hindsight is 20/20

Tonight I went and looked over my xanga. I haven't posted there in over two years - my last post was in June 2006. My close friends, too, have abandoned it as a blog for the same two or three years. It's strange to see the person I was then - to be honest, I'm not quite sure I'm proud of who I was. I'm not sure I liked who I was. I wonder if, in two or three years, I'll look back again and sigh over the person I am now. I hope not. I'd like to think I've grown up in college, and in law school. Perhaps I haven't, not as much as I would've liked to - but what can I do about it?

I want to be happy. I'm pretty sure no one enjoys being emo - overwrought and insecure and unhappy. I'm pretty sure no one enjoys doubting and fearing and worrying over who they are, or what their future will be. I want to come to terms with the person I am, but I want to constantly seek improvement, too. I want to change for the better; I want to remember to try - and do it. I may not succeed in everything I do, but I want to try.

A said she'd never have children - but she was barely in high school when she said it. She's changed her mind; she says to me now, when I bring up the past, "Please don't hold me to what I said back then, jeez. I was still a kid. I didn't know what I was talking about." It's true, isn't it? We learn as we grow - about life and about ourselves (who we are, what we want).

J was not as worldly then as she was now. She hadn't yet gotten into tennis or fútbol. She was still so young, yet still so mature, and she hadn't yet done any of the immense growing up and into a person I like and love and feel like I don't quite know. I miss her in so many ways.

S is pretty much still the same - still passionate about life, about her friends and sports and her faith. She seems to take the best out of all her experiences, seems to realize that "these are the best days of my life" and makes the most out of them. I envy her a little, the way she lives and loves, almost effortlessly and with such pleasure.

The other S I've lost and I regret that. I don't miss her anymore, though. It might have been for the best, that things turn out this way. I wonder if I should try to mend things, or if there's anything left to mend. It wouldn't hurt to say "hi, I hope you're well", would it?

E, I've known for so long, and how we've changed. For better or for worse, we are different from who we were three years ago - still, though, we are the same people we have always been. We will always feel too much, and worry too much, and care so much. Life has put us in different circumstances, and we've grown to perhaps value different things, but you are still you, and I'm still me, and I think we will always have that in common.

These people have been so important to me. I hope not to lose them in the future. M, L, I will cling to them. They've fought for me (in their own ways) and I will fight for them too. Other M, R, I've put through a lot, but they're still there. That means a lot.

Now I have a new host of friends, letters, people to hold close. T, other T, L, other J, another S - from different parts of my life, they've impacted me this year, and probably for my future.

I hope I grow into someone I like, not just now, but in two or three years looking back.

carolina priceless gem, receive all praises thine

You just finished sending out your college applications and you've already heard back from some places -- you're a finalist for the Morehead scholarship at UNC. That's awesome -- fantastic! Except, of course, you really, really doesn't want to go there.

I wouldn't mind that so much (or really, at all) except that when you talk about how much you don't want to go to UNC, you say it with such...contempt and disgust. I know you can do better. You really want to go to better universities in bigger cities, and with all you've done in your international school, you can probably get in.

There's just something about the way you talk about UNC vs. the other schools that sort of rubs me the wrong way (e.g., NYU is your first choice because it's in "hello, NEW YORK," like NYC is the end all and be all of places to live). Part of it may be that I feel patronized, like you think that I wasn't smart enough to go elsewhere or that I was stupid for choosing to go to UNC, in North Carolina of all places! I admit I have my big-city love (Beijing ♥, Seoul ♥), but I've realized since I moved to St. Louis that NC is actually home for me now, despite all the moving around I did as a kid, and that I love NC.

I love North Carolina, and it really isn't all that horrific a place to live.

You lived here for a good few years too - but I guess you never had the same love for it, since you moved and spent your high school years in S, a very modern city with all the big-city conveniences. I'm sure that's why you're prone to like big cities like NYC. Which is fine. I can understand that. I just wish you didn't treat going to UNC as a last-ditch, absolutely worst-case ew-how-will-I-be-able-to-stand-it option. It's not that bad. Everyone I know who goes there, or went there, loves it.

It ranks pretty high among the national universities; among the public universities, it's in the top five. For value, it's number one. It has the number one basketball team in the country; has a great journalism school and very respectable business and law schools. Its medical school and dental school rank pretty high too. It has a beautiful campus and some great professors, including Nobel Prize winners. It's diverse and active and surrounded by a artsy, interesting, liberal town. Franklin Street will always be legendary. There may not be as many big-city opportunities in Chapel Hill as there would be in New York or DC, but it's the definitive college town experience. Would that be so awful to experience after high school in a big city and a most likely post-graduation job in a big city? Try some diversity on for taste.

Even if it's not for you, could you at least try not to talk about it like you'd die if you had to go? Show a little respect for those of us who went there and loved it.

I will always be glad I went to UNC, no matter where I am now or where I will end up.

So please. 别太小看它.

getting to know me

Everyone who knows me well should know the two things that define and shape me as a person, that guide me through my life:

(1) My culture and heritage. I'm Chinese, and it matters. I'm proud of that. No matter how much I love and admire the U.S., no matter how interested I am in Korean or Japanese culture, my family and my roots are in China. It will always--taste like, sound like, feel like--be home.

(2) My family. I want to make my parents proud, and to take care of them when they're older. I always wish I could do more. They've raised me to believe I can always work harder, do better, be more. It can be discouraging at times, but I want to be the best daughter and sister that I can be.

I'd like to think people who know me know this about me; that they acknowledge it, recognize it, appreciate it. I'd like to think they respect me for it.

This is who I am. These are two unchangeable parts of who I am, integral and eternal.

it's all about the here and now

Today, my brother turned 12. I called him and wished him a happy birthday. My mom told me she'd bought the ingredients to make me one of my favorite meals when I got home. ♥ I love my family. It will be good to go home. Living in St. Louis and going to law school here has probably been the longest I've been from home; around four months now that I haven't seen my family. I've been okay and not unhappily homesick, but there have been occasions where I've missed the familiarity of family, and it will be nice to go back.

Today, I finished my first semester as a law student. Property was not as disastrous as it could've been, for which I'm grateful. We'll see how my grades turn out, but at this point, I'm just ecstatic to be done. There's still a lot I need to do over break in terms of applying to jobs and working on my writing sample, but I'll still have time to do relaxing things. And at least I won't have to worry about classes or exams for the next two weeks.

Today, I had dinner with some incredibly lovely and fantastic (my favorite!) people as an early celebration of L's birthday. I love them all and I'm so happy to have found them here in STL. I'm especially grateful to L for what she's been to me - close friend, older sister, almost mother at times. She is definitely one to remember. I wish I knew what to get her for her birthday that could even begin to indicate how thankful I am for her and how much I appreciate her.

Today, I have cleaned! It is incredibly de-stressing and a great way to feel accomplished. You see immediate results and you feel as though your hard work were justified, rewarding, and worthwhile. All good stuff.

Today, I'm happy. :)

can you cry on cue?

Some things that have made me want to cry tonight:

My dad is so proud of me. He does it the Asian parent way: always comparing you to someone else's kid, always saying you could've done this or that better - at least to your face. As soon as you're gone, he's bragging about you to everyone he knows. My mom has mentioned this to me twice now, and it breaks my heart, because I'm happy that he can be proud of me, that I've given him something to brag about. But I also feel like I don't deserve it and that I should be working so much harder to achieve so much more than I have.

My brother suffers in part from my not being around because all he gets from my parents is the typical "do better, try harder, fix this, why are you like this, everyone else is better" lectures from my parents, and on top of that, also gets to hear my dad sing my praises to other people. He feels unloved, unappreciated. I wish I knew how to tell him how smart he is. He is much smarter than I was at that age. (I was better with people though; he ought to work on his social skills.) He has a lot to be proud of - it's just a matter of learning to understand and deal with Chinese parents. They're proud of him too.

I miss my mom's cooking, as cliché as that is.

M emailed me with a picture of her new hair in China. I miss her. It feels like it's been so long since I've seen her properly. I don't want to grow apart, but sometimes I feel like I don't deserve her. I'm too frivolous.

T is a really sweet, really understanding boyfriend. I don't know what I've done to deserve him.

Other M, shut up. The things you've said, I already know, and they're the last things I need to hear. You just come off supercilious and sort of patronizing. It's aggravating in the worst way, because I've never judged you that way. Please don't do it to me.

I feel like shit, physically. I hope I don't get sick.

is it fear that drives us?

I could take this time to complain about law school again, and how I feel completely unprepared for my exams, but why reiterate the same old same old? I should take on a more positive, proactive attitude. I can handle this. I will take my exams and do well on them.

Or just, you know, get the median. Whatever. At this point, it's hard to keep upbeat and hopeful about the entire ordeal. At this point, I just want a job.

The hardest thing is that my parents will only ever see and care about the grades. It will always be about rank.

I'm trying to do Christmas cards to cheerful (sometimes Christmas) music in an effort to keep my spirits up, but I'm not entirely sure it's working. I'm not sure when the holidays have lost their spark for me this year. I blame law school, honestly; it's sapped me of joy, creativity, energy, etc.

It would have been better to have been a science major coming into law school. They're better at step-by-step logical analysis and have the advantage in the IP field. Sometimes I feel like everything I've done in my life is pretty much worthless.

Oh wait, there I go, being negative and pessimistic again...

I have to keep fighting. Keep trying. A part of me knows I can do this. I can take my exams and pass them, get a job for the summer, come back for another 2.5 semesters, get a secure job. I know I can. I will have a future.

But it wars with the other part of me that says not good enough and points out how much easier it would be to just give up.

I won't give in though. It has less to do with my strength or my courage or my determination, perseverance, or ability to overcome obstacles.

When it comes down to it, I keep going because I'm too afraid to stop and to fail. To have nothing and be nothing.

So let's keep fighting.



Didn't I used to have more cheerful entries? It's hard to tell at this point.

try harder

True fact: I have never before felt so inadequate in my entire life.

(a material girl) living in a material world

So I've recently realized that I'm one of Those Girls Female Main Characters Hate. You know how female main characters, heroines, are usually Different? How they're typically not popular (though not always a total outcast), and have all these atypical or underappreciated traits that make them just unique enough or different enough from the crowd to be special? So special that few people recognize just how special they are, until the Right Friend or Right Romantic Interest comes along?

These heroines: they're typically headstrong, or like sports, or just don't get femininity, or have suffered some sort of great loss, or just have some perspective on life that sets them apart. Maybe they love the planet; maybe they're horribly jaded; maybe they're just incredibly smart or thoughtful or profound in ways that makes the rest of the world seem shallow and superficial.

These girls are compared to the minor female characters, one type who's girly, superficial, somewhat frivolous. These characters are not necessarily stupid or bad people: they're just less deep, more shallow, usually caring and good-hearted, just not different enough from the rest of the world to be a main character type. These minor characters are girly girls who like pink and dressing up and make-up; they're the characters who care about fashion and fix up the main character; they're the characters who can walk in heels while the main character can only look on enviously. They're the characters who are somewhat flaky, who don't have a passionate world cause (crusading for human rights or the environment, for instance), who like sappy romantic comedies, not cult films or off-the-beat comedy or bloodbath action.

These are girls who are smart but not going anywhere with it. These are girls who just don't stand out. These are girls who are like so many other girls in the world.

And it's weird to realize that I'm one of these girls.

I think every girl always imagines she's the star of her life; if someone wrote a story, she'd be the main character: the special one, the different one, the one who matters and is somehow different from everyone else.

Sometimes, it's really just not that way. It's true that we're all different from everyone else, that we all have admirable qualities. Being mainstream and conformist and "just like everyone else" doesn't negate the sincerity of your emotions or lessen the importance of your beliefs. It just means...well, it means you're not a main character. You're not that special. You're pretty ordinary, pretty average.

That...I tell myself that doesn't have to be a bad thing. It's not. You are better able to relate to others when you have similar experiences. But it's still unsettling, uncomfortable, to come to terms with.

You're not that smart. You're not driven. You're not that profound. You're not that anything.

You love and you care and you worry and you try, just like everyone else. But you're a little ditzy, not as up-to-date on politics as you might like; you're a little shallow, because you like heels and skirts and the color pink; you're a little girly, because you cry at Disney movies and want to have someone to hold you and love you and grow old with you. You're not that independent, or that amazing, or that unique.

But, you think, you're still pretty special - because of all the people who know you and love, despite you not being that Unique and Different Heroine; and because of all the people you know and love in return.

No one is forgettable or replaceable, because of the relationships they've built around them.

So maybe I'm okay with being a material, typical, minor-character kind of girl.

It could be worse.

I could be the Unique Main Character with no friends.

all in or all out

Oh my god, do I love Google or what? First, there's Google Labs that allows me to add my Google Calendar and Docs to Gmail, which makes my life. Then there are the awesome new themes, because I am all about color-coding my life. But best of all, Google has a To Do List feature that I can add to my iGoogle homepage. I think I'm too thrilled for words: Google, you have totally won me over to you for life.

It's that time of year again, too: time to break out my Christmas music. I love the holidays; they're the saving grace of finals period. The music keeps me sane throughout all the studying and the stress and the panic. Oddly enough, I've also brought out my Disney music, which is relentlessly cheering and leaves me with the urge to rewatch my favorite Disney movies again.

I'm back to owning six versions of Carol of the Bells; last year, I had at least twelve, possibly fifteen. I still need to acquire Sleigh Bells, though.

This music keeps me happy while I outline and write my memo. It makes me so much less likely to get to the point of being so stressed out that I snap at people or am unreasonably unapproachable. I like to think I'm generally in a good mood (unless I feel like tacos; but I guess I am more prone to that than to getting angry or confrontational).

I'm an unmitigated sap, and I'm okay with that.

you can fly - higher

They say start fresh, start again. This is a new beginning, a blank slate. Try once more to recreate your life, to build up the pieces of who you are, only this time you can arrange it carefully, as you want.

This is your life. It is in your hands. Take it: do something with it. Create, mold, shape, transform - this is you, your life, let it go and fall to pieces and put it all back together again, in your image, in your will. Your every wish.

But sometimes it's hard to take that breath or that plunge. Sometimes it's terrifying to let it go, to trust that it will be okay, that you will be okay, that things will come together again. It's hard to let go of the past and not be a little, a lot, scared of the future. (因为爱还是未知的未来?)

That is why I cling to the past sometimes, why it's hard to let go of memories or who I used to be, even if they are not all good memories or everything I wanted to be. There may have been failures, disappointments, sadness, anger - but it was mine, it was me, it was (most importantly) familiar. That's why it's easy to miss the friends I had, why easy to make golden and simple the childhood that was never quite so, why it's easy to stay back, cautious, instead of rushing headlong into the unknown - for it could be brilliant, dazzling, profound, or it could be terrifying.

Why are you holding your breath? Why am I afraid to go, to run, to reach for the person I could maybe be? The future I could maybe have? The life that could be fuller, more interesting, more knowing, for all that I have experienced, good or bad?

How will I feel, looking back? How will I know? In the end, in the end, what really matters? When your vision blurs and when you can no longer breathe - what is really important?

I have the people to fall back on, don't I? I have every reason to push forward and try, don't I?

There is this thing called faith, and it is so much more than mere religion.

(我怕时间太快,我怕时间太慢.)

Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe.

Maybe change is something to be embraced, if you have the certainty in yourself, and the certainty in those who believe in you.

Fly, fly, get 'em up high.

tired of this, this is me

There is so much that needs work. Not just in academics, but in who I am as a person.

I know I need to be more confident. I just didn't realize that I was also more closed off than I realized. I'm not as stressed as maybe I should be. I'm not as invested as maybe I should be. I want to know, in the end, where I stand.

There is this distance and I don't know if I will broach it. Where do I stand?

You know. I hate this thing girls do.

When it comes down to it, I don't know that I could pick V or C's side.

When it comes down to it, I'd still want you to pick my side.

When it comes down to it, I'm tired. Of this. Of that. Of feeling like it's (I'm) not good enough.

("You're not.")

take a stand for what you want to be

I've always known I could be jaded and cynical about some things, most particularly life and people and the stupidity that pervades in both, but I've never actually wanted to be a bad person. (Then again, who does?) I never thought I'd be a bad person.

These are the small ways in which I think law school's changed me, and I'm not sure I like it. Instead of making me smarter or transforming me into someone with an elevated ability for analysis, I've just become...a smaller person, empathetically.

You know, it does matter to me what people think of me. It doesn't define who I am, no, but it matters. I care about other people's opinions, especially when those people happen to be people I care about, and like. I don't like not being liked. I don't like being judged. I don't like feeling as if I am stripping myself of any respect I once had in someone else's esteem.

These could very well be my own anxieties and guilty conscience projecting onto others, but either way, I suppose it comes down to one thing:

I don't have to love everything about someone to like her, and whether or not I like her shouldn't affect the basic respect I have for her. So I should stop being a hypocrite and stop talking trash and stop being like a melodramatic high schooler. This is not the kind of person I'd respect. This is not the kind of person I'd like to be.

So...I'm sorry. And I'll say it again.

November 6th. :)

this world has taken its toll on me

If ever anyone were bad at emails, I would be. I'm just not very good at life updates, I guess, over email or over the phone. What should I say? What's important to know? I owe my parents a fairly lengthy phone call about my future.

My future.

I say it like I know what it's going to be like, but it's this entirely nebulous, uncertain thing in so many respects.

I feel like I'm not trying hard enough, and yet I'm so tired all of the time. It's actually rather distressing.

I used to be able to make compound sentences or something like that.

I'm not unhappy, just somewhat concerned and a little stressed, and mostly tired. Is this normal? Was I ever normal?

Not emo. Too tired to be emo. Big Bang's new MV and album is happy-making though. I will go to sleep early and have energy to care about things once again, damn it.

I wish I were better than mediocre at something.

friendship in an hourglass

I met J in 2003, early in the summer when I was 15 and just when she'd turned 13. When did she leave? Her family moved to Singapore either in 2004 or 2005...all the years blend together now, memories of when we were younger, when we were together and apart, freer, more tied up in shackles of our own mind, more naive, less knowledgable of all the mistakes we could make.

I've seen her a fair number of times since then, because for two years after she let, she'd visit each Christmas and each summer. Then there was a gap for a year and half when I didn't see her at all, until she visited this past summer. She's 18 now. I'm 20, 21. It feels like it's been so very long that I've known her, so long since we first made friends, so long since she's been halfway around the world. We've both grown and changed in so many ways that in sometimes I don't recognize her anymore, the little glimpses of her I get from our emails or Facebook or chats. Yet when I saw her in person in July, she was still so essentially her, everything I once knew, just grown up.

I wonder what I look like to her. I wonder what she thinks from what she knows of my life now. I'm not afraid of any judgment from her, not her, never her, but I wonder what she sees. I know I've changed a lot, even in just the past few months. College changed me dramatically from high school in certain ways, especially regarding my relationship with my parents. Law school has already changed me dramatically from college as well, in other ways, possibly the way I relate to other people, or the way I'm more comfortable with myself.

J's gone through so many things I can't even imagine. The world between the U.S. and Singapore are so different, from culture to school system to ease of international travel. There are some things I feel like we just can't empathize with each other about, even if we may sympathize. That doesn't detract from our friendship, no, but it's a matter of fact. She's been through a lot that I won't understand. I've probably been through a lot that she won't understand either.

This applies not just to J, though, who left early in our friendship for another part of the world, and who remains one of my most important people. This applies to anyone who's known me since I was in 8th grade, or earlier, or later. What do you see when you see me now? Maybe it's not where you imagined I'd be; maybe I'm not the person you thought I'd be, or that I thought I'd be. Maybe you don't understand.

And that's okay. It's not fair to think everyone will be able to understand how I ended up here, who I am, what I've done, become, accomplished, achieved, failed, lost.

All that I ask of you is to understand that maybe you can't understand. Accept that. Embrace that. (Love me anyway.)

I'll return the favor, because that's what friends do.

this is the big bang

Boy, I love your style, love your smile
Wish that you could be only mine, be only mine
I can't let it go, I don't know what you're doing to me
You're so fine, ooh you're so fine

Update later, I guess. Oh Halloween, you don't really enthuse me. Now I just need to sleep.

i'm not sure that's the answer you're looking for

Okay, I'm confused and a little creeped out. Mostly confused, though, because I am apparently bad at life. Unintentionally bad, but bad nonetheless.

I should just move to a cave and be horrible to people, and maybe things will be less confusing. I don't feel particularly bad (okay, I do, somewhat) because mostly I am confused.

And selfish.

And it's weird that I have no one "back home" to talk to about this stuff because I'm the eldest of them. Life, how strange...

Who ever expected my life to be even close to this melodramatic? I feel ridiculous.




Also: What the fuck.

Mei is...

Stressed out, mildly ill, and emotionally drained.

some people fall to lose it all

I'm confused and conflicted and possibly other words that start with "con". I think that prefix is indicative of the entire process. It's not so great.

The problem with getting upset about one thing is that it manages to make me think about all the other things I could be getting upset about, and then I end up stupid and emo. Look, I'd choose not to be this way if I had a choice. I don't like having my emotions so easily manipulated.

But as of right now, they kind of are. I feel stupid. I feel like my emotions are on a roller coaster I don't get to control. I feel like I have no idea what to do, or what I want.

This is so stupid. At least I provide entertainment for those around me. They're too good to me, really.

I wish I knew what I wanted. Or how to get it. Or had the courage to carry through. Any or all of that would be nice.

I think, in lieu of any answers or solutions, I'm just going to get bubble tea. Hot. And then read Property until my brain is numb; thinking is clearly a bad idea. As is feeling.

好可笑啊

为什么喜欢上了你?

you should know that i don't always hate the world

Every few months, at least once or twice a year, I remember.

(What? The important things in life.)

--

"Do you want food?" he asks. "Or just coffee?"

"Whatever's fine," I say. "I already ate breakfast with my roommates."

He glances at me before returning his gaze to the road. "You do a lot of things with your roommates."

"Well," I say, and I'm laughing a little, teasing a little, "isn't it normal? I do live with them in the same apartment. Occasionally we're there the same time and, you know, eat together."

It's a silly example, maybe, but it reflects a lot of why I feel so blessed today. (Do I mean "lucky"? "Grateful"?) I did have breakfast with my roommates, and I had coffee and a long conversation with T. I saw other people for a bit and talked to other people on the phone. I have a great group of friends who make me happy, and I think I should appreciate that more.

I love people and I miss people, but, you know. Let me be sappy. I have a lot of people in my life, people I've met in person, people I haven't, people I've talked to over the phone, people I've shared experiences with - these people make up my life, and they make me so happy. They care for me and I'm so lucky in that regard. Even when I complain, or when I'm unhappy, sad or angry or moody, I love people.

I love to try to give advice, or to receive advice, or just to be silly or talk about kidnapping fat Korean babies. I love catching up with people or complaining about things with people, or laughing at retarded things on Youtube with people. I love fangirling with people, or reminiscing, or just being there together as we die over Property or Contracts. I love eating and talking with people, caring, knowing they care, listening, trying, being.

I want to reach out more, because there are still more people I care about and want to gather back, to enfold in some sort of embrace of hey, I care about you, no matter how long it's been. I want to make a difference in your life, however little, because you've all made an impact on my life.

You make me happy. This world makes me happy. I should try to remember that.

Cold weather, fall leaves, blue sky, warm blankets. Hot coffee, green tea, freshly-cooked Chinese food. Vitamin water with pomegranate, K's voice, getting all my work done ahead of time. Phone calls and text messages and facebook chat and MSN and letters and emails and every way I can reach out to you. I love it.

I love you. Thanks.

I just need you to know this. I appreciate you. Knowing you makes me happy.

"home"

I miss home. I miss my family and I miss UNC and I miss the fair. I miss A, whose phone is always off, and J, who never replies to emails. I miss M, who's in China, and E, who just doesn't respond anymore.

I don't really miss my room or my bed - it's not the things that make it home. It's my parents I miss, and my brother. I miss home.

I'm not emo, despite how this post may sound. I'm really not even sad. I just...miss people. Fall makes me nostalgic, I guess.

But I do like it here. And I like the people here. And I'm happy.

But while everyone leaves for home during fall break, and I'm left here, I realize that I can be happy and still miss home.

conversations.

Wednesday.

Mei: I hate bumperstickers.
L: Me too! They're like...tattoos on your ass. If you were walking around naked. And no one wants to walk around naked, do they?
R: Well, I don't know if anyone would get "OBAMA" tattooed to their ass...
L: I don't know. Maybe some people feel really strongly about this stuff.
R: Well, I feel strongly. Maybe I should get Obama's face tattooed to my inner thigh.
Mei: ...that would be beyond awkward.
L: Well, not many people would see it.
R: Right? Except the people who saw it would be in the situation where it's like, "oh, um, I'm really not in the mood anymore..." Probably because they had a tattoo of McCain on their inner thigh.
L: You could make them make out!
Mei: *dying* What the fuck. Why am I friends with you guys?

--

Thursday.

C: K should just...sing all the time.
Mei: *fervently* Yes. He should just go through life as if it were a musical.

--

Friday.

[12:27] xii. whiplash/backlash: SOB I HATE JAPAN
[12:28] — for all you lovers and heartbreakers。: BUT JAPAN LOVES YOU LEER
[12:29] xii. whiplash/backlash: ew

if you can read this, it's not about you

I never know when it's okay to be sad and let people know so they can help me feel better, and when I think I should just be strong and not let people know. Or at least let them know they don't need to hold my hand because I can handle it.

The thing is, I'm not strong enough to handle it on my own. And I wish it were okay to ask for help, but I always feel like someone is judging me, wondering why I'm so needy or so dependent or so weak.

Sometimes I wish people would approach me first and just make it okay for me to fall apart on them. I wish people would be willing to hold me even if I was pretending to be strong. I wish I didn't feel like I was falling apart in the first place, but I wish people wouldn't take the easy way out and just believe me when I say I'm fine. It's not that I want them to doubt me all the time, or to think I'm not capable, but when you don't even make an effort to reach out when you know I'm going through a hard time - it doesn't matter if you have the words - then it hurts even more. I guess you don't care?

Is it unfair of me to want this? Maybe I should just be okay with approaching people first and crying at them...but it's so hard. I've done it before, and I feel like they just wish I would get over myself ("why is she always falling apart?" "why is she always so emo?"). I'm afraid to encroach on your personal space, to direct your attention to myself, to want or need things from you.

Maybe, in essence, it comes down to the fact that I don't know if you need me too. So I'm afraid to need you.

to those so-called friends over there

If you have a problem with why I'm friends with G, that's too bad. I don't have time to talk about it or to defend myself or to explain myself. I don't have time to involve myself in this ridiculous drama.

I had a good night. Thanks for ruining it. I'd like you to please stop expecting or demanding things out of me, because if you have a problem with her, I am not responsible for talking to her on your behalf. I'd also like you to stop questioning my judgment in friends, because you're not me, and you don't have that right.

I don't defend everything she does, but that's not the point. The point is that I am angry and unhappy with the way you think I should react a certain way, though you are not me, and you do not know my motives or wishes or, really, all that much about me.

I don't want to talk about this, because it makes me angry, and because it takes up too much time. Maybe we can talk about it after a few days when broaching the subject doesn't instantly incense me, and after I'm free on fall break.

Until then, I refuse to touch this drama and I'll ask you to keep it the fuck away from me. Thanks kindly.

writings, three

h— loves hg. some people know this, or have guessed it, or joke about it, but only h— knows the depth of her affections. it borders on obsession sometimes, how much she thinks about him, how much effort she puts into pretending not to care, when she actually watches hg sleep at night and clips a lock of hg's hair while he's unaware and keeps it locked in her diary. it borders on obsession, the way she watches hg's mouth move, the way she lingers outside the bathroom when hg showers, just listening. it borders on obsession when she starts stealing hg's things, little things, but it teeters on the edge and falls completely into the abyss of obsession when she starts hating the others because hg smiles at them (don't fucking touch him).

but h— will never tell. and no one will ever find out.

--

E— knows H— doesn’t mean to be cruel. Despite his jokes and his loud complaints and his nattering on about his beauty, he’s normally a very good friend. His friendship, once won, is deep and fierce. He is charismatic and aggressive and unafraid of saying things that make others stop and double-take. E— has always admired him, but he’s always been a little afraid too. He’s not sure how to be someone H— admires in turn, instead of someone easily dismissed.

The problem with H— is that he’s careless with people he doesn’t treasure.

H— is careless with E— and the knowledge that E— is not one of the ones H— cares most about hurts more than H—'s thoughtlessness.

--

“It’s 11:11,” she says. “Make a wish.”

K— smiles half-heartedly and remains silent. She frowns at him and tugs at his hand, pulling it into her lap. “You’re no fun,” she sighs, the crease of her brow weary, as if it is too much effort to fight this. She’s tired. She’s learned better.

K— shakes his head at her. “You know I don’t believe in things like that.” He doesn’t look at the white room around him and tries not to think about the thin blanket pulled up over her legs. He ties not to think about this uneasy feeling of not belonging. He focuses on her face instead, unfamiliar in its weariness. She squeezes his hand, chastising.

“I wish you would.” Her voice is soft. “It would make me happy.”

He pulls his hand away, fighting shame. “Fine, I’ll make a wish.” He attempts a smile but it feels like a lie when she returns it with one of her own.

“You’re a good son, K—,” she says.

K— lets his gaze fall to the sterile, white hospital floor, bile rising in his throat. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he wants to leave, because he doesn’t belong anymore. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’s sorry, he doesn’t know her anymore.

He can’t tell her that he wishes he were home, instead.

不能做普通朋友

we can't be friends anymore if you're going to ignore how much what you're doing hurts me.

you can call that selfish, if you'd like.

i call it self-preservation.

you mean so much to me, but not enough for me to do this to myself. or allow you to do this to me.

why can't i even see you trying?

inner beauty is overrated

People who demand to be your best friend forever after knowing you for less than a week are presumptuous and ridiculous. Even if they aren't completely serious in their words, their actions are proving otherwise, because there is a certain type of insidiousness in how they are clinging to you and demanding your attention. It screams look at me! look at me! love me, love me, make me your most important!.

It's disgusting and a little pathetic, and I'm personally offended that you either 1) can't see it, or 2) are allowing it anyway, especially in the face of the fact that it upsets me. Doesn't it count at all that we've known each other longer and are really rather close to each other? Is it wrong of me to expect you to value our friendship a little more than whatever you might have with this other person?

Is it wrong of me to expect you to, if not understand where I'm coming from, at least care enough to reach out to me and try to make it better?

who says people act in their own self-interest

So I'm a little bit masochistic when I come back from a great night full of good food and people who make me laugh and hilarious, amazing Pictionary games set to hardcore stadium music like Queen - and immediately go online and find the one thing (and one person) who is guaranteed to make me sick to my stomach with misery and insecurity and jealousy.

I wonder why that is.

breathe it in and let it out

my life is so much nicer when i don't go online. my life is so much nicer when i don't care about fandom. :) law school people always make me smile and make me feel welcome. they make me laugh. they also make me want a boyfriend. everyone's attached - married or engaged or in a serious relationship. it's strange being single; we're definitely in the minority if we are. i want someone.

i think i'm happy. i think i am.

sometimes it's better not to think at all. just feel and live and breathe.

and sleep.

make something of your world. take it as it is. sometimes the choice isn't in your hands, and it's okay.

law school application - personal statement

I groaned in agony and disappointment at 7:30 PM Sunday, September 9, 2007. My roommate watched me pitch a pillow across our living room and understood my sentiments completely. Why was I upset? Roger Federer had just won the 2007 US Open, defeating world ranked #3 Novak Djokovic, who had been my favorite throughout the tournament. It was almost incredible to remember that, only a month ago, I had been wholly ignorant of professional tennis.

A close friend introduced me to her favorite sport in late July; within a month I had learned not only the rules and regulations of the game, but also the names and records of the top players in the world. I followed the US Open avidly, calling faults along with the referee, critiquing the techniques of the players, and even grudgingly giving credit where credit was due when it came to Roger Federer’s skills. I was fully engaged in (watching) the sport.

Since I relocated to the USA from China at three years old, my life has been an open channel for diversity and new experiences. What began as a juggling act of two separate cultures grew into a passion for learning about the multi-cultural world. I have learned to keep an open mind; I am willing to embrace tennis as easily as I am willing to embrace the traditional customs of my Vietnamese friends. I am as interested in the philosophy and lives of the ancient Greeks as I am interested in the modern-day hi-tech culture of contemporary Japan. This interest carried over into one of my favorite and most memorable experiences—volunteering for the past four of five years at the International Festival in Raleigh. The festival celebrates countries from across the globe, showcasing their unique dances, crafts, and food in a lively, brightly-colored weekend. Every time I participate in the festival, I am reminded how ethnically rich the world is. This proves true in more than just cultural differences, but in legal, political, and social differences as well. One of the primary reasons I am pursuing International Law is I’m interested in topics such as the differing systems of intellectual property rights employed by the American vs. Asian entertainment industries, the careful balance of capitalism and so-called Communism in Chinese politics, and how issues like these affect not only the global political, economic, and social environment but also how they effect more local consequences upon the Asian-American community in the U.S. I hope to explore these issues further in law school, which currently represents a whole new world of experiences for me, including challenges to overcome.

One such challenge I faced in college was exemplified in my summer Philosophy course called Ethics of Peace, War, and Defense. A large part of my final grade was class participation, which was especially encouraged to raise discussion and debate. I found myself struggling to find the right words because I felt that many of my classmates (some of whom were Philosophy majors and old hands at moral debate) were far more eloquent than I and could make more persuasive arguments in their favor. Yet I had opinions I wanted to share, despite my uneasy feelings of inadequacy: I spoke to the professor and made an appointment to see him outside of class, determined to have my say. It turned out to be one of the smartest decisions I have made in my college career: I was able to work up confidence in expressing myself one-on-one, which eventually carried over into the classroom by the end of the course. I had conquered a personal weakness and turned it into a beneficial learning experience.

I will never tire of new experiences, of encountering new challenges to the way I live my life or the beliefs I hold. The chance to learn something new and to pursue it with passion makes my life richer, and I welcome that. I believe this outlook will benefit me greatly in both law school and the legal profession: my ability to turn my experiences into an opportunity to improve myself, to expand the horizons of my knowledge, will allow me to make the most of every challenge I face, for law school is sure provide many. I will employ my passion and my intellect wholly, and look forward to all the future brings—even those occasions where Federer wins.

rewriting your path

I don't know what you want from me when you come to me with all these unsaid words and unvoiced expectations. I don't know what I can do for you. I think I want to try, but it's so hard when I don't know where to start, when I'm groping blindly in the dark for a handhold or a foothold or the right words. There is no magic phrase to make it all better for you, or for me.

It shouldn't always come back to me, always revolve around me, let me tell you about me, me, me. I don't want to be self-centered, but this is the only way I know how to relate, to empathize. Sympathize? I should know the right words, but I don't.

Did you know that even though I cry over sad things, it's the hopeful things that make me cry harder? When a failing relationship has a chance for redemption, I cry. When a miserable situation sees a sliver of hope, I cry. When broken dreams become stitched whole again, or when something lost is found again, I cry and I cry, because it's so hard to believe in the beauty of lovehopefaith like that, but I want to. And I want something like that. I want the new beginning, the bittersweet second meeting, the last chance gone well at last. Maybe it means I'm still a romantic at heart.

I don't know what I can do for you. Are you like me? Do you understand me? Do we need be on the same level? Do I need to know myself before I can help you?

reconstructing this dream of identity

i'm not the type of girl who goes out and parties for fun. i'm not social enough. i'm not comfortable enough in my own skin. i'm not the type of girl who's the center of attention, who's aggressive or assertive, or the one who leads while everyone else follows.

i'm not the type of girl who turns heads, whether by looks or by wit. i don't like confrontations and i don't like to speak up just to draw attention to myself. i'm not the type of girl who has her pick of the boys, or even the type that has adults eating out of her hand by virtue of her capable efficiency. i'm not a good public speaker who can easily put anyone at ease. i'm not loud or reckless or daring.

i'm not the type of girl who likes to take risks or challenge the status quo. i'm not fierce or passionate or the type to leave that kind of lasting impression. i don't have a unique perspective on life, serene and at peace with being different from the world, knowing i am myself and that is enough.

i strive to fit in, to find a place to belong, to carve my niche and grow comfortable there. i just want to be able to smile and laugh and be happy enough. i don't need euphoria. i take what i can get. i don't demand more of the world. i just want to get by, to be secure, to do the best i can and provide the best i can for my parents and my children and my future. i am quiet and i prefer to stay in the background. i like to have friends and i like to be liked, but i am soft and easily persuaded. i am embarrassed and shamed, sometimes, but who i am and what i like, and shy away from making stances or speaking out. but i try to like who i am, and i try to be someone at least i can be happy with.

i'm not made to be a main character type of girl. maybe most people aren't. i think i'm okay with this.

i just need to stop dreaming about a prince charming if i'm not a cinderella.

[essay] on being chinese-american

I was told that I should write about what it means to be a Chinese-American. It’s a singular experience, shared in part but never entirely, by those who are also something else-American: Irish-American, Italian-American, Korean-American, or anything else. But what does it mean to be Chinese-American? For many people, it probably means living in an American society but being raised by Chinese parents. It means straddling two countries, two nationalities, two cultures, and more – essentially, it is about having two identities.

Or so people think.

I think differently.

It’s not as discrete as being split into two. You do not have two personalities, one that comes out at your American school and one that comes out at Chinese dinner parties, no matter how true that may feel. You are not like the sun and the moon, or like water and wine, or like black and white. Being Chinese-American is about being one person, you, and that encompasses everything you are into one entity. It is much closer to shades of gray.

You grow up listening to Chinese simply because your parents are; you grow up listening to English because that’s where you live and how you communicate with the world. You eat American food, Chinese food, Italian food, Japanese food; listen to American music, Korean music; watch American movies, Indian movies, French movies. Whatever you do, it’s multi-cultural and diverse, because that’s the kind of world we live in now. There is no line drawn within you separating these parts of you.

So whether or not you are fluent in Chinese, whether or not you know anything about Chinese history, it’s still a part of your heritage. For me, being Chinese-American means that I pay more attention to Sino-American politics because my parents pay more attention to them: I am more exposed to a different point of view. Being Chinese-American means that even though I listen to Japanese and Korean music, I understand Chinese music, because of who I am. Recently, I’ve been listening to hit Chinese songs from the 1980s and then discovering that my parents are familiar with the songs too. It’s unexpected but practical proof that I am not two separate entities, two separate identities, but only two halves of whole. Being Chinese-American is a combination of who I am and what I’m interested in, and a heritage that is part of me, no matter where I live or what I choose to like. My parents will always be Chinese, and China will always have a history and culture that defines a nation that I will in some way always belong to, even if I lived in Belgium and spoke French. I would be Chinese-Belgian then, but the defining adjective would still be “Chinese”.

Being Chinese-American means being raised with different expectations, not just from your parents, who expect good grades and for you to go to Chinese school, but also from society. People around you will expect you to speak Chinese or know kung-fu, if they are more ignorant, or for you to get straight As and play piano, if they are more familiar with the Chinese-American community. People will look at you and label you “Asian”, not “American”. Sometimes, it’s not flattering; sometimes, it’s not deliberate; oftentimes, it’s not cruel, but it is a fact. You learn to accept it and work with it: it’s a part of growing up.

Growing up entails a lot of acceptance – acceptance of who you are, where you’re from, what shapes your life, and how you will choose to live. Acceptance that your life is neither black nor white, but shades of gray.

One of my co-workers asked me the other day who I would cheer for if the U.S.A. and China competed against each other in the Olympics. Keep in mind that I’ve lived in the U.S. for eighteen of my twenty-one years, that I’m an American citizen, and that I speak English far more fluently than Mandarin. Keep in mind that I love America.

I smile at her as if she’s crazy. “I’m cheering for China, of course.”

Of course, because being Chinese-American means you never forget the part of you that defines what kind of American you are.

You are Chinese-American.

永远祝福中国。

the world is not colored for a romantic

Okay. I don't want to talk about anything. I read a stupidly long romance (no, not the Harlequin-esque) that was good and that also wrecked me, because now I'm sitting around pining for my One Great Romance and life doesn't work like that. I know that. Stupid romantic in me, would you just cease and desist already? Pragmatic cynic, o where art thou?

Instead of dwelling on how uselessly girly I feel, and how wistful I am about wanting to find that Soul Mate who will make my Happily Ever After (and I don't believe in happily-ever-afters, damn it) possible, I will instead go do something else.

I'm kind of terrified I'll screw up any meaningful relationship in my life because I'll expect the dramatic fireworks and epic romance sold to me by the media (and fanfiction, shit) and, well, life really doesn't work like that.

Still, if I had a choice, I would like a Zack Fair, please. (Edit: one who doesn't die.)

are these just words or numbers

People say "age is just a number" and I agree to an extent, that it doesn't draw a clear line between sudden wisdom and inexeperienced stupidity, and it doesn't mean some people are better than others at certain things just because of age. I've always believed, though, that age isn't just a number, because age represents a wealth of experiences that are, sadly, only gained with more years. This is not a hard and fast rule, of course, because there are people who are young who've lived through much more than someone who may be 40, for example, but generally speaking, those who are older have had more life experiences than those who are younger.

This is why the senpai/kouhai, sunbae/hoobae relationship works. This is why in pretty much every culture there's a form of the sentiment "respecting your elders". I realize I'm not really anybody's elder by much. A few years don't give me a wealth of wisdom with which to enlighten the masses. But those few years, especially between in the high school-university age period, is actually a pretty significant amount of time for people who are growing up and figuring out their lives. I can't say i've figured it all out (god, I wish), but I know that I look back on the person I was at 16 and am really, really glad I'm not there anymore. I'm glad I've grown and changed.

Obviously, the person I was at 16 is different from other people at 16, but I do think that in 4 or so years people will look back on who they were then and go "hmm. Oh, the things I thought I knew then." Hindsight is built on experience, and that experience, I think, deserves some sort of recognition. It doesn't mean what people think at 16 are wrong, only that years will give people a differnet perspective.

But these are just words and thoughts.

empty space where my heart should be

My biggest fear is and always has been being easily replaceable. (Forgettable? Discardable? My life is written in semantics.)

A close second is failure. I don't like not being good at things.

我想为你努力

I know they're proud of me, but sometimes it's not enough. They're not proud enough. There is always something they can say, always some fault they can find, something to criticize, something I haven't done right, or well enough, or at all. And it hurts, because they're right. This is the way I feel about myself, why I can never really accept all the accolades and praises people try to give me about my accomplishments: whatever I've done, I could've done more.

I don't dismiss what I've achieved as unimportant, but all of it really fades into the background when it comes to what I could be doing, should be doing, could've/should've/would've done instead. Take for instance this summer: I should've put more work into finding something to do after I come back from China and Korea. I tentatively have an option open at a restaurant, but it's not a guarantee. Why didn't I look for an internship instead? Why didn't I plan ahead for something sound and of worth, volunteer work, even? I don't take the initiative often enough.

I know my parents are proud of me, but they see better than anyone my faults and shortcomings, and they let me know-- They do it when they're irritable and stressed, which means that their guard is down and this is how they feel at the moment (that I'm not enough), but it also means that they don't always feel this way (which is some sort of comfort).

It does hurt; of course it does. I don't think anyone's opinions of me matter quite as much as my parents'. That doesn't mean I'll let their opinions of me shape my entire life or my beliefs, because I know I live a different life than they do, and I know they're wrong at times, but their opininos certainly do make an impact and carry weight.

It does hurt when they tell me I'm not good enough, but considering the rest of tonight, I'd rather they be upset with me than with each other. Because I at least know that they love me anyway, that they're only worried about me, wanting the best for me.

I hate it when they're upset with each other. I hate it when they're so tired, so sick, so stressed, that they snap at each other over every little thing. I hate that my mom hates her job, because there's so much pressure, and I hate that my dad feels the same way about his job, constantly struggling to prove himself to his superiors and support the family. I hate that my parents don't communicate well with each other, I hate that they don't understand why the other one is legitimately upset. I hate that they're both sick right now and that neither of their health is that good.

I hate that my parents are unhappy so much, or at all, and I hate that they're getting old.

I hate that I don't know what to do about it. I wish I could support the family financially and my mom could quit her job or find a different one. I wish I could take on more of their duties (basic household management issues, maybe) so they wouldn't have to worry about that on top of their jobs. I wish I could do more, that I was better, more efficient, more knowledgeable, more capable. I wish I could take care of them.

Sometimes I really feel my age. Most of the time, I feel older than I am. I'm always surprised when I remember, hey, I'm not even twenty-one yet. I'm only twenty? I feel twenty-three at least. But maybe it's good that I'm not, because I hope to be far more capable and accomplished by twenty-three.

Someone I really respect said, about his parents, "我会努力让你们过的幸福开心,你们的幸福是我在心里最大的安慰,希望老爸,老妈身体健康,儿子永远我爱你们." (I'll work hard so you can live happily; your happiness is my heart's greatest comfort. I hope Mom and Dad will stay healthy; your son will always love you.)

I want to want that. I want to stop feeling so selfish about my own wants. This trip to China and Korea--I want it so badly, but it's causing my parents an untold amount of stress and worry. And I'm so sorry. But I want to go, and I want them to trust me to go; but more than that, I want them to be happy for me. I want them to stop being so anxious. (But they're parents, worrying is what they do.)

They've done so much for me. I wish I could do something in return.

it makes sense in my head

You are not allowed to be weak because you do not make allowances for weaknesses (in yourself).

when the words fall away

I hate everything I write; I especially hate it after reading a particularly good fic or piece of fiction. Nothing I write has a point. There should be themes, interpretation, parallels--something. Something beyond a random slice-of-life; if the slice-of-life is demonstrating a particular sentiment or illustrating a certain point, that's different. But I hate everything I write because nothing I write has a point. I can never find the write words to express the things I'd like to express, or I use pretty language in the shallowest of ways to describe things in a vaguely literary manner--except still without a point. I have too many loose ends and irrelevant details, emotions that escape at the edges and aren't properly directed or reshaped by the end of the story. My humor is contrived and not that funny.

I can't write length and I can't write plot.

What kind of writer am I?

我需要的人

I play mom and older sister and sempai to a whole host of people in real life and in fandom. I like it. I love these people and I love helping them and supporting them and giving (hopefully good) advice in any way I can--but sometimes I wish I had a 姐姐 or a 哥哥 to lean on. I suppose I know a fair number of people older than me through fandom, but we aren't close enough for me to rely on them. And, in real life, I don't have many people/friends who are older than me. Maybe it's my faulty psyche--I want to lean on someone and for them to give me advice, but I'm not capable of being that kind of dependent person. I have enough trouble telling people when I'm seriously upset... It's a paradox: I want to have someone to support and guide me, and yet I feel incapable of burdening people with my woes and seeking advice.

I know I'm strong. I strive to be. But sometimes all I want to cry and lean on someone else. I just don't know if I'm capable of taking your hand if you offer it.

two sides of the sun

In class today, my English professor eloquently described our campus as having "lawns that have sprouted people". With the nice weather, people have emerged out of nowhere onto our quad, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups of two or five. They lie out under the sun, baring arms and legs (and sometimes backs) to the warm golden rays, diverting themselves with laughter and talk. I walk past them, those bright spots of color--red, blue, yellow, white--against the green grass, and I think how different are my cultures. (Then I take a moment to dwell on what I call "mine", but I think I can justify this to myself, or save it for another time.)

What do I mean?

I walk through the quad, weaving past people in t-shirts and shorts, and think about how different this scene would be China. Putting aside the fact that there are few areas of unspoiled lawn (even in parks), the people in China are not nearly so welcoming of the sun. Women and men alike don hats and hold intricately designed umbrellas (parasols?) to ward off the heavy, cancerous rays. They shy away from the light and the suffocating heat, exactly opposite of the people strewn across my campus, who turn their faces up in welcome to the sky.

Girls in China* are always dressed with effort: every eye not their own is part of the audience they display their style to, on the streets and in the malls and throughout the city. Even their casual clothes involve intricte outfits and designs on their shirts and on their jeans. The sneakers are also trendy, and those are only worn when they're not tripping through crowds in platform sandals or strappy heels. Over their heads, these girls wave pretty umbrellas (that sport flowers or lace or both) that match their outfits, shading them from the sun as they walk down the street.

(Wearing my solid-colored top and simple, undecorated jeans--so everyday and basic in the States--made me self-conscious in China, because I felt so very plain. And my borrowed lavendar-tinted umbrella unfortunately clashed with my green-and-blue clothes. I felt un-Asian, a failure in my own culture.)

So different are these cultures, I think as I walk across my campus. (Are they both mine?) Which do I prefer?



*disclaimer: in urban China, not rural; in comparisons that can be drawn to CH or universities in general

if you write about writers, who will write about you?

Today in my Intro to Fiction class, we discussed The Hours by Michael Cunningham, where he fictionalizes a part of Virginia Woolf's life. This brought on a meta discussion about the morality (as well as other literary problems) involved in writing fiction about a real person's life. Why would you choose to do this? How accurate does it need to be? Are there problems in presuming their thoughts and feelings; what kind of liberties are taken?

Questions that also struck me that I hope to bring up next class (or privately with the professor): Is there a difference between writing a fictional account of a historical (i.e., dead) figure and someone who is currently alive? What kind of permission do you have to seek? Is there a certain length of time that needs to pass before the person's life becomes public property much in the way literature copyrights expire?

Then there's the entire idea of writing fiction about fictional characters. I would love her opinion on this. They call it "derivative fiction" when they can get it published, all those awful works based off Pride and Prejudice (Mr. Darcy's Diary, Mr. Darcy Takes a Wife, etc.; what is this crap?) or The Wizard of Oz (oh Wicked). How legitimate is this? How are the morals involved here different from writing about real people (historical or present)?

I have no problem with any of this. Honestly, the thing about writing is that no one can stop you from writing whatever you want. The only thing people can restrict is the distribution of your writing--they can say who can or cannot read your writing, but they can't stop you from writing it.

So write it.

for all time, you are my everything

You're the breath of life in me
the only one that sets me free

Spring Break ends today and it's back to classes and routine (nose to grindstone) again tomorrow. I know I'll be able to readjust fairly quickly, but right now it's so hard to want to face everything again, when the past week has been so full of lovely things like sleep, Chinese food, writing, random drinks with A, time. Life goes on, though, and we move with it. I'm just in a vaguely nostalgic, vaguely pensive mood, one that borders on unhappiness (except I wouldn't go that far). It, too, shall pass.

I'm listening to this song on repeat. It's a pretty good rip of a fancam from a concert featuring D (a Korean star) singing 98 Degrees' My Everything. His English is coherent, clear, understandable, and the entire performance moved me to tears when I first watched it. This song is a tribute to his late father, apparently with images playing in a slideshow behind him as he sang. The very concept is touching, but to hear him sing it is just so much more-- It kind of breaks my heart.

in memory, we emerge from the fear and the tears

It was Eve.

It wasn't just anyone, it was Eve.

Eve Carson was our student body president this year and yesterday morning around 5am, a 911 call alerted the police to her body at a community not far off campus. She was lying in the intersection, shot. She was identified this morning at the hospital and her name was released to the public at 12:30 this afternoon at a press conference.

No one knows if it was a random incident or if she was targeted. All we know right now is that she was murdered.

I didn't even know Eve. I've never met her. But I've passed h on campus, I've seen her picture in our campus newspaper; I knew people who knew her, I knew her policies and her friendliness through other people. She was real to me, to the entire campus and city of Chapel Hill.

This time, the shooting victim wasn't just a twenty-something college female. This time it was Eve--Eve, who was someone to everyone. Her death doesn't just affect her family and her friends and the people who knew her. Her death affects the entire UNC campus and the city of Chapel Hill because she was such a public figure, so engaged.

This is the closest death has ever struck for me and it's terrifying. It's incomprehensible and unfair and random and frightening. In the March (again, March) of my freshman year, a crazed graduate student drove his car across the most crowded area of campus during lunchtime and hit five or six people. About nine people were injured but hundreds were left shaking, afraid. Sarah was almost hit that day. She was terrified; I was terrified--but no one died then.

This brings home to me how truly tragic the shooting last April at Virginia Tech must have been. Multiple this feeling of shock, loss, fear by thirty-three.

For me, just one--just this one--is enough to bring tears to my eyes.

It was Eve.

faith: finding, losing, searching, waiting

I was raised in a Christian household--Protestant, though non-demoninational. I grew up in church and for a period in my life--middle school and high school--I attended a small Chinese church (CBCNC ♥) that introduced me to people I grew to love. I was the closest then to God, thanks in part to my youth group--and I still love those people now. A lot of us have drifted away from God now that we're in college, but we all matter to each other in ways that is somehow hard to define, that is somehow different from the way other friends are close to us.

I miss God a lot of times. I miss praying, miss having faith. But part of me just doesn't think I believe the same God I used to--I still believe in a higher being, but it's not the same God that Christianity knows. Maybe I'm just too weak to give up my vices and my material wants to be able to fully put my faith in Him, to give my all to Him, I don't know. I'm always at a loss when people ask me what I believe in, or if I believe, or if I'm Christian.

People have asked me before, "Would you be happier if you did believe?" I don't know how to answer that, not entirely. I believe I would be happier, but my faith would not be in the God the world knows through religion. I don't do religion; I don't like it. It's a man-made structure and faith should be a personal relationship.

This is still something I'm working on. It doesn't occupy all my thoughts all the time, but there are times when everything is falling apart and I'm left wishing I had someone greater than all this to rely on. Or sometimes I see my friends, T or S, who believe, and wish I had the same passion. I wonder if I'll ever find an answer.

when the inner child grows up

I have crises of confidence sometimes. I wonder if people look at me and underestimate me because I'm small and short. I wonder if people see me act cute and silly (and hear me whine) and think less of me. I wonder if they find out about my passion for cheesy Asian pop music and dismiss me as flighty, frivolous, young.

I think that's part of why I work so hard sometimes, to prove them wrong. (Another large part is for my parents, naturally, but you've heard that one before.) Of course, this could be my paranoia speaking; there could be no "them" to look down on me--and even if there were, they shouldn't matter. I shouldn't worry so much about the opinions of people who don't know me, since "those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind", after all.

Still, a part of me takes pride in being able to tell people that I'm a double major with a minor, that I'm graduating a year early, that I'm going to law school. Somehow, it makes me feel like I'm proving their assumptions wrong, that despite what they think, I have accomplishments I can take pride in. It should be the case anyway, I know. I can be proud of myself without having to prove myself to anyone. But this is how I am: I validate myself according to others. (I really shouldn't.)

I'm a paradox. I want to be both cute and endearing as well as respected and admired. I want to be doted on while at the same time being treated as an independent, capable, accomplished adult. I like to be hugged and cooed over, to be teased affectionately, but I want to wow people at the same time. I look with envy at the girls who walk around in their peacoats and matching outfits (scarves, gloves, hats), and their clicking heels (boots or otherwise). I want to be able to be perfectly put-together like that, all the time--to look professional and feminine and like I can handle anything that comes at me. Part of me wonders if they sacrifice comfort for fashion, but another part of me thinks it might be worth it. Then another part of me thinks that I only think that way because I'm insecure about myself--body, height, personality, accomplishments--and I feel like the only way to assert myself as a female adult is to dress like one. Honestly, if I had confidence, I wouldn't worry so much about appearances because I would trust the world to be able to tell exactly how much I was capable of.

But I don't know how much I'm capable of. I wonder if it (everything) is enough. I wonder if I will be treated like a child for the rest of my life. I can't help feeling that way when I'm reaffirmed in my fears every time I go home--outside of my parents, who are excused for treating me like a child (in some ways), every adult I've known since I was in eighth grade will forever treat me as if I'm still in middle school or (possibly) high school. I will forever be young, naive, inexperienced--and perhaps in comparison to them I am but it's an oppressive feeling to be treated as if you are eternally in eighth grade.

I'm not sure how to resolve this contradiction in my needs, but at least I can tell you that no matter my childishness (it's interesting how that word has negative connotations whereas "childlike" conveys something much more positive), I am not a child. I may still be growing up, but I am also grown up.

reflecting yourself in the world around you

It's true that you choose your friends and that they reflect the kind of person you are. Many of my friends are Asian and many of those who aren't are at least interested in Asian culture--I never realized how true this was, how much I took it for granted, until I came into work last night with some bubble tea and was asked by at least three different people (co-worker, customer, and manager) what it was.

Not only had they never had it, they'd never even heard of it.

With globalization so prevalent in the U.S. (the "melting pot" of cultures) and especially while attending such a liberal, diverse university, I'd made the mistake of thinking that everyone had equal exposure to cultures that I had. It's not true. They don't know all that I know, that I take for granted--and the same is true in reverse. What do I really know about French or Norwegian culture, for example? I have no French or Norwegian friends. I have no friends who are so immersed in those cultures that they would teach me by virtue of acquaintance.

Sometimes it's startling to realize how different my frame of reference regarding the world is compared to other people's. It's difficult to take a step outside of the box and trying to see yourself from the outside looking in, rather than from the inside looking out. The viewpoints are startlingly different. (It's like finding out you're in a clique. What, really? When did this happen?)

This was a reminder to me to pay attention to the world outside of my ostensibly open-minded and broad perspective of Western vs. non-Western cultures. There is more to the West than just U.S., and there is more to non-Western culture than just Asia. While I may have an advantage over others in my knowledge and familiarity with aspects of Asian culture, there is still a whole wide world out there of knowledge I don't have, and could learn.

Reach out. Teach what you know and be receptive to everything you don't.

looking back and looking forward

So it's 2008 now.

This is the year I graduate and, hopefully, attend law school. It's strange to reflect on the past year; as I was doing so, I realized that I have a tendency to separate my years by the academic calendar, rather than the solar calendar. When I said a month ago, for example, that I hadn't seen M since last year, I meant that I hadn't seen her since my sophomore year: May 2007. It hadn't been an actual calendar year, of course.

When I include my spring semester of my sophomore year, and the summer, 2007 seems much longer than it does otherwise. I've grown a lot this year because I think it's one of the things you can't help; you end up a little wiser every year, if only because life happens to you. Life happens and you learn.

Though not perfect by any means, I really think the previous semester has been one of my best. Not academically (there were still two Bs more than I would have liked) or even socially (there could have been a lot less drama in a lot of areas), but overall, it was a good semester. I remember most of it fondly: work was fantastic, because I had fun and grew closer to people and got a raise; I met new friends that I grew immeasurably close to; I had fun with my non-academic time; and I learned how to study. That's probably the most key experience of my semester--learning how to manage my time, how to step out of my comfort zone and talk to professors, how to be more effective when I took notes, how to find a place that maximized my studying capacity...

I pulled a few all-nighters, yes. I stressed out, yes. But I really think I learned how to manage my time well this past semester and that made me happy. Certain sacrifices were required, whether in sleep or in free time or in getting to read books for fun, but I think they were worth it.

There are still a lot of areas in my life and in myself that I would like to improve, but 2007 was good to me. I started off the year in a state of panic, in dismay, but I grew over the summer and throughout the fall semester. I had a wonderful December. I ended the year happy with my growth as a person, which is something that did not come easily to me before. I still have doubts and anxieties and clawing, consuming fear of inadequacy sometimes, but I am much happier with who I am now than I was a year ago.

What else could I ask for? I hope 2008 will bring more of the same.

For all my joking protests, I don't really mind growing up, even if it takes some effort.