You are currently browsing the monthly archive for December 2006.
I don’t remember making a solid resolution but sometime after my exams, I basically resolved to taking a solid chunk of time to just rest. Thus far, I’ve done pretty well with that. I did a little work on the CV, sent out a billion e-mails… but the bulk of the work I am reserving until at least Jan 2.
Veer flew in on Christmas eve and the two of us have just been having an awesome time in the city. Got to hang out with some old friends, went to a comedy club and Chris Rock walked in. Shopping on Boxing Day (the most exciting thing was my new 200 gig external hard drive. What. I’m a geek. Leave me alone.) This morning he took me ice skating at Bryant Park, and tango dancing the night before. Tonight we’re going to salsa our way into the new year.
Relationship wise.. the best way to describe this relationship is baby steps in leaps and bounds. We’d like to say that we’re taking things slow. Truth is, I think we both struggle to restrain ourselves from thinking that we’ve found our soul mates. There are all the little moments and the big. But focusing on the here and now – I am happy, loved and content with the world. There are worse ways to start a new year, I think.
My first set of wheels was a blue BMX that I shared with my brother. BMX as in the bike, not the BMW the car. It had an adjustable seat, no girly streamers on the handles or beads on the wheels. And certainly no training wheels. Our family didn’t believe in training-anything. Except maybe the potty. I think we had a kiddie one, because they didn’t want us falling in.
When we first moved to Canada, it was in the fall. I think I had just turned six, because it was my frist grade and I remember my mom taking me to the elementary school three blocks away, and I listened to her ask the principle about how many asian kids went to that school. It was a lot more colorful than my old school, which had uniforms and gates. There were construction-paper cutouts and bulletin boards in the halls. Even the school was red. That winter was the first time I had seen snow. I don’t remember liking it or not liking it, but I know it made things a lot harder for my mom. We had just moved across the globe and bought an apartment in the good part of a rough town. I didn’t know that though. But what I did like was our meals, which we ate on boxes. I really liked our new house becuase there was a lot of room to run around in. I liked the sparseness, no grown-up furniture. Lots of carpet to roll around or practice tumbling on (Jetsonville is all about hardwood floors. Not very condusive to wannabe gymnasts) I remember the first car we had in Canada. A maroon colored Buick that took a lot of time to start up. Especially in the winter. But it seemed to make mom a lot happier, probably because of groceries, which was pretty much the only time we went anywhere in that car for the first six months.
When I was seven or eight, my mother sent me to Brownies. I had a mud-colored uniform, scratchy socks, an orange hankechief that you rolled up and tied around my neck orange-striped elastic belt. The only thing remotely cool about that outfit was the little brown pouch that fit a tiny pencil and a few pebbles. I think we were supposed to fit junk that was supposed to prepare us for the widerness, or something like that. I always made sure I had candy in mine. I hated that outfit until my third week of Brownies or so. Then I thought it was cool. What I remember most is the time our car wouldn’t start up and I had a really important Brownies event to go to. Actually I don’t even remember the event. I just remember desperately wanting to go and not being able to. My mother took my hand and went into the basement storage of the apartment complex and pulled out this bicycle that she had gotten at a garage sale a while ago. She put me on the handlebars of that bike (I was scared to death, and then thought it was awesome fun) and biked me to where I needed to go. I think I only made it to the last 15 minutes of that meeting, but I never forgot the ride there.
Shortly before my twelfth birthday, we moved again. My brother and I were the only Asian kids in a Polish neighborhood. It took some getting use to, but I kind of liked it there. We lived in a townhouse (I’d always wanted to) with an actual upstairs and a yard, and in a little community where all the houses looked the same and a playground just a few steps from our house. Now that I think about it, it kind of looks like a retirement complex or something. All that I know is there were tons of Polish kids. They thought we were kind of strange, but we found common ground. Like perogies and dumplings, which are essentially the same thing.
What I remember is that everyone had a bike. And what was even more surprising, was that two weeks after moving there, my mom took me to the mall and bought me one as well. It was a twelve-speed, purple colored mountain bike, and the envy of the neighborhood. I never really wanted one, since I was a bit of a book mouse. Never really had much of a desire to venture out far away or stay out after dark.. but that bike, it was really something else. When we moved to western Canada, that bike came with us. By then, my brother had gotten wheels too – a pair of rollerblades. My brother and I would take turns, a pretty even split. And then there were the stunts. Riding downhill without hands, down stairs, jumps over logs.. all sorts of stunts.
We were daredevils, but we weren’t insane. Except once. This time I was on the bike, he was on the rollerblades. We went down this big hill towards the lake and he rolled ahead of me. As he gained momentum, this car came towards us and swerved. My brother lost control and went careening down the hill. In movies, these moments are portrayed in slow motion, the sound of your heartbeat drumming in your ears and sunlight blinding your eyes. It’s not like that at all. It goes by in a flash – the screech of wheels, the smell of rubber and the sound of your bike dropping to concrete is probably no more than three seconds. What makes it feel so awfully long is the three seconds that you’re holding your breath to find out what happened. All I knew is he stood up. He had fell – flipped, more like, over some debris and had fallen face forward and had a mouthful of blood. His two front teeth were partially missing, ground into the pavement as he had skidded to a halt, rather than actually snapped off. He looked so strange, half stunned and holding back tears as he checked for missing limbs or any other damages. It wasn’t until I peeled myself off of him that he realized the full extent of his injuries, and then the tears started flowing.
Not long after, we moved to Jetsonville. When you share an island with 6 million, there’s not much room. Hardly anyone owns private cars, and there’s not much room for bikes either. So that was the end of the adventures (and mishaps). But these days, we don’t need wheels to be free or to explore. These days, we have jet planes and other contracptions with wheels that separate families. This Christmas there are several thousand miles between me and my family. Normally, this is a blessing. But somehow tonight, even with Veer coming in a few short hours.. all I want is to hug my brother and to make sure that he’s ok.
This post is either going to come off as a little controversial, irreverent or both. It’s intention however, is pure in spirit – so take what I’m about to say with a grain of salt and try to see it from my point of view before judging it as either depraved or suppressed.
I wish they had taught us how to be sexy in Sunday School.
Allow me to clarify the above statement. I was raised with a very wholesome childhood, albeit a little ahem on the sheltered side. Since then, I’ve had my fair share of eye-opening experiences, and more skeezy inappropriate come-ons to last a lifetime (fate however seems to disagree. For that, I can only appeal to higher forces for justice. See how these old, slimy men feel when some crass, horny, toothless biddy starts trying to grope them. Yeah.) But while church taught me to be a lady, it certainly never taught me how to be a lady not among gentlemen.
There’s a common misconception that Christianity (or relgion in general) equals prudishness. Not true. I would argue that religion is against the ills of promiscuity, but not sex per se. How else could it command “go forth, be fruitful and multiply” or dedicate an entire book of the Bible to sex? (Song of Solomon, in case you’re wondering.) There are more than enough passages promoting modesty, restraint, and other lady-like attributes, but there are as many passages that describe attraction, beauty and relationships.
I think there’s a reasonable way to encorporate modern day culture with ethics and principles. I guess what I’m trying to say is if my Sunday School teachers had spent a few more lessons on the practical aspects of growing up and dating, maybe I wouldn’t be as lost. Maybe.
If you look at the videos on MTV (not that MTV is ever a really good teacher of principles and morals), excluding the outright misogynistic and slutty, there’s a few mainstream ideas: beauty and sex are influential, sometimes just playful.
The fact is, sex and sexiness are things we just can’t avoid as women in the 21st Century. But it’s a little insane to assume that every attractive woman knows that she’s attractive or the full extent of her influence and power. And women – how do you figure that out anyway? Do you just go about being paranoid, as Chris Rock puts it – assume that every man who’s ever spoken to you since 13, has been trying to get in your pants. Or do you have different levels of defenses? And men. What is the inherent difference between men and women and the decisions they make on who to hit on. Women will make their move on men they think they have a half-decent chance with. But it seems like a good portion of men just hit on women to see what reaction they’ll get. How else do you explain the prevelance of greesy, shameless construction workers?
Another question I’d like to have answered – why do women put up with it? Let’s picture that all women simultaneously banned together and formed a cartel, (what. I’m an economist, dammit) and demanded a certain level of respect from men. Not just the men they interact with on a personal level - all men. Do men get away with all this inherently because we’re not looking out for each other’s backs? Is it a divide-and-conquor tactic, or in game theoretic terms – a prisoner’s dilemma that puts us at this disadvantage?
From a personal note, I wish Sunday School focused a little less on what was my “responsibility to guard men from temptation” and a little more on what is just blatantly inappropriate behavior. And I wish that it had taught me a little more on what is appropriate behavior (rather than what isn’t). Because the sex/attraction factor – it is important. It’s one thing to just be a good girl – that’s characterized by what you don’t do. But it’s an entirely different thing to be a great girl – one that knows what to do, when, and with whom.
Yesterday I was told that I lack a sense of righteous indignation. Let me clarify. I lack a sense of righteous indignation when it comes to a violation of my rights.
As disturbing as it is to admit this, I think it’s largely true. I will fight tooth and nail for others, am passionate about children and human rights violations, and actively follow international legal cases. I think perhaps that’s why I’m pursuing law – it’s easier to fight for someone else than for yourself.
Let me backtrack. Yesterday I went to my optician for a check up and perscription. I’ve been going to this place for years and know most of the staff. The man that performed the pre-examination and recommended glasses to me was perfectly nice and friendly. We traded a few jokes – you know, the kind of interaction that makes working in the service industry just a little more plesant. Things were all fine and dandy except two hours later, I received a phone call and lo, guess who it was?
What ensued was an incredibly awkward conversation – awkward at least on my part because I didn’t really know what to say. I was just anxious to get off the phone. I said something about being invovled with someone. What about friends? Well I’m really busy – I hold two jobs and study full time. It wasn’t until I hung up that I started wondering – why the heck am I so nice?
The Chinese culture is really concerned about “face.” Or rather, “saving face.” If you’re turning down a candidate for a job, do it in a way that doesn’t leave them feeling like they’re the world’s biggest moron. If you’re going to reject a man, do it in a way that is gracious enough not to hurt his pride. But then again, in Asia you’re not as likely to get grabbed on the street, or be cat-called or have a stranger ask you for your number. Let alone dig through your medical records to ask you out.
Modern day society seems to assume that if a girl is even half-attractive, she knows it and is either flaunting it or has thick enough skin to stand being hit on. In fact, being hit on is a rite of passage or just something we all have to put up with as background noise. Gentlemen, let me clarify something. It’s not flattering, and the reason you haven’t gotten a face full of mace so far, is because women show restraint. That might be a lesson you should consider learning.
I guess you just can’t be a shrinking violet, the least bit shy or try to save someone’s face. It’s frustrating, because I’m the last person to consider themselves a feminazi, but it seems like sometimes, nothing works other than to be an unapproachable tower of strength. I think I need to a) grow a back bone, b) stop caring about other people who don’t care about me and c) learn to exude that “you don’t stand a chance” aura that men hate and write of as female cattiness. It may not be the kindest way, but in retrospect, it’s probably safer.
Up until now, I’ve not experienced an iota of senioritis. I’ve watched many of my friends start to slack off, fall behind in expectation of being done with school. The whole wiser-than-thou shrug and patented “meh” look of not-caring. And then there are the seniors who are clueless upon graduation with what to do with their lives. The panicked and frenzied who now realize that they had four years to make something of themselves and desperately wish that they could change things.
I think my experience is a little but not too different from the typical senior. There is something about nearing the end of a phase of your life and looking towards the next that causes you to look back and wish you could have changed things. There are relationships that I wish turned out differently. And perhaps contrary to most, I wish I had been a little tougher, a little more self-confident or placed more value on my feelings and how I was being treated. There are relationships where I wish I would have put my foot down earlier, because not everyone deserves the benefit of doubt. In this respect, I think I’ve toughened up significantly.
When I compare the amount of external support or my safety net in the past four years compared to when I was in high school, I wonder if I’m slowly turning into a lone straggler. In college, I’ve had to make most of the major decisions on my own, based on the best knowledge I’ve had at the time. My relationships with my high-school mentors has gotten so convoluted that it’s something best left to stagnate, at least for now. And my immediate family… well. We’ve spoken twice since summer and neither were very pleasant conversations.
I’ve continued to seek out mentors who believe in me and want to invest in a girl that’s young and hungry to take on the world. What I’ve come to realize is that some mentors are only meant for a season, and few will actually invest in you long enough to carry you to the next phase in life. And then there are those that seem older and wiser, but decisions should not be made until you understand their intentions. The truth is, if you’re young and seem like you’re going to go somewhere in life, inevitably everyone will want a piece of you.
Beyond relationships, I find it hard to resist the urge to look back and want to re-do everything. I wish I could have re-done my entire sophomore year, when I landed in New York for the first time. I would have told my nineteen year-old self not to worry – about housing, grades, internships or any of that. I would have told her that the way to get to any destination, no matter how close or far away it seems, is the same like any other journey. One step at a time. I would have told her to wisen up and listen to her gut instincts, rather than anyone who was older and wiser and to seek to understand intentions as well as advice. And more than anything else, I would have told her not to worry, because eventually – we all get there.
Turning to the present. During finals week just before the semester ends. I recognize that I have enormously high expectations of myself, and not only are they a little unrealistic, I need to have my priorities straight. There are enormous resource limitations, and the truth is – I really have managed to get this far largely without any guidance. That’s a huge achievement.
So this is Verity offering a word of advice to herself, and to you. Take a deep breath. Don’t freak out, don’t spin your wheels. There is a way out to everything, and like any other solution, it takes one step at a time.
I am writing this entry, because I refuse to panic. I will not give into the temptation of letting the waves swallow me, tossing me in the chaos like a rag doll. This, like any other phase in my life is but a phase. It too will pass. We all live in a world of uncertainty. The only thing we have control and certainty over is how we react.
I refuse to count the number of essays unwritten, books unread, jobs unoffered, bills unpaid and in short, have a means of knowing exactly where and what I’ll be doing a year from now. Because we all have formative years. And these are mine.
So no, I will not go gentle into that good night. I will not freak out during my exams and spend Christmas crying about what I don’t know. As Socrates once said, fear of the unknown is irrational. And this girl is anything but irrational 
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
This year on Christmas eve, 20 minutes before midnight I will be standing in JFK among the crowd of people, anxiously awaiting their loved ones. Except unlike most of the grandparents, aunts and uncles, they probably won’t launch themselves 5 feet away and pounce on the passenger, as I intend to do with Veer. Heh.
So the plans, they have been confirmed. The tickets were booked last night, the budget approved this morning, and I’m looking forward to a giddy Christmas filled with reunions and laughter. I’ve never wanted Christmas to be here more.
I was talking to Fuzz today about the recent event.. and he remarked how much things had changed. In perspective, it’s like Veer and I have changed places. I’m the one looking to move after graduation, who is unsure about diving in (okay, well ths aspect hasn’t changed). But without any doubt, the biggest difference is my unwilliness to be rooted in anything other than my own existance and ambitions. If there’s anything that I’ve learned.. is the need to be yourself. This post is rather short and trite, but it’s nearly 3AM, I’m freezing and have a day’s worth of work ahead of me in just four hours. Oy.
A sickeningly sappy post, writen deliriously sleep deprived at 3:40 AM after writing half of my final essay (worth 100%) of my politics class.
Found hidden all over my room:
- Dear kitten, smile for me. Love, TC (found in printer)
- Dear kitten, look outside your widow. Picture me standing next to the first thing you see, waiting for you (found in sock)
- Dear kitten, for whatever I’ve done wrong lately, I’m sorry (found in purse)
- Tesoro, ti amo amore mio. Love, TC (found on night stand)
- Dear kitten, I miss you so much. Love, TC (found folded in clothing
- … apparantly there’s more I haven’t found yet.
Note-worthy:
- (Writen also sleep deprived, 3 days before law school exams): “though I am exhausted, panicked and stressed I am forced to wear the goofy smile of the luckiest man on the planet – the one that has your love”
- (looking up from studying): “it’s been 20 minutes since I last kissed you. Come here.”
.. and more. enough to make my teeth hurt. Currently nailing down plans for winter. Him flying to NYC and me going back with him for a week and a half. Ignoring all other factors and questions, yes. I am ridiculously happy.
There are a thousand and one ways to begin an entry such as this one. Each with varying tone – reminiscing, thoughtful, lovesick or complacent. As lawyers, perhaps you would appreciate if I stuck to the facts of the case. You came, Thursday night arriving at 2AM in the morning – no notice. But I should have known you weren’t likely to send me that text message letting me know you were on the way. You caught me completely off guard, and I’m sure you were right when you said I looked like a doe in headlights when I opened the door and found you standing there.
And without warning, you pulled me out of my apartment and into the hallway. Standing among all your luggage, into the deepest embrace I’ve ever felt in my life. And so we stood, after a year and a half. You realize in these moments that time changes things, but some things are just the same. You swept me off my feet – literally.In the slowmotion confusion, we both knew we had to take it slow. And so we did. Waiting perhaps a full 20 minutes before the first kiss.
You whispered, “just let me love you” and you did. In your easy, gentle way, careful not to force your way into any areas of my life, barging back into my heart. We stayed up all night talking, like the old friends that we are. Two kindreds who defy the lulling charms of sleep, waiting for the sunrise. And when we did fall asleep, holding each other like two peaas in a pod.
You were my best friend, my confidante, my lover, and counsel. That we remain a central part of each other’s lives, just seems so natural and fluid. Like no time has passed at all. Except we have both grown, and at least on my part, I recognize that my needs are different. I needed a boyfriend, a staple. Someone who would integrate themselves into my life with the regularity of phone calls, dates and all the everyday things that couples are wont to do. The distance, it was too much, because what I wanted was simply something you couldn’t give. Excep now, I am more sure of myself. More rooted in my own existance. I have seen your coming, and experienced your going, and know that I can survive and thrive in both. I have a better sense of who I am, and am unafraid to tell you my terms so that when we’re sitting across from each other instead of across the continent, I can look you straight in the eye and tell you that there are just questions I can’t answer right now, and that yes – I may still go off to China.
What amazes me is your level of support. Or perhaps it shouldn’t. Maybe I never credited you enough the first time, because you would never hold me back from achieving my dream. We both recognize that we can’t do distance forever. That the relationship right now, as it stands – can’t be the end unto itself. People only go through distance to achieve the final goal of togetherness. Our problem is that life is, and has always been pulling us in different directions and we have never been in the position to change any of that.
My darling, I don’t know if what we are doing is wise. But I know that it will not be something that either of us will regret. In the last year and a half, I’ve come to realize how rare a relationship like ours is. In fact, it just doesn’t happen. When was the last time you heard of two strangers meeting in Grand Central, dancing under rose petals, moving across the continent and reuniting after a year and a half? If anything, ours is a story that deserves to be told. Because the world needs to realize that timeless love can still exist – though it is never far from problems.
