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).