skin

For a long time now, I’ve wrestled with the issue of being comfortable in my own skin, though this is the first time that I’ve ever tried to articulate the struggle. It’s not that I feel inherently awkward, socially inept or suffer from a poor self image. On the contrary, for perhaps the first time, I genuinely feel happy and confident about where I’ve been and where I’m going. My life is finally taking off after passing some major landmarks: graduating from college, living on my own, and my first job. But having left the safe, warm confines of a world surrounded by people of my own age, I’m realizing that to succeed in life, you need to reach a balance where you’re empowered and comfortable in your own skin.

I’ve been 23 for barely a month and a half, and already I’m realizing that while my 20’s are going to undoubtedly be one of the most exciting times of my life, it’s an unending struggle to find inner balance. I dearly loved my childhood – however tumultuous it was. It seemed this wonderful time in your life full of possibility and innocence. You’re not a threat to anyone, and everyone tells you that you are “the future.” Since graduation, I’ve officially hit this incredibly awkward stage where I’m finding that a lot of older men try to take out their mid-life crisis on you, and older women take out their insecurities on you. What happened to the time when men would feel shame about their perversions, especially when the girl is half their age? I don’t really get it – I’m still younger by nearly two decades. Still someone’s daughter and sister. So what’s changed? Is it because under the law, I can now give consent? And that by nature of having more rights, hence more of them can be infringed? Is it a fixed ratio that we’re allowed and like tax, the more we have the more they’re supposed to be allowed to take?

I know the world is not black and white, and that not every guy I meet is a jerk. A broken clock that is right at least twice a day,  and even a jerk is capable of gentlemanly behavior (and vice versa.) Please don’t misunderstand – this isn’t a man-bashing rant. It’s just a few bad apples spoil the barrel. But why is it that there seems to be so many bad apples? Or am I just sitting under the wrong tree.

As a believer in Christ, much of my identity is rooted in my faith. There is a great comfort in the notion that you are important and loved by an almighty creator, who is omnipotent as well as a lot of other “omni’s.” But it doesn’t mean that I don’t struggle against a lot of aspects of the Bible, especially since I don’t believe you can pick and choose what you like from the scriptures. It’s hard not to see Paul as a misogynist when he writes that women should be silent in churches, or in leadership positions (just spiritual? or secular?) Or feel frustrated that so much of being a woman is a limitation in life. Lower wages, shorter careers, disproportional number of single moms over single dads. There are certain trials unique to women, and perhaps it is my personal bias that I see them as so much more painful and soul-searing than the struggles unique to men. Violent rape, sexual victimization. The flesh trade. Do we ever wonder that prostitution is called the “oldest profession in history” and yet women historically have been barred from so many jobs, or are even allowed to work at all. If indeed, men were historically providers, then why in the world would prostitution be the oldest profession? (assuming as I am of course, that prostitutes were dominantly women in history.)

When thoughts like these cross my mind, as they do often enough – I feel so trapped in the shell of my skin. I wrestle with feeling that my youth and femininity is a liability for my ambitions, how ironic, when the media and culture say I should draw my confidence from these two attributes. I don’t want to be “old” per se, but I crave and admire the confidence and sense of self in older women. I despise vehemently the notion that I am perceived as a threat by virtue of being young and moderately attractive. And somehow, am unnerved by catcalls in a way that is probably unhealthy. So many women shine in the spotlight, and are able to thrive under admiration and dismiss unwanted attention so easily. Why can’t I do that?

It seems ridiculous of me to gripe about the “burden” of being young or being hit on. Especially when there are entire industries and billions of dollars being poured into “fixing” and dare I say, feeding the insecurities of being found wanting in these areas. Whole careers are built upon being young and pretty – those that do, their confidence mystifies me.

I’ve never wanted something as extreme as a sex change, but I do often wonder (with great frustration) why I was born female. I deeply empathize with Elizabeth I – “I may be a woman but if I choose, I have the heart of a man.” Or at least, to modify my case “the brain of a man.”

What I want more than anything else this year, is to come to a point where I’m comfortable in my own skin.  I’m happy with the moderate successes I have (though as always, still striving for more. It’s the very nature of the ambitious not to be easily satisfied.) Now I want to be able to deal with unwanted attention with confidence and dignity, and to write off unreasonable criticism when necessary as the product of another’s insecurities. I want to be able to celebrate the good parts of being a woman rather than seeing my entire gender as a liability, and in doing so, defy the fears and doubts that are keeping me feeling so caged.

a post from cubicle land

I’m still alive, I just haven’t been posting (at least not public ones.) It’s been quite a long hiatus, during which I contemplated deleting all vestiges of my internet presence. On one hand, though this blog is public, I’ve never made any efforts for it to be made known. There are… maybe three people that I know of who actually read this. My need to write has always been a selfish one – a means of clearing the thoughts in my mind, hopefully in some semblance of form and meaning. It’s never really been fueled by a need to be read, and hence is easily accomplished in a paper journal, which is infinitely more private and personal. The other issue is that I’m entering the first real phases of adulthood. There is a newfound desire to put aside childish things, and also that any information put on the internet is in some way, a liability. The idea of splashing up private thoughts and feelings (even with a few pseudonyms here and there) becomes more and more silly.

But I digress. For in spite of all my reservations, I’m clearly back here – if only for the time being. Maybe it’s because I just like the idea that somebody cares how I might be doing   (hey, we all have our delusions.)

The summer has come and gone, thankfully. It was quite literally the first time in seven years that I haven’t had to go from school right into an internship or summer job and the freedom was undeniably frustrating. Frustrating in the sense that I had no idea what to do with myself. I guess it’s really possible to have been a workaholic at sixteen. More than that, this past summer was filled with a lot of changes – some of them rather painful. There was the move from New York back to Jetsonville, leaving behind friends and loved ones. And though I’ve spent a significant amount of my childhood in this city, it feels incredibly strange to be back in this side of the world. For one, I’ve always lived here as part of a family, or was actively surrounded by a community of people my age – school, youth group, etc. I suppose the hardest part about being back here is though everything is familiar, I’m not part of a distinctive community of peers of my own age. On the personal front, there was the emptiness of being separated from someone you love, but know you shouldn’t be with, complicated relationships of the past that you’d much rather prefer to leave behind, and the ever intricate web of family feuds. A few weeks ago, I was confronted with a court application from my estranged father for the release of my sibling and my contact information (I found out today that it was denied) – but nonetheless, after thirteen years, I actually have my father’s phone number. It’s completely bizzare.

But for all the ups and downs compacted into a few months, it’s also been remarkably calm. Somehow in the eye of the storm, I found a renewed faith – partly in myself and ability to survive, but mostly in the sovereignty of a God that is able to carry me through these incredibly complicated (and inevitable) situations. This is, by no means, a blog on religion but personal experience.

The ride is far from over, but for now I do have a moment’s reprieve. By the beginning of fall, things started to turn around. I was offered  and accepted  a position with a leading management consultancy firm, and am now a business analyst based out of the Asia Pacific. The position is pretty much everything I could have ever hoped for. A great chance to learn, travel (nearly every week), and exposure to some of the world’s biggest boardrooms. Of course, I’m just a lowly analyst, a grunt in the trenches. But the dynamic nature of the industry, current economy, and the project-oriented nature is a perfect fit with my personality and ambitions. Being based out of Jetsonville means I’m also going to be sent regionally – even to Australia (or further!) rather than just primarily focused in China, as most analysts are. On the downside, I’m also more cut off from the flagship of the fleet and have to work all the more harder to be noticed and staffed on hot projects. I think the greatest challenge however, will be in my language ability. I can speak five languages (one of them incredibly poorly though) but I’ve never really been taught to read Chinese. As far as I know, I’m the only analyst with this liability. It doesn’t matter quite so much when you go higher up, but the bulk of research (= reading) is done by the grunts, which is going to hurt my usefulness and advancement quite considerably. Hence in light of this, I have roughly a month’s grace period to learn to read one of the most difficult languages on earth – good enough to read financial research and maybe even give presentations. Ouch.

And I thought the interviews were brutal enough.

The thing is, I’ve always been quick to learn languages. I moved to Italy barely being able to pronounce “arrividerci” and left speaking enough to sincerely freak an Italian person out. Maybe I can somehow magic my way into being able to read Chinese. Ha. right….

Students in mainland China have built a well-deserved reputation almost everywhere for being some of the hardest working and most determined people in the world. They live in libraries, get teased for their pocket protectors and digital dictionaries and don’t care. Even as I grew up in the West as full-blooded Chinese, my parents always told my sib and I to take a page out of their books and how we were the lucky ones. How incredibly strange that after all these years, I find the tables turned, and I’m on their turf playing their game with a handicap.  Growing up in Canada and in public education, it wasn’t very difficult to keep up or stay ahead of the curve, since I was completely immersed within the culture and had pretty much adopted it as my own. Having type-A Chinese parents who were a little on the sadistic side also didn’t hurt. They just pushed me to work harder and smarter than everyone else. But now, being in Asia.. the thought of working harder and smarter than the mainland students and analysts makes me question if it can even be done. It’s one thing to do this within the confines of a classroom – am I utterly insane thinking I can do this in a boardroom??

So. The road ahead at 23 looks bright but increasingly like an uphill climb. In some ways, my life is a heck of a lot more peaceful. I’m undeniably blessed to be able to live on my own in one of the most expensive cities in the world. Home is of course, a tiny studio, but it’s all mine, and I pay for it on my own. That feeling is utterly amazing. I’ve emerged from a rather difficult period of adjustment, and am slowly building around myself a circle of friends. I work out 3-4 times a week – taking up yoga and continuing to rock climb (I’d love to continue kung fu but it’s not a feasible reality at the moment.) I definitely eat healthier than I ever did in college (no meat, just sea food for the missing protein, and lots and lots of fruits and veggies.) All in all, it promises to be an incredibly exciting year. I’m anxious for the chance to travel, a little frightened of the challenges ahead of me, but more than anything else, I’m just plain excited to be alive.