Just my luck: the morning before leaving on a flight to go home, the water heater in our apartment building broke and needed to be fixed, and I couldn’t shower before heading to the airport. I rushed through security and arrived at the AA lounge to find out that both of the two showers were occupied and would not be free until about half an hour from that point — that was only fifteen minutes before boarding. When I got notified that the shower was cleaned and ready, I had a quick shower, washed my hair, and dashed off to board the plane. I got there at the exact time boarding for business class began.

It’s funny to see how my flying habits have evolved. Before Chris, I didn’t even know airport lounges existed (if I passed them, I’d just ignore them since they were then irrelevant to me). Now, I take advantage of them and their showers when I can, and especially in events where the apartment is having issues. These are like the secret habits of the privileged jet setting to all areas of the earth in luxury. I’ve become spoiled. And my parents are even used to hearing about my upgrades and just expect me to get seated in business class. When they pick me up from the airport now, one of the first questions they will ask me is “did you get upgraded?”, followed by, “what did they serve you to eat?”

If there’s one thing I can consistently say about service levels at grocery stores in New York, it’s that in general, workers are rarely that helpful, especially when you ask questions about very specific, niche items, or you have questions regarding this fish type’s characteristics over another variety of fish. But the thing that always makes me happy is going to the meat and fish section of Whole Foods and getting served. I don’t know if the guys there just think I’m cute, but I always get good service and any and all of my questions answered in a friendly manner. Today, I came in to purchase the pork butt that was on sale in hopes of making a bo ssam slow roasted pork in a couple weeks, and the man helping me cut me a piece that was the exact weight I wanted. He even offered to do additional things to the piece of meat which I didn’t need and declined. If only all grocery store service could be at this level, then grocery shopping would be so much more pleasurable.

I’ve been living in New York for eight and a half years now, and since I lived in Queens for my first four (and not in the trendy areas of Long Island City or Astoria), I’m used to hearing all the backlash and negative reactions people have to Queens as a borough. To so many (white) people who are in New York, there’s really just Manhattan and Brooklyn, and that’s it.

Yet I actually was surprised yesterday night when I was at my mentoring session for foster kids when one of the Latina mentors said she was born and raised in Jackson Heights, a neighborhood in Queens, and still lived there, but had a very negative reaction when I told her I lived in Elmhurst for four years. Her face turned sour and she asked me if I liked living there. I said I really liked it a lot, still missed the food, but I much prefer the quick commute of living on the Upper East Side and the convenience of being in Manhattan. She asked me if I ever witnessed any crime, and I said no; my neighborhood was full of families, mostly Asian, Latino, and white.

She told me that growing up, she and everyone she knew in Jackson Heights always considered Elmhurst the “ghetto,” the area that was crime-ridden that no one ever wanted to go to. That’s so odd to me, I said to her. East Elmhurst has a lot of crime (and is really only accessible by car or bus), but that’s a very different neighborhood than Elmhurst, which is accessible by the R/M yellow train line that I used to take. She didn’t seem to know the difference and said that she wasn’t a fan of Elmhurst. What about Corona (the actual neighborhood next to East Elmhurst that is known for violent crime)? Her face completely went off. “That place is bad, really bad. I would never even consider going there!”

First, there was the negative reaction against Queens as a borough. Now, I’m getting negative reactions for Elmhurst supposedly being a dangerous and crime-ridden neighborhood from someone who lives in Jackson Heights, which is only two subway stops away from my old stop in Elmhurst. Yet, this person, despite never having lived anywhere other than Jackson Heights her entire life, doesn’t know the difference between East Elmhurst and Elmhurst as neighborhoods. Ignorance, even in your own borough, is just rampant here. And people are happy to be ignorant and not know what they don’t know and dismiss opinions from people like me who actually have “been around.” I can’t escape it anywhere. It’s no wonder Trump is going to be inaugurated tomorrow.

I was sitting in my favorite wonton noodle soup joint in Chinatown the other day, enjoying my freshly made noodles and wontons, when a white couple came in and sat down next to me. They clearly did not feel comfortable dining there, and they kept looking around as though someone was going to jump them any second. They debated whether they still wanted to eat there and finally settled and decided they would stay.

The both of them seemed a little perplexed as they are scanning over the menu, also glancing around to see what other diners are eating. “I think this place is supposed to make all their noodles and wontons in house,” the man said as he watches the open kitchen workers in front cutting fresh noodles and dumpling them into a massive boiling water-filled vat.

“I want to eat dumplings. Let’s get the vegetable dumplings; they sound good,” the woman said in response, clearly ignoring what her partner just said. The man insisted they get the steamed buns, or the char siu bao, and so that’s all they ordered.

The dumplings and the buns arrive at the table, and they started picking at the buns as though they are foreign goods to them. “I thought these were supposed to be Chinese pork buns, but the outside of the bun is sticky,” the man remarked. “It must be made with sticky rice. I had no idea that Chinese steamed buns were made with sticky rice.”

I’m not sure why you would go to a Chinese restaurant known for wonton noodle soup and order buns and dumplings. I’m also not sure why you would think that your steamed buns were made of sticky rice just because some of the dough stuck to your fingers.

Actually, I do know why. Foreign things always feel foreign to those who keep “foreign” concepts at bay, so it feels “safe” to order and eat what you know and are comfortable with and stereotype a culture to be. These are always the moments that I’m really grateful to be part of two Asian cultures that are rich in their history and food and not part of a generic categorization that gets ridiculed for not having any real culture.