Page 51 of You Had Me at Hello World
Great, we’re moving on. “We ideated. I was thinking an app for immigrants to connect with each other, exchange info for putting down roots in America. Edvin likes it a lot.”
“I don’t know, Char,” he says. “I don’t want to implement Edvin’s ideas.”
Of course we’re back to this topic. Why’s Khoi being such a hater? “It wasn’thisidea. It was mine.” But Edvin was one who came through with the questions that inspired the concept, and his encouragement gave me the confidence to actually pursue it further. Otherwise I would’ve assumed it was too niche or too social justice-y.
“Do you even know what Nexus does?”
His question is condescending, but I try to answer in good faith anyway. “Something about data analytics?” I’ve looked it up, but they’re very secretive. Yet the vibes at their office were so playful and open. They can’t be, like, sacrificing kittens.
“They have defense contracts,” Khoi says. “I’ve heard…” But he trails off.
That doesn’t seem bad. “If you’re so against Edvin, why are you even at a camp that he started?”
“It feels different when he’s not as involved. He’s barely here. And I wanted to meet other kids like me,” he says. “Kids who like to code.”
“Edvin Nilsen can’t be that evil if he’s running a program like this for free, right? He probably poured tons of money into this.”
“There are lots of other corporate sponsors for Alpha Fellows. Like, Haru’s dad with Watanabe Technologies.” He chews on his pen. “But forget all that. Your idea is good. My dad’s family came as refugees when he was a kid, and they struggled to find community. My mom was an adoptee, and she also felt out of place in her lily-white family.”
That makes Khoi a second-generation immigrant. Like me. “What was it like for you, growing up here?”
“In elementary school, I was the only Asian kid in my grade,” he says. “Other people would always try to guess ‘where I came from,’ like it was a game they could win. And then they’d always get itwrong. Nobody ever thinks Vietnam.”
“Or when they pull the outer corners of their eyes,” I say.
“Right! Why do they do that? Nobody actually looks like that.”
The first time I knew I was different was maybe first grade. One of the girls in my class decided that Charise was too hard to pronounce, so she start calling me Ching Chong instead. Soon, everyone had started doing it. To six-year-old me, this was incredibly bizarre—Ching Chongsounded nothing like Charise, and besides, I went by Char. In a meeting with both my mother and me, my teacher had to explain that the kids were being racist.
“Ignore them,” Mom said after the meeting. “Americans, they’re soft. When I was in school, kids used their fists. Bullying withwords? That’s so cowardly.”
Did Mom think my bullies should start throwing hands? That was kind of disturbing.
I decided to shut up and swallow my anger. And never talk to anyone about this ever again. Until right now. It feels like I’ve been navigating around a sinkhole in my living room for so long that I forgot why I was even taking the detour.
Chapter Twenty-Four
For the rest of Saturday, we make the high-level decisions for our project. The proposal is due on the Fourth of July, which is next Friday. We have to deliver a pitch, wireframes, and design documents.
We decide to name our app Hello World. I like the layered meaning—it’s a reference to the first program every developer write but also evokes the excitement of moving to a new country.
Next we decide on the functionality. I’m thinking something similar to Nextdoor or Reddit, with forum discussion as the main conceit, but with a strong translation feature, since the language barrier gatekeeps immigrants who would otherwise use those websites.
We argue playfully over the tech stack—Khoi is a fan of Flutter since it’s cross-platform, but I’m more familiar with Swift. He wants to use MongoDB to host our databases, but I prefer PostgreSQL. I let him win most of the arguments because he knows way more than me, but he can pry SQL from mycold, dead hands. Those relational databases are giving the only relationships that actually make sense.
Sunday is for product research. Khoi and I brainstorm questions to ask, print out a sign and an information sheet, then claim a table in the MIT main lobby for better visibility. Curious passersby begin to wander up to us, but nobody agrees to a research interview. One tourist asks us where the John Harvard statue is.
After ten minutes go by without yeses, I’m starting to fret. “Maybe we should offer an incentive for talking to us. Besides the inherent joy in getting to interact with our wonderful selves, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Khoi drums his fingers against the table. “How about… a compliment?”
“Huh?”
“At the end of the conversation, we give each interviewee a heartfelt compliment. Like this.” He takes my hands into his and stares into my eyes. “Char, you have irises the color of Earl Grey tea.”
God save me from this strange boy and his idiosyncrasies. I pull my hands away and break our shared gaze. “Khoi, don’t flirt.Just friends, remember?”
“People love compliments! Haru is making an app for anonymously complimenting your friends.” Oh, Edvin’s going to love that.
