You are currently browsing the monthly archive for May, 2006.
I. Am. Sore.
After about a year and a half, I finally managed to get to see my Sifu. I've studied Shaolin Kung fu for a couple of years now. "Sifu" roughly translates to "master" I guess, but in Chinese it actually bears a more paternal connotation. "Si" means "martial" and "fu" is "father." So basically going back was kind of like seeing relatives.
Sifu has two sons – both a little older than me, but he and "Si-mo" (his wife aka martial arts-mother) don't have any sons. I'm the only girl in the school, so over the years, they've gotten quite attached to me. Yep, we're just one big, happy family.
But as you can imagine – I've gotten a little rusty. But the really cool thing is that on Saturday (when I went back) this swordmaster was there. He shows up from time to time – his hand-to-hand combat isn't very strong, but boy.. give him a blade and nothing else matters. He's the tiniest little man. Just a little over five feet and about sixty years old. Completely adorable looking, and also completely…. deadly. 
Anyway it was great to be back. I am ridiculously sore and regret imprudently wearing my stilletos to work this morning. I'm usually not very conscious of my weight, but I know I've lost muscle and gained fat. Sitting in an office all day doesn't really help much either. I'd forgotten how good it felt to have adrenaline racing through your veins. Also learning an ancient martial art – well, that's just pretty funky. Anyway, I'm hoping the sword master will be back this week to help me with my technique. My blade isn't very rusty, but I sure am. (And if you're wondering what my sword/technique looks like, it kind of looks like this – try not to giggle.. I know the stance is kind of strange)
Something that's been really on my mind lately is what happens when you put old friends and a new you together. I'm going to try to try to make this sound as drama and pompous-free as possible, but could it be that when we meet up with people from our past, we need to re-meet, and learn to re-know each other?
Que sappy music and fuzzy lighting effect. Yesterday night I met up with some friends of mine from high school. Unlike most high schools, we were actually a pretty tight-knit bunch and have reunions pretty much every winter and summer. I missed a huge one last winter when I was in Laos. It seemed like everyone was back, everyone was shiny-happy, and had some smug news or other to broadcast. Ada getting engaged, Vince getting into a prestigious firm, graduations were just around the corner (remember that I took a gap year between high school and college) – and everyone wanted to ring in 2006, holding hands and singing kumbaiya. I would have liked to have been there – but not for the world would I have traded up my New Year's eve, standing on a the Maekong under the stars, with some strange Laotian soda instead of champagne in my hand.
So last night, the few people that I saw – it was strange. We're getting to the age where we take our first steps on the path of independence. The money we spend, homes we live in – whatever it is, is no longer a sign of how wealthy of a background we come from, but what is acheived by our own abilities.
The high school I went to, was one of the most prestigious in Jetsonville. State of the art facilities, an international curriculum – and teachers flown in from the four corners of the earth. I'm not joking when I say that there's a 3 year wait list to get into the kindergarden. (In Jetsonville, some schools are completely comprehensive – you can stay from Kindergarden to high school graduation if you want)
Four years later, it's astonishing to see how far apart we are now. One of the girls, from an incredibly wealthy background, graduated with a business administration degree in the UK, and is doing an MBA via distance learning – is a secretary. She's still dating the same guy from high school, still wants to get married and be a tai-tai (translation: "wife" but bears more connotations as a trophy wife).. and that's pretty much it. I'm not saying that there's anything wrong with her choices, especially if she's happy and fulfilled. But to be given so many opportunities, to have the resources and connections to educate yourself, and rise to the top… it seems like such a waste.
But then again, we're different people. My drive isn't a natural inclination, but born out of necessity. This time next year, I'm going to be completely independent. I'm going to be considering law schools, picking a country.. a whole lot of things. The future is so incredibly vague, and yet holds so many possibilities. I could be in one of five countries. I'm not sure which yet.
And just as I felt that I had to get to know these people again, I could sense that they felt awkward and strange around me as well. How was Italy? Where are you working? I heard you were an investment banker. Economic strategy? What's that?
In another four years time, who knows where we'll be? Will I even have anything to say to these people?
There have been a few changes to the site – mostly in the sidebar.
The president took me out to set me up with his kid yesterday night (who turned out to be a surly, somewhat clueless young man) dinner was good. The ride over was terrible. I kid you not when I say I nearly threw up in his car – it was sheer force of will. Another two seconds and it wouldn't have been pretty.
Sibling had lunch with the triumverate. In the span of 2 hours he went from clueless to having a job offer at JP Morgan. Yikes.
That is all.
There are five love languages: words of affirmation, quality time, gifts, acts of service, and physical touch.
The way you express love is not necessarily the way you need to receive it, and hence – sometimes when others express love to you, the message is lost.
If there is one similarity between the later part of my relationship with Veer, and my current issues wtih Ross – it has got to be that both were marked by the same impatience, the same longing and the same unfulfilled needs. The love languages I "speak" are acts of service and physical touch. I will give hour-long back rubs, show up at your door with cookies, and help you with your homework. The love language I need is quality time. It doesn't matter if you're half a world away – if you call, and spend an hour talking to me, I'll feel loved. And that keeps me going.
With Veer, I didn't doubt that he loved me. I know he did. But the lack of quality time made me anxious, and left me feeling taken for granted. I knew this wasn't the case intellectually, and I found myself wishing my needs were different. Veer would call these the "have-to-haves" – and told me that I shouldn't apologize for what I needed. It's just the way I'm built.
What I have come to realize in relationships, that it's not always a question of finding love. Sometimes it's also about finding love – in the right language.
If you ever want to know what a firm's corporate culture is like – ask a former intern.
[+] the president may or may not walk into your boss' office, find the two of you talking. Then he may or may not join your conversation, after calling you "xiao nu hai zi" (translation: "little girl")
[+] in the morning, you find freshly baked carrot-cake-muffins made my your office-mate
[+] the secretary takes a shining to you, and makes it her civic duty to ensure your well-being within the office. She makes your travel arrangements, makes sure you have an umbrella in a typhoon, and lets you know when she won't be in the office, so you can "take care" and "be good."
[+] you walk into the office pantry to find two co-workers huddled around a large bowl, discussing the potential suicide of its inhabitants: three goldfish.
[+] your collegue delays having her baby so that you can make it to a meeting
[+] you spend two hours debating Asian economic trends with a co-worker, who is perhaps, one of the smartest men in the world, and learn more than a whole semester of macroeconomics at college.
Yep. I belong here.
p.s. If you're wondering why I'm writing so often.. it's because I keep sneeking on in between hours of research But – that should have been pretty obvious
I amb sthick. Mby noth is tuffed-ubp, I thound like I habs a lisp, and I want to crawl intho a hole mbade of blankets and sthleep.
The last time I was this sick was in Laos. And I was pretty miserable. Bouncing along dirt roads, on the 14 hour bus ride back to Bangkok – at least it happened at the tail end of the trip. My brother was sick – and I had taken one swig of his water bottle on a hike – and the next day, I felt like I had maleria. The day before, the above mentioned sibbling was again – sick. And again I had forgotten and had a bite of his lunch.. and whatdya know!?
Who knew my immune system was this frail?!!?
In the past three years that I've been in college, I've been able to get a fair amount of travelling done.
Freshman year: studied abroad in Italy, travelled mostly in northern Italy, Rome (mia amore!), Venice, Milan and other cities. Spent a few days in Amsterdam, Spring Break in London and Barcelona, became pretty proficient in Italian, which has served me surprisingly well later in life.
Sophomore year: moved to New York. Winter in Berlin, Dresden and Prague travelling with Dean's Circle. Summer internship in NYC and business trip back to Asia to meet with clients. Spent a week in Puerto Rico, and two weeks in Canada.
Junior year: more moving.. within NYC. Winter break in southern jungles of Laos, passing through Thailand - some 14 hour drive either way. Oy. Discovered that I like living in a tree. Spring Break in Bahamas and Cuba – need to learn to salsa. Summer back in Asia for work and then back to NYC for studies. Canceled: conference in Brunei, 2 weeks in Cambodia and a project in the Philippines.. *sigh*
I've always been a bit of a global nomad. And I usually step off the airpline/train/bus/tuk-tuk with a huge grin on my face, ready to take the world on by storm. But I think China – and in particular, Shanghai will always be a great mystery to me. Not so much an inability to understand the city or the people, but a sense of awe. My family has endured two revolutions here, finally leaving in the late 70's. Now some thirty years later, I come trapsing back – it's all so.. strange. You really haven't experienced a cosmopolitan city until you've seen an Asian one. New York and Chicago are busybusy places with lots of tall buildings and people - but Bangkok, Shanghai, Jetsonville and Tokyo – pulses. It's just a completely different feel. Highways stacked one on top of another - the streets look like arteries. In Shanghai, everyone is constantly moving. This morning I saw a traffic jam of steel bicycles and a man riding one with a ladder on his shoulder, and his hands on the handles. It's difficult to imagine the chaos that existed only years ago, and that pretty much every adult of working-age has grown up in the Cultural Revolution, and had ten years without education.
And yet I am so completely dumbfounded by how this country has over come challenges. I get this feeling every time I travel to a developing nation, especially the former communist ones. The people I work with – how sharp and quick-witted they are. One of my co-workers did two master degrees simulaneously at Oxford and LSE. Ha. And they dragged some clueless college kid from NYU to audit their work. Yikes.
Being in Asia is always such a shock – and a clear reminder of how pidgeon-holed my perspective is when I am in the US. I'm glad that my plans to a turn and that I'm here instead of New York this summer. I'm seriously going to consider staying. The truth is, the developed world gets a little boring. There isn't half the innovation, and the sheer risks and thrill that exists in this part of the world. Everything is high-stakes. The gains are enormous – watching the entire market unfold, develop and change. A whole generation of people waiting to take their place in the world as a global power. Really – is there any greater thrill than being a part of that?
I've come to accept that I am, and always will be a cultural anomaly. I'm not Asian enough for the Asians, and certainly not blonde and blue-eyed for the West. My brain is currently working overdrive, as I struggle to speak one of four languages at any given time of the day here. It's been a while. But at the same time – it's kind of nice not to fit in. I kind of have a free observer pass. Kind of like the Holy See in the general assembly. Heh.
Shanghai literally translates into “upper sea” in English. And right now – it really feels like it. The Asia Pacific is caught in a typhoon (cyclone) and looking outside it seems like someone forgot to turn off the faucet upstairs. Shanghai is colder than I anticipated – Jetsonville is warm and humid – and the last time I was in Shanghai (few years back – for research) I remember wishing I were a nudist – that’s how hot it was.
Yesterday I dragged my little roller-suitcase on the subway with me to work. Big mistake. I forgot that the Jetsonville subway is even more of a lifeline than New York, and hence some kind of inferno during rush hour. They actually have professional subway-people-packers that stand on the platform with little red vests and white gloves to help the doors close. It goes a little something like this:
“alright, you there – lift your left arm and sir, you can scoot right there. You with the glasses – I think we can find some room between this woman’s clevage. Whoops – sir, you dropped your toupee – that’s alright, I’ll just leave it here for you on this kid’s head, make sure you pick it up with your teeth before you leave. Ma’am, yes, if you could just shift your right foot and lean back, we can fit your nine-month pregnant belly in between this crack.”
Except in Jetonsville-nese. And a whole-lota-faster.
I also forgot how easy it is to get around in Asia. I keep leaving half an hour early to get anywhere (a habit, when you live in Manhattan and the subway not only reeks, but is somewhat tempermental during bad weather) and as a result, find myself a) more relaxed and b) early. Me. EARLY.
But anyway – the flight was plesant. It makes me dread going back to the states. I always struggle with service industries after I’ve been pampered by Asian efficiency and hospitality. If there were some kind of way for me to combine the best of the places I’ve lived – I’d take US living standards, with Cuban zest for life, combine it with Italian art and culture, Chinese speed and efficiency, and to top it off – the simplicity of the Laotians. Find me a tree to live in. Yeah.
Anyway, I got off the plane, found my company driver and got checked into my room. Wow. The usual hotel was all full, so they gave me an executive suite in a serviced apartment. I have a HUGE king-sized bed that I had to resist jumping on. Seriously. I can’t even reach either end when sprawled out – which a) tells you how big the bed is and b) how small I am I have an office, spacious living room and a kitchen, and two large TVs. What’s next, my personal Oompa Loompa to fan me with a banana leaf while I sleep???
Now I understand why people sell their souls to corporations. It’s the perks baby, the perks.
