Coming Out of the Closet: I Lust After Asian Men

{{Glances furtively over shoulder. Proceeds to type slowly and cautiously.}}

I’ve been harboring a big secret, but this is only between you and me. Okay?

Jeremy Lin

With the trading of Jeremy Lin – to Houston! – I’ve finally snapped. I feel like I’ve been teased and played by the Knicks. They get you thinking, “Yeah, maybe he’ll stay around. He’s looking better than ever. Maybe something special will happen… It’s happened before.”

I feel like I was waiting for the call about a 2nd date that never came.

Jeremy Lin was the only reason I was interested in the Knicks again. The team was looking good. Like an old boyfriend that’s put on 20 lbs of muscle, making more money at a better job and rocking that supa-fly Clark Kent look.

Instead, he turns out to be same ol’ guy in a different suit with the same ol’ stinking attitude. Loser!


So, I’ve said I watch Korean Dramas for the “quality” of the shows.

I lied.

I only watch if the guys are smoking hot, otherwise, “Meh”. And these shows almost always guarantee a half naked man (usually showering) the first couple of episodes. All nicely tanned, muscular and tall actors. I don’t know the height of the average Korean male, but some of the guys they use are rather big. (Any man over 6’0″ to me is big.)

Wish I could do the casting call for those programs. Hey, I’d be happy to hang around and teach the guys conversational English. 😉

I also like how the male actors don’t seem to go whole-hog the racial-mutilation-surgery route. They still look normal. Whereas a lot of the female actresses look downright scary, if not creepy from too much plastic surgery.

LifeStyle of the AfroAsiaphile

This is not a late development for me. I’ve been attracted to (and dated) Asian guys all of my life, and the attraction has been mutual. I’ve lived in neighborhoods and attended schools that had everybody. Now, I don’t make any specific distinctions between South Asians or those from the Far East. I don’t pretend to be a cultural curator where I know enough to be some kind of authority.

So, I’m someone who whenever I attend Asian culture events, I sit back, chill, and let ’em tell me what’s what.

The thing is – in a lot of places where black people are – they are there as well. I’ve met Asians who are from Jamaica, Trinidad, Panama, European countries, Canada (such a foreign place), and I suppose wherever else you can imagine. I’ve met my share of Asian / black offspring since I was child, usually the result of a black mother / Asian father. For me, blacks and Asians being together in community is no big deal. Never was.


So, what is it that I lust after find attractive about Asian men?

Well, first and foremost it’s their “Good Hair”, of course. Nothing beats running your hands through such thick, silky, curly or straight hair. Mmmm. Sooo erotic. Once I bury my hand in there, it’s not coming out!

Ever really looked at their eyes? Some Asian men have eyelashes to die for. Women are out there spending billions to get their eyelashes on point, while these guys seem unaware they have such a beautiful fringe. I think it’s a shame when they get that eyelid operation. Something that unique should be celebrated. It makes the men look sexy. Dare I say, exotic? And I don’t consider that a bad word.

Although Asian men come in variety of hues – I seriously dig the golden tan to dark brown shades. Delicious. Especially on a buff body. Hmmm. Even though blacks and Asians share similar complexions, it’s not exactly the same, a lot of us seem to have red undertones (which is just as lovely don’t get me wrong).

I love the vibrant colors and jewelry that South Asian women use for special events. Just awesome. I have a few items I’ve worn on occasion.

They love to party and dance as hard as we do. And arrive just as late.


I have been warned by Asian women that the Good Guy behavior of Asian men is sometimes just for show. I believe it’s because men will unconsciously behave better with women that aren’t a part of their group. Girlfriends (of all races) have always been real with me about how their men treat them, so I’m not one to write with rose colored glasses on.

However, I am awed and sometimes surprised at the kindness of Asian men. In my eyes, they exhibit another form of male generosity and masculinity that I enjoy.

What do I mean? Behavior that exceeds general courtesy. They have and will, whether I ask them for something, or not, if they know me some, will go out of their way to get me that item(s), assist or do me a favor(s). It’s wonderful, because they do not have this attitude that you will or should owe them something. Even profuse thanks seem to make them uncomfortable. It’s so adorable.

And hot.

I’m writing this in order to leave a favorable impression of non-black men with regards to their behavior towards black women (in this case, myself). Since I’m usually not one to put up my personal life in detail. My goal is to show that there are men of other races who do LIKE us, will TREAT us well, and make GREAT friends and lovers.

I love the idea of an Asian husband. Always have. Of course, it has to be whether we get along. And I know family carries a ton of weight in these relationships, so I don’t tread lightly.

Like / Love Who You Want To

People love to cite stats to make us feel unattractive or unwanted, but they’re working too hard at it. Remember that we are outliers: a tiny group  – IR minded, adult, educated black women living in the West – within a racial minority, and those relationship stats will always reflect that. Don’t ever linger on them. They’re irrelevant.

So, I say all this to tell black women to look at all men, and ignore anyone who tries to make you feel less than.

Only the man that is interested in YOU can tell you why he’s attracted. No one else can.

… and some of the finest men I’ve ever laid eyes on and dated were Asian. 😀

{{Sighs with relief. Wanders off to watch latest KDrama.}}


To Pack It All Up and Move Away

I want to run away from this life.

Right now, more than ever, I’ve this intense urge to sell my crap; junk the stuff cluttering up my life.

Let go of my issues. Just leave.

My problem: I love my home.

It’s the first, and only one, I’ve bought. The neighborhood is s’okay; crime is nearly nonexistent. There’s a steep price to pay for living here: New Jersey is one, if not the most expensive state in the country. It also feels like the most depressing, isolating, and socially stagnant places in the world.

It’s weird how much I miss Brooklyn, when I could not wait to leave that place!

My current home is my comfort zone.

This is where I hide from everyone. I don’t believe I should need someplace that makes me reluctant to let go of. I don’t think it’s healthy. I should be able to adapt to any environment; enjoy myself. At some point, in the future, I know I will move.

My other issue: I wouldn’t know where to go.

I used to want to a second home in Florida. I used to want to work in Nevada. I used to want to return to England. I used to want to find a home in Canada. I used to want to relocate to Australia or New Zealand. I used to want to hang out in Spain. I used to want to chill down in the Bahamas, Barbados, Puerto Rico, or the U.S. Virgin Islands.

I have the “grass is greener” syndrome.

I take this feeling to mean that I need to take a trip. I read about people who backpack around the world. I feel no envy. I’d rather go somewhere, hang out for a couple of days and return to my home.

There are places I’d still like to visit: Australia, Italy, Germany, B.C. Vancouver, the Netherlands, maybe India or Japan. I need to make plans, or I’m going to go crazy.


Black American? or American Who Is Black? Part ii

Please note for those of you who are literalistic: I mean some, not all, when referencing black or white Americans.

I have a confession to make: I rarely think about my race.

I’m not saying that I am color-blind. I don’t even know what sense to make of that word. What does it convey? That’s like saying: I don’t see men or women, everyone is the same gender. That’s just stupid.

I admire all sorts of things about different groups of people, be it their coloring or cultural or religious heritage. I also enjoy being brown skinned. I enjoy my complexion. I like who I am. I delight in it. It’s just that the race I am (in America) is not at the forefront of my thinking.

However, I like my own definition of self. Yes, for practical reasons, at this point in time, my race is black. Lord knows what tomorrow will bring: What black Americans or the US government will call the group next.

It doesn’t change who or what I am.

And no, I don’t see myself as African American. That’s a misnomer. I was born in Europe, shouldn’t I call myself European American?

I am an American. My cultural heritage is West Indian. I like saying black, because it’s a shorthand term: a political, social subset of Americans with a degree of African heritage, among others.

I have noticed that amongst some generational Americans taking note of your background upsets them. They act like it is an either or choice. Pick one and it’s offensive, pick the other and you are rejecting their social and cultural dictates.

They get upset with hyphenated Americans, or there are others who want people to emphasize the hyphen and fit within their group definition.

White Americans seem to dislike the hyphenation and emphasis on racial / ethnic background.

Black Americans seem to dislike black immigrants who don’t immediately accede to their definition of “black”. For example, a Jamaican, Nigerian, Hutu or Guyanese, etc. may see themselves as a West Indian or African, or whatever first, and not ascribe to being “black”.

Somehow that accurate self-definition is a rejection of them.

I’ve always looked at it this way: black Americans have to stop thinking that immigrants of any color owe them something. They do not. Unfortunately, no one cares if your ancestors fought in the Revolutionary or Civil War or any of the following wars.

They didn’t march and die alone in the Civil Rights movement: some whites and even some black immigrants were right alongside them.

When America decided to change, they felt they were changing it for the better of everyone, not just generational black Americans. Otherwise, the words used in Civil Rights legislation wouldn’t have been “minorities.”

Black Americans also have to stop telling immigrants, Africans and Caribbean peoples, how to define themselves. These people are coming from countries where everyone is more or less the same race.

Who are you to tell them what they are?

Those who complain are the same ones that resent the immigrant for his appearance and progress in this country. Hey, it is a struggle to come here, work, study and start fresh from scratch. It makes them grateful to be here.

They aren’t carrying the scars of past historical racial antagonism with white Americans. So don’t expect them to. They’re not here to do that.

Last, but not least, they come here for a multitude of reasons. If this magnificent country lets them in: they will take advantage of it.

In some cases, that may mean staying, and letting their kids become Americans. Or it may mean going back home to retire after working here a number of years.

Yet, it is not up to black Americans to define who is black in this country.

They have to learn to accept people who come here as they are, and stop demanding more from people who happen to have a degree of African ancestry in common.

At some point, every group assimilates.


Black American? or an American Who Is Black? Part i

I have a confession to make: I rarely think about my race.

I mean that I don’t wake up every morning and say, “Damn, I’m still black?” or “Damn, where can I go to escape being a black person?” I also don’t see everything through a prism of: this is racist! I don’t go looking for it.

I do think about being a woman, almost all the time, especially at my age, more than anything else.

Why don’t I think about my race? Let me try to put my thoughts in perspective.

I’ve been traveling since I was a little kid. I’ve been to the Caribbean, which have black majority ruled countries. I grew up in a mostly black area here in the USA.

Even as I got older and really traveled overseas to Europe (and other places hopefully!), certain things stood out in my mind. In the Caribbean and elsewhere, I’m a woman first. People may ask, or note, that I am also an American.

I’d get into the specifics of why they know I’m American, but that’s for another posting. The same goes for Europe, well, except for the UK. People assume I am native there. Aside from driving on the wrong side of the road and talking funny, it’s a bit like being at home.

Oh wait, no! No one in the UK clutches their purse when I’m around. I don’t get the “you must be a criminal because you are black” treatment. No one stares at me “funny” when I go into a pub or restaurant. Although I hear from my UK family that the country does have its issues with black people.

The grass is never greener anywhere.

I figure when our (America’s) bad racial habits gets picked up overseas, it will be with a country we are closely tied to culturally. Plus, it’s to be expected with the US media devoted to the demonizing of (American) blacks worldwide. A ton of the entertainment on UK TV / movies / radio / etc. are American. Think of the anti-black pollution served there daily.

Overall, my thinking of race has been tantamount to this: racism is the problem of the person who harbors it. As long as this person isn’t trying to deny me Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness, I don’t think about it.

More to follow…