Around this time last year, my husband and I had already decided that we would start trying for a child at the end of the year (surprise! it worked!). Knowing that our friends would notice if I stopped drinking suddenly, I decided to drastically cut down my consumption instead – no more shots, maybe a drink or two while out, maybe no drinks at all.

I was relieved to have a reason to do this, because I had been hoping to cut down on drinking for a long time. This was for many reasons, many of them private*, but they can be summarized broadly as health-related. They can also summarized broadly as my own choice for my own body, ok!

Before this point, it felt really difficult for me to not drink because I didn’t want to. I was worried that people would think that I was pregnant, that people would think I was rude for refusing drinks, that people would think that I wasn’t enjoying myself, that people would think that I had changed for the worse, that people would interpret my abstaining as a judgement on their drinking habits… the list goes on. The list includes a lot of projection of my own insecurities, and includes a lot of overthinking overall. In retrospect, who cares?

All that said, quitting drinking while I was pregnant was (mostly) easy (save for a few nights in Seoul filled with fomo at pochas), and staying mostly sober while breastfeeding has been pretty easy as well (save for a crazy party or two). I am hoping that keeping my current habits will be easy after breastfeeding – with the option to let loose every once in a while, if the feeling strikes!

(* Related to parenthood – I have long resented the idea of a “wine mom,” or the idea of using alcohol as a stress reliever in the absence of any other coping mechanisms. I put a lot of effort into alternate stress relief methods, which sometimes do and sometimes don’t work – but putting the work in at all is important to be the parent that I want to be in the long term!)

I used to work as an usher at a local comedy club, and my favorite perk was the ability to sit in and watch the shows once everyone was settled into the theater.

On one shift, I was especially excited to watch an Asian comedy night, featuring a lineup of stand up comedians of East and South Asian descent*.

(* I distinctly remember a lack of Southeast Asian performers, but as someone of Southeast Asian descent who had been a member of that community for several months at that point… I wouldn’t be surprised if they simply couldn’t find anyone. If only I had an interest in stand up!)

I hate to admit it, but my excitement about the show cooled down quite a bit over the course of the night. After giving it some though, I realized where my discomfort came from: a lot of the jokes were about white people.

• Can you believe a white person had to ask me what spices to buy at the grocery store?
• Can you believe a white person didn’t know how to pronounce my name correctly?
• We all know that white person, am I right?

I realized this while contemplating the headliner, who had the only set of the night that I enjoyed without hesitation. His set was entirely about being an immigrant from Bangladesh, and the culture shocks that he experienced, and continues to experience, living in the United States. The headliner’s set struck me as very personal. I could tell that his jokes were well refined and practiced, but were also rooted in his real life experiences and observations.

The rest of the acts, in comparison, felt like they were pandering, like the evil white man was a uniting point among all people of color and centering their acts around him would guarantee laughs from the entire audience. However, for me, this had the opposite effect – I left the show exasperated that a space carved out by Asian people for Asian comedy was dominated by… white people. I didn’t learn anything new about any of the other performers and their cultures; the only thing that I learned was that white people are so stupid, am I right?

I talked about this set later on with one of my managers, who confessed that he felt similarly about the theater’s queer comedy nights, which were full of jokes about how ignorant straight people can be. We eventually came to the following two conclusions:

• Shows like these create a safe space for minorities to speak freely about their experiences, and their importance should not be understated. People often do not feel safe saying the things that they say outside of affinity nights like these, and the existence of these shows and spaces is vitally important!
• Comedy is subjective, and you shouldn’t have to feel obligated to think someone is funny simply because of shared demographics!*

(* Controversially, this realization led me to reexamine my enjoyment of several Asian/Asian-American comedians that seemed like acts that I should enjoy – Jo Koy and Ali Wong are great examples – but, secretly, deep down, found very tiring. This is definitely due to other factors, like the hackiness and pandering that befalls many comedians as they become more popular as well as my own evolving tastes, but either way – apologies to my people!!!)