Why I Often Drop Eavesdropping (Or, All Asians Smell Like Noodles)

Eavesdropping is usually unintentional for me. I’ll be at home and then in the next room I’ll hear my parents say my name, so I’ll sneak over and ask, my tone making it clear that I already know the answer, “What are you talking about?” Similarly, at school, if I happen to be sitting near some loudly gossipping people, I’ll listen (and more often than not I don’t have earbuds on me, so I can’t block it out anyway), but if I see some people talking down the hall I won’t sidle down to listen. It’s too much effort. Basically, I only listen if the people are making no attempt to hide it. And if they're NOT talking about me.

Fifth graders are especially terrible at being subtle. When I was eleven, I was walking through the classroom when I noticed that three boys were around my desk. They were joking about how my desk smelled like various Asian foods; noodles are the only ones I remember.

I think that counts as me eavesdropping. Eavesdropping, after all, is just listening to people’s conversations without them knowing. How difficult it actually is to listen to the conversation is another matter. I’m sure they thought they were being clever and witty but the thing is, they were also being loud, so I heard them clearly.

If that scene happened today, I think I would laugh incredulously before asking them what they were even thinking. Now I see it was just misguided posturing. As far as racism goes, I think this is a pretty silly instance. I doubt they actually believed I smelled like noodles, or that they understood much of what they were saying. Still, ignorance often leads to worse things. And they were saying I stank.

My memories are a bit hazy. Full of self-righteousness, I think I stomped up to my desk and yelled, “GO AWAY”. Somehow the student teacher, the adult in the room at the time, stepped in. He must have reprimanded them. I do clearly remember being in a corner of the room, crying profusely, as the student teacher awkwardly tried to calm me down.

He must have thought that my feelings were profoundly hurt, that this brush with racism had shaken me to my core. Eh. I wasn’t heartbroken, or sad. I was mad. All my tears were angry ones. I had a strong desire to walk up to them and yell and yell and yell. I guess in my naivety I also felt betrayed, since none of the boys were white. Whatever their other behavior, I’d assumed that they wouldn’t do anything racist.

I stood there for a while, weeping so hard I couldn’t see, as vengeful rage burned within me. After that, my memories are hazy again. All I remember next is that one of the boys was sent to the principal’s office with me. I don’t think I would have chosen that to happen, if I had a say. At the time, I just wanted to make them deeply regret crossing me, via physical violence and also lots of screaming.

But, as the principal told the boy that he had behaved badly, and he mutely nodded, I did not feel angry at all. It had all been extinguished. I felt kind of bad for him, actually. He looked so meek. It was awkward walking back to the classroom, just the two of us.

I’m proud of myself for standing up for myself when I felt I’d been wronged. But in the end, the whole ordeal was unpleasant. I wish it didn’t have to happen. In general, I don’t like listening to people talk about me for precisely this reason. It makes me nervous. I don’t want to hear something negative and then have it plague my mind for days on end. Even remembering this event from six years ago, and how I felt then, I’m uneasy. Knowledge is good, but sometimes knowledge won't accomplish anything but making you feel bad, and then you can't even do anything about. Sometimes I’d rather just not eavesdrop.

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(word count is 673, where can I cut stuff?)