It’s not about men or women.
Nobody should ever hit anyone.
Nobody should ever rape anyone.
Nobody should ever murder anyone.
Nobody should ever beat anyone.
Nobody should ever threaten anyone.
Nobody should ever insult anyone.
Nobody should ever make anyone uncomfortable.
Nobody should ever touch anyone without their consent.
Nobody should ever steal from anyone.
Nobody should ever humiliate anyone.
You grew up playing two-hand touch with the neighbors as November leaves blew across the field. You drove a beat-down Toyota because you cared about air pollution. The first time you ate fried rice you thought, “I wish I were Asian,” and the first time you ate chicken nuggets, you thought, “I wish I were American.”
You once spoke Mandarin like it was your first language. You don’t remember every syllable anymore. You don’t remember your zodiac pet, your Chinese name, or the first time you visited your homeland. They called it that, but when you arrived, you were homesick for pizza parties and kickball.
The only place you felt at home was when you were little, on the playground. You were surrounded by a hundred faces in a hundred different hues, and you were a single watercolor painted on a familiar canvas. This art is now a business. You never play the violin because of the supply, but you never think to be a doctor because of the demand. Instead, you avoid biology, you avoid chemistry, you avoid calculus.
You avoid sitting in the middle. You avoid the questions.