Not to this day have I ever, ever seen my parents touch each other affectionately. Not once.
But that's not who I am. So for my own happiness and to set a good example for my kids, I'm breaking free of that strange coldness to be myself, to live my own life differently. To live by the warmth of my own breaking, beating, lively heart.
That's one story; that's my story. And of course, it matters to me.
Does it matter to tell the story of warm-blooded Asian Americans in American pop culture? It does, because human dignity and decency demands a full color, full throated, generous, nuanced reflection of who we are. A stingy stereotype is unsatisfying in all the worst ways-- it's boring, it's cold, it's lifeless.
So while I did start with an example of ice, only those bereft of a heart for humanity (or of storytelling skill) could make that the sole depiction of Asian Americans, or of any people.
Thanks Jeff Yang for saying it so well in your Qz article that inspired this post: "It’s all an example of how this new wave of diversity in Hollywood is the gift that keeps on giving, sweeping aside the stereotypes and caricatures of the past, and leaving in their place something that all of us can recognize, regardless of where we come from and who we are: our humanity."