One Strange Night in Paris

The night someone called me “Asian”

Photo by Lucas Lemoine on Unsplash

I had lived in France for years, but I had never thought much about being Asian.

Except for one strange night in Paris — more than thirty years ago now.

That night, I went to a nightclub near Bastille Station with three friends from my dorm. We used to go there all the time.

Usually, we tried not to miss the last train. One time, we walked all the way back to the dorm after missing the last train, and it was awful. Bastille was far from where we lived.

But that night, we stayed too long.

“Uh-oh. We should probably go.”

By the time Julie checked the time, it was already getting late. We rushed out of the club, but when we reached the station entrance, the metal shutters were already closed.

“Well, I don’t wanna go back to the club.”

“Should we walk?”

“No way. It’s too far.”

“Let’s just wait for the first train here.”

Near the station, there was a café open all night. There were still quite a few people there. The four of us sat at a small round table and ordered drinks.

At a table a little farther away, there was a man with three or four flashy-looking women.

“That group looks kind of weird,” Julie said.

“I bet he’s paying for everything just to keep them around.”

Marion kept watching him.

“Don’t look at them too much,” Anna said quietly.

But Marion could not stop looking. She thought the whole thing was entertaining.

By then, I was already used to Paris. Whenever something strange happened, I just thought, “Well, this is Paris.”

Then suddenly, a woman came into the café and walked right up to the man.

“You fucked up my life!”

For a second, the café got really quiet. I had no idea whether what she was saying was true, but she was obviously very drunk and upset.

The man grabbed at her arm lightly.

“Hey, I already told you, it wasn’t me. Just sit down next to me.”

She pulled her arm away, yelled something, and walked out.

After watching everything, we went back to drinking and waiting for the first train.

“I think the trains are running now.”

We started putting on our jackets, getting ready to leave. This was when the man shouted at us.

“Hey!”

We ignored him.

Then he yelled again.

“Hey, you Asian! Are you listening to me?”

“Hanon, don’t turn around,” Julie said.

I was still pretty calm.

“Wait… was he talking to me?”

“Just walk faster!”

Then Julie suddenly said, “Oh no. He’s coming.”

We all started running toward Bastille Station. That station felt endless. Down more stairs, through long hallways, back up again, then down again. He was actually chasing us, yelling like a crazy person.

“Oh my god, what do we do?”

Everyone was yelling and running. Then Anna fell down the stairs. But for some reason, I remember thinking, “This feels like a comedy movie.”

The three of us grabbed her and started running again. Somehow we were all laughing. By the time we reached the platform, he was gone. Maybe he got lost somewhere in the station.

Then the first train finally came. I still remember how safe that cold early-morning train felt.

The four of us sat facing each other while Anna rubbed her ankle and said, “I like Asian people, but I’m glad I don’t look like you, Hanon!”

I gave a little shrug. “Well, it’s not my fault. He’s the one who decided I was Asian.”

We could still hear our laughter in the almost empty train.

I can still hear it.