While at a salon today getting spruced up a bit for the first time since my move to Margaritaville, the aesthetician asked me what portion of my heritage was Japanese. She, herself, is mostly Vietnamese--and one-eighth Chinese. It was my complexion, she said. And there was something about my eyes.
Decades ago when I was auditioning for anything that came my way--foreign TV shows, industrial films, educational stuff, there was a spate of Japanese projects. I never got cast, but the Japanese men involved in the projects seemed more than a little taken with me.
The only make-up base that's ever really worked for me is Shiseido.
Uhhh...I was a geisha once for Halloween.
I've always liked real silk kimonos.
I once hosted a Japanese foreign exchange student.
The man who loves me is...Korean.
I was mistaken for an Asian? By an Asian?
3 comments:
That's bizarre. I'm trying to see it, and I don't. Have you asked your mother about any possible traveling salesmen in her past?
Actually, I do see it. It's there just under the surface. Sometimes, It doesn't have to be a large amount of "blood," or any at all, for who we are, at our core, to come shining through. What a lovely idea, especially given your current life.
You know, that's just interesting. And really, one never truly knows. Without the DNA testing, yes.
Post a Comment