear to be...

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi

It's The Japanese Electric Slide!

Watching the popular singing show, Nodojiman, every Sunday on NHK always trips me out. Featuring amateur crooners attired in homemade costumes and singing songs ranging from traditional Japanese standards to convoluted, Western-influenced, but clearly Asian-style R&B-cum-pop, the show makes for a highly entertaining morning.

Twenty singers (or singing groups) compete with each other to become "champion" (the word is spoken in English and not Japanese by the announcer), but it's never quite clear what the prize is. But then again, in Japanese culture, it's enough just to win whether or not a statue or award is ever presented. Ichiban!

One at a time, the singer announces his or her number in the line-up before belting out a tune for a few minutes. Before s/he is finished, the judges ring some chimes either once, twice or many, many times. One chime means you were really horrible and you should probably go home and commit seppuku now that you've shamed the entire nation. Two chimes are for those who performed well, but weren't exactly the next Japanese idol. And, of course, multiple chimes means you're in like Flint.

At the end of the show, all the contestants who received many, many chimes stand together in front of the others to be judged on who was the best of all. A special mention and plaque is granted to a particular act that put on a really original show even if their singing stank. Often, there's a mother-daughter or a father-son duo, or even a bunch-of-guys-who-work-together act.

The audience, which includes the other contestants sitting in chairs onstage, is highly involved in supporting each other. Everyone enthusiastically claps along to the singing; albeit a clapping that seems off-beat to my Afrikan sense of rhythm. Lots of family members show up to support their relatives, too, bringing along elaborate banners displaying messages while they yell out their encouragement.

After the singer has been chimed once, twice or thrice and more, the MC asks him or her for their name and some personal info. I hear the words okasan (mother) and otosan (father) often in the conversations so I'm sure the singers are being asked about their families.

One thing about the Japanese, they're so respectful toward their elders. Even though some of the participants are horribly off-key, anyone over 80 usually becomes a finalist as if the judges are saying, "We honor you for making it to 80 and still having the nerve to act a fool on stage."

Besides pure-blooded Japanese competitors, there have been several singers who were Caucasian or of black Afrikan descent. I once saw a brotha who blew everyone else away with his amazing pipes (he sang in Japanese, of course). But I knew his style of soulful singing wouldn't be considered traditionally Japanese and would be held against him. Japanese singing is different. I can't really explain it, but the expressions and inflections that are valued are uniquely Japanese. The brotha was just too brotha-ish for those Japanese judges, even though they acknowledged his talent by making him a finalist.

In the months that I've viewed Nodojiman, I've seen everything from a woman turning continuous cartwheels in the background as her partner sang a touching ballad to a woman wearing a firefighter's yellow rubber outfit as she warbled a tune. It seems that the winner is often a skinny, young girl with a huge, powerful voice and disheveled hair that cries out for a stylist.

I'm telling you, this show is riveting. I understand that it began as a radio program in 1945, and that the producers now travel all over Japan to select contestants from different prefectures so that everyone in the country has a chance to participate. Nodojiman has also spawned several singers that went on to become huge stars in Japan.

Today, as one of the guest star singers (a pro who appears on the show regularly) led everyone onstage in a dance to the song he was singing, I was struck by a sense of familiarity. As I watched intently trying to decipher the lyrics of the song, I realized that the dancing folks appeared to be doing the electric slide! Perhaps, you've attended an o-bon festival and have seen the line dances I'm referring to. Think about it. See, what I mean? I'm telling you, it's the electric slide!

More and more, I'm seeing the similarities between Japanese and Afrikan cultures. Watermelon Sushi, ya'll.

Your Hip Hapa,

Yayoi