WHEN I CLOSE MY EYES I THINK OF

The boy I sat next to in STEM who. Never learned my name. I felt special in the worst way. He
called me chink eyes. Never learned my name. I took it as a compliment when. He called me
chink eyes. I learned to hate this facial feature. I took it as a compliment when. He wouldn’t stop
saying it so. I learned to hate this facial feature. Instead of feeling pride. He wouldn’t stop saying
it so. I searched YouTube for eyeliner tutorials. Instead of feeling pride. Because of him. I
searched YouTube for eyeliner tutorials. To hide my hooded lids. Because of him. Went to
Sephora for Nyx liquid liner. To hide my hooded lids. I dragged thick black ink across my
crease. Went to Sephora for Nyx liquid liner. To become a stranger. I dragged thick black ink
across my crease. In hopes he would call me pretty instead. To become a stranger. For nothing.
In hopes he would call me pretty instead. He called me chink eyes. For nothing. Until I graduated
and left. He called me chink eyes. After a while I abandoned using make-up. Until I graduated
and left. I thought nothing more of it. After a while I abandoned using make-up. To conceal my
exhaustion. I thought nothing more of it. Until a virtual microaggressions workshop in college.
To conceal my exhaustion. I played it off as a cute nickname. Until a virtual microaggressions
workshop in college. Where I learned chink was a derogatory term. I played it off as a cute
nickname. Tears filled my Filipina eyes in horror. Where I learned chink was a derogatory term.
I had to turn my camera off. Tears filled my Filipina eyes in horror. I looked more Asian like
this. I had to turn my camera off. As I sobbed. I looked more Asian like this. Staring at the black
box with my White name. As I sobbed. Long after I stopped.

Casey Harloe lives and writes in Cincinnati as a student at the University of Cincinnati.