What's My Problem?
One of the ways I've been dealing with being in China is to make fun of it. That's kind of what I do--it's a coping mechanism I developed as a chubby kid who ate her lunch with the librarian every day in 7th grade. (And part of 8th grade. Happy?) But, as was recently pointed out to me, mocking the Chinese for how they pronounce English words, or how they eat, or what they eat, or what they wear, or what they anything, is a racist asshole move.
In my experience, people make fun of things that they're afraid of or intimidated by, and I think that's completely applicable here. No, I'm not afraid of Chinese people. But I'm afraid, I realize, of my surroundings. More accurately, I'm afraid because I feel like I don't belong here, which, for me, is a terrifying scenario. Granted, I've never felt like I really belonged anywhere, but I can usually communicate with the people around me, at least on a basic level. Here, it's easier to make fun of everyone and everything because, in that moment of cracking a joke or substituting R's for L's, I suppose I feel like I've regained a little bit of the control that has slipped from my grasp ever since my plane touched down in Beijing. It's a stupid and cliche way to try and rationalize being a dick, I know.
I'm glad that my obnoxiously latent racism was pointed out to me. The last thing I want to do is perpetuate stereotypes and breed hate. I vow to stop acting like the playground bully.