Parked my bike and walked back to the apartment. Normally I take my helmet off right away but today I kept it on in case someone knocks me to the pavement. #Sad

That’s what I texted to my Korean American neighbor here in New York City. “I’d do the same,” she replied.

I’m a 62-year-old Japanese woman, and my age, race and thin build match the characteristics of many of the victims of the current spate of violence against Asians. One recent morning on a street busy with people heading to work, a man came out of a store and walked up to me. When inches away, disconcertingly close, he rattled out a jumble of Asian words: “xie xie konnichiwa.” I continued on, stone-faced with a determined look but hoping no one else would come near me, like a bullied kid walking through the schoolyard. The pandemic greeting, “stay safe,” now has a double, weighty meaning for Asians.

The assaults have engulfed my thoughts and actions, and my distress peaked when a Filipino woman was beaten last month in front of a luxury high-rise apartment similar to where I live. I stopped riding the subway. I carry an alarm. I’m always nervous in public and looking over my shoulder. The Japanese Consulate advised its nationals to “take preventive measures, such as wearing hats or hoods to hide one’s outward appearance.” The next day I dutifully went out in hat, mask and sunglasses and checked my reflection in a window. Did I appear Asian? Of course I did.

But the worst effect the attacks have had on me is that I find myself racially profiling. Many of the viral videos I saw were of Black males attacking elderly Asians. The man who approached me from the store was Black. Now when I see a Black man walking in my direction, I wonder, “Is this a normal person or someone who’s going to shove me to the ground?”

I asked my Black neighbor, Lillian, to gauge my feelings. She respectfully suggested I think about whether I am being cautious, prejudiced or racist. And then she put my anxieties into context by describing how she is constantly on guard for second-guessing about her actions.

“I always have my receipts with me,” she said, to counter accusations of shoplifting. And she is often asked how is it that she can afford to live in a luxury high-rise.

If any good is to come out of this horrible phenomenon, it is a chance for soul-searching about our own prejudices and the extent of racism in our society. I’ve encountered my small share. A few summers ago, when walking along a crowded road in a mostly white beach community, two men shouted, “ching chong ching chong” as they passed me. I was shocked at the crude ambush and looked over at a police officer standing nearby, expecting at least a look of disapproval. He stared right past me. Lillian would understand the indignity. Belatedly, I’ve been thinking about how we must move from humiliation, fear and desires for revenge, to constructive rectification.

After a recent online customer- service exchange I had about a broken fixture, I received a rating request from the agent. His avatar was a joyful Black man. In the past I would have just thought, oh, cute avatar. This time I paused. And wondered. Does he also look over his shoulder?

Former Honolulu resident Kumiko Makihara was a graduate-degree fellowship student at the East-West Center and former Time magazine correspondent; she lives in New York City and authored a memoir, “Dear Diary Boy.”