Confession No. 1: Hollah Atcha, Whitey

When I see white people on the train, in the streets, eating at the mall - I want to talk to them.

I'm the only white person working at one school where I teach. And I comprise two-thirds of the white people at the other school (James is half white, he works there too, so there's your other third). James is wonderful and all, but it would be nice to meet other people whose first language is English.

Unfortunately, when we see them I can't think of anything to say that doesn't sound awkward. I've thought about turning to James and loudly remarking, "Hey, look! White people!" or marching over and proffering, "What's up, crackers?" But that attempt might be wrongly interpreted, or not interpreted at all if said white people aren't from America.

Plus there's just something lame about approaching a stranger just because you share an increased risk of melanoma. Kinda like, "Well look a that! You're white, and so am I! We should be fast friends."

That happened rather often when I commuted by bus in Los Angeles, where very few white folks inflict themselves with America's crappiest big-city public transit system.

I'd be minding my own, and then some other white person (usually a guy) would get on the bus and plop down beside me, ugh, even though there were plenty of open seats. I'd be forced to mingle when I really just wanted to listen to music and keep a look out for drive-bys. Without fail, said white guy always mentioned how he actually did have a car he just couldn't drive it today. Actually, any guy who chatted me up on the bus did this. In America buses are emasculating, apparently.

I was complaining about white people seeking solidarity on the bus it to a black friend once. She shrugged. If there's another black person working at the same office, it's standard to make a point of introducing yourself, she said. Okay, that makes sense, I thought, to seek support in a historically hostile career-oriented environment. But I was just on the 333 Metro Line from Venice to Santa Monica. Commiseration not required.

Now I'm in Taiwan and I'm the weird white person who wants to talk to all the other white people. I don't really care about the occasional family of tourists I spot, it's the unattached, pale-faced 20-somethings I'm interested in, especially the ones I see near my apartment. They could be a wealth of information - they may know schools close by that are hiring, where not to bother looking for work, a decent bar within walking distance ... But alas, my tongue is tied. And I will go on admiring whitey from afar until I vanquish my awkwardness.