No one, save for my parents, really gave a damn about whether or not I’d have a hard time “fitting in,” “perserving [my] identity,” and “negotiating [my] cultural traditions in an alien environment.”
No one asked my parents as to whether or not teaching me sex ed went against their core beliefs (well, it didn’t, really, but whatever).
No one wanted to “embrace” the “diversity” that I supposedly represented (although people did ask me to “say something in Russian” a whole lot).
No one patted me on the back and applauded me for being “different.”
No one “invited” me to “dialogue.” If anything, I invited myself (and haven’t really shut up since – unless you count the times I’ve inserted my pedicured footsie straight into my mouth; I find that pink toenail polish does make those situations slightly less ugly).
NO ONE INVITED ME TO THEIR COUNTRY CLUB EITHER (unless it was a pool-party, ha! As if I’d fall for such obvious condescension!).
No one excused behaviour they perceived as odd with “mutliculturalism.” Even now – the fact that I wear make-up to the supermarket is perceived as totally weird by some of my fellow progressives (maybe not being conspicuously “ethnic” has something to do with this; whatever – a lot of women back home in Kiev do it, and I find it brightens up those drab toilet-paper aisles).
Since I’ve more or less settled in, I’ve discovered that no one cares as to whether or not I will explode in righteous fury at films such as “Blades of Glory” – you know, that slice of evil Western propaganda that suggests that all Ukrainains “have guns” and “smell like soup.” I mean, people were so upset for Persia and “300”! And for me – nothing. Not even a snarkier-than-usual review in the NYT. Not even a mention of these “gun-weary times” or something.
Should I be pissed? Dump a bowl of borsch on Will Ferrell? Sic my pet bear on John Heder? Start an aggrieved Facebook group?
Should I make up for my miserable middle school years by organizing, oh, I don’t know – the Ukrainian Liberation Front (ULF – other former “pinkos” welcome, provided we swap pirozki recipes), and chasing down the oppressors (whichever ones we can find) with pitchforks? Should I find someone to sue? Or just settle for burning my J. Crew catalogue?