Growing up in a small town as one of the few Asians around, the thing I wanted most was simply not to be different.
Racism was always there. Sometimes it was small things—little comments, ignorance, misconceptions. Sometimes it was people talking down to you, trying to feel superior. The kind of thing that’s easy for others to dismiss as “not a big deal,” but that slowly chips away at you.
So I learned how to protect myself the only way I knew how:
I ignored it. I laughed it off. I pretended it didn’t bother me.
But it did. It hurt then, and in some ways it still does. I just got tougher with age.
It also didn’t help that growing up I rarely saw people like me in entertainment. And when Asians did show up, it was usually as a stereotype that only reinforced the same misconceptions I dealt with in real life. I didn’t want to be a stereotype. I just wanted to be seen as a person—my own person. My accomplishments, my personality, my life.
But there will always be people who try to talk down to others as if being white automatically gives them some kind of privilege to do so. Usually those are the people with the least going for them.
Then COVID happened, and everything somehow got worse. Anti-Asian racism spiked everywhere. After a while I stopped reacting to it. I think I just became numb. Jaded. I focused on living my life.
And then, something shifted.
Watching Heated Rivalry made me feel warm and fuzzy inside—and not just because of the spice.
What I saw in that story was a journey about acceptance, about discovering love and human connection. About being vulnerable and scared of it at the same time. About failing in love.
In Shane, I could see some of my own idiosyncrasies reflected without them being exaggerated or turned into a joke. In Ilya, I saw that same fear of vulnerability I know so well.
And honestly? It made me want to try to fall in love.
Then I watched interviews with Hudson Williams and Connor Storrie, and seeing their genuine personalities—their kindness, their honesty, the way they talk about each other with such warmth—just made me appreciate the whole thing even more. Their friendship and sincerity are so endearing. I’ll always be rooting for them and hyping up whatever projects they do next.
But I guess what I really want to say is this:
Standing against racism and hate isn’t just posting something on social media. That’s easy. And a lot of the time it’s empty.
Real support shows up in actions.
Don’t engage with hate—block it. Don’t give it space to exist in your life. Support POC and LGBTQ+ communities in real ways. Stand up for people around you. Be kind.
And honestly? Hug your friends and family. Tell them they’re loved.
Because in the end, that kind of human connection is the thing that matters most.