it's not easy being a girl

I wonder if I don't sometimes make feminists cry. Why? Well, I wouldn't mind growing up and being someone's housewife, for one. My mom tells me I'd regret it, but I don't think I would. I like being domestic, as strange as it may sound: I like cooking and cleaning and caring for children. Well, to an extent, but to an extent where I'd be willing to stay at home if my husband was okay with it and if he made good money.

I like chivalry too. I think "ladies first" is a wonderful tradition, and I think guys should hold doors open for girls and pay for dates. In return, girls should look pretty and flatter the guy and generally be pleasant company (your sex is a weapon if you know how to use it right). I don't think guys are superior to girls, no, but I think that we're different, and thus we can't be equal in all respects.

Guys have superior physical strength, fact of life. I'm okay with that. I'd like to know how to defend myself and how to change my own tire (though everyone I've told that to has only laughed at me and told me to call AAA instead), but I'm okay with relying on a guy for that too. I can be independent without turning down offers of help, can't I?

I wouldn't mind being rich and powerful by my own right. I wouldn't mind being the adored eye-candy hanging off some hot guy's arm either, really. As long as I was adored, you know. Love puts a different spin on things.

I wonder if this is making some people reconsider what they know of me. I'm not misogynist, I promise, though sometimes I think I'd rather have been a guy. One particular instance of this is: can girls even pop and lock? Am I wasting my time tryiing to master this? Man.

building a social hierarchy

I was studying for my Geography midterm tomorrow today. In the East Asia chapter of my book, I read about China, Japan, and Korea and their various economic, cultural, and social constructs. As I was reading, I thought about Japan's senpai-kouhai system, Korea's sunbae-dongsaeng system, and then wondered why China didn't have something like that.

This whole idea--it's probably a cultural thing, structured by an Asian society and way of thinking, and I understand that. What makes me marvel is how I've been influenced by this culture even an entire ocean and continent away, because I want that kind of social hierarchy structure. I want to be someone's 姐姐, someone's お姉さん, someone's 언니 or 누나. I want to be someone's 先輩 or 선배. Furthermore, I also want to be someone's 妹妹 or 後輩, 동생.

Is it unnatural? Shouldn't we stress equality for all? It certainly seems to be the Western viewpoint, especially in the United States, but I don't see how supporting a lowerclassman-upperclassman, junior-senior hierarchical system contradicts the belief of equality. Truth be told, people are not equal: we are too different, and our age and experiences and personalities set us apart from each other. We may be equal in that no one of us is worth more or less than any other of us, but we are not equal in regards to experience. That is why we do accord respect to "those who came before", to our seniors. That is why I think this social construct is not necessarily a bad thing--not scandalous or outrageous or oppressive or demeaning. It might even be beneficial.

And I want it. I want that kind of system of support and encouragement, of mentoring and advice, of respect and submission. I want this kind of structure in my life, where I know exactly where I fit in, exactly where I stand in my relationships with other people, especially those I don't know well (since, obviously, family and friendship transcend this basic hierarchy).

I wonder what someone thoroughly Western would think of this opinion. I've shared these thoughts with people before (V and A, off the top of my head, but I'm sure there are others), but they were all Asian. They were both familiar with the type of relationship structure I was talking about and in general agreement with my opinion. I really do think it's an Asian mindset, the result of cultural influence. Am I wrong? Am I strange for wanting this?

let's enforce that 2m personal bubble, shall we?

Today I would like to share with you my thoughts on Public Displays of Affection.

Sometimes, I think it's cute--this is in limited quantities of hand-holding and hugs and maybe a quick kiss on the cheek or on the mouth. Something fleeting and small, but indicative of great depth of feeling. That's sweet and makes me want some affection like that for myself.

Sometimes, I think people need to remember that they're in public and that not everyone around them wants to see just How Very Close They Are. You might be sleeping with each other, but I don't care, and I don't want the fact shoved in my face with your groping and your teasing body language and your multitude of endless, sloppy kisses. I'm not that interested in being a voyeur, thanks.

And sometimes, I think people need to get the fuck off each other and get back to studying for their exams. Hey, you want sit down at the table right across from me in Davis? Fine. You want to start making out in front of me for half a freaking hour? I am less okay with this. I am so much less okay with this that I am tempted to look up facts about STIs and read them aloud, or maybe find a painful description of some disgusting medical procedure and read that out loud. If you came to Davis to study, then study, and if you came here to grope each other, FIND ANOTHER FUCKING TABLE. You don't even have to get a room. You just need to remove yourself from my table and from my sight. Find a convenient shelf fifty meters down, if need be, but leave the sanctity of my study table alone.

There might be thoughts about my personal comfort level of physical affection later, when I am less inclined to throw sharp, heavy objects at people whom I hope fail their exams because they will be spending all their time thinking about sucking face and not pre-1600 Russian history or organic chemistry.

Not that I'm vindictive or anything. What gave you that idea?

you're the only one i want

I meant to make an endeavor to rediscover my holiday spirit last night but studying for today's Philosophy exam took precedence over listening to Christmas music and writing Christmas cards. Now that I've more or less completed my studying, I turned to trawling the internet for Asianified Christmas songs that would put me back in the spirit of things. I have a 526MB folder of Christmas music in English and instrumentals (15 versions of "Carol of the Bells" - why, yes, it is my favorite holiday song, why do you ask?), but despite importing it back into my iTunes mid-November, it did very little to sweep me away with the usual holiday cheer.

There's just something about Kpop songs that makes the most traditional Christmas songs so much more fun - probably because I am on a huge Korean music kick at the moment, but I love their (attempts at) English, the mandatory rap break, and how utterly poppy everything is. I've always been a pop girl at heart and I'm no longer afraid to admit it. I don't like most hardcore rock, metal, alternative, emo, punk, whatever music. Some of the songs aren't bad, but those are the exceptions that prove the rule: I'm a cheesy pop music lover and it's good this way. I like it loud, cheerful, fast-paced, fun to dance to. Even better if it happens to be Christmas-themed.

What does that say about me? Your taste in music is supposed to reflect your personality, isn't it? Well, I assume it means that I have little patience for overly-tragic, sad, slow songs (again, exceptions that prove the rule, but on the whole, they tend to annoy me because I lose interest in the dwelling on heartbreak). It means I like to be entertained, that I like to feel good, and that I think focusing on the more cheerful things in life beats lingering over the bad things. It means I occasionally like to (pretend to) be more hardcore than I usually am, maybe displaying a side most people wouldn't expect (especially when I'm angry or frustrated). It means that I don't mind not being able to understand the lyrics to what I listen to, that it's the music and the beat that matter more (though I've realized knowing the lyrics to a song can really transform the way I understand or appreciate the song). It also reflects the importance I place on nostalgia: there are a few songs I would never like the way I do if they weren't attached to very sharp, specific memories.

I also tend to like songs more and more if I've heard good things about them, if I listen to them a lot, or if I really like the performances.

(OIn a completely different note, I've been typing so much in Word for final review and essays that it's become instinct to hit Ctrl+S every few minutes, which I've caught myself doing just now and also on AIM last night.)

the different definitions of filial care

I have two songs about mothers: one titled "妈妈 (Mama)" by Vanness Wu and the other "听妈妈的话 (Listen to Mama's Words)" by Jay Chou. In the first song, Vanness thanks his mother for working so hard, for having done so much for him, for the family, because raising him was not an easy task. It's about how he's grown up now, how he's finally realized how much work his mother has done, and he's telling her that it's okay, she can rest now, because he will take care of the family. The second song is Jay's advice to little children, telling them that they should listen to their moms because they'll understand later on, when they're grown up: they'll know why they run faster and fly higher than the other kids. Looking back, they'll cherish everything about their mother. He tells the little kids to listen to their mom and grow up fast so they can protect her.

Both of these songs have made me tear up. There's nothing more I've wanted since college to be able to take care of my parents. What they say about growing up and realizing how much your parents have done for you--it's true. It makes me grateful and regretful at the same time, because I feel like I could have, should have done so much better. I'd love to relive middle school or even high school, redo those years knowing what I know now. (But isn't hindsight always 20/20?)

I realized, while fixating on my own determination not to disappoint my parents, the different ideas of "care". V takes care of her family by being with them, by sharing their emotional pain, by physically taking care of them by cooking or helping with their workload or just with her presence alone. P is the same way. She takes care of her parents by shouldering more of their burden so they have a lighter load. She is on call for them, any time, because she prioritizes them above everything. It's incredibly touching to see.

When I encounter cases like that, I wonder if I shouldn't be more like them. I want to be there for my family, whether physically or emotionally. I want to be able to take care of them like that; it's an especially important duty as I grow older, and so do my parents. (I hate the reminders that they're human and that they age. It really terrifies me sometimes. But that's for another time.) But, in practice, my family doesn't work that way. Our system of care is an altered form of protection: I don't want you to worry about me, because it will add to your stress, so I will carry my own burdens and fix my own problems.

I don't tell my parents about the details of my life, like some of my friends do. I know most people aren't sharing every detail--"I went out partying last night, Mom, and got hit on by a creepy forty-year-old!"--with their parents, but mine know even less. They probably don't know what classes I'm taking next semester. I don't tell them when I stress out about my grades, about law school applications, about work or the sorority. Why? Because I don't want to worry them. They have enough going on as it is. The same is true in return. I don't know the day-to-day happenings of my family. I don't know when they're worried about the little things, like one of my brother's classes, or the big things, like family problems in China. Sometimes it hurts to find out after the fact, because I wanted to be there for them when they needed me--but they don't tell me these things to protect me; there's no need for me to worry about it when I can't do anything, when I should be focusing on my academics, they say.

The reason this system works is because of trust. My parents trust me to be responsible for my own life now: they trust me to choose my own classes, that they won't be frivolous but will fulfill major requirements; they trust me to take care of myself, to eat and sleep and wear a coat as needed; they trust me to do my best. It makes me want even more to never disappoint them, because this trust was not easily won--nor, I sometimes feel, entirely deserved. But I try, and I hope that one day, they will have every reason to boast to all their friends about me, because I graduated early, because I entered a prestigious law school, because I secured a well-paying job and was successful and happy and capable of taking care of them. I want to give them bragging rights to make up for a high school career that was not shoddy by any means (I'm not entirely out of touch with reality; a 1510 + 800 SAT score is at least one thing they can talk about, even if it really ends up having little relevance on the rest of my life), but was not nearly as spectacular as it could have (should have) been.

I take care of my parents by making sure they never have to worry about me, and making sure they can be proud of me, and making sure I can take care of them financially in the future.

Sometimes, though, I still want to take care of them physically and emotionally too. Let me be there.

lasting impressions at Alpine

Looking around the library, I see students immersed in studying or paper-writing, quiet and mostly focused, and I'm amused by the number of Alpine cups I see. I've probably seen most of these people at Alpine one time or another while at work, but in a different setting, the faces are more difficult to recall.

As I left the Union tonight on my way to Davis Library (the first time I've studied here all semester, I think; I've been in to check out books but I avoid studying here like the plague, and I really have no idea why other than my overwhelming fondness for the Union), a boy held the door open for me. I said, "Thank you!" and he said, "So have you finished your ten-page paper yet?"

I replied cheerfully, "Still working on it!" as I passed him, my response totally belying my bemusement. Who was he? Clearly a frequent customer, one I'd helped and had apparently discussed my ten-page paper with. I had no clear memory of him, but with the hours I work (six days this week), I can hardly be blamed for not keeping the endless stream of customers straight, can I? While I recognize some faces because they're daily or they order the same thing or they have a memorable name or other feature, many others blend together in a blur of "Hey, how are you?" and "That will be $5.21, please," and "Have a great night!"

As there's only one of me (for hours on end almost every night), I'm not surprised that our frequent customers begin to recognize me. I've had a girl say to me before, "How often do you work? Every time I'm here, I see you!" Then there was a guy who asked my co-cashier, "Are you new here? I haven't see you before," and then gestured at me, saying, "I see her all the time." And, now, evidently, there is some Asian boy who remembered me talking about the ten-page paper I had due. It must have been from yesterday because I don't recall having much conversation with anyone during my short covering-someone-else's-ass shift today, and today is clearer in my mind than yesterday, where I spent my morning shift slowly and in a sleep-deprived haze.

I do love Alpine, though, and working there, despite my grumbles of being underappreciated and complaints about stupid customers (you have no idea) and my growing hatred for closing shifts. It's more of a matter of not getting enough sleep and not being awake enough for late-night shifts than the work itself. I love morning shifts best because no matter how little sleep I've gotten the night before, I am always awake in the morning. I'm a morning person and it's disgusting to everyone I know. Yet I love it.

I'm also making a reasonable rate there (though, if asked, I will always believe I should be paid more), which makes for a lovely moment on paydays. It's good to have income and this thought makes me think I should apply for a job over winter break, especially as I'll need as much money as I can to pay for trip tickets and spending money for Project Chonguk. Sometimes I feel so very materialistic.

if human nature were a reflection

K said to me the other day, "You're my hero in the way you can be so snarky to people and not get caught."

"So I'm your hero because I can be two-faced?" I laughed. But it pulled me up short a little bit, and so did something I witnessed after work today at Alpine.

As fun as it is to get away with saying sarcastic things and knowing other people enjoy your oh-so-witty comments--it's not the kind of person I want to be. Maybe I'm cynical because even the smallest signs of goodness in people really tugs at my heart (or maybe it means I'm a hopeless sap). It's always the small things that make me sit up and notice, make me ache inside, wishing that people could all be the kind of good person that is undoubtedly somewhere inside of them and not the kind of person that makes me impatient and despair of the world (the kind I encounter often at work).

Earlier this semester I was walking to the bus stop. I was carrying some books and a few pieces of paper tucked into them slipped out and onto the ground while I was walking; an older woman on the same path coming from the opposite direction stooped down immediately, before I had time to react. She picked up my papers and handed them back to me with a smile. I said, "Oh! Thank you!" and spent the rest of the walk to the bus stop lost in thought, extraordinarily touched by her small gesture of helpfulness. It wasn't as if she had offered me bone marrow or even offered to drive me to gas station while my car stalled on the highway; this was a little, nearly insignificant action that she probably thought nothing of as she continued on with her life. Butthe disproportionate wonder and gratitude that struck me as a result made a lasting impression on my mind.

This afternoon, I sat at a table near Alpine after work, trying to do some homework. I saw a man, a frequent customer at Alpine, come along the side of the Student Union holding a mug and flipping through his wallet for his money. I knew exactly what he was coming for: a coffee refill. He came by Alpine almost daily and was always, always incredibly friendly. He would smile and wish the cashiers a good morning or afternoon, asking us how we were doing, chatting a little if we weren't too busy. He would always buy a coffee refill, his mug and his money ready, and he would always leave with a warm, "Don't work too hard now." He had come by only this morning, while I worked, and done the very same. When I saw him this afternoon, I was struck out of the blue by an intense gratitude and appreciation for his conscientiousness: getting his money ready ahead of time, coming back to pay for a refill despite how easy it is for customers to just walk in and help themselves to the coffee sitting on the counter. I felt an overwhelming urge to give him coffee for free, a tiny demonstration of my sudden gratitude, to smile and talk to him and somehow let him know that the little things he did mattered: how they brightened my day, to deal with a customer who was always polite, friendly, honest.

I think the idea espoused in Good Omens is true: that humans have a capability for evilness even demons couldn't even dream of, but at the same have the capacity for an overwhelming compassion that surpasses even that of angels. Humans are an incredible paradox--and yet it is true of us all.

Maybe the little gestures hit me hardest because it means they're not orchestrated for show and are instead almost an instinct, natural to us. Maybe it strikes me so much because I want to be that kind of person: friendly, honest, helpful, thoughtful, and sincere. I don't want to be a paragon of virtue, no, but I want to be a good person: a thoroughly, instinctually good person.

How hard can it be?

I wonder.