When I told my mom that I was going to Mexico with a school group, she said, “Be careful,” but the look in her eyes told me, “Don’t run off with a Mexican man.”

Lounging in my empty row on the flight from Miami to Mexico City, I seriously contemplated my mom’s unspoken advice. Honestly, what are the chances that a 17-year-old Asian bookworm who is still wearing braces can woo a suave, bronzed Mexican man sporting aviator sunglasses with a faux hawk in his native tongue?

On my second day in Mexico, our group traveled to Tepoztlán, a small village next to a pyramid and an ex-convent. Like every non-suburban place in Mexico, Tepoztlán had a little artisan market. When I paused to look more closely at some hand-painted ceramic skulls, a Mexican man stopped as he passed me.

“Hola,” he said.

Sirens went off in my head. Was this man going to woo, rob or kidnap me? But on second glance, the man wore a straw hat and sported a friendly, bushy moustache and a smile. He looked old enough to be my father, and judging from his wedding ring that twinkled in the sun, he probably was one.

“Do you speak Spanish?” he asked in Spanish.

“Yes, yes I do,” I replied.

“Are you from China?” he asked without any hint of sarcasm. I told him I was from America, but my parents came from Korea.

My parents’ homeland didn’t seem to spark any recognition in the man’s eyes, but he kept smiling as he spoke about his dream of going to China.

Initially, I was a little annoyed that the man didn’t say anything about Korea. Although I am not a connoisseur of Korean culture, from what I hear, Korea also has a rich history with distinctive cuisine and attire.

But his awkward nod when he heard the word “Korea” showed me that he had probably never learned about Korea at school. I realized this man did not assume I was Chinese, but was curious to know if I was Chinese because statistically, most East Asian people in the world are Chinese.

If a random man stopped me on the streets of Brookline and asked if I was Chinese I probably would have done one of two things: either explain my Korean heritage and buy a pint of ice cream for later that evening or lie and teach him some fake Chinese words that I would have made up on the spot.

I had many similar interactions in the following days, one with a 10-year-old Mexican boy who stopped me in a supermarket and another with a Mexican man who, while getting his shoes shined downtown, said “Sayonara” as I passed by.

In America, one may often come across racism and stereotypical mockery. In Mexico, however, it appears to me that a general curiosity prevails due to the lack of interaction with Asians.

Furthermore, Mexicans seem to have a universal perception and appreciation of beauty. For the most part, beauty in America is defined by features of white people (i.e. delicate noses, blue eyes, long legs). But before that first Mexican man left to tend to his shop, he said to me, “Your eyes are very pretty,” with an admiring tone. My host grandfather shared a similar sentiment with me when he said that his Chinese-Mexican cousins have “eyes like yours. Beautiful.”

This interest prevailed with anything unusual, as Mexicans (mostly men) peered at our school group with their heads out of their car windows, whistling and honking their horns.

My experience in Mexico not only introduced me to Mexican culture, but also taught me how to react as a foreigner in a rather homogeneous population. I learned that strangers are, oftentimes, simply curious about my identity and my stories rather than being stereotypical or racist.

Confusion aside, I found that I was proud of my Asian heritage.

Sabina Lee can be contacted at [email protected].