It is not because of the virus, as Covid-19 continues to spread in my home state of California. It is because she is absolutely sure that, as an Asian woman older than a limp, she will be the target of violence.
Since the horrific news of the Atlanta shootings was released, I have been stuck in this latent rage while watching events from afar here in Hong Kong. I cannot hug my American family and friends. I can only communicate through screens and scrolling destruction online.
This is the kind of thinking that fuels the sick stereotype that Asian Americans are “TOTALLY WELL” and are not the target of racist violence.
How many more members of the community need to be beaten, attacked or slaughtered before this is widely recognized?
In February last year, my mother started to isolate herself during the outbreak just to avoid the comments and looks she received while wearing a mask outside.
She told me on FaceTime with a self-deprecating laugh: “It’s allergy season too. I’m too afraid to sneeze or ‘cough while I’m Asian’.”
But the micro-aggressions continued: people coughing at her, someone saying “you must be from Wuhan”, another asking, “Why are Asians so paranoid?”
And I find myself dreaming of being able to teleport my mother here to Asia.
She could wear a mask without being judged.
She could venture into her favorite macaroni and meat restaurant without fear of being knocked over.
She could be left alone and perhaps even respected.
But what I ended up as an “equalizing” moment of street justice, my mother saw as another tragic example of hatred and discrimination.
She highlights the revealing details in the video that shows how the abuser is on a stretcher and receiving medical care while the woman, screaming and crying, is left alone to take care of her wounds and traumas.
“That poor old woman could have been me,” my mother tells me.
And she is absolutely right.