please, give it up for the fabulous, hilarious, and ballsy Christeeeeen Chu!”
The way he dragged her name made me think, She’s the real deal!
Amid the applause and whistles, Ying-Na clicked onto the stage in four-inch heels. Her slashed qípáo hugged her body perfectly, and the waist-length hair I remembered from childhood was lobbed into a stylish pixie. Her baby fat was gone and her body had developed curves, but the most striking difference was her confidence, which radiated from every pore.
She moseyed to the microphone and detached it with experienced hands, like it was a daily routine. Then she jutted a hip out. “So what’s the deal with Panda Express?”
Pause. She relaxed her stance. “Just kidding. It’s not going to be that kind of show.”
She smiled at the audience in a way that made me feel like the grin was just for me. “Thanks for the warm welcome, everyone. I knew you’d be a great crowd. I begged The Laugh Den for tonight’s slot because my Chinese Farmer’s Calendar told me that today would be a funny day for Chinese zodiac mice, which I am. I just wish it would also tell me when my period would actually come, and which cycles would be an uber-bitch.” She pretended to flip through a calendar. “December nineteenth, female mice beware. Your ovaries will try to kill you today. Stay home from work no matter how uncomfortable your male boss is with menstrual cramps.”
My man-laugh burst from my lips, louder than the rest of the audience, but I didn’t care.
Ying-Na grasped the mic with both hands. “As most of you know, this is a pretty diverse show. Because there’s just too much in Asian culture to make fun of.” She smiled. “In all seriousness, I think we need more Asian comedians out there. But it makes sense why there aren’t that many of us. Humor isn’t valued. Every time I made a joke, my father would ask, ‘How’s that going to help you get a husband?’ Because, of course, a docile, quiet, obedient woman is easier to marry off than a funny one full of personality.
“My tiger parents weren’t proud of me, but nothing was worse than when I told them I wanted to be a stand-up comedian. They asked if I was being blackmailed, and if so, was it a Chinese single male willing to marry me?”
Pause. “Just kidding. Their actual response was to throw me on the street with one box of bāos to hold me over until I came to my senses. Those bāos lasted me until I found a minimum-wage job and this club. Contrary to what the Asian grapevine is saying, I did not also find herpes or a boyfriend who majored in English. Yes, those are equally bad in my parents’ eyes.”
She strolled as she spoke, as if she were speaking about buying groceries, not the worst day of her life (the way I still viewed my disownment day).
“I turned into the local Chinese community’s cautionary tale: whore, spinster, homeless, whatever that Asian parent’s biggest fear was. Since I don’t go by my Chinese name, I often hear these stories from other Asians who don’t realize they’re telling me about my own sexcapades and failures. Did you know I was giving head in the public-school bathroom yesterday at the same time I was peddling heroin on the other side of town? And all because I tried one sip of alcohol.”
A link formed between Ying-Na and me. We weren’t all that different, using humor as a coping mechanism.
“The only thing these rumors got right was that I don’t give a shit about dishonoring my ancestors. But I see it as being honest. And so far I haven’t been struck down, although I guess getting struck with a hundred cases of proverbial STDs might count.”
As I bent forward in laughter, my eyes locked with my neighbor, an Asian girl approximately my age. We nodded to each other as we snickered, bonded by a shared sense of humor.
Ying-Na turned and strolled in the other direction.
“So I went on this date the other day. To my mother’s dismay, he wasn’t Taiwanese, but he did have yellow fever, which is the only way I get dates now. I guess most men are turned off by my hooded eyes, snub nose, and pan face.” She circled her face with her hand. “It’s like I was the tragic victim of God’s whack-a-mole game. I didn’t have a chance being a hundred percent Chinese, the