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I’m scared and embarrassed to write this . . . to post this publicly . . . to admit it. However, if I want to be completely honest and transparent with myself and with others, I can’t hide it. I have to be real.
My travel blog is all about embracing “different.” It’s all about rubbing shoulders with the strangers next to us and loving them—even when they are from the other side of the world and we appear to have nothing in common. My stories are about breaking down barriers of all kinds and building bridges of cultural awareness, understanding, and appreciation.
That’s what I believe, and that’s what I desire. However, if I am completely honest and transparent, I have to tell you something.
I deal with the same feelings you do. The same feelings flood my heart and mind.
Yes, it’s true.
If I described myself to someone, I would always say, “I love people! I love to be around people—especially people of different nationalities, cultures, races, religions, colors, etc. Even people who are different than me? Yes, I love people all over the world.”
I would certainly never say that I’m afraid of people!
Masks!
Yesterday, Vincent, Pierre, and I went to the grocery store in the city. As we were scouring the fruit and vegetable aisles, I noticed three Asian women wearing blue medical masks.
Seeing Asian women in the city was not abnormal. Even in our small Spanish town, there are large “Asia Stories” on every street corner. I love these stores. You can find just about anything you want and need—at super cheap prices!
On Sundays in Spain, when all the other stores are closed, the small, “chino,” convenient stores are always open for emergency food items that you need for your meals. It comes in handy, and we go there frequently.
There are Asians everywhere. I love Asians!
Seeing Asians throughout the city wearing blue medical masks also isn’t all that shocking. I see them occasionally on the streets, in stores, in airports.
I’m used to seeing Asians wearing blue medical masks. It’s normal.
My Abnormal Reaction
However, my reaction yesterday in the grocery store was anything but normal and usual—for me.
Remember, I’m not afraid of people! I love people—all people—from around the world.
As Pierre and I were looking for heads of broccoli, my eyes noticed the three masked women. Oddly enough, Pierre didn’t inquire why they were wearing masks. I think he had seen masked faces before, so perhaps it didn’t strike him.
It struck me, however. Yes, I was used to seeing Asians in Spain wearing medical masks, but this was the first time I was seeing them in my personal space since the recent Coronavirus outbreak.
My reaction caught me off guard, took me by surprise.
Although still looking for broccoli, I called Pierre to follow me to another aisle of fruits and vegetables—an aisle on the opposite side from the women.
Something inside of me wanted to stay clear of these women. Something inside of me wanted to avoid any close proximity with these women—their bodies, their breath, their odors. Any part of them, I wanted to keep my distance.
What was stirring inside of me? I didn’t recognize this feeling. It scared me. This emotion was new and unknown.
We Vs. Them
My eyes followed them. I looked at them differently. Others did too.
It was a “we vs. them” feeling.
As my family wandered through the store, I noticed these three masked women on multiple occasions. I kept my eyes on them, making sure they were at a safe distance from my child—from me.
We completed our grocery shopping and proceeded to the checkout line. As I began sacking our groceries, I noticed Vincent and Pierre still emptying our grocery cart of the last items. They were placing the boxes of cereal and loaves of bread on the checkout belt when the same three Asian women walked up behind them.
The Divider Bar
Carrying their grocery baskets, the three women began to place their food items on the checkout belt next to ours. Vincent kindly smiled at them and gave them a “divider bar” to separate their grocery items from ours.
A “divider bar”—a barrier—a separation.
Pierre was standing next to Vincent. My son was standing next to the three masked Asian ladies.
I felt that stirring again. What was it? I didn’t recognize this feeling. It scared me. This emotion was new and unknown.
“Pierre, come over here and help Mommy sack our groceries. You can be my helper,” I called to my son, while motioning with my hand.
Obediently, he walked over to where I was and proceeded to help me put our food items in the cloth grocery sacks.
My eyes met Vincent’s. I felt reassured having my son now standing by my side. However, I looked at my husband standing next to the three women and that feeling stirred again.
We paid for our groceries and said goodbye to the cashier. Walking away, my heart sunk, walking away from the three masked Asian women. Mixed feelings of relief and guilt flooded me.
The Confession
As we got into the car and drove away from the shopping center, I started the conversation.
“Did you see those three Asian women?” I asked Vincent.
“Yes, I did. The whole time we were walking around the store, I was following them and observing how people reacted to them. They sure got a lot of stares. People were really staying clear of them. They were obviously afraid,” Vincent told me.
“I was one of them,” I told him. “I was one of them.”
Continuing, I went on to name the feeling, the emotion that had stirred inside of me when I saw those women. Confessions came out of my mouth—confessions of the wrong reaction, the wrong attitude, the wrong perspective, the wrong action.
What was stirring inside of me? I didn’t recognize this feeling. It scared me. This emotion was new and unknown.
FEAR.
Am I becoming afraid of people?
FEAR.
I don’t want it.
FEAR.
I resist it!
FEAR.
—THE CULTURAL STORY-WEAVER
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How are you handling the Coronavirus outbreak? Are you feeling fearful—fearful of people? What can you do to resist fear?
We invite you to tell us your own cultural stories and global adventures . . . as you engage with the world, breaking down barriers, building bridges, and “weaving cultures!” Write about them in the comment box below.
