Manifesto For Young Asian Women

M A N I F E S T O F O R YO U N G A SIA N
WOM E N
( T H E L I F E O F SH I UA N ’ S VAG I NA )
SH I UA N BU T L E R
Manifesto For Young Asian Women
Shiuan Butler
Copyright 2010 Shiuan Butler
Contents
Acknowledgements 6
Timeline 7
Introduction 9
Me, Myself, and I

Asian Heroines 11
Selfishness 13
Hawaiì 14
Wants 18
Childhood 19
Loneliness 23
Beauty 25
Things they should teach in high
school instead of ‘Home Ec’ 27
High school 28
First period 31
Relationships
Marriage 32
My crazy ex 39
Dating 52
Safe sex 54
My very own STD 58
Men & relationships 61
Casual sex 65
3
Friends with benefits 67
Cheating 68
Older men and younger women 70
Don’t You Dare

Harassment 72
Physical safety 74
Speaking out 81
Oppression
Oppression vs. cultural traditions 84
The oppression of young people
and young adults 85
Capitalism 88
My Advice
Go for your dreams 90
Don’t care what other people
think or say 92
Take care of yourself first 93
Love your life, love yourself 94
Share your stories 95
Make your own decisions 97
Don’t feel bad 98
Be gentle with yourself 99
Don’t take things personally 100
Decide. Act. Discharge. 101

Suggested Reading Resources 103
To all my Asian sisters out there.
5
Acknowledgements
Amy, your never-ending discipline and energy and ability to squeeze time
out of thin air never ceases to amaze me. Thank you for your thoughts
and comments.
Camille, can you believe we’ve known each other since we were fourteen?
How is this possible? (When did we grow so old??) Thank you for being
a loyal and reliable girlfriend and for always supporting me in my crazy
dreams.
Thank you, Paul, for your undying patience while you edited and I hung
over your shoulder.
Thank you Shelby for reading and being touched by my story. You are
my role model so, naturally, it means a lot that you recognize something
great in my work.
Wendy, you are a girlfriend’s fantasy come true — what would I have
done without your shoulder to lean on all these years and for all those
heartbreaks? My soul would have drowned by now in the gallons of
repressed tears for sure.
And of course, thank you Mom for teaching me that to take care of one-
self is of the utmost importance and thank you Dad for supporting her.
Timeline
Age 0 - I was born in 1979 in Taipei, Taiwan.

Age 2 - Mom met my soon-to-be new (white, American) dad.
Age 5 - Mom and new dad left Taipei for the U.S. leaving my older
brother and I with our birth dad
Age 6 - After Mom and dad finished processing paperwork, I flew to
join them in Portland, Maine with my grandparents via Disney
World.
Age 8 - Moved to Columbus, Ohio
Age 10 - Younger brother born
Age 12 - Moved back to Taipei (attended two schools in two years)
Age 14 - Moved to Belmont, Massachusetts
Age 15 - Attended Conference for Asian Pacific American Youth in
Boston
Age 17 - Became Co-founder of Coalition for Asian Pacific American
Youth
- Traveled to Beijing, China on study abroad program
Age 18 - Lost virginity
- Attended Boston University
Age 20 - Transferred to UMass Boston and moved to great house in
Jamaica Plain with friends
- Performed spoken word poetry, worked in non-profits
Age 21 - Submitted essay to Asian American anthology and was
accepted (www.AsianAmericanX.com)
Age 22 - Graduated with major in Asian American Studies
- Married
Age 24 - Divorced
7
Shiuan Butler
Age 26 - Moved to Hawaiì

- Got in terrible, abusive relationship
Age 27 - Got out and finally stayed out of abusive relationship
- Waitressed and surfed
Age 28 - Moved to NYC and found feminist/activist community
Age 30 - Started Asian singles social group (www.TheLychee.com)
- Wrote my first book
- Moved into a spacious apartment all by myself
Manifesto For Young Asian Women 9
Introduction
I am writing this book because this is the book I needed when I was
younger. Even in the womb, I had already begun to care take. I learned
to worry and think about somebody else. I must have sensed the chaos
around me and learned to be good and quiet. While my Mom’s life was
in turmoil, her pregnancy and my birth were very easy.
I essentially learned there was no space, attention or resource for me

to verbalize my needs (i.e. cry). All this, I learned before I was born.
This is how I was bred—to be a good, obedient, little caretaker. Sound
familiar? I didn’t have my feet bound, but I might as well have. I was
extremely good at taking care of others and yet horrible at taking care
of myself. And this was the 21st century. In America. How was this
possible? It may sound shocking to some, and yet I’m sure many of you
can also attest to very similar experiences.
And so, this is a manifesto to all of my Asian sisters out there to

unlearn those lessons, to see them for the confusing oppressive tradi-
tions that they are and to just say “No.”
No, I am not putting others before me ever again.
No, I am not constantly caretaking others at the expense of my
own health and happiness.
No. No. And No.
And yes, I am going to be selfish. I am going to be self-centered. I will

focus on myself and my dreams. And this will change the world. I don’t
believe in experts. I don’t believe that just because you have a couple
letters or three after your name that you are smarter than me about
10 Shiuan Butler
what I should be doing with my life or that you should tell others what
they should be doing with theirs.
I do believe that we all learn from our own experiences, and that we all
can learn from each other’s experiences and thus move forward faster
than if we did not hear those stories. It is my sincere hope and belief
that when we hear someone’s story we keep it in our mental database
so that when we come upon a similar situation in the future we can
pull up that story and apply those lessons learned to our current situa-
tion. I believe that we can benefit from each other’s success stories, and
especially from the mistakes.
These are some of the lessons I learned the hard way. I pass them on
in hopes that when you come to the difficult times in your life and are
unsure of what to do, these principles and stories will help you figure
out what is best for you. That is not to say you won’t make mistakes (of
course you will and should), or that you should choose the same paths
I did. Not at all. But I hope you stand on the foundation of my experi-
ences and glean from them the tools and wisdom that I didn’t have.
And I hope you too pass on your lessons and stories to those after you.
Me, Myself, and I
Asian Heroines
A heroine’s struggles
Are often forgotten in the battle
If she doesn’t come home with a medal
Then her victory is belittled
She is told don’t brag
But be subtle
You are Chinese
Do not revel
In your accomplishments
Relish your achievements
We want to see you bow with regret
Hide your excitement
Stand stooped and be modest
We do not want to see you at your proudest
Smiling your biggest
Throwing a tempest
Doing whatever you damndest feel like
That’s what I would like
To see all my Asian sisters give a try
To speak when you’re not spoken to
To keep breathing when it feels like you’re broken in two
To conceive only when you really want to
We did not come to this country to collude
With a different brand of sexism
Oh no
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I have a conviction
A new direction
That I will set up my life based on my own decisions
I’ll let you in on a confession
I have been selfish
Only thinking of my own consumption
Walking around with the assumption
That my dreams will come true
That my schemes will come through
So take off the humility
Bring on the honesty
Asian women step forward and
Claim your rightful place in this society.
Selfishness
My Mom saw me perform this spoken word poem once. Afterwards,

sitting in the back of the car with my parents and my brother, she asked
me, “But you didn’t really mean you want to be selfish, right?” Thus
ensued a conversation where I tried to stave off my frustration and
my (white) dad jumped in and helped explain to my (first-generation
Chinese immigrant) Mom that her daughter just wanted to put herself
first and that it wasn’t so much of a “selfishness” issue as a self-empow-
erment kind-of-thing. Thanks Dad.
The word “selfish” usually has a negative connotation. But here, in our
case, it actually has a positive connotation because it implies that for
the first time we, as Asian women, are thinking about ourselves. What
does that mean exactly? That means when we’re out on a date and the
guy (or girl) asks us, “What do you want to do?” We don’t automati-
cally reply, “Oh, I don’t know. Whatever you want.” It means we wake
up in the morning and think about what we want to accomplish that
day or what we feel like doing. It means we don’t stand by the side
while our “men folk” eat first. (Yes, this still happens in this country).
It means we don’t get completely consumed in our relationships and
put our partners’ needs before ours. It means we stay home from work
or school if we feel we are getting sick. It means we do “self-indulgent”
things like get massages, move to Hawaiì to surf, go on vacations with
girlfriends, go horse-back riding, and do our art—simply because we
want to.
14 Shiuan Butler
Hawaiì
Speaking of moving to Hawaiì, I moved to Hawaiì a few years ago.

I went there for a wedding and unexpectedly fell in love with surfing
and the warm culture and people. (What a surprise, huh?) By my third
day, I knew I wanted to move out there. But I thought to myself, “What
a self-indulgent thing to do. How selfish and nonsensical and self-
centered. Why —”
But then I thought of my Mom — the person I hold dearest in my

heart in the world — and thought, if Mom wanted to do something
like that I would encourage her to in a minute. I’d support her and tell
her that her dreams are worthwhile and that she deserves to follow
them. I would never tell her that her dreams were at all selfish. And
immediately I realized, well, if that was the standard I held for her, then
that must be true for myself as well. I went home a few days later and
packed my things for Hawaiì. I moved there two months later.
The Logistics
Obviously, the details of the move were a little more complicated than
that. I’ll explain to you how I made a trans-Atlantic move with no job,
friends or apartment. It’s not the ideal way, but hopefully this helps to
show you that it’s possible.
No Support
First of all, I had basically no support, no encouraging words from
friends, co-workers or family. I might be exaggerating a little (people
will come out of the woodwork after this). But in general, the responses
ranged from “God, I’m jealous!” at best to “You’re crazy” at worst.
Jealous? Of what? I didn’t have anything they didn’t have. I didn’t have
a job, connections or inherited wealth. As for being crazy, I already
knew I was. People had called me that before, and I was fine with it. If
“crazy” meant doing something outside of the box, that people think
is impossible (but nevertheless see as really cool), then I was glad to
be labeled “crazy.” Most of the time, when you follow your dreams and
passions, you will receive no support and actually instead get admoni-
tions and even condemnations. People may even judge you harshly.
Why? It doesn’t seem to make any sense. Even if they can’t follow their
own dreams, why do they feel the need to rain on your parade too?
Precisely because those are the fearful voices in their heads that
imprison them. So, in turn, they unleash those negative voices on
you. They need to put you down because, if dreams actually could be
realized, then what does that say about them? They’re not pursuing
their dreams. Does that mean they’re lazy? No. Of course people are
not all lazy, they’re just scared — in fact, terrified. And they certainly
don’t want to admit or face the fact that they’re terrified. It’s much
easier to cover fear with a thick coat of hopelessness, discouragement
and “reality-checking,” than it is to say, “Actually it is possible if I just
believed in myself, but I’m just not ready to face my fears and risk
potential failure.”
I discovered a while ago the real reason I tend to start and not finish
projects. I had always thought that I was just a creative space cadet and
had a million different ideas at any one time; but one day I realized that
I was simply afraid to fail. If I finished a project, and it sucked, then
that would really mean I sucked. Whereas if I only started and didn’t
finish, well, then we don’t really know what it would have been. Sure,
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it’s not a success, but it doesn’t suck either! Of course the whole prob-
lem with this method is that it’s based on the premise of (a) I suck or
(b) I don’t suck. We want to change that to (a) It’s awesome that I tried
AND (b) The more mistakes I make the closer I am to succeeding.
There is a great saying, “An expert is someone who has made all the
mistakes which can be made in a very narrow field.”1
So back to my original point, that I had no support for this move. My

parents didn’t understand what I was doing exactly, co-workers were
jealous and maybe one or two girlfriends thought it was cool, but
everyone was sad I was leaving them (i.e. guilt trip). I, myself, had to
remember why I was doing what I was doing and stay steadfast in my
belief in myself and my dream—to surf and live in Hawaiì.
Finances
Anytime you move, I suggest you have at least three months worth of
living expenses saved up. (“How to calculate your monthly expenses”
is one course they should teach in high school, or at least in college).
That way after you arrive, you have a month to acclimate and start
job hunting and another month or two to go on interviews and snag
a job. While you’re looking, restaurant/bar jobs are often available to
sustain you, and though they may not be your ideal workplace, it is a
far cry from the streets. You can always work part-time at other less-
than-ideal jobs while you’re job-hunting for something better. This
may sound like a lot of hard work, but meanwhile if you’re surfing in
Hawaiì on the weekends or exploring Paris (or whatever your city of
choice) during your lunch hour, that makes it all worth it.
1
The quote is from Niels Bohr, except he said “a man.”
Along with the three months of living expenses, you also will need
plane ticket money and shipping/moving expenses. Moving from the
U.S. East Coast to Hawaiì was quite expensive, but I did it the most
affordable way possible. First of all, I got rid of A TON of stuff: half
of my books except absolute essentials, clothes I wouldn’t need like
sweaters and boots and winter coats (the quality stuff I wanted to keep
I stored in my grandmother’s basement so I could use later when I
moved back someday – and I did), and the rest of my stuff I shipped
using Media Mail. Media Mail or bulk rate is only supposed to be for
books and CDs, but when the mailman asks if they’re books and CDs,
you simply reply, “Yes, they are.” It’s as simple as that. The boxes proba-
bly took one or two months to actually arrive — but the money I saved
was definitely worth it. You can choose how you want to move depend-
ing on your budget. If I could do it on my low budget, anyone can.
I arrived at the airport (with no one to greet me, except for a sweet
welcome text from a girlfriend in Boston), and took my bike and my
three pieces of luggage in a cab to the local YWCA where I’d reserved
a room a month prior. I knew from my first visit I did not want to
stay in a hostel, as it was too crowded (four girls in a room), and too
hectic (lots of partiers). In 2004 I paid $28 a night to share a room with
another woman, and also received free breakfast, dinner and internet
usage — not too shabby for paradise. I started job hunting online right
away and soon got a job right where I was, with free food and lodg-
ing to boot. I got a surf rack for my bike, and I started surfing during
my afternoon breaks. I wasn’t on perpetual vacation like my girlfriend
had forewarned me. Working and living in Hawaiì wasn’t the same as
visiting there — no, it was better because I didn’t have to leave!
18 Shiuan Butler
Wants
Back then I wanted to live and surf in Hawaiì. What do you want?
What do you want to eat for lunch? What do you want to major in col-
lege? What do you want to do after college? What do you want to wear
today? Do you want to break-up with your boyfriend or stay and hope
he’ll change? What do you want??
We are all bombarded with 3000 ads a day telling us what we suppos-
edly want, or worse, “need.” This, combined with our childhood’s lack
of decision-making empowerment, can leave us feeling very confused.
I will talk more about wants later, but for now I will simply say: It is
good to want. It’s good to not only know what you want, but to follow
it. And last but not least, you deserve it.
So to summarize:
1. Know what you want. (It’s good to want).
2. Pursue what you want.
3. You deserve it.
Childhood
I’d like to explain a little more about my childhood so you can under-
stand where I came from, and so my decisions and experiences will
have some background context. I hope that you can learn from my
mistakes so you don’t actually have to go through the same painful
experiences to learn the same lessons. Or, at least, then you can make
and learn from other mistakes. Then you can write a book sharing the
lessons you learned from your mistakes so the rest of us can learn from
them.
My childhood was a sad and lonely affair. I usually never like talking
about it. I was raised to feel like talking about one’s problems was con-
sidered complaining or trying to get pity and that was not only looked
down upon but considered despicable. But I know now that it’s impor-
tant to share feelings with others for a couple of reasons. One, so that if
others have gone through similar experiences they’ll realize they’re not
alone and it’s not their fault. Two, because when you talk openly about
your past, you are telling the truth. Being totally open is important
because, in sharing with others, we can learn from our mistakes and
make sure these mistakes never happen again.
At this point in writing (February 2010), I still cannot recall many

memories before I was six.
This is what I remember:
I remember one day returning home to find our apartment ransacked

by robbers. It was a startling and shocking feeling for a young child
20 Shiuan Butler
to suddenly realize there were “evil” people in the world, and it was a
very unsettling, unsafe feeling that I’m sure I still harbor.
I remember my biological Dad chasing my Mom with a kitchen knife

into the kitchen. My brother and I were kneeling, facing a wall. There
are no sounds with the memory; I must have blocked them out.
I also remember taking a shower once with my brother only to be

interrupted by my Dad barging in and hitting him several times on his
butt with a stick.
And then just a minor one of being forced to drink yucky powdered
milk everyday.
Also, my Mom told me of one of my brother’s memories in which

my brother and I were hiding under the kitchen table while my Dad
was throwing chairs at my Mom. I guess that was one of our hiding
spots.
Also, apparently, my Dad brought women home while my Mom was

there.
Honestly, it makes me exhausted just listing them all. My point,

though, is that whatever negative memories you may have as a child,
it’s helpful if you talk about them and let them out. You can choose
whatever method works best, whether it’s talking with friends, writing
in a journal, writing a play or making a painting. Any outlet that helps
you deal with and process those feelings is important and essential.
Trying to block-out your memories only lets the memories fester, and
they will infect you from the inside whether you realize it or not. I am
part of a peer counseling group2 where we take turns listening and let-
ting out our feelings. I have cried a gazillion tears over the same events.
The sadness seems interminable, but the process has made a difference
in how I feel in the present and has been relieving as well as healing.
All this is to say, whatever your childhood, whether it’s mostly nega-
tive or mostly positive, you can pull strength from it and say, “I will be
strong and determined because of or in spite of my past, but I will be
strong. I will be myself. If I don’t know who that is, I will find out. No
matter what happened, I will pull through in spite of it all.” This is your
life. Seize it with all of your might.
Another Unpleasant Childhood Memory

I wasn’t planning on including this incident in the book. And then I
realized that I had felt embarrassed and ashamed of it. And so I share
it in hopes that others who have had similar experiences can know that
they are equally innocent and maybe even speak up about it.
When I was eight or nine years-old, I found myself alone with a man in
the basement of our house. The man was our tenant. He was a middle-
aged Chinese man. My parents were originally in the room, but then
went upstairs. At first, I didn’t think anything of being alone with him.
Suddenly, he started stepping on my feet, making me cry out. He said,
“Aww, does it hurt? Are you going to cry?” I can’t remember what I did
or how long it went on. He even blocked the door so I couldn’t get out.
Finally, he let me go. I was terrified to be unexpectedly trapped in a
room with a bully twice my size and five times my age.
2
The group is Re-evalutation Co-counseling: <www.rc.org>
22 Shiuan Butler
The really upsetting thing about the whole incident is that I don’t
remember even telling my parents about it. In hindsight I should have
rushed upstairs immediately and told them everything. But I didn’t. I
kept the secret to myself and felt horrible and gross and pissed as hell
about the incident. I know this because I wrote, “I hate him!” in my
diary twenty times. So why didn’t I ask my parents for help or support?
Why didn’t I feel comfortable telling my Mom? Why did I instead feel
bad and isolate myself? I’m still not exactly sure.
But I do know that I now encourage all young women and girls (and
boys) to try and talk to someone if something scary or uncomfortable
like that happens. Don’t keep the incident to yourself. For whatever
reason, you will almost always feel better if you tell at least one person.
Secrets burden us and make us feel bad — I can attest to that. And
most often if you tell a friend, they can reassure you that you are so
very, very good and that the incident was not your fault. And we all
still need the occasional reassurance.
We need to tell our stories. To do so is not only liberating for ourselves,

but also teaches a wealth of information to others. Sharing our stories
lets other young women know they are not the only ones with those
struggles. And sometimes that can make all the difference.
Loneliness
Loneliness can make us do really dumb things, like put up with jerky
boyfriends, have casual one-night stands with creeps or booty calls
with people who, deep down, give us a royal pain-in-the-ass.
Loneliness used to be a huge struggle for me. In college, I literally
could not stand to be by myself for more than three hours at a time.
After the three-hour mark, I would actually start feeling like I was
going crazy. I couldn’t stand it. Around the same time, I also real-
ized that I never planned-out my days based on what I wanted to do.
My days somehow automatically revolved around what other people
wanted me to do, which brings me back to putting ourselves first. For
example, I enjoy cooking with a boyfriend, but when I’m alone I tend
to eat take-out. We need to treat ourselves just as well when we are
alone as when we are with others.
There have been various reasons why I’ve felt lonely, but the underlying
reason is the beginning years of my life. The experiences from the first
few years of your life form the major web of patterns that you carry
for the rest of your life. For example, from a very young age I decided
I hated being a girl. My model of what it meant to be a grown-up girl
came from watching my biological Dad mistreat my Mom. It was no
wonder I didn’t want to be a girl. Who would want to be a girl if it
meant you had no freedom and were treated abominably? I know that
my Mom tried to leave several times. She finally left for the last time
when I was five. I had no idea that she left. She never said goodbye. It
must have been completely incomprehensible to a five year-old that her
Mom could leave her. “No, Mom wouldn’t actually leave us.” But she
did. And a year later when she came back and brought me to the States,
24 Shiuan Butler
my six year-old mind truly believed it was my determination and per-

sistence that brought her back.
I still struggle with the hopelessness, desperation and loneliness from

my early years. They can’t help but seep into the present. And that’s
why I do the work that I do in my peer counseling group. We help each
other get rid of old baggage so that we can think more clearly in the
present and experience the present through the lens of benign reality
and not the confused haze of past hurts.
Beauty
Physical beauty is a funny thing. Depending on where you are in the

world, it can mean very different things. For example, in some parts of
the world being light-skinned is desirable while in other places being
dark and tanned is the ideal. While one set of features may be glorified
here, the same qualities are seen as undesirable there. I learned this
firsthand when I was twelve. My parents moved my younger brother
and I back to Taiwan, and suddenly I had the attention of all the boys
in my classroom — the complete opposite of my experience in the
States.
I was very, very confused. I knew I had not changed, not one bit. And
yet, it was as though I had grown to be a beautiful swan from an ugly
duckling. It was as though I had arrived on a planet where the stan-
dards of beauty were the complete opposite of where I’d come from.
My features in this country were considered beautiful, while in the U.S.
they were plain. I now understand the root of it all was racism.
Racism
Racism is a funny concept. It is the systematic discrimination against
a group of people based on a random trait of that group. The oppres-
sive group uses the trait to justify its exploitation. In Taipei, my fea-
tures were considered attractive, while in Maine and Ohio, because of
racism, I felt very plain, if not ugly.
And so, first of all, I’d like to propose to each of us girls and women
that we separate how we feel about ourselves from how others see us —
that we act as confident as the most beautiful model on the runway
26 Shiuan Butler
(and, trust me, I have worked with them and they have plenty of inse-
curities), and as humble as the plainest girl.
I realized how subjective looks are after experiencing both extremes

and it made me angry. I became annoyed and even disgusted by any
compliments on my looks. I would often imagine that I was suddenly
scarred by some terrible, random accident and that men’s interest in
me would disappear as fast as my “beauty.”
Beauty really does come from within. If you are a kind, loving and gen-
erous person, it will show through. It won’t matter if you’re in a wheel-
chair or how your facial features happen to be constructed. Someone
who really cares about you will see who you really are. Similarly, let’s
say you are a supermodel at the age of sixteen. If you are arrogant and
superficial, that will change how others perceive you as well.
If someone does not appreciate who you are on the inside then they are
not worth it. I could say this a million times, but for many of us it’s a
lesson we have to repeat to ourselves regularly. I am guilty of the same
mistake. If you lose someone, it is their loss. Even if you fucked up, it is
their loss. Even if you totally botched up the whole thing — it is their
loss. Got it? Good3.
3
Of course, there are qualities that we can work on in ourselves. My point here is that
we deserve the best, and it’s usually best to stick with those who truly appreciate us.
This is a gentle reminder for those of us who tend to be insecure.
Things They Should Teach in High School

Instead of ‘Home Ec’
Yoga. Bike riding. Bike building. Hiking on the Appalachian Trail.

Nutrition. Cooking. STD Awareness. Personal finances. Healthy
relationships. Abusive relationship patterns. Entrepreneurial classes.
Sewing. Gardening. Glassblowing. Interviewing, networking, job-
acquiring skills. Book publishing. Playwriting. Screenwriting. Art
curating. How to run a magazine. How to run a bookstore or bike
shop. Jewelry-making. Feminism 101. The History of Activism. Blog-
ging. How to be Green. DIY anything. People’s History of the United
States.
If you’re in high school or college, maybe you can use your extra-cur-
ricular activities funds to create one of these clubs and create your own
classes on these topics.
28 Shiuan Butler
High School
High school was not an easy time for me. For some reason I got quite
depressed. I even thought about suicide at one point, which is still hard
for me to talk about. Luckily for me, I didn’t truly realize how miser-
able I was until after I graduated; it was probably too difficult to face
while I was still in the middle of it. I did have one best girl friend at
school, and we are good friends to this day. But otherwise, I did not
have many friends, was not popular (and wished I was), was terribly
shy and did not date at all. I still remember sitting in the cafeteria
with my best friend looking at a group of girls with guys all over them
and wondering what they had that I didn’t have. I always thought my
inability to attract boys was a defect of my own. It was very confusing
since I had just left Taiwan where I received tons of attention. And then
upon arrival at a middle class white suburb I once again became “not
attractive.” Of course I didn’t consider that I, too, could have had plenty
of boys swarming around me if I only chose to behave in a certain way.
If I could talk to the sixteen-year-old Shiuan now, I’d tell her she’s fine
just the way she is, “You don’t need bigger boobs. They’re beautiful just
the way they are. You don’t need to be blonde or even popular, as long
as you love yourself. You don’t need a boyfriend to reassure you that
you’re worthy. Racism is real and systematic and, at times, subtle and
insidious. Other people’s racism towards you is not personal, though it
may feel like it. Their behavior has more to do with their racism than
with who you are. There’s a reason why high school textbook history is
hard to learn. Teaching history without teaching racism is like teach-
ing reading without first teaching vowels and consonants. Racism is an
essential part of our history. History is mighty confusing if you don’t
first establish the context of oppressions. You feel as if you’re crazy.

You’re not crazy. Everyone else is just deluded and in serious denial.”
I wish someone had told me that B’s weren’t the end of the world. I
wish someone had told me that most of my high school experience
won’t matter after I graduate, that I won’t remember much of it, and
that I should stop stressing my pretty little head about it. Also, it really
doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks about you. At the end of the
day, what matters is that you love yourself. You might not feel this way
now, but just wait.
Now all of this probably sounds mighty cheesy. But what is ‘cheesiness’
anyways? The opposite of cool? What is cool? Aloofness? Smoking?
Drinking? Drugs? Boyfriends? Being “fashionable?”
What is cheesy? True love? Self-love? Self-respect? Just saying no to
drugs? Being a dork? Being “naïve?” Showing your feelings? In that
case, I’d rather be cheesy.
I choose cheese.
Conference for Asian Pacific American Youth

The other part of high school that saved me was CAPAY—the Confer-
ence for Asian Pacific American Youth, which my crazy history teacher
sent me to during my freshman year. There I learned about racism for
the first time. I learned about identity and first and second-generation
immigrants. I met other Asian Americans battling the same issues as I
was. I was stunned. This was incredible. It wasn’t just me! I wasn’t the
only awkward, confused, defective-feeling Asian girl out there — there
were many, many others also struggling with generational and cultural
differences, filial piety, small boobs and much more! This was wonder-
30 Shiuan Butler
ful! I also met other Asian kids from inner city schools who actu-
ally hung out with each other. Asians wanting to hang out with other
Asians was a total shock to me, since at my school the five Asians in
our class completely avoided each other. The other Asian girl and
I each had best white girlfriends. And we both equally avoided the
“fobby”4 kids. So, a group of Asians who actually wanted to hang out
together was a whole new world for me.
CAPAY became the Coalition for Asian Pacific American Youth, and it
was my base for the rest of my high school years. We continued plan-
ning an annual conference for Asian American high school students.
It was filled with workshops on Asian American history, political and
social identity, family cultural gaps and every other issue and quirk you
could imagine. A few of us formed an Asian Club at our high school. It
was painful and whitewashed, but it was a start.
4
“Fobby” is related to the term FOB (Fresh off the Boat) and refers to new Asian immi-
grants. Most people consider FOB a derogatory term, although sometimes Asians use
it to tease other Asians.

First Period
The first time I got my period was a bit of a traumatic experience.

First of all, I believe all parents should tell their daughters about men-
strual periods way before they get their first one. I mean years before.
Don’t wait until she wakes up one day and finds herself bleeding from
DOWN THERE to explain to her, “Oh yeah, honey, I forgot. It’s noth-
ing. No, you’re not bleeding to death. It means you’re a woman. Con-
gratulations! Aren’t you happy? You get to look forward to this every
month now. Now go wash your underwear before it stains. And here’s
some pads.” What the — #$$%^%??5
Although my Mom was supportive enough about the whole thing, her
lesson in tampon usage left a bit to be desired. I remember her telling
me that using a tampon still didn’t feel completely comfortable to her.
As an avid tampon user for the last sixteen years, I can honestly say —
if used correctly — you should not feel a thing.
So there I was, struggling to put the bloody thing in (virgin that I was),
tense as hell, not understanding the exact “ins and outs” of tampon
usage. And all this stress because that day we had swimming in gym
class and I did not want to sit out in mortified declaration to the world
that, “I have my period. I am bleeding out of my vagina; thus, I can’t
swim.” And then I’d have to make-up the class with complete strangers
after school the next week.
5
This is not exactly what happened to me, but it seems to be a common occurrence
among girls.
32 Shiuan Butler
Relationships
Marriage
I was certainly the last person on Earth I expected to get married and
certainly not at that young age. I grew up watching first one disastrous
marriage and then another. (At least it seemed that way. My Mom’s
second marriage, though much better than the first, had plenty of ups
and downs through my teenage years as well)6. I simply didn’t see the
point of marriage. Growing up, I may have witnessed a few successful
marriages where the two people seemed to be true peers who respected
each other and were best friends. But those were few and far between
in comparison to the bored ones, the distant ones and the ones where
the woman, burdened with most of the child-rearing responsibilities
and housework, was clearly not benefitting from the marriage as much
as the man.
Yet, somehow I found myself married at age 22, and then subsequently
divorced at 24.
My husband was my second boyfriend and the exact opposite of my

first. At 22 (I was 18 then), he seemed much more like a man than my
last eighteen-year-old boyfriend. He was from Nepal and had long hair
down his back and tattoos on his arms. Along with his leather jacket
and boots, he was absolutely gorgeous. I loved watching him work. He
6
I believe my parents are doing much better in recent years. But at the time they were
struggling and it was stressful on me as a teenager.

was so smooth, like water between rocks. I was awestruck. Never in my

four long years of high school did I see an Asian man this beautiful,
this hot, this tough and this cool.
We got together pretty quickly. For the first couple of years, we got
along really well and had lots of fun together. I remember laughing a
lot and making out in the park. However, one big issue we did have
in the beginning was that I wanted to spend all of my time with him.
It got so bad that we had to set in advance which days we would be
together and which days he would spend with his friends. That way
I would be mentally prepared and couldn’t bug him about it. I now
understand that I still had the old loneliness from my childhood hang-
ing over me. So when I met someone I really clicked with, I (subcon-
sciously) felt desperate to cling to him in an attempt to “save myself ”
from my loneliness (which in actuality was old but the feeling was
strong enough to confuse me into thinking it was real and present).
Other issues included his smoking and the occasional bar fight. He
always claimed he never started anything, but if the other person
looked at him funny then he just had to do something. For a year I
nagged him about his smoking until I finally learned — it was useless
unless he wanted to quit himself7.
During our second or third year, he mentioned he wanted an open

relationship and to “see” other people. I definitely did not like that idea
7
I used to be very naïve about smoking. I thought any non-smokers who dated smok-
ers must not really love them because if they truly loved them then they’d have stopped
them from smoking already. Unfortunately, it’s never that simple.

34 Shiuan Butler
and said no. However, I went back several months later and told him
yes, but then he changed his mind and decided he didn’t want that.
As serious a couple as we were, we had our share of problems. Ulti-

mately, we both ended up cheating on each other. When he cheated on
me, he told me the next day, which doesn’t make up for it. Of course
I was crazy with anger and betrayal and we talked and talked about it
and finally I agreed to give our relationship a try and to try to trust him
again. It wasn’t easy, but I must have really cared about him and didn’t
want to break up.
Later, I cheated on him as well. I’m not proud of it. I thought I could
never do such a thing. I don’t have a lot to say about it, except that it
doesn’t mean you’re a bad person — just confused.
Cheating is really more a symptom of underlying issues within you

and/or the relationship than a signal that “you are now an evil person.”
You’re not only hurting the person you’re lying to, but also yourself by
sneaking around with a guilty conscience.
After four years into our relationship, his status became illegal. He
didn’t have a work visa and he had already finished school. His options
were to leave the country immediately or to get married. We had
started growing apart years before and were having lots of problems by
then. Honestly I wasn’t sure if we should even stay together — never
mind get married! (Personally, I think most people know after two
years if they should stay together or break up. Most people don’t like
change and, as a result, stay together not because they really want to,
but simply because they don’t want to break up.)
He actually never asked me to marry him. He was too proud. But we

knew each other inside and out by then, and I knew he wanted to stay
in the U.S. So I asked him if that’s what he wanted, and he implied he
did. So began the two weeks of hell, where I stressed over the decision
to marry someone whom I cared for very much, though I wasn’t actu-
ally in love with him anymore8.
I deliberated for two weeks, talked to girlfriends, talked to my peer

counselors and was still as confused as ever. My main problem, which
I didn’t realize at the time, was that it was an unfair question. It’s like
asking kids if they’d rather go with Mommy or Daddy in a divorce.
Being unable to save my Mom from a terrible situation as a child left a
scar on me for life9. I watched my Dad abuse my Mom (and my brother
and me), for the first six years of my life. I felt immense helplessness
and powerlessness in not being able to help my Mom. This developed
into an inability to say no and a desperate desire to help those close to
me, even at the expense of my own well-being.
In addition, I felt an irrational sense of guilt and accountability for our

racist immigration laws. How dare I? I, a naturalized and privileged
American citizen, was not going to help my immigrant boyfriend, who
simply needed me to marry him and it could change his entire life.
8
By then I was 22 and he was 26. During the last few years I had felt we were going
down different paths. I was a very different person at 22 than when we met at 18. But
he had basically stayed the same.
9
Interesting that I didn’t think of saving myself, but instead focused on saving my
Mom specifically.
36 Shiuan Butler
It could save him! But I wasn’t willing to lift a finger to do this small
deed for him? (You see how irrational this was getting). I certainly did
not need to attempt to assuage my guilt about this country’s racism by
agreeing to a Green Card marriage.
I was so anxiety-ridden that I would wake up in the morning with my

shoulders more tense than the night before. It was a messy and com-
pletely unfair situation caused by racism, capitalism and sexism, all
converging into one. I made the only decision I could at the time. I said
yes because I couldn’t say no. He was ecstatic. I was happy to make him
so happy. And as for my happiness? It was buried so far beneath years
of helping others, feeling guilty and feeling bad that I had no idea what
I wanted anymore.
I thought the two weeks of indecision were bad. I definitely was not
prepared for the two-and-a-half years that we were married. That’s also
when I cheated on him (another sign that I was not ready for mar-
riage). Soon after we were married, I realized that our same old fights
hadn’t gone away; however, I still felt I wanted to help him get his
Green Card, so we stayed married, but broke up. At that time we were
living in a two-bedroom apartment together, so I just had him move
out into the other bedroom. Of course, our problems started
immediately.
One weekend his friends and him drove down to New York. I later
found out that he was arrested for drunk driving. Once I realized that
everyone was fine, my horror quickly changed to fury. Someone had
called the cops after seeing a car stopped at a red light for a good half
an hour. Half an hour?? He claimed he had been exhausted from the
drive down and had driven all of his friends home and had fallen
asleep at the light. Thank god no one was hurt. But I was livid. After all
I had been through—against my parents’ and my whole family’s wishes
and my own doubts and then still staying married after I had broken
up with him! We already had a lawyer, went to immigration, were
in the process of obtaining letters of reference to attest to his good,
decent, moral character… and then he gets caught drunk driving??
Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. What with increasing pressure from
my parents and also from my aunt and uncle who were lawyers who
had tried to impress upon me the seriousness of what I was doing — I
couldn’t take it anymore. This was the final straw. When he royally
messed up because of his age-old habit of drinking and put his chances
of staying in this country at risk, I decided I couldn’t handle it any-
more. I had put so much effort into helping him stay in the country,
not only rearranging my life around it, but putting myself at risk of
being deported even. I called my parents and they quickly jumped in
with a divorce lawyer and the money to pay for him too.
Divorce is no fun, whether you’re 45 or 25. You still feel like shit,
though luckily we had no house, assets or kids to fight over. But he
still hated me since I wasn’t going through with the marriage and he
didn’t get his Green Card. (He didn’t actually hate me. But because he
felt that I hurt him, he wanted to hurt me back.) He brought a woman
home, against our original agreement and my desperate pleas. In his
eyes, I had ruined his life. Hell, I’m still making excuses for him. Truth
is, he treated me really well (most of the time—though a friend who
had a crush on me then reminded me of some things I had “chosen” to
forget). And I really cared about him and loved him, though I wasn’t in
love anymore. But racism and capitalism had managed to get between
38 Shiuan Butler
us and tore us apart10. And the sneakiest part of it all way that every-
thing still ended up feeling like it was my fault.
All this is to say, don’t marry someone if you’re not 200% certain.
What’s the hurry? (Assuming you’re not under a deadline like I was).
Also, I always suggest living with a person before you marry them.
Marriage brings with it so many of its own surprises. Wouldn’t you
like to decrease your likelihood of surprises and regrets later by learn-
ing as much as you can about the person now before you lock into a
life-long commitment? And please do not marry with “hopes” that the
other person will change down the road. Because he may very well not
change, and what then? Are you going to get mad at him and say, “But
I thought you would change!” You hoped he would and maybe he even
hoped he would, but no one can guarantee anything for sure about the
future. So you need to be completely certain (to the best of your abil-
ity) that you would be content and happy with this person for the rest
of your life, just as he is, at this moment, standing before you.
10
We learned from our lawyer that, other than getting a work sponsored-visa, if you
were rich enough you could essentially buy your way into staying in this country. It is
called the EB-5 or E-2 investor visa.

My Crazy Ex
Because I want you to learn from my mistakes, I unfortunately need to

talk about my abusive relationship. I want to learn from my mistakes
too. And by teaching them to you maybe it will hit home more11.
Like I said, I moved to Hawaiì after spending a week of vacation there.

I had no job or apartment lined up. My girlfriend whom I had visited
was effectively MIA. After arriving at Honolulu international airport
(and discovering that air could smell this good), I took myself in a cab
to the local Y. The Y was a great, cheap alternative to hotels in Hono-
lulu, but it was also a popular spot for low-income, local women. It
wasn’t a homeless shelter because it definitely wasn’t free at $28/night
(in 2006) for a shared room, but it was often used as transitional hous-
ing for low-income women. And so it was a very interesting crowd in
the dining area during mealtimes. I remember one woman from the
mainland (that’s how folks in Hawaiì refer to the continental U.S.),
was in hiding from her abuser until her court date. Another Chinese
woman in her fifties with the same name as my Mom—Margaret—car-
ried an oxygen tank with her wherever she went, and we soon became
friends. Another older woman had her son visit once, and that’s when
I had my first experience of being hit-on by a guy in a wheelchair. (I
think that’s where my fetish of disabled men came from. That and from
a blind man I met years later.) It was quite a hodgepodge of folks stay-
ing together under one roof sharing breakfast and dinner together, as
11
Every day twelve women are killed by their husbands or boyfriends. Most of these
women (75%) are killed while trying to leave their partners. And every few seconds a
woman somewhere in this country is beaten.

40 Shiuan Butler
well as the common computer room where I job-hunted daily.
As it turned out, I ended up right where I started — working at the Y. I

moved out of my shared room with another woman (who incidentally
still owes me $20 — yes I’m naïve and trusting), and into a whole dorm
room of my own! I shared a bathroom with my boss — a woman even
younger than I am — a local white girl who had beautifully high-
lighted, reddish-brown hair and was so professional and efficient that it
was intimidating.
This job was no joke. My boss, who was probably 25 at at the time, and
I were in charge of the whole building and the 50+ women who stayed
there. Even on weekends, I was still technically on-call (although she
let me travel to the other side of the island — it’s a small island). She
kept saying someday she had to write a book about all the crazy experi-
ences she’d been through. I hope she did. I only ended up staying there
a couple of months, but I saw plenty: someone who had shat in the
sink and the hallways, someone who sneaked in a man and was caught
and kicked out — we had security cameras, women who couldn’t pay
and therefore we had to kick out, women whom we couldn’t let in,
crazy women, poor women, women with little boys, (no males over the
age of eight were allowed), but mostly poor, local women. I remember
roommates who were arguing over having the ceiling fan on or off.
One adamantly wanted it on. The other was afraid of the fan flying off
and hitting her. No joke. Another morning I woke up to a bunch of
cops and police cars outside my bedroom window. It was your good
old regular bomb scare. Let me tell you — they did not pay me enough.
By this time I had started hanging out with the man who would leave
an indelible mark on my life. I still have the battle scars to show you.
I’m not proud of them. I wish I never went through what I did to get
them. When I was in the relationship, I used to curse the universe for
placing him in my path. Who could be so evil as to do such a thing?
But now that I’ve come out the other side, I realize I have learned at
least two things from the experience: one, the ability to share my expe-
rience with others in hopes that my story will teach and warn them
about what I have learned so they don’t have to go through a similar
experience. Two, I learned how strong I can be when push comes to
shove. I never want to go through something like that ever again, but I
now know how strong I can be if and when I need to.
I used to say that I fell in love with Hawaiì at the same time as I fell
in love with M. I had never seen such beautiful places in the world as
when I first moved to Hawaiì, and M was the one who showed them
to me. So, naturally I fell in love with both together. He took me surf-
ing. He pushed me onto waves when I was too weak to paddle for them
myself. He was my one and only friend.
Our beginning was quite appropriate to our tumultuous relationship.

We ended up having crazy, raunchy sex on the side of a beach during
broad daylight. He fucked me so hard afterwards he was bleeding from
all the twigs and pebbles he had dug his knees into. I thought, “Wow,
this guy is intense.12” I was right. But I had no idea what I was in for.
12
Many abusive men have this trait in common. They will seem very ‘passionate’ or
‘into you’ at first. Actually they are really just into themselves. You can read more in
Lundy Bancroft’s great book, Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and
Controlling Men.
42 Shiuan Butler
Even before we moved in together, I should have known to be careful,

to be on guard. But I was too desperate to get out of my current situa-
tion (working and living at the Y), and didn’t know what else to do. I
was desperate and wasn’t thinking. But most importantly, I had never
been in an abusive relationship before (other than my first Dad), and
had no idea the seriousness of my situation.
One morning we were driving down a dirt path to check out a trailer.
He was already in a bad mood and for some reason he wanted me to
drive his van. So I agreed. We had just turned onto a dirt path. I paused
to wait for the oncoming car to pass, at the same time as he told me to
wait. Suddenly, he starts screaming at me, “I told you to stop! When I
say stop — stop! When I tell you to go —then go. Now stop!” Because
the van was moving, although we were barely inching along, he felt
the need to scream bloody murder and curse me out. That was the first
time he had let his temper loose on me. We had only been dating for
a month at that point. I was extremely shaken as you can imagine and
didn’t say a word until we got back home (needless to say, I didn’t drive
home). I remember he apologized when we got out of the car. He didn’t
really own up to what a fucked-up thing he did, more just trying to
smooth it over. I remember consciously withdrawing to a very faraway
place, so far away that his words couldn’t touch me.
First of all, everything was my fault. Anything he didn’t like, anything

that went wrong — it was because of me. It was like living with a little
kid who has a big temper. Except much worse, because he was also big
and strong and had a full-blown sex addiction.
We had sex at least three times a day, morning, afternoon and night,
and sometimes in the middle of the night. We had sex whenever he

wanted to, which was most of the time. And soon, I became addicted
too. One of our common fights was about having a threesome. He
argued that I used to be interested and kept pressing me to find a third
person. Our sex was always intense and it was always about him. His
favorite position was fucking me from behind. Like I said, I became
addicted to it too (unhealthy sex is very addictive), and it’s not a coin-
cidence it was also his main way of getting me back every time I left.
What is unhealthy sex? Healthy and unhealthy pain during sex is a fine
line. He was dominating and manipulative in and out of bed. In bed,
that translated to painful sex much of the time. It wasn’t totally excru-
ciating pain (then again, I also have a high tolerance of pain), but it
was a domineering submissive kind of sex we were playing with. And
depending on your past and your personality, it can be dangerously
addictive.
After we broke up, I didn’t want to have sex for a long time. It repulsed
me. Partially because it was a part of me that I couldn’t control —
sometimes I would be turned on by things I didn’t want to be turned
on by. During one of the periods when I had broken up with him he
went down on me13 against my will while I was driving. It’s very dif-
ficult to explain the feeling of being turned on by someone you don’t
want to touch you. In your mind, you might be furious, but meanwhile
your pussy is getting wet. It’s horribly confusing, totally humiliating
and completely manipulative. It’s about power and control and submis-
sion. It is rape. Why do you think it’s most women’s fantasy? Because
13
“Went down” is slang for performing oral sex on someone.
44 Shiuan Butler
it’s happened to most of us in our past, and as much as we didn’t want

it in the moment, our bodies reacted physiologically and after that
we’re hooked to dominating sexual behavior.
Even writing this now, three years later, I’m extremely uncomfortable
and upset. I’ve blocked out a lot of the memories of this abuse (same as
my childhood), and I wouldn’t remember it if it weren’t for my jour-
nals. I used to hide my journals so M wouldn’t see what I wrote about
him. But he knew. I would walk on eggshells when he was around,
trying to avoid or, at least, anticipate when he would go off again. My
only savior was my phone conversations with my girlfriends — all two
of them. One was in Boston and one in Honolulu. Folks have a hard
time staying in touch after you’re gone — which I understood. But
thank goodness I had R in Boston, or I don’t know what I would have
done.
I started turning off the ringer on my phone so that he wouldn’t know

when I got a call. Because, if my girlfriend did call, I certainly couldn’t
talk to her while he was there. And I couldn’t even just get up and
go out of the house — then he’d know for sure I was going off to talk
about him and he’d get pissed. So I’d have to wait until he was out of
the house to call back. I had many phone conversations, with him right
there, where I would hem and haw on my end trying as hard as I could
not to sound like I was hemming and hawing — and she’d finally get it
and ask me if he was there and I’d answer with a resounding “yes!” in
great relief.
I’m not sure how much is necessary to relay about my relationship with
M to get my point across and how much is enough. How can you tell
when you might be starting to date a potentially abusive person, and

how do you know what to do if you’re reading this and you realize you
or someone you know might be currently dating an abusive person? If
you suspect you might be in an abusive relationship, you probably are.
It took me a long time to realize that. At one point, a girlfriend men-
tioned he sounded manipulative from what I told her. It was as if I was
in a haze. Brainwashed, I call it. I had no idea until she said that word.
And then it hit me — she was totally right. I also moved in and out of
living with him six times — yes, six times — within eleven months.
That’s how much I was in denial. I was also very much in love with him
in the beginning.
Which leads to my other warning — make sure the person you’re

dating is not abusive before you fall in love with them. That may sound
overly simplistic or even silly, but there are definitely certain simple
precautions one can take before getting too involved in a relation-
ship. Do they have any unhealthy addictions (drugs, alcohol, etc),
that affect how they are with you? Do they tend to get angry easily, or
about seemingly small things? Do they tend to blame you for many
things? Pay close attention, and if you do notice any of the above, you
should definitely pause and step back and reassess the relationship. Get
a second or third opinion. And certainly don’t get more emotionally
attached while you’re figuring out if this person is healthy for you.
There are many different types of abusive people. They don’t all exhibit
the same kinds of behavior. But they often do have lots in common.
M always had a reason for doing what he did. There was always some
underlying motive behind his behavior. If you asked him, he’d honestly
say he wasn’t trying to hurt me. Regardless, he knew what he was
46 Shiuan Butler
doing.
When you’re dating an abusive person, it really is like you’re brain-

washed. You’re not thinking straight and, looking back, you’ll be
shocked at what you put yourself through. It’s like doing hardcore
drugs. You’re in another mental state and keeping it up (and keeping
him happy), is a full-time job. (Re-reading my journals from that time
takes me right back there, and I can tell I certainly have more work
to do in my counseling sessions because simply reading them for a
minute is enough to take me right back there.)
He was very smooth. He was the best actor I knew. He always said the
right things at the right times to get what he wanted. When I was upset
he’d say, “I’m not good for you” to get me to console him. It’s hard to be
upset with someone when they are (seemingly) down on themselves.
I’m a horrible actor myself, and a horrible liar. I can easily feel bad or
guilty. One common trait in abusive people is that they don’t feel bad
about their abusive behavior. On the contrary, they feel justified and
self-righteous about it.
Once he fooled me really well. We had gotten into a small argument

about something. I was still at the Y at that time. He was upset and
drove off. He never came and visited me the next week like he usually
did. I took the bus for an hour to find him instead. He told me that he
didn’t want to be in a relationship with someone with a bad temper and
instead wanted the two people to truly respect each other. I thought
it was the sweetest thing I had heard in a long time. Here was a man
who prioritized respect over impulsive love. He put self-respect over
impetuous love. Here was someone that would help me rein in my
temper. My love sky-rocketed. I thought I had won the lottery.
He was also extremely jealous — another common trait among abusive

men. He was also a cheater. Cheaters are always jealous because, since
they know they cheat, they think you think the same way. Cheating
is not my M.O. (modus operandi). I actually trusted him, and I didn’t
even consider cheating because I was totally in love with him. He, on
the other hand, would be suspicious and angry with me for talking
to strangers asking for directions when I totally trusted him alone at
home with a girl.
The other thing to explain about abusive people is that they really do
love you — but in their own, selfish way. This took me a long time to
understand. I just couldn’t comprehend how someone I loved so much
and who claimed he loved me could intentionally hurt me like he did.
I used to collect ‘M-isms’ as I called them — phrases he’d say all the
time. Like, “God I could fuck your pussy only for the rest of my life!”
Or when he wasn’t as happy with me, “My dog was better than you. At
least, he would just shut up and follow me around.” Or my old favorite,
“I know I’m not perfect. I have just as much shit as you do.”
You might be wondering why I fell in love with him in the first place.
And honestly, sometimes I forget them myself. Other than him show-
ing me the most beautiful places in the world I had ever seen, I loved
that we both loved nature and we were both very passionate people. He
was passionate about surfing and I was passionate about my writing
and living life to the fullest. I also loved that he just totally went for his
dreams and didn’t sit idling at a desk job, too scared to risk everything
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to realize his life goals. Here’s an example of what I fell in love with:
The very first time he took me to Waimea (a beach where they have
some of the biggest waves in the world and is extraordinarily beauti-
ful), he had us climb up a cliff — he didn’t tell me what we were doing
— he just started running up the rocks and yelled to me to follow him.
We got to the top where a group was milling around. Then he told me
to jump off the cliff. I thought he was crazy. There was no way I was
jumping! He simply laughed at me, then jumped. That’s why everyone
was standing around, I realized. They were waiting to get the guts to
jump! I couldn’t stand the humiliation of climbing all the way back
down again. And when I looked over the edge there he was onshore
waving at me to jump, yelling, “C’mon! We don’t have time!” We were
about to drive up the mountain to watch the sunset.
I loved the thrill of being with him. Although there were just as many
lows as highs. And after the beginning, there were many more lows.
We had arguments daily and there were constant incidences of his
verbal abuse.
While it was mostly verbal abuse, he did hit me once14. But even once
is completely unacceptable. There is absolutely no excuse for any kind
of physical violence from a partner whatsoever — at anytime. I cannot
emphasize this enough. Whether he hits you or someone else, both are
not good signs. M did both. He beat up our roommate, a few times as
I recall. The first time because he walked in on us sleeping (and I, half-
naked). M was so pissed he chased him out of our room and beat him
14
I also think I had learned my lesson of not challenging him because he told me his
baby’s Momma had slapped him once and he just slapped her right back. I never forgot
that. That was probably his intention.

up when he annoyed him and whenever he felt like it. After this hap-
pened, our other roommate moved out. I remember thinking at the
time, “It’s such a shame. He was such a nice guy. He really needn’t have
been scared. M is really a good guy…”
I was on my bike when he hit me, and he was holding on alongside

me while riding his skateboard. We had gotten lost and he was mad
at me. When he reprimanded me for always getting lost, I tapped him
lightly on the head. Nevertheless, he could tell I was annoyed and that
was enough for him. He stood straight up and (I can still picture this
in slow motion), brought his fist down hard on my back. I fell off my
bike in the middle of a six-lane road. He yelled at me to get up, but I
couldn’t move. I was in shock. I couldn’t believe that he had actually
just hit me. He yelled at me to get up a couple times and when I didn’t
move, he picked me up unceremoniously and plopped me onto the
sidewalk. And then dumped my bike next to me. Then he rode off.
Unfortunately, at that time I was living with him in his van. I was still
lost and had absolutely no desire to go “home,” but it was getting dark
and I had no where else to go. I finally found the parking lot where
his van was, but tried to sleep outside under some bushes in order to
avoid him. (There were cops nearby and, in case you didn’t know, being
homeless is a crime). Of course then it started raining. So, I finally gave
in and took my bike and my wet self and climbed in his van. (Of course
we had sex at some point that night too. I don’t think it ever occurred
to me that I could say no. And now that I think of it I couldn’t say no
really).
He also stalked me for about a year after we broke up. He came by the
bar where I waitressed, though I had no idea how he found out I
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worked there. I would return to my car after surfing and find a note
from him on my windshield. Upon returning to the car another time
I saw he had left me yet another note. Suddenly, he came out from
around the corner (and scared me to death). It was unnerving living in
a town so small where he could easily spot my car from my roof rack.
Finally after harassing phone calls and several hate voicemails, I lied
and told him that I had left Hawaiì. He believed me — because, unlike
him, I never lied. He believed me until one unfortunate day, when he
spotted me. It was only because he was on a moped and couldn’t go
on the freeway that he stopped coming after me. Thank goodness. He
called me though and left a few long hate voicemails, calling me all
sorts of names (cunt, bitch, whore, slut, the usual). It was unbelievable.
He would totally curse me out, but then he would still want to see me
and get back with me.
There was another incident once — after I had separated from him for
months. I fell extremely ill — with fever, sweats, shivers. I was barely
able to drag myself out of the house to buy food. Being single and
carefree can be really great, except for when you’re sick and it would
be really nice to have someone take care of you. I couldn’t work, which
meant I was losing money on top of it. And once again he was there. I
asked him to meet me at a mall nearby since I still didn’t want him to
know where I lived (even though I was seriously ill and was asking for
his help). He picked me up from there and drove me to his apartment.
He fed me and “took care of me.” But afterwards he still wanted sex as
his reward. We had one fight where he tried to prevent me from leav-
ing the house. He tried to block me from the front door. That definitely
scared me. There was no reasoning with him, but finally he let me go. I
was quite shaken and, while walking to my car, I glanced back to see if
he was following me. I remember thinking, “That was a close call.”
There were lots of moments like that. And I think, honestly, looking
back, even those times were addictive. Although, obviously, while it
was not fun fighting, it was a thrill that someone wanted me so much,
so desperately — even if he was abusive and manipulative. I guess that’s
how lonely I was. I just wanted to feel wanted. As Gavin de Becker says
in his book, The Gift of Fear regarding violent criminal’s mindset, “It’s
better to be wanted by the police than not wanted at all.”
I finally ended up selling my car before I left the island. But he basi-
cally continued to harass me until the very end. (Until he couldn’t find
me anymore because I had moved out of my apartment, sold my car
and changed my cell phone number). I started threatening him with
deportation if he didn’t stop harassing me. I figured that was the one
thing he cared about more than getting me back — surfing in Hawaiì.
I think it helped. Soon after that I left Hawaiì. It was a huge relief, after
moving to New York, to not have to worry about possibly running into
him at any moment. I still have flashbacks when I see his van model.
However, the process of writing this has helped ease some of the fear in
the memory.
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Dating
After I got out of my crazy, abusive relationship, Wendy (who had

housed me when I finally moved out for the last time) told me this
story: she arrived at her date’s apartment — it was their first date. He
greeted her and then paused. Studying her he then took a scarf and
put it around her neck. “There,” he said, “much better.” She relayed that
story to me as one of her “red-flag signals.” The fact that he needed to
change something about her to meet his approval was a red-flag for
her. She did not want to go out with a guy who felt the need to correct
something about her on their very first meeting. As small and minor
as that tiny action seemed to be, something just did not feel right. She
wanted to be with someone who liked her for who she was, just as she
was. If he wanted to change something about her appearance today,
what would he want to change down the road?
When she first told me that story, I thought she was crazy. I thought
she was blowing it way out of proportion, and I wondered how a small
thing like that could cause such alarm? What was the big deal? So he
gave you a scarf. You should thank him — not freak out that he’s going
to turn into some crazy abuser down the road.
But now after 3.5 years of serial dating, I have come to realize that what
she said is absolutely on the mark. All of the little things a person does
in the beginning are of the utmost importance. Sure, it’s generally true
that in the beginning of any relationship most people are on their best
behavior. But there are still telltale signs. They can’t act the whole time.
They will slip up. And if there is something that you sense is off on the
first or second date, don’t just brush it off. Does he make you feel un-
comfortable in some way or show hints of arrogance then laughs it off?

Do you feel demeaned, degraded, or somehow disrespected at times?
Trust your instincts and keep in mind that if you glimpse something
that doesn’t feel quite right, there is most likely more of that under-
neath the surface that he is saving for a later date (pun intended).
If you are going on an online date and don’t know anything about the
person, meet in a public place for the first few dates or until you feel
you can trust him. This is important. (I have certainly done my share
of risky and outright dumb things in the past, and I would not recom-
mend it). Of course when you feel you can trust him is subjective. If/
when you do meet in a private place, make sure to tell a close friend of
your whereabouts and who you’re meeting. Get his first and last name
and profession and company website (and verify it’s correct) and pass
that on to your friend as well. You should probably verify all the facts
he told you are true by online research if possible. Although this does
not grant you immunity from all freaks, but at the very least it is a
simple investigation to confirm he really is who he says he is.
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Safe Sex
I went to middle school in Taiwan where we learned about periods

after all the girls in our class already had one. I certainly had mine
(though after moving to Taiwan I didn’t actually get my period again
for a whole year due to stress, but that’s another story). They separated
the girls and boys for it. Who knew what they taught the boys.
I think in high school they taught us about STDs in health class. Hon-
estly, I really can’t remember. Or maybe it was only sex education. It
was pretty bland from what I remember. And for a while I still didn’t
know my pee-hole was different from my bleeding-hole. At any rate
I don’t think my first safe sex or STD education really began until I
started having sex with different people — on a regular or semi-regular
basis.
After I broke up with the crazy ex I didn’t even want to have sex. I
started dating a couple months after moving out. I told the guy I was
with that not only did I not have interest in sex, but also that it even
repulsed me. Considering there are states with laws protecting women
from rape from their husbands, there should be ones against boy-
friends as well. Some people are shocked at this concept at first. How
can it be rape — he’s your husband! OK, let’s define husband: someone
whom you willingly chose to mutually love and hold and protect until
you die. OK. So how come they are now forcing you to have sex with
them when you don’t want to? And you are required by law to have sex
with this guy because he’s your “husband?”15
15
See next page’s footnotes
So skip forward a couple of months. (I broke up with that guy because

he told me to “be good” while he was gone on Christmas vacation.
Once again—feeling like I was being likened to a dog, again — not
good. He was also 21, which was a mistake.) I started dating here and
there. And up until this writing I still haven’t had any relationship
longer than two months since the crazy ex. That would be almost four
years ago. (Something to work on there? Yes, probably.)15
OK, but back to Safe Sex. One man in particular taught me about Safe
Sex (or, rather the dangers of non-Safe Sex). He was a Chicano man
who hated condoms. Couldn’t feel anything, he said (heard that one
before?). In my own ignorant innocence I let myself be conned and
seduced and voila! Behold, STD!
A note on spousal rape and abuse:
Studies indicate that between 15 and 25 percent of all married women have been
victims of spousal rape and some scholars suggest that this type of rape is the most
common form in our society. The so-called “marital rape exemption” has been embed-
ded in the sexual assault laws of our country since its founding. In its most drastic
form, the exemption means that a husband, by definition, cannot legally rape his wife.
The theory goes that by accepting the marital contract, a woman has tacitly consented
to sexual intercourse any time her husband demands. In 1976, Nebraska became
the first state to abolish the marital rape exemption. Other states slowly followed.
Currently all fifty states criminalize spousal rape, but remnants of the marital rape
exemption are still present in many states’ laws. Plea bargains can also lead to more
lenient sentencing. From Women’s eNews, “Spousal Rape Laws Continue to Evolve” by
Caroline Johnston Polisi. <http://tiny.cc/5coex>

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(I really should have already learned my lesson a few years before that
when a Chinese friend also slipped his in despite my unwillingness — I
wasn’t yelling no, but then again I wasn’t yelling, “Put it in!” either —
and ended up getting “the clap.” Thank goodness Chlamydia is some-
thing that can be cured immediately with antibiotics. And thank god
he went to the doctor and had a check up. (Although at the time he
had sworn to me he just had a check up and had not had any unpro-
tected sex since. Yeah, right.)
Which leads me to my next point. Just because a girl is “nice” or pretty

or “looks like a nice girl” does not mean that she does not have any
STDs down there. All it means is that she took time to put make up
on before she left the house and she knows how to make a good first
impression. That’s all it means. Nothing more.
So, back to the Chicano guy. A while later, I found out, from an
abnormal pap, that I had HPV. For those who may not be familiar
with the term, HPV (not HIV) stands for human papillomavirus16. It
is extremely common and absolutely undetectable in guys, but, if left
untreated in women, it can lead to cervical cancer. Yeah. Exactly. Not
good.
So I go get the treatment. Luckily I brought a friend with me because I

was in more pain than I expected and would have had difficulty driv-
ing myself home. Turns out I received the lighter treatment of the two
16
“Genital HPV is very common. Many estimates have placed the lifetime likelihood of
getting genital HPV to be in the range of 75-90%.” From Association of Reproductive
Health Professionals (ARHP).

— cryotherapy. He essentially “froze” the cells. He stuck what looked

like a tube from an oxygen-like tank in my vagina and turned it on for
thirty seconds at a time, while I grimaced17. (I do remember the doctor
saying because I did “so well” he didn’t have to do it too many times
— he just did each one longer instead. The whole thing was such a
painful, humiliating, and traumatic process. All because he claimed he
couldn’t enjoy himself during sex. Obviously, his enjoyment was more
important to him than my safety.
For weeks afterwards, I had to “douche” myself with an anti-STD foam

(VCF, Vaginal Contraceptive Foam). And it still hurts.
However, it seemed I finally learned my lesson, from the embarrassing

and painful procedure (pain in your vagina is simply unlike any other
pain), and the painful douches. The whole thing was humiliating and
infuriating. Why does it seem like guys always get off with nothing and
women are stuck with the consequences? I have never yet had to have
an abortion (knock on wood) — I love and take my birth control pills
religiously — but it’s the closest thing to it that I never want to experi-
ence again.
17
Liquid nitrogen is applied to affected area using an instrument called a cryoprobe.
Liquid nitrogen freezes and kills the abnormal cells.

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My Very Own STD
Speaking of Sexually Transmitted Diseases, I didn’t mention I actu-

ally already have one of my very own. I’ve had Hepatitis B my whole
life (from birth). It’s much more common in Asia than the U.S. I got
it through birth from my Mom. However, my younger brother, who
was born in the U.S., received the vaccination immediately after his
birth and miraculously doesn’t have it. There are three different kinds
of Hepatitis — A, B, and C. Hepatitis A can be transferable by food or
water in developing countries. Hepatitis B and C can be chronic infec-
tions and can potentially lead to liver cancer. There are vaccinations for
Hepatitis A and B. I always strongly recommend getting the Hepatitis
B vaccine to everyone as it is a common STD in the U.S. and people
can be carriers and not even know it. The vaccine consists of a series of
three shots over a three-month period and lasts for ten years18.
Hepatitis C is apparently very serious. With Hepatitis B, however, it is

hard to say. It may turn into liver cancer or you may be fine your whole
life. Apparently my liver enzymes spiked when I was dealing with my
marriage decision (which made total sense to me since I was stressed
as hell at the time). The (western) doctor, however, claimed that that
had nothing to do with it. What I was dealing with at the time in my
life — in my heart and mind — had no affect or relation to how my
body was doing and reacting. Really? You’re saying my mind and body
are completely separate and one has nothing to do with the other? How
fascinating. I also love how doctors are so sure about some things, but
18
Of the 350 million to 400 million individuals worldwide infected with the hepatitis B
virus (HBV), one-third reside in China.

then other things — where you would think or hope that they should
be equally knowledgeable — they instead shy away from making any
definitive comments whatsoever. Like, should I not have any alcohol?
Well, maybe, a little, not too much…. But somehow they’re sure that
whatever’s going on in my mind and stressing me the hell out (like,
trying to decide whether to get married or not), is NOT the reason
why I had a spike in my liver enzymes, coincidentally, at the same time.
Right.
Coming to terms with my Hep B (as I have endearingly nicknamed it),

has been a long and ongoing process. I currently have a liver ultra-
sound and blood taken twice a year so they can keep an eye on it.
As for dating or relationships, I always have a conversation with the

person I’m dating before anything sexual occurs. It has taken me years
to finesse this balancing act. When is too early? When is definitely too
late? I’ve learned to bring it up right when things are just starting to
get hot and heated, but before anything actually happens. Although
I am getting better at sneaking it in during conversations related to
alcohol or drinking even before anything intimate happens (which
I prefer now). It’s a fine line and not exactly romantic or sexy at all,
and can definitely be a complete turn-off for some people. (Especially
since oftentimes what we don’t know scares us more, and it seems
most people don’t know much about Hepatitis B). And though it’s not
really transferable from oral sex (just unprotected sexual intercourse
of course, and also blood to blood contact, but not simply from swal-
lowing sexual fluids), I like to bring it up beforehand anyways because
I know it freaks people out if I tell them after the fact. And the way I
look at it is, if it was me, I would want to know before any sexual
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contact too (even if it was safe). I’ve gotten used to handling people’s
range of reactions ranging from shock and fear to being completely
blasé (which, honestly, sort of freaks me out).
Incidentally, my parents didn’t tell me I had Hep B. I only found out

from a doctor while traveling abroad. It was a bit of a mess, to say
the least — my host family kicked me out after I told them and my
boyfriend’s parents freaked out because we had kissed on the mouth.
I was horrified, felt like I had some god-forsaken disease and had no
real knowledge or preparation for the situation. I’ve had better times.
All this is to say that sometimes our parents need prompting to tell
us things about our bodies or health that they’ve been waiting for the
“right time” to tell us. However, if you feel ready, you should ask them.
Men & Relationships
I have a lot to say on the topic of dating men and relationships. None
of them good — just kidding! In my past, I have been from one end of
the spectrum to the other: from serial monogamy (one serious rela-
tionship after another with no breaks), to serial casual dater (“flavor of
the week” kind), to being married and being a divorcee. Relationships
ultimately teach you about yourself. They either show you how little
you know yourself, or what you are ready or not ready for, or how vul-
nerable you can be, etc. I had a very nice first boyfriend then married
my second boyfriend. That marriage lasted for two-and-a-half years.
That was a headache-and-a-half. Then I moved to Hawaiì and fell into
an abusive, roller coaster of a relationship for eleven months where I
moved in and out of living with my crazy boyfriend a total of six times
in eleven months. I wouldn’t say they’re the proudest Moments of my
life. But I probably learned more in them than the previous eleven
years. You always learn more from your mistakes than your
accomplishments.
The way I think of relationships now is that they need to make my

life better. Their presence in my life needs to make my life better, not
worse. They need to support me — spiritually, emotionally. They need
to not be selfish, especially when my activities take time away from
them. They can’t have a temper. Sure, I understand we all have hard,
bad days and may come home exhausted at the end of the day. But that
does not mean you have the permission to dump on me when you’re
upset. You can talk to me, vent or even rant. I have no problem with
listening. But don’t pick a fight with me because you’re frustrated with
your day. I think this is a common problem and shows the person’s lack
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of communication skills and also inability to be in touch with their

feelings. And I know that’s not something I want to have to put up with
anymore.
Do you know what you are willing and not willing to put up with?
Is he open to looking at and improving his faults? Or is he defensive

to any kind of constructive criticism and not willing to be open to
discussing issues that come up? Things will always come up. That’s
inevitable. However, as long as there is space to communicate and both
parties are open to it, then you can move forward.
Our media has taught us such myths as “men have testosterone so

they get angry” or “they can’t help themselves” or — the very danger-
ous myth — “it’s only because he loves you!” Hollywood has given us
messages that love and dating is about attraction and excitement and
passion and the all-elusive “chemistry.” But what if what we’re attracted
to isn’t good for us?
Personally, I was attracted to the tough and macho — motorcycle and

leather type. But at the same time I wanted someone who was good
at communication and sensitive. They are not necessarily exclusive of
each other, but many times they are. It took me years to get over my
attraction to buff and macho and to be able to like someone because
they were sweet, had similar interests, and totally adored me even if
they didn’t exude “machismo.” By now I’ve realized it’s probably better
if they don’t.
What does “tough” or “macho” mean, anyways? It means they hide

their emotions, act as if they’re “cool” (and we know what that means
— not cheesy), and nothing fazes them — essentially the Marlboro
Man. You think he’s going to want to watch romantic comedies with
you?
And what is attraction anyways? If you list out all the things you “feel”
attracted to: blonds, brunettes, tall guys, buff guys, nerdy guys, lanky
guys, etc. Do they actually make any rational sense? Will they neces-
sarily treat you with respect and kindness and be loyal to you? And
where did we get those feelings from in the first place? If they are
simply interesting quirks, then OK fine, but we should probably also
keep in mind their superficial quality. And if these attractions don’t
make any sense, and actually do harm, then it’s a great thing to try and
purge them from our systems19.
When to break-up?
That is the eternal question isn’t it? When should you cut the ties and
move on? And when should you simply work on the relationship
more? It’s all subjective really. Sometimes I like to list the pros and cons
— these are all the reasons why I like being in a relationship with him
and these are the things I hate and that get on my nerves. Do the pros
outweigh the cons (in quantity and quality)? Do your friends like him
(not essential, but it might be important to consider if they don’t)? Is
he willing to discuss any arguments or issues that come up? Is he good
19
I learned after the crazy Brazilian guy that it does not matter how hot or buff your
partner is if he treats you horribly in the privacy of your own home. I remember when
we lived together I used to look at his muscles in ironic disgust.

64 Shiuan Butler
at communicating? Do you have fun with him? Is it an equal partner-

ship? Does he help you relax, de-stress? Does he make you laugh? Does
he treat you with respect? If you love him a lot, but he only treats you
well 75% of the time, you might want to step back and do some inner
reflection.
Casual Sex
A year ago I decided I didn’t want to have any more casual sex. Not
because I think it’s morally wrong, but because I had stopped enjoying
it. When a couple incidents with a guy left me feeling totally used, I
suddenly thought, “Why am I doing this to myself?”
The thing with casual sex is that it’s casual. And sex to me (now) is
very important and honestly a sacred act (cheesy as that sounds — but
remember, cheese is good). So “casual + sex” does not work for me
anymore. There was definitely a time when that was not the case and
there’s nothing wrong with that.
I don’t judge casual sex either way. As long as you play safe (i.e. con-
doms), then it really is your own judgment call, as long as you don’t
get hurt emotionally or hurt others. The thing with sex is that it means
different things to different people. It does not always mean more
to women than it does to men, but oftentimes it is easier for men to
enjoy casual sex (partially it is simply the biology of it), than it is for a
woman to climax with a stranger. Oftentimes a woman needs to genu-
inely like the person (at least somewhat), to be able to orgasm. Some
men need to too. But I think it’s more common with women. So, if the
sex means a lot to you and it doesn’t mean so much to him (or vice
versa), then clearly you have a problem. Or if it feels great for him and
not so much for you — that’s also a problem, for you.
I will say that, from my experience of serial dating and casual sex for
the last four years or so, it is generally better to wait. I’m certainly not
advocating abstinence or saying that you should wait until you get
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married or something (I actually strongly believe you should live

together before you get married). But I have found that a lot of times
if you are having sex within a week or two of knowing each other,
then it is usually more out of lust or societal expectation or pressure
than something that you really want to get involved in. Figure out
your prerogative. Is your goal to be having lots of sex? Is it lots of sex
with different people? Hoping to fill the void that is in your soul? Too
terrified to spend a Friday night alone? I used to hate not going out
on weekends. I felt there must be something wrong with me if I wasn’t
partying with the rest of the world on a Friday night. Now I’m totally
fine with it. But it took me a good two-and-a-half years in New York to
get over it.
And, of course, always, always use condoms. Ask if he has a condom,

preferably before things get too heated and your brain has turned off;
that way it should be easier to stop in case there is no condom around.
Or bring your own, except you don’t necessarily know what size he is,
so bring a variety.
Friends with Benefits
You hear that term thrown around a lot — “friends with benefits.” Are
friends in and of themselves not beneficial enough? What are those
extra benefits? They refer to sexual benefits, implying that in addition
to being platonic friends you also have a sexual relationship. However,
you remain as friends and are not actually dating.
I have essentially figured this out presently with two male friends. Both
I like and care about as friends, but am not interested in dating for
various reasons. A FWB relationship works if both parties are in
mutual agreement that this is what they want and nothing more. It
does not work if one party would really rather date the other but has
agreed to a FWB relationship in lieu of a real relationship. This will
only lead to complications and resentment down the road. Honesty
with each other and oneself is always the best bet, in this situation and
with relationships in general. The FWB automatically disappears at any
point when either party starts to date someone. (For example, one of
my FWB right now has been in a serious relationship for a year. Boo
for me. Good for him.) This works really well if they are a workaholic
and have trouble maintaining relationships. Of course, if you simply
have a friend that you can snuggle with, that is just as useful, I think.
68 Shiuan Butler
Cheating
Ah, one of my favorite topics. Well, not really. I mean, not literally. I
mean—not that I have anything really real to contribute—
No, seriously. Cheating is one of those topics that you either totally
condemn and think you’re above until it actually happens to you or
you’re like, been there, done that. I would venture it’s like homeless-
ness — we look down upon it and never pause and think that it could
happen to us and judge those it happens to. We think we are above
happenstance and bad luck and assume we not only deserve the privi-
lege and resources we are born into but think we earned such status
from the goodness of our hearts. Homelessness and cheating are not
exactly the same things, but they have some qualities in common. I
could be totally off, but I doubt it.
My ex-husband was the first to introduce cheating into my life. We

were starting to grow apart (to claim my part and/or responsibility in
his cheating). I had started becoming close to a male friend of mine —
“Mark.” My ex-husband was working a lot. I think he could sense Mark
and I were becoming closer, and didn’t like it. Incredibly, on the same
night my ex-husband slept with a girl I knew from high school, I slept
with Mark. (We were so close — we even cheated simultaneously!)
Except the only, and, to me, the biggest difference was that he actually
fucked her and I didn’t fuck Mark. I thought the fact that Mark and I
didn’t have sex was totally different. Regardless, we had a big talk about
trust, and I decided to stay with him. It was really hard, and I’m sure it
took a while for me to gain that trust back again. (However, he felt that
it was just as bad that I “slept” with Mark even though nothing sexual
actually happened).
After Mark, I had two brief affairs while married. Years later, I also
experienced being cheated on too (yet again). Neither is fun or enjoy-
able (the former may be, but only in the moment and you feel so shitty
afterwards it really isn’t worth it. At least I did). I have been on a date
with a man who admitted over coffee he had a wife and three small
children at home. Not two, but three. I asked him what he was doing
in the café with me? He replied nonchalantly, “It’s only coffee.” I once
found a pair of women’s underwear in the crazy ex’s bed after sex. I felt
something at my feet and pulling it out exclaimed, “What the hell is
this?” To which he replied ever so innocently, “Isn’t it yours?”
Not all cheaters are evil people and not all non-cheaters have high
morals. Obviously, if someone is cheating there are serious underly-
ing issues they have with the relationship that they are not address-
ing. Many times they may even still have strong feelings towards their
partners. However, if you do choose to have an affair with someone
(someone who is cheating on his partner with you), you need to know
what you are getting yourself into. Do you really like this person? Do
you want to get involved with someone who is knowingly hurting their
loved one this way? Is it possible you might develop serious feelings
for this person and potentially want to date them later, and then worry
they might cheat on you? Not all cheaters cheat again, but do you really
want to start a relationship that’s founded on cheating when there are
already enough trust issues at the beginning of any relationship?
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Older Men and Younger Women
The phenomenon of older men dating younger women is something

that has come to my attention, especially as I’ve gotten older. When I
was younger (like 17), I used to have men at least twice my age ask me
out. Not only were they unapologetic when I informed them of my age,
but they actually preferred it! Now at age thirty I have male friends
in their mid-thirties who are dating 21 year-olds. The website Craig-
slist has become notorious for those looking for casual sex, sex with
prostitutes, sex with minors (a horrific issue that is more common in
this country than most realize), and “sugar babies” (i.e. posts from men
from their thirties and up looking for eighteen-plus year-old females.
Sugar babies are similar to prostitutes in that they are being paid for
sexual acts. However, oftentimes these men don’t like to think of them-
selves as johns (men who pay for prostitutes) and prefer to think of the
girls as “innocent” or “pure,” unlike their stereotypes of prostitutes. In
return for sexual favors, the girls receive cash and/or gifts. Unlike johns
who pay for prostitutes by the night or hour, people who participate in
sugar daddy/sugar baby relationships usually expect the relationship to
last for a more substantial period of time (e.g., a month or more).
One of my 36 year-old guy friends has a hard time taking his rela-
tionship with his 21 year-old girlfriend seriously. Another one keeps
wishing his younger girlfriend was more mature. (Seriously?) Granted,
every 21 year-old, male or female, is different. However, when a thirty-
something year old guy is consistently dating women much younger
than he is, it’s probably a sign of something deeper. Like, why can’t he
date women his own age? What is he trying to avoid? Is it the inno-
cence and naiveté of much younger women that attract him? Is it
simply their youth, which he equates with beauty?
I am not necessarily warning that you never get into a relationship

with someone much older. I recently dated a friend who is twelve years
older than me. (We had known each other since I was eighteen. Now
I’m thirty and he’s 42 — a much smaller gap than when I was eighteen
and he was thirty). I am recommending that you take not only his age
into account, but also his accompanying expectations and that you stop
and question if he is choosing to date someone significantly younger
specifically because of the age difference. Is this a pattern of his?
I also like to know if they’ve been divorced. I tend to prefer divorcees,

as strange as that may sound. I tend to be suspicious of men who are
forty-plus and have never married. I wonder why they haven’t and is it
because they have commitment issues (though they very well may just
not have met the “right” one yet). However, if they have been mar-
ried, then at least I know they probably don’t have commitment issues
(though it doesn’t rule out having issues altogether — just that one).
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Don’t You Dare
Harassment
My first job out of high school was working as a cashier at Au Bon

Pain in Harvard Square. I worked the 3pm-12am shifts. There were
lots of interesting customers. It was also my first time getting attention
from adult men. It may also have been my first time having so much
constant contact with male strangers. Whatever the reason, it was
definitely a bizarre, disorienting and very uncomfortable feeling to get
hit on by men my Dad’s age. I will never forget one male customer who
invited me out for a drink. I politely and apologetically explained that
I couldn’t, because, see, I was only eighteen. “Oh, no worries,” was his
nonchalant reply, “It’s my restaurant.” To my utter shock and horror!
(I was so innocent then.) He must have been at least twice my age and
thought nothing of serving alcohol to a minor — in his own establish-
ment, no less! It was scary, but also very prevalent.
I’m sure many of you have experienced being harassed when going out,
in clubs and bars. I often had my ass grabbed in clubs (I know — so
gross) until one day I finally put my foot down. Wait, I take that back.
I actually had to mentally prepare myself for a while before I was able
to stand up for myself. This is what would usually happen: I would
walk through a club and suddenly I would be shocked to feel some-
one’s hand on my ass; it would take me a good long couple seconds to
recover and by the time I turned around of course they’d be gone. This
happened to me many times before I realized I need to mentally prac-
tice and train myself (in the privacy of my own home), to shorten that
recovery time and quickly get over that shock of being molested and
turn around quickly. Sure enough, one day I had to use it. A guy
grabbed my ass and I immediately stopped, turned and started scream-
ing in his face. Who the hell did he think was, etc. Of course no one
could hear me since it was so loud in there, but luckily the cop a few
feet away did see me pointing my finger inches from his face and saw
I was pissed as all hell. As it turns out, the guy was a friend of the girl I
was with, though I barely knew her. She started dragging me away but
the cop was already there. I was screaming, “He grabbed my ass!” as
she dragged me away. Incidentally, he and all his short little Asian bud-
dies got kicked out of there.
With harassment on the street, it’s hard to say when you should say
something and when to leave it alone. At different times, I’ve done
both. I’ve spoken up many times because I felt it was important that
they saw an Asian person (and female), stand up to being called chink
or a racist version of “ni hao ma!” screamed at them. At the same time,
choose when to speak up at your discretion since your safety is always
most important — which leads me to my next topic.
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Physical Safety
Physical safety is something that most women worry about much of

the time. I have heard men surprised that personal safety occupied so
much of their girlfriends’ mental space — surprised and doubtful that
it was a real, legitimate concern20. And yet, whether we have actually
ever been physically attacked or not, many women still carry this fear.
Why? We live in a world of perpetual violence against women. In the
media there is a conscious emphasis on portraying violence versus
inspiring news. And in movies and television, there is a constant
theme of eroticizing and idealizing the physical and sexual submission
of women to men. We are constantly bombarded by these images in
media and advertising. Male domination is the norm, while women are
either at men’s beck and call or in the background in subservient roles.
This constant threat may sound extreme to some of you. To others, it

might be something you’ve instinctively felt, but never dared put into
words quite like this. Unfortunately, sexism is a term and concept that
is often not taken seriously anymore, and young women often don’t
even consider it cool or mainstream to call themselves a “feminist”21.
But if many women are still concerned for their safety when walking
around at night in their own neighborhoods, then that is a sure sign
that sexism, male domination and female powerlessness are still
present and that we must do something about it.
20
Never expect those in the oppressor role to automatically or fully comprehend the
oppressive experiences of those in the oppressed role.

21
Gloria Steinem’s definition of a feminist: “Someone, which can be a woman or a man,
who believes in the full social, economic, political equality of women and men.”
I didn’t used to be one of those women who walked around scared.

Even when my roommate got mugged down the street from our house
in Boston, it still never really entered my head that I should be wary
walking around alone at night. I brushed it off carelessly, as another
useless fear — of course it wouldn’t happen to me, I thought subcon-
sciously.
Until one day it did. I can say, with utmost certainty, it was the scariest
moment of my life (even surpassing the crazy ex), since my childhood.
I hadn’t been that terrified in a long time, and it brought back foggy
but still terrifying memories of my childhood.
I was walking home one night (on a “nice” street of Brooklyn), at 12:30
AM when I was jumped by two young teenage girls. One of them liter-
ally jumped out of the bushes onto my back, and I was immediately on
the ground. I had my headphones on at the time — a habit I’ve since
quit. One girl started screaming at me to give them my bag. I turned
from one young girl to the other and stubbornly thought to myself,
“They’re just ‘kids.’ I’m not going to just hand over my bag.” Though
still in shock, I said no.
That’s when one of the girls started punching me in the stomach, while
the other (who seemed new at this) simply grinned at me like a crazy
Cheshire cat. While she was swiping at me, I managed to get up, but
all I could do was duck my head while I tried to protect my brand-new,
very expensive, very stylish New York glasses! Then she grabbed my
hair (I have lots) and started dragging me around like an animal. That’s
when I realized I should start screaming, which was easy to do consid-
ering how much pain I was in. After a very long few seconds, she let
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go, only to start pummeling the back of my head. All I could remem-
ber thinking was, “OK, Shiuan, you can endure it. Just bite your teeth
until it’s over. Just grin and bear it.” Suddenly I realized this was crazy.
What was I thinking? I don’t have to endure this — I can run, and
should! This was obviously a survival tactic leftover from my child-
hood — useless and actually harmful to me now. I started to run, but
she grabbed onto my thin blouse (this was in the summer), and as I ran
in place (I picture it just like in the cartoons) she ripped off most of my
shirt. At this point I was sobbing and screaming (and half-naked), but
kept running.
Apparently, a neighbor (or an angel as a friend later called her), had

started screaming at the two girls and they finally scattered. By the
time the neighbor got to me, I was so terrified that she even scared
me at first. Incidentally, they didn’t end up stealing anything, which in
hindsight made me question if it could have been a hate crime. If they
had really wanted my money, they could have put all that energy into
taking my bag instead. (Afterwards I also found my iPod still gripped
firmly in my hand).
Later the police came and drove me around hoping to find the girls
(“canvassing,” they call it), but it was useless as the girls had already
ducked inside somewhere. And, honestly, I wasn’t sure I could conjure
up their faces even minutes later – I was so terrified at the time. (No, I
wasn’t necessarily studying their faces carefully for future identification
while they were beating me up).
The two police officers wanted to come inside my apartment and speak
with me (luckily my landlords were asleep downstairs). It was 1:30 AM
by this point. They wrote-up the report, asking me if I had any bruis-
ing, etcetera, which was hard to see considering the amount of hair I
have. They also recommended that I not come home alone at night, or
that my date should take me home. “All the way to Brooklyn?” I asked.
“Yes.” Afterwards, I felt reprimanded like a young woman from the
18th century — apparently, I should have had my carriage and driver
with me — what was I thinking?
Thankfully, the cops finally left and, as I let them out, I noticed a few
female dog-walkers had congregated across the street (by then it was
2:00 AM), and I joined them. They were very sympathetic and sweet
and shocked, telling me they had always walked their dogs late at night
without a worry. Someone said now she might think twice. One of
them suggested I take a neighborhood self-defense class. It sounded
like a good idea, but I was still too scared even to take a self-defense
class and moved out of the neighborhood pretty soon after.
The physical, psychological and emotional trauma afterwards was quite

real. A few days later at work, I suddenly had strange sensations while
peeing and then within an hour the minor pain in my back became
unbearable. I ran outside, stooped over from the pain, to find a cab to
get to the ER. Meanwhile people completely sidestepped me on the
sidewalk (now I know how homeless people feel I thought). I received
morphine for the first time in my life. And though I usually do not rec-
ommend drugs, even Tylenol, I really felt that it brought me back down
to earth from the whirlwind of hallucinations I was having from the
pain. They did a CAT scan, and it turns out the girls may have injured
my kidneys when they punched me. After a very tedious, monotonous
twelve hours (thankfully a girlfriend kept me company), I was finally
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released.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t handle being out after dark. For weeks I didn’t
want to do anything outside after 6 PM. When waiting for the train, I
always needed to have my back against a wall. I was extremely alert to
everyone around me in public, though not in a calm, aware way, but
more of a terrified and urgent way. I thought this must be how cops
feel, being alert to one’s surroundings all the time. It just left me feeling
exhausted. If you watch Jodie Foster in The Brave One, you’ll know
exactly what I mean. I also had problems with my short-term memory,
and because of the serious bruising on the back of my head, I could
only sleep on my stomach. The night of the mugging I couldn’t sleep
at all and a friend — who tends to stay up late — saw me online and
ended-up coming over and holding me while I cried. (Thank you D!)
It took me a whole year to get the guts to enroll in a women’s self-

defense class. I picked it because they specifically dealt with how
women are attacked on the streets, which is different from how martial
arts are usually taught. Women are usually attacked predatory-style
(from the back, by surprise), while martial arts are usually quite formal
and taught head-on. We also learned strategies that emphasized our
lower bodies (hips and legs), which are stronger in women versus
upper bodies (which are usually men’s strong suits). The other amaz-
ing thing about the class was that the instructors offered us a chance
to completely hit a guy — full out, no holds barred — in every class.
Because the man was padded from head to toe (with a helmet twice the
size of a football helmet and major padding in his crotch), we could hit
him as hard as we wanted and thus truly get to put into practice what
we learned. Since in real life situations you instinctively do exactly
what you practiced, it is very important that you get to hit full force in
practice.
I learned a lot during that self-defense class. Most importantly, I

learned how far I’d be willing to go to save my life. You have to ask
yourself the question: When it really comes down to it, are you willing
to hurt someone else in order to protect yourself? Many women knew
right away that they would go to great lengths to protect a loved one,
but hesitated when it came to protecting themselves. Somehow, when
it was their own lives at stake, women found it much harder to fight.
And yet, these are important questions to answer as you may very well
find yourself threatened, and you will need to be prepared as you most
likely will not have time to ponder such emotionally deep-seated ques-
tions in a critical moment.
I learned that, as much of a feminist as I’d like to think of myself now,

I still have a huge fear of getting into any kind of a physical fight even
when my safety or life depends on it22. That is what my childhood
abuse left me. And if I hadn’t worked on expunging those emotional
scars and simultaneously practicing and learning real-life self-defense
skills (physical, mental and verbal), those fears of physically not being
able to stand up for myself (from my childhood), would have stayed
with me forever. A year after the attack I was finally ready to say, “I will
22
For example, it is a little-known fact that, if kidnapped, you should fight as hard
as you can to prevent being taken away. You will have a much better chance of being
rescued if you fight to get away then and there — even with injury — than later when
you’re taken away and have no idea of your whereabouts. It will be much harder to
rescue you then. To learn more, read The Gift of Fear.

80 Shiuan Butler
never let anyone do that to me ever again. I’m prepared to do what’s

necessary to protect myself if need be”23.
23
The group is called IMPACT. Their website is <www.prepareinc.com>. The head
female teacher is very good at pushing you mentally and physically, while at the same
time allowing for you to deal with the emotions that will inevitably come up while
practicing real-life danger situations. She makes sure it’s a safe and comfortable atmo-
sphere for everyone.

Speaking Out
I have been told to shut up at two major points in my life. First, when
I was young by my abusive Dad, and, second, by racism after immi-
grating to the U.S. I finally got sick of it, and here I am, preparing to
embark on yet another scary adventure — public speaking.
Just to break it down — though I’m sure you’re clear about what child
abuse and racism entail — I’ll explain the process and how it kills one’s
self-esteem.
Apparently I sensed from the womb — and we all can — the dangers
that were happening around me. Sure, I couldn’t articulate them into
the same language that you and I now speak. But I sensed something.
And I knew it was not good. My Mom told me that my birth was easy
and smooth, which I have always taken as my first act in attempting to
alleviate the pain in her already difficult life.
You’ve already learned some of my Dad’s favorite techniques in “han-

dling” my brother and me. I’ve only recently started discovering the
emotional baggage that he handed me at that time as well. Some of the
harshness that I feel inside (which comes out during my counseling
sessions), shocks even my own ears. Also, there are my occasionally
irrational fears when dealing with confrontations with men.
Some of the voices in my head that I have to battle daily — especially

when I am writing and making myself boldly visible — are:
Who the hell do you think you are?

82 Shiuan Butler
Do you actually think anyone cares?

Who are you to teach people anything?
Like you have all the answers?
Nobody cares!
Just shut up! Just shut up!
Now look what you’ve done. Now you’re injured — you’re a burden on
the family. All because you wanted to have fun.
You’re so selfish.
So, imagine a six year-old girl moving across the world to a country
where she doesn’t speak the language to join her Mom and her new
“American” Dad, where people look completely different from her,
where the culture is almost the complete opposite from the one she
left — yet, she learns to read and write so quickly that very soon she’s
better at reading and writing than most of the kids in her class. How-
ever, she is still behind the other American kids in one major subject
— Speaking Up. (She was better at it in elementary school. But then
having to move back to Taiwan at age twelve, right when she had just
become an all-American girl, and being treated like she was mentally
slow in Taiwan because she, once again, couldn’t speak the language
did not help in the Speaking Up department.)
Then, two years later, moving back to middle-class white American

suburbia shut her right up again. The subtle, insidious racism that crept
through the halls daily left her feeling stupid, scared and alone; but, not
having yet learned about oppressions, she had no one to blame but her-
self for her awkward and dumb feelings. It was oppression at its best,
invisible, yet powerful, and so berating and constant that she didn’t
even realize the full effects until long after graduation. She could
finally look back, years later, and realize how absolutely miserable she
had been and how she had inadvertently blamed herself for every-
thing. Why couldn’t she do well in AP History class? (Because it was
a racist version of history.) Why wasn’t she popular? Why didn’t she
have a boyfriend? Why didn’t she even go on one date? Why did Kelly
Brennan feel the right to slight her, and why did she even care? And
although she had begun working at the Asian American youth orga-
nization, it wasn’t until she began her counseling group and studying
how hurtful patterns set-in and started talking about her experiences
that she really started getting a glimpse of how oppression worked and
how hard she was on herself.
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Oppression
Oppression vs. Cultural Traditions
This is an interesting controversy. I have mentioned many ways where I

intentionally oppose the way Chinese culture teaches young women to
act. I suggest that you speak up rather than stay quiet. I offer that you
should take care of yourself first, before your boyfriend or husband. I
believe that you should pursue what you are passionate about and not
what your parents want you to do. This may sound like I am telling you
to “go against your culture.” However, I believe that there is actually
nothing inherently oppressive about any culture. It is not essential to
bind one’s feet to be “truly” Chinese, just as it’s not necessary to take
five wives. I believe you can be a strong, independent, self-empowered
woman and still be very much Chinese. Chinese culture is not inher-
ently oppressive. It is the patterns of behavior that people have picked
up (survival patterns, for example), that are oppressive. They served
a purpose at one point by indeed protecting those who followed the
rigid rules of behavior. For example, “the nail that sticks up will be
hammered down,” was used as a warning to protect families from a
very real danger if they spoke up or acted out in any way. However, we
as Chinese immigrants now in the U.S., maybe second or even fourth
generation, do not need to adhere strictly to these out-moded pat-
terns anymore. This includes a woman obeying every other male in the
family first (even her son), instead of sticking up for herself24.
24
Confucianism was a moral belief system that was established in China to help govern
the country. People were expected to adhere closely to this strict set of moral codes.
Unfortunately, sexism was tied in throughout the system.

The Oppression of Young People and Young Adults
The oppression of young people (ages 0-18) and young adults (18-30)
are oppressions that we don’t often talk about in society, and that you
may never have even heard of before. However, these oppressions are
everywhere and affect us all. The oppression of young people is the
first oppression to hit us all. Unlike racism or gay oppression, it is
unfortunately something that all of us go through and something that
we all grow out of (literally), and often promptly forget. It is the first
oppression we face and thus the foundation upon which all subsequent
oppressions are born. Because we are hurt first as young people, we
tend to more easily justify further oppressions like racism or classism.
The oppression of young people includes assuming that young people

are not intelligent because they cannot “speak” yet. We are actually
very intelligent when we are born, though we haven’t yet learned to
speak the same language that adults do. Oftentimes we are not asked
what we want because we are young. We are not given the right to
make decisions that affect our lives. And even when we are old enough
to understand what is going on around us, we still do not have the
freedom of decision. There is an assumption that, because we do not
yet have a wealth of experience, we are not as intelligent. And when
we disagree with the adults around us, they often fail to encourage us
to have minds of our own and to think for ourselves. We are told that
play is not important and to act like little adults, i.e. boring and stuffy.
We are told that we are good if we do as we’re told and that we’re “bad”
if we don’t. This is far from the truth. We have important thoughts and
have great insight into what is going on around us even if we are five
years-old.
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When we become young adults (age 21-30), we face a different type

of oppression, also based on our age. Expectations from society start
streaming in unexpectedly from everywhere; for example, society
expects us to have a successful career. And we’re suddenly supposed
to have everything in our lives set up perfectly. We should have our
finances in order: checkbook balanced, credit cards in order, savings
for god’s sake — though no one ever taught us how to do any of these
things or even how we’re supposed to save money when we’re paying
most of our incomes towards rent and food every month. We’re sup-
posed to have a group of friends that we go out with and go drinking
with every weekend as a way of dealing with life’s stressors. We’re sup-
posed to drink and smoke (or at least drink — it’s hard to be social and
not drink), but preferably not too much (we don’t want to be obvious
alcoholics). Everything is supposed to be perfectly balanced and in
order — though, again, no one taught us any of this in high school or
college — we’re just supposed to know!
And then suddenly everyone around us seems to be getting married

and pregnant, and we realize that we probably should have found
a steady boyfriend by now. And if we’re perpetually single, we start
wondering what is the matter with us. And if we are artists or writ-
ers or in non profit or trying to be activists, we are even more fucked.
Where are we supposed to get all this money for a down payment on
a house anyways? And do we still do all the same things that married
couples do, but just as a single person? Or do we need to wait and get
married first? And what if we’re already past “marriageable” age? Like,
god forbid, thirty? And what if we have dreams that are not the typical,
mainstream, acceptable things to do — like run off and live and surf in
another country? What if we don’t want to be a productive cog
in society and “just” want to paint? Does that make us bad Chinese
daughters?25
The pressures are infinite. The answers few. First of all, there are no
right answers. It is your life to explore however you wish. Let me say
that again. IT IS YOUR LIFE TO EXPLORE HOWEVER YOU WISH.
Unfortunately, many of us did not have encouragement or practice or
training in discovering and pursuing our dreams. Instead, there was
AP Calculus and Economics 101 and “International Relations.” I didn’t
learn how to calculate my monthly expenses until I was 21. Even then
it was not planned or intentional. Somehow it came up in conversation
that I didn’t have a clue about my monthly expenses. So, my landlord/
friend (who was twelve years older), taught me.
The truth is, limits are in your mind, and we can be our own worst
enemies. We simply need support and encouragement in figuring out
what we really want to do and enjoy doing. We know what we “should”
be doing or what our parents want us to do. That is all too clear. What
we want to do or truly love doing is not.
It took me a long time to even let myself pursue what made me really
happy. At age 26, I up and moved to Hawaii without knowing a soul
in the world except for one girlfriend (who incidentally was not very
encouraging).
25
Or it just means you’re poor? And does poor automatically mean “bad?”
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Capitalism
Capitalism has essentially taught us that we need to be productive

cogs of society at all times, which means making money. It does not
necessarily encourage creative outlets like making art or writing plays
or anything that is not based on gaining profit. If we do not behave
according to a specific set of behaviors, or if we dare to wander outside
of them, we can be threatened with being locked-up behind bars (i.e. if
in being creative you act too “crazy”). This is often why we are enam-
oured , even enthralled, when we see many of Johnny Depp’s movie
roles or The Blue Man Group or Little Miss Sunshine or unicyclists,
because we are seeing people acting outside of capitalism’s principal
code of behavior: that anything and everything we do must be for a
profit-making purpose. We are afraid of pursuing activities such as
hula dancing or sculpting or rock climbing. Though these may be our
passions, they do not have an obvious money-making purpose. Many
of us are pulled into “corporate jobs” after graduating from college.
And the pressure from parents, family, friends and society to have
successful careers and to get married and have kids is so omnipres-
ent and invisible that we often don’t stop to ask ourselves if this is the
path we want to go down. Do we really want to have kids? If everybody
else wasn’t expecting it from us, is it something that we would actually
freely choose or desire?
Have you heard the phrase, “If you follow your dreams, the Universe
will provide?” That is the belief I now subscribe to. Sure, I still pres-
ently have my day job. But I am also going for my dreams more and
more every year. (And my day job allows me to do so). I go for things I
believe in, though they absolutely terrify me. I go for them in spite of
my fear and maybe also because of it. I don’t think, “I don’t have
money for that” or that I should curb my dreams based on the balance
in my bank account. I dream big regardless of my bank account, and
I scheme-up ideas of how I can do all the things I want to do in spite
of it. I recently started giving myself long-term savings goals. I have
projects up my sleeves that allow me to do what I want, tell my story
and let me be my own boss.
90 Shiuan Butler
My Advice
Go For Your Dreams
Many of us learned to settle long ago. Or we may have had our free-
dom of choice stripped from us for so long that we don’t know what
we want anymore. I know that’s certainly the case for me. When I was
grappling with the decision to marry or not, I had no clue what to
do or what I wanted. When I’m ordering food at a restaurant, I often
feel indecisive or “afraid” of ordering the “wrong” thing. There is no
“wrong” thing, and what am I afraid of exactly? This is no life or death
decision here — this is lunch. But there must have been a time (when I
was probably very, very young) when I was faced with decisions much
harder than I should have had to face at that age. And I had no support
or idea around making them. (And later, when I was older, I was still
not allowed to make basic decisions about me and my life.)
So this is a two-step process: first, figuring out what you want that
will make you happy. And let me reiterate; this does not mean some-
thing that will make your parents happy, and thus inadvertently make
you happy. You need to figure out what will make you happy, what
will make you excited to get up in the morning, what you care about
doing more than anything else in the world, that moves you to tears,
that calms your restless soul, where you finally feel at home. For me,
it’s surfing, but also writing. Just doing one or the other is not enough
for me. They satisfy different parts of me and both are essential to my
emotional and physical well-being.
I have known people who went into corporate jobs for a few years and
then decided to leave. I have known a girl who rushed into getting
married so her dying Dad could see her get married before he passed
away. As for myself, I have rebelled against my Mom’s wishes my whole
life. That sounds worse than it really is, but it’s true. I have never cared
about job security. Sure it’s “secure,” but to me that elusive “security”
feels more restrictive than reassuring. It’s more like prison to me.
I care about art and creating and enjoying life. I don’t like being told
what to do and that I can only have two weeks of vacation a year. And
because of that, I have not built up much of a “career” in the traditional
sense and have never stayed at a job for more than two years. I believe
in developing my art (my writing) and sharing what I’ve learned with
other young Asian women.
The second part is jumping — that is, taking the leap of faith in your-
self that you can do whatever you want to do and believing that the risk
of failure (which is always there no matter what you choose) is worth
the possibility of success. And remember what I said before: we always
learn more from our mistakes than our successes. When I left Boston
for Hawaiì, I was scared shitless. I was leaving everything and every-
one I knew for a place where I had no friends, no job, no apartment.
People thought I was insane and, yet, were jealous of me at the same
time. And honestly, if it wasn’t for Hawaiì being so fucking amazing
I couldn’t have done it. I was tired of Boston for a long time, but I was
too chicken to leave. Finally, it was the amazing allure of Hawaiì that
made me put one foot in front of the other and get my shit together to
move there, in spite of my fear of leaving everything I knew for a com-
pletely new and strange territory.
92 Shiuan Butler
Don’t Care What Other People Think or Say
I still need to learn this lesson myself or at least remind myself of it on

a regular basis. Just recently, I broke up with someone and was abso-
lutely terrified to have the break-up talk with him. I realized only after
the fact that I was scared shitless of him hating me. (It went really well,
incidentally). Really? Who cares?? Who cares if he hates you? Who
cares if the rest of the Asians in your community talk behind your back
and judge you for going out dancing by yourself even when you are
married? I don’t mean a defensive kind of, “Who cares?” But a genu-
ine nonchalance towards people’s gossip and a real security in know-
ing who you are. And knowing that your strong sense of self is most
important. It’s something that I’m still working on, but it’s a great goal
to strive towards. And I’m looking forward to it having less and less
hold over me.
Take Care of Yourself First
You know how in airplane emergencies there’s an oxygen mask that

automatically drops down, and they say to first put it on yourself before
putting it on your child? The same thing applies to relationships and
to life in general. You won’t be able to take care of someone else if you
don’t first take care of yourself. In relationships — even if both people
enjoy taking care of each other — things will ultimately go better for
both people if each person takes care of herself or himself first. That
does not mean being selfish or unthoughtful to the other person. It just
means not putting the responsibility of taking care of yourself on your
partner.
Who knows your needs or desires best? Who knows when you’re
hungry? How about when you need to start exercising? Who knows
when it’s time to call your parents? It’s not your boyfriend’s or girl-
friend’s job to take care of you. Sure, you’re there as support for one
another, but that does not mean expecting them to take on the main
load of taking care of you. And vice versa. It’s your responsibility to
take care of yourself. They’re just there to share their life with you. And
hopefully both of your lives are enriched with the other’s presence.
94 Shiuan Butler
Love Your Life; Love Yourself
I have often thought I am so happy and grateful that I live in a time

when my life is up to me. I am not given away, literally, at age twelve to
marry someone I don’t know who is four times my age. I am not forced
to break my bones and bind my feet. (I only wear heels when society
requires it of me and when I voluntarily choose to torture myself). I
have a plethora of jobs available to me that allow me to support myself
and live on my own, and society does not look down upon me for
doing so.
Loving yourself is a little bit harder for some people. Once again, it
may sound “cheesy” or uncool to say out loud, “Yes, I think I am really
awesome.” But if you don’t, who will? I realized that after I became
single, one of the things I missed most was getting to hear, “You are
so beautiful” everyday. But I could say that to myself. It’s no different.
The only difference is that it’s your opinion about yourself, and you
shouldn’t disregard it simply because it is your opinion. If you don’t
hold your own opinion in high regard, who will? One thing I do when
I’m down on myself is to list five things I appreciate about myself or
five things I’m proud of that I’ve done lately. Both help to lift myself
out of my doom-and-gloom mood and put true reality in perspective.
What is true benign reality? It’s that I have done really well considering
all that I have been through. And the same is absolutely true for you.
Share Your Stories
I read an interview last year with a sex worker. She talked a little about
what it was like in the sex work industry, but she was not willing to
divulge too much she said because she was worried her Mom would
read it26. On the other hand, as artists, I feel it is our duty to be honest
— utterly, painstakingly honest - because, first of all, if we aren’t, who
will? And the only way others can benefit from our stories is if we go
for the truth and talk about the embarrassing Moments, the humiliat-
ing Moments, and truly be vulnerable about our struggles. This way
other young women can see they are not alone. They are not freaks for
also feeling isolated, awkward, embarrassed, ugly or fat. There is a sys-
tematic oppression that exists for the benefit of capitalism that makes
us feel constantly deficient, inept and insecure so we will buy more
things. (We can’t start a revolution if we feel shitty about ourselves). It’s
not a coincidence that, after reading a fashion magazine, you will want
to go buy make-up, clothing, accessories, jewelry, sunglasses, lip gloss,
vodka and cigarettes so you can be cool and hip (and weigh a hundred
pounds) just like the models in the ads. It’s also not a coincidence that
you feel shitty about yourself too. The good news is that you are not
alone.
I wish I could have read about other young Asian women growing up
in white suburbs when I was in high school. It would have helped with
all the racism I was internalizing. I thought my boobs and eyes were
26
I guess that’s understandable and I wouldn’t put as much expectation on her as I do
upon artists. And while dancing is an art form, stripping is not inherently artistic. It’s a
job, like anything else—you do what you have to do to get paid.

96 Shiuan Butler
too small, my features plain, and though I thought all the guys in my
class were immature jerks, I still wanted very much to be cool, which
meant (among other things) having a boyfriend.
Make Your Own Decisions
That does not mean don’t listen to other people’s advice. For big deci-
sions, I definitely encourage asking advice from people whose opinion
you respect. But then you still need to sift through it, sit down with
yourself and make the decision yourself. That way, later on when you
decide either (a) it was the right decision or (b) that it was a mistake,
you can’t blame anyone else for the consequences. That’s not to say
you should blame yourself either. You are always doing the best you
can under the circumstances. But at least if you do fuck up you won’t
get mad at someone else whose advice you took. It’s your life and your
decision (or mistake) to make. It’s great. It’s a great time to be alive and
a great time to be an Asian female, (though sexism and racism is still
rampant). We’ll never learn if we let others make decisions for us. And
remember, we always learn more from our mistakes than our
successes27.
27
Let’s say someone tells you to choose Door A and you don’t understand why, but
you do what they say anyways. Even if they prevented you from making a mistake in
the end, you will not have learned as much as if you had chosen Door B and made the
mistake and then gotten yourself out of it.

98 Shiuan Butler
Don’t Feel Bad
Do you often find yourself going through lists in your head of things
that you screwed up that day? Do you find yourself focusing on the
one or two small mistakes you made that day instead of the many
great things you did that day? Do you constantly wish you were better
at whatever it is that you spend most of your days doing? Do you use
punishment as an incentive to push yourself to do better? Do you only
allow yourself to feel good when you are productive (and automatically
feel bad when you’re not)? These are all signs that you are being hard
on yourself. Improving and changing this habit is not an easy thing to
do. I am working on this at this very moment. But it is an exercise and
goal worth trying and achieving.
Most likely, you are a perfectionist and oftentimes very hard on your-
self. If this is the case, the next time this happens, stop and take a deep
breath and tell yourself, “I am doing the best I can and that is enough.”
If you fucked up, OK fine. Don’t replay it in your head for days on
end, constantly feeling bad over it. So you fucked up. Oh well. People
fuck up all the time and don’t feel bad about it. Use them as your role
models.
Be Gentle With Yourself
Similar to my advice above — don’t feel bad — instead, be gentle with

yourself. And don’t feel bad about feeling bad or being hard on your-
self. Treat yourself as you would treat your best girl friend. You would
tell her to be kind to herself, right? Well you deserve the same thing.
Don’t wait for a boyfriend to treat you well. You can treat yourself to
nice things too: flowers, a good meal, appreciating and being thought-
ful of yourself. These may not sound like revolutionary acts, but you
are actively going against racism and sexism when you do so. Oppres-
sion tells us we should be taking care of others, not ourselves. And if
we think about ourselves then we’re being selfish. Fight oppression by,
first, being gentle with yourself!
100 Shiuan Butler
Don’t Take Things Personally
This one, honestly, took me years to figure out. Whether it’s someone’s
look, words, or actions that seem off or downright rude, you shouldn’t
take it personally. They’re probably having a bad day (worse than
yours) or maybe they just can’t handle it as well as you can. Whether
it’s the asshole bus driver or your boss, you shouldn’t take any of their
comments personally. Just like with acting auditions, there may be
many reasons why you did not get the part that have nothing whatso-
ever to do with your acting skills. Maybe you remind the director of his
ex. Maybe you’re too hot. Who knows! Just know that whatever “off ”
thing you experienced has nothing to do with you and everything to
do with that person and their own baggage and mood that day.
Decide. Act. Discharge.
This goes along with the pursuing one’s dream section. When there’s
something you know you need to do — like follow your dream — but
you’re scared shitless to do it (which is totally natural and normal),
simply: decide, act and discharge.
Decide: Make the decision to do it, no matter your feelings of terror,

uncertainty or possibilities of failure. Decide to do it in spite of your
feelings.
Act: Do it. Sounds simple enough. And it is, if you can set aside your
feelings enough to do so.
Discharge: Co-counseling lingo for talking about or venting your feel-

ings. The idea here is to not wait until you no longer feel scared to do
something to do it. Just because you see people on stage performing
does not mean they are not scared. The only difference between you
and them is that they have made the decision to perform regardless of
their feelings.
I once had a girl congratulate me in the bathroom after a spoken word

performance. She told me I was great, that she could never do that.
Not true. She had assumed that by my going on stage and performing
well that it must be easy for me to do so. Actually, it isn’t easy for me.
I actually hate being in the limelight with a passion. However, because
I felt that we needed more women and more women of color onstage
performing and sharing our stories, I made myself do so. (If we all sat
around pointing accusing fingers at each other, we’d never get
102 Shiuan Butler
anywhere). I decided and acted, in spite of my feelings. And then after

I walked off the stage, shaking and terrified and ecstatic, I was able
to go and vent and discharge my feelings with a friend and hopefully
shake off some of the terror before my next performance.
Suggested Reading Resources
Emotional, Spiritual Growth and Self-Reflection
The Human Side of Human Beings

by Harvey Jackins
www.rc.org
Career, Creative Income-Making Sources
The Four-Hour Work Week

by Timothy Ferris
www.fourhourworkweek.com
Rich Dad Poor Dad

by Robert Kiyosaki
www.richdad.com
Marketing, Business-building, Entrepreneurship
IdeaVirus
by Seth Godin
www.sethgodin.typepad.com
Fiction
The Secret Lives of People in Love

by Simon Van Booy
www.simonvanbooy.com
104 Shiuan Butler
Gone With the Wind

by Margaret Mitchell
Feminism, Activism
Manifesta OR Grassroots
by Amy Richards and Jennifer Baumgardner
www.soapboxinc.com
Backlash
by Susan Faludi
www.susanfaludi.com
Ending Violence Against Women
Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men
by Lundy Bancroft
www.lundybancroft.com
The Gift of Fear

by Gavin de Becker
www.gavindebecker.com

Manifesto For Young Asian Women

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M A N I F E S T O F O R YO U N G A SIA N

Me, Myself, and I

Don’t You Dare

Age 0 - I was born in 1979 in Taipei, Taiwan.

Age 26 - Moved to Hawai`i

I essentially learned there was no space, attention or resource for me

And so, this is a manifesto to all of my Asian sisters out there to

And yes, I am going to be selfish. I am going to be self-centered. I will

Me, Myself, and I

My Mom saw me perform this spoken word poem once. Afterwards,

Speaking of moving to Hawai`i, I moved to Hawai`i a few years ago.

But then I thought of my Mom — the person I hold dearest in my

So back to my original point, that I had no support for this move. My

At this point in writing (February 2010), I still cannot recall many

This is what I remember:

I remember one day returning home to find our apartment ransacked

I remember my biological Dad chasing my Mom with a kitchen knife

I also remember taking a shower once with my brother only to be

Also, my Mom told me of one of my brother’s memories in which

Also, apparently, my Dad brought women home while my Mom was

Honestly, it makes me exhausted just listing them all. My point,

Another Unpleasant Childhood Memory

We need to tell our stories. To do so is not only liberating for ourselves,

my six year-old mind truly believed it was my determination and per-

I still struggle with the hopelessness, desperation and loneliness from

Physical beauty is a funny thing. Depending on where you are in the

I realized how subjective looks are after experiencing both extremes

Things They Should Teach in High School

Yoga. Bike riding. Bike building. Hiking on the Appalachian Trail.

first establish the context of oppressions. You feel as if you’re crazy.

Conference for Asian Pacific American Youth

it to tease other Asians.

The first time I got my period was a bit of a traumatic experience.

My husband was my second boyfriend and the exact opposite of my

struggling and it was stressful on me as a teenager.

was so smooth, like water between rocks. I was awestruck. Never in my

During our second or third year, he mentioned he wanted an open

them from smoking already. Unfortunately, it’s never that simple.

As serious a couple as we were, we had our share of problems. Ulti-

Cheating is really more a symptom of underlying issues within you

He actually never asked me to marry him. He was too proud. But we

I deliberated for two weeks, talked to girlfriends, talked to my peer

In addition, I felt an irrational sense of guilt and accountability for our

he had basically stayed the same.

I was so anxiety-ridden that I would wake up in the morning with my

called the EB-5 or E-2 investor visa.

Because I want you to learn from my mistakes, I unfortunately need to

Like I said, I moved to Hawai`i after spending a week of vacation there.

woman somewhere in this country is beaten.

well as the common computer room where I job-hunted daily.

As it turned out, I ended up right where I started — working at the Y. I

Our beginning was quite appropriate to our tumultuous relationship.

Even before we moved in together, I should have known to be careful,

First of all, everything was my fault. Anything he didn’t like, anything

and sometimes in the middle of the night. We had sex whenever he

it’s happened to most of us in our past, and as much as we didn’t want

I started turning off the ringer on my phone so that he wouldn’t know

when you might be starting to date a potentially abusive person, and

Which leads to my other warning — make sure the person you’re

When you’re dating an abusive person, it really is like you’re brain-

Once he fooled me really well. We had gotten into a small argument

temper. My love sky-rocketed. I thought I had won the lottery.

He was also extremely jealous — another common trait among abusive