I remember living as a queer Asian American in Bed-Stuy and how profoundly I stuck out being neither black nor white as I went about my daily errands of groceries and laundry. The children who laughed at me were bemusing, because I admit, I did look strange. I wear huge glasses and vivid sweaters everyday. My nails are usually painted, and my hair most likely disheveled. The only thing that got to me was one night when a straggling drunk man sang a slur at me. Sing it like a dinner bell:"CHINK-a-LING-a-LINk-a-LING". It was absurd, but unlike my clothing, but it was something I couldn't take off.