Three…
Goodbye to 2023…
Two…
And hello to 2024…
One…
Happy New Year!
As the fireworks lit up the sky in Dallas, onlookers gazed with wonder. A couple minutes later, after all the pho-tos were taken, champagne popped and cheers sung, everyone started to make their way home.
Before the countdown, on our way to Reunion Tower, my family and I decided to take the DART subway from our lo-cal stop, which was a short five-minute drive from home, to downtown in order to avoid traffic.
Besides the free holiday transporta-tion ticket, we also thought an hour-long drive through New Years traffic could be shortened down to around half an hour with public transportation.
After boarding the Red Line tran-sit, packed densely with other New Years-goers, the holiday quickly lost its luster.
“Oh, we will all get COVID,” a family joked about my family’s Chinese heri-tage.
“Why did you let them onto the bus?” they asked the man standing near the front of the sliding doors.
We were scared.
They continued. They jabbed at our race, that we were the cause of COVID, how we took up too much space and how we looked weird.
What had been a celebratory night had turned into a nightmare. For sever-al stops, my family and I endured more vicious jabs and overt racism.
Three…
Just three more stops until our station.
I found myself unable to stand up to them. We just stood there, taking verbal abuse. All I could do was look at my feet.
Two…
They directed their attention at my mom. Calling her ugly. Insulting her face. Her skin.
One…
The doors of our carriage finally slid open at the Walnut Hill station, and we were relieved that it was finally over.
We should have just driven.
Jan. 1, 2024 was the first and last time I plan to take DART. On the carriage, my family felt vulnerable, uncomfortable and that there was nothing preventing violence.
Getting off and waiting for the next Red Line bus was also not an option – the next rail would take over an hour to arrive.
For my family, the DART resembles an uninviting, hostile place to be.
