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Showing posts with label lessons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lessons. Show all posts
September 12, 2012
February 20, 2012
Sickness talk
The last time I was sick and actually enjoying every second of it was second grade. It seems all of my great childhood memories were in that time. I was 8 or something. We were still living in a studio so my twin bed was in the living room along with my brother's. He had these really colorful dinosaur sheets. I can't recall what my sheets were like, but I'm sure it wasn't as awesome as his sheets since I can't even remember it. It was a school day and I wasn't in school. Instead I was under the covers, one of those thick, heavy, flowery ones. If you have any familiarity with Asians, you know what I'm talking about. There's always some type of pattern with some shade of red. My mother's had a peacock. Mine had huge red and pastel flowers all over. One side of the blanket felt silky so when you run your hand against it it'll smooth it out and everything looked perfect. That was one of my favorite things to do, petting the blanket. At least it behaved and didn't poop. It seems life was easier with this blanket because now I have an Ikea down comforter with those duvets and life isn't as easy. It's still very warm, but I can't pet it like my Asian blanket. My mother took the day off to take care of me. I remembered my great aunt (that's what I called her, though I really don't know how she was related to me but she was related) came over and gave me five dollars. I forgot why, but I remembered wanting to be sick all the time so I can get more five dollars. Five dollars could have gotten me ten fudge popsicles or ten bottles of lucas. Even though I was sick, if the ice cream truck came by, I'd rush out the door and run after it.
On these sick days, besides blowing my nose and filling up so many plastic bags with my used tissues, I watched television all day. Daytime television wasn't made for kids (I know because they always had soap operas that had stuff my eyes should have not seen as a child) and PBS became my favorite network. I never knew what PBS stood for, but knew that before and after every show, they always thanked me "like viewers like you, thank you" and I'd always reply "you're welcome!" I never watched Nickelodeon or cartoon network because I didn't have cable. I remember I'd lie to the kids at school when they asked me if I had cable. I told me that I had it once, but my father cancelled it because I wouldn't do my homework. Everyone believed it. I already knew I wasn't a typical kid, but I still wanted to fit in. So yeah, I used to have cable and watch TRL and Rugrats until my parents turned off our 20 inch tube.
Life as a sick child was not a struggle. Now at the ripe age of 23, I'm sick and there is a TV, a huge one actually, but it doesn't work. It sits quietly in our living room and constantly reminds me everyday that I am still poor. But it is quite encouraging because I really wish I can turn it on and watch The Notebook on there. Can you imagine Ryan Gosling's face on a 50 or so inch screen!? I ended up finishing The Catcher in the Rye instead. It makes me wish I wrote more during my teens angst years (what do you call angst in your early twenties? I feel like there should be a clever answer here and then that drum sound to state that it was a joke should play). But then, I wouldn't want to reread any of that because it'll just make me hate myself because I know how annoying I can be.
One thing I kind of like about being sick is my lost of taste and smell. It means I can make anything I wanted and it didn't matter how it tasted, as long as it filled me up. It means not being able to smell urine in the subways or smelling someone's fart, including my own. It means I can put sour cream and onion potato chips in my porridge and not be disgusted by it. But it also means I can't enjoy a freshly made avocado shake/smoothie or homemade angel hair pasta with mushroom and chicken alfredo sauce. I always feel these minor sicknesses happen to make us appreciate whatever that is hurting, more. Like when your elbow starts hurting for no reason and you begin to appreciate your elbow and pray to God that you won't ever mistreat your elbow ever again. I would think of other examples, but you know what I mean. You begin to give that part of your body more attention and tell everyone you encounter to be happy that theirs is functioning properly or at least looks normal. This reminds me a lot about people too, and how when someone gets sick, or gets mad or you, or something different happens to them and it changes your relationship negatively, you begin to focus on them and really appreciate them and wish you had done more and pray to God so many times to undo it all, to bring it back to the way it was before all of it happened.
On these sick days, besides blowing my nose and filling up so many plastic bags with my used tissues, I watched television all day. Daytime television wasn't made for kids (I know because they always had soap operas that had stuff my eyes should have not seen as a child) and PBS became my favorite network. I never knew what PBS stood for, but knew that before and after every show, they always thanked me "like viewers like you, thank you" and I'd always reply "you're welcome!" I never watched Nickelodeon or cartoon network because I didn't have cable. I remember I'd lie to the kids at school when they asked me if I had cable. I told me that I had it once, but my father cancelled it because I wouldn't do my homework. Everyone believed it. I already knew I wasn't a typical kid, but I still wanted to fit in. So yeah, I used to have cable and watch TRL and Rugrats until my parents turned off our 20 inch tube.
Life as a sick child was not a struggle. Now at the ripe age of 23, I'm sick and there is a TV, a huge one actually, but it doesn't work. It sits quietly in our living room and constantly reminds me everyday that I am still poor. But it is quite encouraging because I really wish I can turn it on and watch The Notebook on there. Can you imagine Ryan Gosling's face on a 50 or so inch screen!? I ended up finishing The Catcher in the Rye instead. It makes me wish I wrote more during my teens angst years (what do you call angst in your early twenties? I feel like there should be a clever answer here and then that drum sound to state that it was a joke should play). But then, I wouldn't want to reread any of that because it'll just make me hate myself because I know how annoying I can be.
One thing I kind of like about being sick is my lost of taste and smell. It means I can make anything I wanted and it didn't matter how it tasted, as long as it filled me up. It means not being able to smell urine in the subways or smelling someone's fart, including my own. It means I can put sour cream and onion potato chips in my porridge and not be disgusted by it. But it also means I can't enjoy a freshly made avocado shake/smoothie or homemade angel hair pasta with mushroom and chicken alfredo sauce. I always feel these minor sicknesses happen to make us appreciate whatever that is hurting, more. Like when your elbow starts hurting for no reason and you begin to appreciate your elbow and pray to God that you won't ever mistreat your elbow ever again. I would think of other examples, but you know what I mean. You begin to give that part of your body more attention and tell everyone you encounter to be happy that theirs is functioning properly or at least looks normal. This reminds me a lot about people too, and how when someone gets sick, or gets mad or you, or something different happens to them and it changes your relationship negatively, you begin to focus on them and really appreciate them and wish you had done more and pray to God so many times to undo it all, to bring it back to the way it was before all of it happened.
January 13, 2012
The case of the heater
Here are two stories. My mother's co-worker, an immigrant from China, turned on the kitchen faucet and had no idea how to turn it off. This wasn't a fancy faucet either. But I guess she didn't have such sinks where she came from, so this contraption became her enemy, and she was not winning the battle. She ended up calling 9-1-1 because it was an emergency. Her sink was overflowing, and if she didn't stop it, her whole house would flood! The firefighters came and turned off the faucet. How? He twisted the knob to off.
Story two: This man (my father's friend who's also from a foreign land) didn't know the that red lights meant stop and green meant go, so every time the light was red, he would drive and wonder why people were honking at him.
I was shaking my head when I heard these stories. How can anyone not know how to turn off a faucet or understand that red means stop? Isn't that universal? "Give me the greenlight" means go right? Come on, people!
And rightie tightie, leftie loosie. I've never actually typed that out, so it looks really awkward and cute at the same time. If I turn something towards the left it will loosen it and if I turn it towards the right, it will tighten it. That's exactly what I did to our heater. It started getting cold in the apartment so I tightened it because it was loose. The next day, my roommate layered up before bed (sweatpants, sweater, three blankets). Usually, he'd don his Harvard t-shirt and basketball shorts. The day after that, it was just unbearable. I walked around the apartment wrapped in a blanket, and spent the majority of my time in the kitchen or restroom because those were the two hottest spots. It was frustrating. How can our heater break? If ours is broken, that means everyone else in the building is freezing their toes off too! I went back to the source and turned the knob tighter. It was still cold. I googled and youtubed "how to fix a broken heater" but I didn't have the advance tools, and the heaters looked different from mine.
I called our super (I'm his favorite tenant).
"Yeah, it's really cold. Our heater is broken," I told him as he walked in the apartment.
"Really? It should be working. Which ones?"
I pointed to our room. "There, and in the living room."
He kneeled down and starting turning the knob towards the left. "Look, it was closed off. You have to loosen it so turn it to the left." He went to the living room and said the same thing. "It should start heating up in 20 minutes." And he left.
Story two: This man (my father's friend who's also from a foreign land) didn't know the that red lights meant stop and green meant go, so every time the light was red, he would drive and wonder why people were honking at him.
I was shaking my head when I heard these stories. How can anyone not know how to turn off a faucet or understand that red means stop? Isn't that universal? "Give me the greenlight" means go right? Come on, people!
And rightie tightie, leftie loosie. I've never actually typed that out, so it looks really awkward and cute at the same time. If I turn something towards the left it will loosen it and if I turn it towards the right, it will tighten it. That's exactly what I did to our heater. It started getting cold in the apartment so I tightened it because it was loose. The next day, my roommate layered up before bed (sweatpants, sweater, three blankets). Usually, he'd don his Harvard t-shirt and basketball shorts. The day after that, it was just unbearable. I walked around the apartment wrapped in a blanket, and spent the majority of my time in the kitchen or restroom because those were the two hottest spots. It was frustrating. How can our heater break? If ours is broken, that means everyone else in the building is freezing their toes off too! I went back to the source and turned the knob tighter. It was still cold. I googled and youtubed "how to fix a broken heater" but I didn't have the advance tools, and the heaters looked different from mine.
I called our super (I'm his favorite tenant).
"Yeah, it's really cold. Our heater is broken," I told him as he walked in the apartment.
"Really? It should be working. Which ones?"
I pointed to our room. "There, and in the living room."
He kneeled down and starting turning the knob towards the left. "Look, it was closed off. You have to loosen it so turn it to the left." He went to the living room and said the same thing. "It should start heating up in 20 minutes." And he left.
January 11, 2012
The poop story and how a kitty changed a life
And then there were two. Two needy, breathing mammals. Lexy came in a Zappos box and left in a legit pet carrier. This time, he, I mean she, is plumpier and I hope happier. The last four days has been hell for her and her owners. The internet said to place her in a small room with her food and litter box. We didn't want her to urinate in our bedroom. We didn't want to walk around smelling like kitten droppings so we avoided the closet. And we didn't want our brand old 50 inch television that might have the possibility of working to not work at all. Our tiny black and white restroom became her new home. After this new piece of information, we moved the litter box, her green rice to riches food container, and her furry self to the restroom, closed the door, and went about living our lives. I felt like a tiger mom punishing my daughter because she didn't take off her shoes in the house. That night, the cat's constant meowing joined my roommate's snoring. And that continued for three nights.
"Have you seen the restroom yet?" asked my roommate one morning. I was snuggled under my comforter, ten minutes past my alarm.
"You should look," he said eagerly.
Last time the cat peed on the white towel, knocked over my tree oil face wash, and destroyed our soft toilet paper. I knew it. She had taken down the shower curtains! I knew those plastic hooks from Ikea weren't going to last.
To my relief, the shower curtains were still hanging.
"She shitted all over the tub," my roommate said. I pulled the shower curtains open and immediately pulled them back. There were little pebbles of poop on the right side of the tub and in the middle was a fat one in a shape of a wishbone. I knew it wasn't a big deal, at least it wasn't human poop, but this was bad. Poop is poop.
I can never be a mother. We decided to split the task: I pick up the small poops and he picks up the wishbone poop. It was a fair deal because there were more small poops. There has to be a better word than poop right? It's starting to sound too cute. Poop.
And that was the end of it. I didn't want to pick up shit every day and I didn't want the white towel to turn yellow. Lastly, I was tired of having to hide our toilet paper and needing to collect the right amount of toilet paper before I sat on the toilet. The cat wasted a week's worth of toilet paper and that was the last straw.
That night, a kind lady responded to our craigslist ad (it was in the for sale section for $65, changed to $35 when no one responded, and after the poop tub incident, it moved to the free section). Her and her kids came over, met Lexy, fell in love with her, and left with her and the 3.5 pound bag of friskies cat food. Never have I ever seen a kid so happy.
In the end, I realized that I really am not a cat lady or any kind of animal lady and if kitten poop freaks me out there is no way I can handle cute baby poops. During one of my uproars, I confidently and dramatically told my roommate "Remember how we shouldn't have regrets? Well, my biggest regret is getting this cat!" and I take that back. Because of this cat, we both added happiness to a child's life. We provided this kitten with a loving home, and overall, Lexy taught me that I should be careful next time before I allow anyone/anything in my life because when I realize it isn't working, I can't post it on craigslist and have someone else fix my problem.
"Have you seen the restroom yet?" asked my roommate one morning. I was snuggled under my comforter, ten minutes past my alarm.
"You should look," he said eagerly.
Last time the cat peed on the white towel, knocked over my tree oil face wash, and destroyed our soft toilet paper. I knew it. She had taken down the shower curtains! I knew those plastic hooks from Ikea weren't going to last.
To my relief, the shower curtains were still hanging.
"She shitted all over the tub," my roommate said. I pulled the shower curtains open and immediately pulled them back. There were little pebbles of poop on the right side of the tub and in the middle was a fat one in a shape of a wishbone. I knew it wasn't a big deal, at least it wasn't human poop, but this was bad. Poop is poop.
I can never be a mother. We decided to split the task: I pick up the small poops and he picks up the wishbone poop. It was a fair deal because there were more small poops. There has to be a better word than poop right? It's starting to sound too cute. Poop.
And that was the end of it. I didn't want to pick up shit every day and I didn't want the white towel to turn yellow. Lastly, I was tired of having to hide our toilet paper and needing to collect the right amount of toilet paper before I sat on the toilet. The cat wasted a week's worth of toilet paper and that was the last straw.
That night, a kind lady responded to our craigslist ad (it was in the for sale section for $65, changed to $35 when no one responded, and after the poop tub incident, it moved to the free section). Her and her kids came over, met Lexy, fell in love with her, and left with her and the 3.5 pound bag of friskies cat food. Never have I ever seen a kid so happy.
In the end, I realized that I really am not a cat lady or any kind of animal lady and if kitten poop freaks me out there is no way I can handle cute baby poops. During one of my uproars, I confidently and dramatically told my roommate "Remember how we shouldn't have regrets? Well, my biggest regret is getting this cat!" and I take that back. Because of this cat, we both added happiness to a child's life. We provided this kitten with a loving home, and overall, Lexy taught me that I should be careful next time before I allow anyone/anything in my life because when I realize it isn't working, I can't post it on craigslist and have someone else fix my problem.
December 15, 2011
November 17, 2011
In this moment
My friend texted me saying "Life is crazy." Why? "Idk I didn't think I would ever hear back from anyone" and it made me realize that I haven't actually reflected on this life of mine. Because it really has been CRAZY. Crazy in the best sensible amazing awesome way. There are two types of crazy. The "My ex-gf was fucking crazy"crazy or your friend's reaction when you tell the story of you sitting on the subway and realizing Ryan Gosling is next to you and you both engage in an intimate conversation about which power ranger was your favorite and he gladly adds his phone number in your phone and decides to hold your hand as you both step off the subway to lead a life of eternal bliss and she responds with "O-M-G that's crazy!" My crazy is the latter. To a certain extent.
I love that feeling when things are happening. Anything, like even getting an email a response from someone, that sense of communication that life is moving forward because I hate feeling stuck and I am the most impatient person. I like for things to happen all the time. There has to be change and movement.
Does that mean that I get bored easily? No. It just means that I can't settle for something that I'm not happy with. For example, my internship during the summer was a blessing. Not only was I paid a good amount of money, but I contributed to the sales team and felt like I did a lot of good things there. The work wasn't hard and my colleagues became my friends. But after 6 months, I knew I couldn't stay there long because I didn't see myself there. I thought to myself that when someone asks me in five years "so what have you done so far" I don't want to have to say "I've been working at that place that I interned for." Period. The end. I don't think I like straight lines. I tend to get from point A to B by visiting J and saying a quick hi to L and sometimes sadly approach Z to have to get to B. And I think that's the story I want to tell. Jeez, I'm all about stories huh? It probably goes back to freshmen year in my music cluster where my professor asked everyone "What is the meaning of life" or something along that line. And he said "stories." As in, life is all about stories. Every time we talk to someone, we are telling a story. Everything we do is a story. There's a beginning, middle, end to everything we do. Think about it. When you come home and your roommate asks you how your day was, you tell her a story about your day. The action of you walking in and your roommate asking you a question and you replying is a story. Beginning: You walk in. Middle: Roommate asks how you're doing. Ending: You respond by telling her your day. Everything is a sharing, communicating. And that leads me to the eulogy written by Steve Jobs' sister where she states "We all — in the end — die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories." Okay that was kind of depressing and does not work well with this entry, but there you have it.
And now I'm in the story and I am the author. I'm no longer going through the motions (and I'm glad I have motions to go through) but now the motions and going through me. I just thought that would sound cool by switching it around, by saying that I am now in control.
If you haven't noticed, I'm talking on a high right now. I feel like I'm on cloud 9 (seriously, there has to be a better expression to express my euphoria at this moment). And why am I so over the moon? Because things are happening! Leaves are falling! People are moving! Rain is falling! Sun is shining! Subways are moving! Music is playing! Everything is functioning correctly. Leaves should be falling now. People should constantly be moving. The rain should fall. The sun should shine. The subways should move. And music should always be playing. It's that moment where you begin to realize that you're glad certain things happened in the past because if it didn't you wouldn't be where you are at this moment. I'm glad I didn't get that copywriting internship. Maybe it was a good thing I decided to take Vietnamese class instead of Spanish. And to go even further back, I'm extremely blessed and thankful my parents sacrificed everything for me to be where I am right now. In this moment, I feel infinite. In this moment.
I love that feeling when things are happening. Anything, like even getting an email a response from someone, that sense of communication that life is moving forward because I hate feeling stuck and I am the most impatient person. I like for things to happen all the time. There has to be change and movement.
Does that mean that I get bored easily? No. It just means that I can't settle for something that I'm not happy with. For example, my internship during the summer was a blessing. Not only was I paid a good amount of money, but I contributed to the sales team and felt like I did a lot of good things there. The work wasn't hard and my colleagues became my friends. But after 6 months, I knew I couldn't stay there long because I didn't see myself there. I thought to myself that when someone asks me in five years "so what have you done so far" I don't want to have to say "I've been working at that place that I interned for." Period. The end. I don't think I like straight lines. I tend to get from point A to B by visiting J and saying a quick hi to L and sometimes sadly approach Z to have to get to B. And I think that's the story I want to tell. Jeez, I'm all about stories huh? It probably goes back to freshmen year in my music cluster where my professor asked everyone "What is the meaning of life" or something along that line. And he said "stories." As in, life is all about stories. Every time we talk to someone, we are telling a story. Everything we do is a story. There's a beginning, middle, end to everything we do. Think about it. When you come home and your roommate asks you how your day was, you tell her a story about your day. The action of you walking in and your roommate asking you a question and you replying is a story. Beginning: You walk in. Middle: Roommate asks how you're doing. Ending: You respond by telling her your day. Everything is a sharing, communicating. And that leads me to the eulogy written by Steve Jobs' sister where she states "We all — in the end — die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories." Okay that was kind of depressing and does not work well with this entry, but there you have it.
And now I'm in the story and I am the author. I'm no longer going through the motions (and I'm glad I have motions to go through) but now the motions and going through me. I just thought that would sound cool by switching it around, by saying that I am now in control.
If you haven't noticed, I'm talking on a high right now. I feel like I'm on cloud 9 (seriously, there has to be a better expression to express my euphoria at this moment). And why am I so over the moon? Because things are happening! Leaves are falling! People are moving! Rain is falling! Sun is shining! Subways are moving! Music is playing! Everything is functioning correctly. Leaves should be falling now. People should constantly be moving. The rain should fall. The sun should shine. The subways should move. And music should always be playing. It's that moment where you begin to realize that you're glad certain things happened in the past because if it didn't you wouldn't be where you are at this moment. I'm glad I didn't get that copywriting internship. Maybe it was a good thing I decided to take Vietnamese class instead of Spanish. And to go even further back, I'm extremely blessed and thankful my parents sacrificed everything for me to be where I am right now. In this moment, I feel infinite. In this moment.
October 24, 2011
Lessons from a stranger
What goes around comes around Hey girl, is he everything you wanted in a man, something something hand. I wonder if he knew about this song? And he's right. It's similar to the treat others as you would want to be treated. If you get mad when someone cuts you off, you shouldn't be doing that to others. Believe in karma.
The answer "no" makes me want it more Okay, this does not pertain to abuse or any forced sexual encounter. But I told him about how difficult it was to get a part time job. For him, when someone tells him no, it drives him further to get that yes. He tells me of when he had to do cold calls everyday to advertise his business, and out of the twenty calls, only one or two people said yes. It didn't matter how many people rejected him. The few that accepted him made it all worth it.
Finish what you started That's what she said! I just ruined that joke, didn't I? When he said this, he was referring to relationships, specifically for men. For example, if you buy flowers for your girl every week, or call to say good night before bed, you can't stop doing that. Yes, you did all this to lure her in your special web, but you have to keep going even after you've got the girl. Finish what you started. Once you stop, she will notice and assume something is wrong. So advice for ya'll would be to not even start.
Men are dogs, women are cats Dogs chase cats, cats do not chase dogs. For some reason, women love the chase, and they love a man who will fight for them.
Make it happen but do it legally. If you want something, you have to make that happen.
When you have children, you have to give them the best even if that means giving it up for adoption because you don't have the means to take care of the child. In the end, you'll be happy and that child will be happy if he/she is raised in the right household. You can reconnect later, and if he/she does not want to connect with you, it is fine. No matter what, when you have a child, you have to reassure that they will be taken care of in every aspect. Be sure that you are ready to have kids because it is the biggest responsibility you'll ever have.
Don't be intimidated by anyone, we are all human This was geared towards men being intimidated by strong powerful women. Who cares if she is a doctor, or president of a country, she is still a woman and she has needs and wants a man. Her career, or anyone's career/education/financial status should not be a main focus in picking a mate. If I connect with you, that is all that matters. In the end, we are all equal, all human beings with similar needs.
You have to make yourself happy because your partner can never do that for you. They can add more happiness to your life, but they can not make you happy. And if they do make you happy, it will only be temporary. If this is the case, you need to get out of the relationship until you are happy with yourself. Don't expect someone else to fulfill that.
If you want to make money, focus on senior citizens (baby boomers) or generation y because the U.S. population is getting older and kids like us will always want the latest technology (this includes social media)
Don't stress over what you cannot control There is no need. You are wasting your energy over something that is out of your hands. No matter how much you stress, it will or will not happen. If are in a control of a situation, make sure you prepare and do what you can for the best results. If you have no control, let it go. What will happen will happen. Stop worrying.
The answer "no" makes me want it more Okay, this does not pertain to abuse or any forced sexual encounter. But I told him about how difficult it was to get a part time job. For him, when someone tells him no, it drives him further to get that yes. He tells me of when he had to do cold calls everyday to advertise his business, and out of the twenty calls, only one or two people said yes. It didn't matter how many people rejected him. The few that accepted him made it all worth it.
Finish what you started That's what she said! I just ruined that joke, didn't I? When he said this, he was referring to relationships, specifically for men. For example, if you buy flowers for your girl every week, or call to say good night before bed, you can't stop doing that. Yes, you did all this to lure her in your special web, but you have to keep going even after you've got the girl. Finish what you started. Once you stop, she will notice and assume something is wrong. So advice for ya'll would be to not even start.
Men are dogs, women are cats Dogs chase cats, cats do not chase dogs. For some reason, women love the chase, and they love a man who will fight for them.
Make it happen but do it legally. If you want something, you have to make that happen.
When you have children, you have to give them the best even if that means giving it up for adoption because you don't have the means to take care of the child. In the end, you'll be happy and that child will be happy if he/she is raised in the right household. You can reconnect later, and if he/she does not want to connect with you, it is fine. No matter what, when you have a child, you have to reassure that they will be taken care of in every aspect. Be sure that you are ready to have kids because it is the biggest responsibility you'll ever have.
Don't be intimidated by anyone, we are all human This was geared towards men being intimidated by strong powerful women. Who cares if she is a doctor, or president of a country, she is still a woman and she has needs and wants a man. Her career, or anyone's career/education/financial status should not be a main focus in picking a mate. If I connect with you, that is all that matters. In the end, we are all equal, all human beings with similar needs.
You have to make yourself happy because your partner can never do that for you. They can add more happiness to your life, but they can not make you happy. And if they do make you happy, it will only be temporary. If this is the case, you need to get out of the relationship until you are happy with yourself. Don't expect someone else to fulfill that.
If you want to make money, focus on senior citizens (baby boomers) or generation y because the U.S. population is getting older and kids like us will always want the latest technology (this includes social media)
Don't stress over what you cannot control There is no need. You are wasting your energy over something that is out of your hands. No matter how much you stress, it will or will not happen. If are in a control of a situation, make sure you prepare and do what you can for the best results. If you have no control, let it go. What will happen will happen. Stop worrying.
October 15, 2011
I blame Steve Jobs
In his commencement speech at Stanford University, the man said:
"Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."
Though I've always seen life in this light (special thanks to the American media) Steve Jobs gave it a stamp of approval. The man indeed put a ding in the universe and he's certainly inspired me to venture off, to stay hungry, to stay foolish. And foolish I am to be flying off to New York for an internship that pays significantly less my current one during this economic situation.
I am exchanging stability for uncertainty, income for experience, cars for subways, cardigans for coats, and LA for NYC.
I know. I've already written an invitation to myself: Welcome to the I'm-going-to-NYC-to-follow-my-dreams club. And it's not really following my dreams, it's more creating myself and figuring out what I'm made of. I really don't know exactly what I want to do, but I only have an idea. Remember my rant about me being super spoiled? Well, this will break that mold. My vague plan is to have the internship, work part time during the evenings and Fridays/Saturdays and explore New York Sundays. See, I've got it covered. I've got 3-5 months to make something out of nothing.
As for my parents, they don't understand it, but they're letting me go. My brother recorded it all so I got to be Kim Kardashian for twenty minutes. I really wanted to type out how the conversation went, but it's on film, and yes, I'm lazy again. However, after the confrontation, I wrote this draft on my blog:
Guilt. Nonchalant, Almost careless. Go and try. It's such an American thing. My father doesn't know, and I know he will only worry about the housing crisis. I, too, worry. It's selfish of me, but by me staying, what will that do? Progress is not made.
going to new york in two weeks.
lonely. sad. letting go. money situation.
mother supportive. not yelling.
moved on to car problems.
cardboard dividing the room.
mom mad she threw it down.
my own reality show.
don't wear heels.
my brother recording it all.
"why leave for a lesser income?"
major counts.
3 months will go by so quickly.
bring cats over.
she already bought a plane ticket.
her boyfriend lives there.
why leave when things are so good?
let her do it for 3 months she'll come back.
my mom silly, playing and patting his face.
how much is it?
enough. it's enough.
experience over money.
why?
caught on tape.
sound silly but let's see how it is.
sadness. a new chapter. prove them wrong. i'm so hopeful and i know it won't be so good.
Yeah, if you understood half of that, I congratulate you. Overall, it turned out to be one of the best conversations I've had with my parents. Instead of yelling at me when I proclaimed my plans, my father said in a calm voice, "But that's so far. I'll be sad."
"Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."
Though I've always seen life in this light (special thanks to the American media) Steve Jobs gave it a stamp of approval. The man indeed put a ding in the universe and he's certainly inspired me to venture off, to stay hungry, to stay foolish. And foolish I am to be flying off to New York for an internship that pays significantly less my current one during this economic situation.
I am exchanging stability for uncertainty, income for experience, cars for subways, cardigans for coats, and LA for NYC.
I know. I've already written an invitation to myself: Welcome to the I'm-going-to-NYC-to-follow-my-dreams club. And it's not really following my dreams, it's more creating myself and figuring out what I'm made of. I really don't know exactly what I want to do, but I only have an idea. Remember my rant about me being super spoiled? Well, this will break that mold. My vague plan is to have the internship, work part time during the evenings and Fridays/Saturdays and explore New York Sundays. See, I've got it covered. I've got 3-5 months to make something out of nothing.
As for my parents, they don't understand it, but they're letting me go. My brother recorded it all so I got to be Kim Kardashian for twenty minutes. I really wanted to type out how the conversation went, but it's on film, and yes, I'm lazy again. However, after the confrontation, I wrote this draft on my blog:
Guilt. Nonchalant, Almost careless. Go and try. It's such an American thing. My father doesn't know, and I know he will only worry about the housing crisis. I, too, worry. It's selfish of me, but by me staying, what will that do? Progress is not made.
going to new york in two weeks.
lonely. sad. letting go. money situation.
mother supportive. not yelling.
moved on to car problems.
cardboard dividing the room.
mom mad she threw it down.
my own reality show.
don't wear heels.
my brother recording it all.
"why leave for a lesser income?"
major counts.
3 months will go by so quickly.
bring cats over.
she already bought a plane ticket.
her boyfriend lives there.
why leave when things are so good?
let her do it for 3 months she'll come back.
my mom silly, playing and patting his face.
how much is it?
enough. it's enough.
experience over money.
why?
caught on tape.
sound silly but let's see how it is.
sadness. a new chapter. prove them wrong. i'm so hopeful and i know it won't be so good.
Yeah, if you understood half of that, I congratulate you. Overall, it turned out to be one of the best conversations I've had with my parents. Instead of yelling at me when I proclaimed my plans, my father said in a calm voice, "But that's so far. I'll be sad."
October 12, 2011
I'm spoiled and it is rotten
My tolerant mother has taken care of me for twenty two years and never received an income or even a promotion for her magnanimous efforts of raising a poor Vietnamese speaking mercurial daughter. With great admittance, I am a spoiled brat.
After I turned 18 and went off to college, I really thought I was a true adult. But I found myself going home on weekends shamefully so my mother could do my laundry. I wake up past noon and next to my bed will be a plate of perfectly cut up gauva accompanied by the greatest concoction ever: salt, pepper, and cayenne pepper. It's truly a Vietnamese thing (the dip and the motherly behaviors). I figured this type of behavior would diminish by the time I turn 21, the age where I can legally drink, rent a car, buy a car without a co-signer, buy a house without a co-signer, and gamble. How come when I turned 21, all I did was drink until I couldn't anymore? I should have gone and rented a car!
The realization that I've yet to seriously grow up occurred one morning before I went off to work. My morning routine is trite and amazingly lazy: wake up at 6:35, drag myself to the restroom, pee, brush my teeth, wash my face, attempt to comb my hair, give up and tie it in a ponytail, change, and go to the kitchen. All of that takes an impressive ten minutes. I'm independent during those 10 minutes. On this particular morning, I slipped on a black dress because I didn't feel like using my muscles trying to squeeze into my fitted pants. As I walked into the kitchen, I stood by the cabinet, waiting for my mother. "Chờ đợi một phút" she says as she places bags of fruits and a napkin in my black lunch pail. "đồ ăn nóng" she says as she hands it to me. She basically told me to wait a minute and that the food is hot. I grabbed the handle, thanked her, grabbed my car keys, put on my black flats, and walked out the door. My mother loves to watch me as I leave, and I always wondered if I'll do that when I become a mother.
She runs back in the house and comes out with a strip of stickers, the same one she uses to clean up the cat hair on the floor. Though my brother and I bought her a lint/pet fur roller, she prefers the stickers because she has more control and it's more effective, she claims. And there I was, standing in the walkway with my arms stretched out like scarecrow as she patted the stickers all over my dress as if I was going through security. "Mèo lông" she says. It means "cat fur" a word she's been using since my brother brought home Blue and Willow a year ago. My black dress was covered in tiny orange cat fur. In that moment, I imaged a helicopter aiming it's spotlight at me standing there with my mom on her knees intricately patting the stickers all over my dress, reporting to the news anchor "breaking news, a 22 year old woman is delayed from going to work because of apparent cat fur on her dress. Her mother is quickly ridding of the contamination."
After a minute, I told her it looks good and that I couldn't see the cat fur anymore. I thanked her, and casually walked towards my car. I place the lunch pail in the passenger seat, put on my seatbelt, turn on the engine, and drive off with NPR on the radio encouraging me to donate money for their Fall drive.
After I turned 18 and went off to college, I really thought I was a true adult. But I found myself going home on weekends shamefully so my mother could do my laundry. I wake up past noon and next to my bed will be a plate of perfectly cut up gauva accompanied by the greatest concoction ever: salt, pepper, and cayenne pepper. It's truly a Vietnamese thing (the dip and the motherly behaviors). I figured this type of behavior would diminish by the time I turn 21, the age where I can legally drink, rent a car, buy a car without a co-signer, buy a house without a co-signer, and gamble. How come when I turned 21, all I did was drink until I couldn't anymore? I should have gone and rented a car!
The realization that I've yet to seriously grow up occurred one morning before I went off to work. My morning routine is trite and amazingly lazy: wake up at 6:35, drag myself to the restroom, pee, brush my teeth, wash my face, attempt to comb my hair, give up and tie it in a ponytail, change, and go to the kitchen. All of that takes an impressive ten minutes. I'm independent during those 10 minutes. On this particular morning, I slipped on a black dress because I didn't feel like using my muscles trying to squeeze into my fitted pants. As I walked into the kitchen, I stood by the cabinet, waiting for my mother. "Chờ đợi một phút" she says as she places bags of fruits and a napkin in my black lunch pail. "đồ ăn nóng" she says as she hands it to me. She basically told me to wait a minute and that the food is hot. I grabbed the handle, thanked her, grabbed my car keys, put on my black flats, and walked out the door. My mother loves to watch me as I leave, and I always wondered if I'll do that when I become a mother.
She runs back in the house and comes out with a strip of stickers, the same one she uses to clean up the cat hair on the floor. Though my brother and I bought her a lint/pet fur roller, she prefers the stickers because she has more control and it's more effective, she claims. And there I was, standing in the walkway with my arms stretched out like scarecrow as she patted the stickers all over my dress as if I was going through security. "Mèo lông" she says. It means "cat fur" a word she's been using since my brother brought home Blue and Willow a year ago. My black dress was covered in tiny orange cat fur. In that moment, I imaged a helicopter aiming it's spotlight at me standing there with my mom on her knees intricately patting the stickers all over my dress, reporting to the news anchor "breaking news, a 22 year old woman is delayed from going to work because of apparent cat fur on her dress. Her mother is quickly ridding of the contamination."
After a minute, I told her it looks good and that I couldn't see the cat fur anymore. I thanked her, and casually walked towards my car. I place the lunch pail in the passenger seat, put on my seatbelt, turn on the engine, and drive off with NPR on the radio encouraging me to donate money for their Fall drive.
September 29, 2011
My best conversations are with strangers
In the past two weeks, my best conversations have been with strangers. During the off hours of my yard sale, I chatted with a man in crutches who happened to stop by because he was taking his weekly stroll to Main street. We jabbered on about the sport of fishing and renovations going on in Alhambra. Everything boiled down to the simple answer "It's the bad economy." A few hours before, Mohommad came by again looking for a water boiler, the one that whistles when its ready. He had stopped by earlier that morning to pick up five dollar speakers (my dad had them in the garage for 10 years). I forgot what we talked about, but it felt like I've known him for years. But out of all the conversations I've had with these new faces, my 5 minute meeting regarding vinyl application printing turned 2 hour meeting about the idiosyncrasies of life with the Femi is my favorite.
"Hi, are you Sami?" I asked the man at the front desk. "Ah, yes it's Femi," he responded with a huge smile. I loved his Nigerian accent. I showed him the samples we wanted for him to print, and he laughed the whole time because I really was very ignorant about the printing process. "That," he pointed to a poster of three dogs' butts in bikinis, "that was a strange project. These customers invented diapers for dogs. I tell you, Americans love their pets! Where I come from, he feed them and had them to eat the bugs around the house, but we don't sleep with them. If you want to make money, work in a business with pets!"
It's a great conversation when you can't pinpoint exactly how you got to the topic. We went from talking about dimensions and cost of the printing to talks about education, dating, life mantras, technology, tailoring, and many other topics. When I drove back, I kept trying to think how we even went off topic. Most conversations I have with vendors are direct Q and A's. How much will this cost? Do you know how long it will take? How long have you had this shop? With Femi, stories seem to sprout and we both were inspired by each other's recollections.
Femi was born in Nigeria and came to southern california when he was 24. He studied at Cal State Long beach and transferred to UCLA majoring in some type of Health field. I was surprised at how many things we had in common. He also worked in Alhambra for 10 years after he graduated. Well hello, I'm from there! At first, I thought he was just being a great businessman, telling me what I wanted to hear. If that was the case, he was a great businessman. I was reassured that he was simply conversing to converse when he mentioned the Chinese Islamic Restaurant on Garvey. How can anyone make that up? I've always driven by this restaurant called "Chinese Islamic Restaurant" and I couldn't understand how that worked. I didn't know Chinese people knew Islamic people even existed.
"My daughter lived in the dorms for one year and moved out because of me. All the friends she met there lived in mansions in Beverly Hills! I told her I couldn't go and buy her a new BMW. Meet new people!" His daughter, who is now 33 years old working with clinical social worker something (I'm not very good with medical professions) in Nevada. She's married to the greatest guy on Earth (he cooks, cleans, takes care of the baby, does chores, and anything you can think of that men never enjoy doing. And he does it without her nagging him. )
"Her boyfriend in college was a bad one. He had no job and no respect. He would drive her car, drop her off of school, and go somewhere. I said, if I'm paying for this car and the insurance and this kid is driving it, I will not allow that! I ask her, Honey why are you dating this guy, you deserve so much better." He looked at me and asked "How old are you?" His daughter was 24 when she finally broke it off - 6 long years.
"You are young. I learned that I couldn't tell her what to do. She will learn herself, from her own mistakes," he said expressively, his arms motioning towards his chest, "She did not listen to me. But I knew if I stopped nagging her, she will eventually learn on her own."
Femi began telling me about his first girlfriend, who he wanted to marry, but couldn't because of racial issues. He didn't want to be with a mother-in-law who disapproved of him because of his color. Now, at the age of 55 (I say add 5 more years because colored people age sp gracefully) he's living in Long Beach and his girlfriend lives in Cincinnati. He dreams of ending his career at the sign shop and wants to open an adult daycare center.
"People now are very selfish, that is why relationships don't last. You have to gain trust, and that takes time. Find someone who will be patient to grow with you. Be secure, independent. You both can have your own lives but don't be selfish. Give to give, not to expect something in return. All you want is love in return, right? What else do you need?"
He began to laugh when he gave an example of what he meant. "I love football, so I go to bars to watch it with other fans. She calls me on my phone, so I step outside to talk to her." He put his hands over his ears and speaks into it like a phone "I'm at the bar watching the game right now."
"See, instead of accepting it and asking me what I'm doing and how the game was, she told me to go back inside and to call her when he is done. So I call her later, but she was asleep because of the time difference." He began doing a texting with his hands, and with a laugh, said "And so I texted her "honey I'm sorry I called so late I will call you tomorrow!"
"You need to know how to live your own life. When your partner is gone, you don't need to talk to them every second and know exactly where they went, who they went with. You need to trust that they are living their life and you live yours. This trust, it does not start at the beginning. You gain it, and it takes years."
Maybe his wrinkles aren't apparent not only because he has great genes, but of his whimsical, some might even say illogical look at life. "Don't worry too much. What will happen will happen. I never stress because I know things will be good. Have faith, embrace the cultures of life, and form meaningful relationships."
My stomach began to growl and I realized lunchtime had passed an hour ago. A customer walked in, which was my cue to end my talks with Femi. I thanked him, grabbed the airplane acrylic models, and walked out the store. If it takes 2 hours to get a quote from Femi about a project, I'd go back and do it all over again.
"Hi, are you Sami?" I asked the man at the front desk. "Ah, yes it's Femi," he responded with a huge smile. I loved his Nigerian accent. I showed him the samples we wanted for him to print, and he laughed the whole time because I really was very ignorant about the printing process. "That," he pointed to a poster of three dogs' butts in bikinis, "that was a strange project. These customers invented diapers for dogs. I tell you, Americans love their pets! Where I come from, he feed them and had them to eat the bugs around the house, but we don't sleep with them. If you want to make money, work in a business with pets!"
It's a great conversation when you can't pinpoint exactly how you got to the topic. We went from talking about dimensions and cost of the printing to talks about education, dating, life mantras, technology, tailoring, and many other topics. When I drove back, I kept trying to think how we even went off topic. Most conversations I have with vendors are direct Q and A's. How much will this cost? Do you know how long it will take? How long have you had this shop? With Femi, stories seem to sprout and we both were inspired by each other's recollections.
Femi was born in Nigeria and came to southern california when he was 24. He studied at Cal State Long beach and transferred to UCLA majoring in some type of Health field. I was surprised at how many things we had in common. He also worked in Alhambra for 10 years after he graduated. Well hello, I'm from there! At first, I thought he was just being a great businessman, telling me what I wanted to hear. If that was the case, he was a great businessman. I was reassured that he was simply conversing to converse when he mentioned the Chinese Islamic Restaurant on Garvey. How can anyone make that up? I've always driven by this restaurant called "Chinese Islamic Restaurant" and I couldn't understand how that worked. I didn't know Chinese people knew Islamic people even existed.
"My daughter lived in the dorms for one year and moved out because of me. All the friends she met there lived in mansions in Beverly Hills! I told her I couldn't go and buy her a new BMW. Meet new people!" His daughter, who is now 33 years old working with clinical social worker something (I'm not very good with medical professions) in Nevada. She's married to the greatest guy on Earth (he cooks, cleans, takes care of the baby, does chores, and anything you can think of that men never enjoy doing. And he does it without her nagging him. )
"Her boyfriend in college was a bad one. He had no job and no respect. He would drive her car, drop her off of school, and go somewhere. I said, if I'm paying for this car and the insurance and this kid is driving it, I will not allow that! I ask her, Honey why are you dating this guy, you deserve so much better." He looked at me and asked "How old are you?" His daughter was 24 when she finally broke it off - 6 long years.
"You are young. I learned that I couldn't tell her what to do. She will learn herself, from her own mistakes," he said expressively, his arms motioning towards his chest, "She did not listen to me. But I knew if I stopped nagging her, she will eventually learn on her own."
Femi began telling me about his first girlfriend, who he wanted to marry, but couldn't because of racial issues. He didn't want to be with a mother-in-law who disapproved of him because of his color. Now, at the age of 55 (I say add 5 more years because colored people age sp gracefully) he's living in Long Beach and his girlfriend lives in Cincinnati. He dreams of ending his career at the sign shop and wants to open an adult daycare center.
"People now are very selfish, that is why relationships don't last. You have to gain trust, and that takes time. Find someone who will be patient to grow with you. Be secure, independent. You both can have your own lives but don't be selfish. Give to give, not to expect something in return. All you want is love in return, right? What else do you need?"
He began to laugh when he gave an example of what he meant. "I love football, so I go to bars to watch it with other fans. She calls me on my phone, so I step outside to talk to her." He put his hands over his ears and speaks into it like a phone "I'm at the bar watching the game right now."
"See, instead of accepting it and asking me what I'm doing and how the game was, she told me to go back inside and to call her when he is done. So I call her later, but she was asleep because of the time difference." He began doing a texting with his hands, and with a laugh, said "And so I texted her "honey I'm sorry I called so late I will call you tomorrow!"
"You need to know how to live your own life. When your partner is gone, you don't need to talk to them every second and know exactly where they went, who they went with. You need to trust that they are living their life and you live yours. This trust, it does not start at the beginning. You gain it, and it takes years."
Maybe his wrinkles aren't apparent not only because he has great genes, but of his whimsical, some might even say illogical look at life. "Don't worry too much. What will happen will happen. I never stress because I know things will be good. Have faith, embrace the cultures of life, and form meaningful relationships."
My stomach began to growl and I realized lunchtime had passed an hour ago. A customer walked in, which was my cue to end my talks with Femi. I thanked him, grabbed the airplane acrylic models, and walked out the store. If it takes 2 hours to get a quote from Femi about a project, I'd go back and do it all over again.
September 25, 2011
Rules to a Successful Yard Sale
1. Place your ad on craigslist. Only place one ad because people you don't want to sound like a broken record. When you place this ad, put some thought into it. People like to be entertained when they read, and can you imagine how many generic yard sale ads there are out there?
2. Create huge yard sale signs. Use cardboard and place them on the back of your car. Because most cities don't allow for posting on public property, a car will suffice. Now, be strategic in where you put these signs. Place them on both corners of your street, and place them on main roads that will lead to your street.
3. Your sign should be simple. Don't write information, or even your address. Rather, direct the driver. Write Yard Sale in large letters and draw an arrow towards your location (make sure to fill it in and make it as thick as possible). People like being led. If they see your sign on a main street, they will follow the arrow. They'll then see another sign that will lead them to where you are.
4. Be nice to your customers. This means greet them with a nice hello when they walk across your yard. Don't go and stand next to them because that will only make them leave. Give them their space. If they have questions, they'll ask. Or, you can ask "is there anything specific you're looking for?" Having a conversation makes them feel at ease, and if they like what you're selling and they like you, they will tell their friends and will come back later. I promise you! And when they leave, tell them "Thank you!"
5. Place prices on your items. Use masking tape and write down the price for big items. You have to realize it's a yard sale and people are here looking for deals. Even though that stereo system costed you 100 dollars ten years ago, it doesn't mean it is worth 100 now.
6. When a customer really wants your item at a certain price, let them have it in the end. For example, my dad had this ugly heavy water filter that I had no hope of selling. Really, who would want that!? But, I was proven wrong. My dad was selling it for 20. The Chinese man said 13. My dad said 15. The Chinese man said 13. And finally, my dad accepted it for 13. The whole point of a yard sale is to get rid of these items. If you end up making a couple bucks, that's just an added bonus.
7. Bring a lawn chair and sit far away from the site. I find it intimidating when I walk into a store, and there is someone staring straight at me. Just sit in the background and let the customer shop. Don't be in their way.
8. If at all possible, make your yard sale last the whole day. This means from sunrise to sunset. You'll be surprised how many people will come by, especially those who take their daily walk around the neighborhood.
September 7, 2011
Fastrak Ticket Tip
This is quick entry for anyone (not from Bay Area) that might get a Fastrak ticket.
First, when you cross the bridge, you'll see many toll booths. Do not drive past the Fastrak lanes (even if it's 2am). Instead, go to a booth where there's a person there, and pay 4 or 6 dollars for a pass.
But if you did drive through, it won't be 100 dollars. My friend who lived around the Bay Area told me the ticket was going to be severe. To my pleasant surprise, it was only $30 which is a huge relief! It says that you don't have to pay the $30 if you sign up for Fastrak online. Don't do it unless you're planning on driving to SF daily/weekly. Yes, you don't have to pay $30, but signing up is not free. It costs $25 to sign up the the account, and some other complicated monthly fees.
When you go to pay your violation it'll say IMPORTANT NOTE: If you are a first-time toll violator, and you are not currently a FasTrak customer, you can have your violation penalty dismissed by opening a new FasTrak account sounds good huh!? Nope. Opening a new account costs $25.
My suggestion is to man up and pay the $30 dollars. And don't do it again!
First, when you cross the bridge, you'll see many toll booths. Do not drive past the Fastrak lanes (even if it's 2am). Instead, go to a booth where there's a person there, and pay 4 or 6 dollars for a pass.
But if you did drive through, it won't be 100 dollars. My friend who lived around the Bay Area told me the ticket was going to be severe. To my pleasant surprise, it was only $30 which is a huge relief! It says that you don't have to pay the $30 if you sign up for Fastrak online. Don't do it unless you're planning on driving to SF daily/weekly. Yes, you don't have to pay $30, but signing up is not free. It costs $25 to sign up the the account, and some other complicated monthly fees.
When you go to pay your violation it'll say IMPORTANT NOTE: If you are a first-time toll violator, and you are not currently a FasTrak customer, you can have your violation penalty dismissed by opening a new FasTrak account sounds good huh!? Nope. Opening a new account costs $25.
My suggestion is to man up and pay the $30 dollars. And don't do it again!
September 6, 2011
"In my experience, the worse high school is, the better your adult life seems to be."
Thank you Alia Shawkat (I only recognized Jack Black and Zooey Deschanel, sorry) who posted this on Rookie Mag (aimed towards teenagers - I'm 22).
Alia Shawkat writes: "In my experience, the worse high school is, the better your adult life seems to be."
Lesley Arfin writes: "You might feel at times that you are ugly and disgusting and unlovable. Some of you might feel as though you are beautiful and hot and cool and awesome. Know this: When you’re in your 20s you go through, like, a time machine of opposite days."
After reading these posts, I began to formulate my fate. It seems like most outcasts in high school turn out to be beautiful, successful ducklings. Haven't you seen the Maury show where the nerdy buck-teeth skinny girl turns into a sex kitten (and sometimes an exotic dancer) and she's there to tell her high school crush,"Look at me now, bitch."
From looking at Facebook, it does seem to be the case. Total nerds, weirdos, anti-athletes are now working their way towards medical school, attending grad school, or even owning their own business. The rest are extending their high school career through their 20s, getting drunk with the same clique of people, and having a mediocre lifestyle in their hometown. Of course this is not true for everyone, but that seems to be the trend.
It scares the cow out of me because I don't know where I stand. I had a good high school experience. Of course, if I knew this conclusion that most of the writers have concluded, I would have gone back and forced myself to hate high school. I can't say I was an outsider, or the strange girl who never talked in class and always had a book in her hand. But I wasn't the popular homecoming queen with the buff football boyfriend. I was an AP student, a yearbook nerd, and a highly enthusiastic (it makes up for my lack of talent) volleyball player, and highly emotional teenage girl with a social appetite. By looking at this, it seems I will fall into the "mediocre" category and that terrifies me. I'm starting to find that I'm becoming less social, and just less of everything I used to be in high school. Is that the affect it's taking? Am I slowly morphing into an outcast? Well, maybe I'm a step behind and this phase in my life now is my high school phase and in four years, I'll blossom into a beautiful butterfly. I'm trying my best to make myself feel better, sorry! I like extremes, and I really hope to goodness I can achieve that and break this pattern of mediocrity.
Lastly, I'll end with a positive note to everyone who might kinda sorta feel what I feel (if you understand, please inform me because even I don't know myself).
It scares the cow out of me because I don't know where I stand. I had a good high school experience. Of course, if I knew this conclusion that most of the writers have concluded, I would have gone back and forced myself to hate high school. I can't say I was an outsider, or the strange girl who never talked in class and always had a book in her hand. But I wasn't the popular homecoming queen with the buff football boyfriend. I was an AP student, a yearbook nerd, and a highly enthusiastic (it makes up for my lack of talent) volleyball player, and highly emotional teenage girl with a social appetite. By looking at this, it seems I will fall into the "mediocre" category and that terrifies me. I'm starting to find that I'm becoming less social, and just less of everything I used to be in high school. Is that the affect it's taking? Am I slowly morphing into an outcast? Well, maybe I'm a step behind and this phase in my life now is my high school phase and in four years, I'll blossom into a beautiful butterfly. I'm trying my best to make myself feel better, sorry! I like extremes, and I really hope to goodness I can achieve that and break this pattern of mediocrity.
Lastly, I'll end with a positive note to everyone who might kinda sorta feel what I feel (if you understand, please inform me because even I don't know myself).
Dan Savage writes: Sometimes the problem isn’t who you are, despite what you’re being told by everyone around you, but where you are. And sometimes the solution can be as simple as finding a new place, a better place, the kind of place where a kid like you can thrive. Your place is out there. Go find it."
Thank you Mr. Savage!
This also inspired me and you can read the rest here.
"All I can say is, take risks while you can. Believe in yourself, search for your happiness and experience new things. You have the money, you have the time. Don’t waste any of it."
Thank you Mr. Savage!
This also inspired me and you can read the rest here.
"All I can say is, take risks while you can. Believe in yourself, search for your happiness and experience new things. You have the money, you have the time. Don’t waste any of it."
Regardless, don't let this scare you. Don't evaluate your high school life and think that is how your entire life will be. You're constantly in control of your life. As for me, I need to stop making up excuses for my current ailment and stop putting the fault onto others. I don't necessarily know what I want, but I do know what I don't want. I don't want to have to write another entry like this again!
August 12, 2011
Just Ask Yourself
It's a strange mood. I think listening to Death Cab's Two Brothers On a Hotel Bed is not helping my mood. Maybe it's also the emptiness of this room. I'm thinking about the future. Please forgive me if I go off on tangents and begin babbling like a five year old. It'll be my first (of many?) rants.I should be content right now; recent grad with a job. When I say job, I mean I get paid. It's actually an "internship" but it feels like a job. And I love it here. A lot. There is potential for being a real employee. While others would be ecstatic about such an opportuniy, I'm not. The practical (hah), cautious me would intern here for as long as possible until it becomes a full time job. But for some reason (I'm blaming all the brainwashing from inspirational speakers) I can't go on and do that.
As a kid, I've heard from so many speakers/adults/teachers/mentors to always follow your passion. They say "Do what you love." You know you love your job if you answer yes to this: If they didn't pay you, would you still work there?
And from a realistic standpoint, the job economy is so bad nowadays, that having any job is good enough. Others have told me that I should find a job, work on my hobbies on the side, and when I make enough money, quit, and pursue that hobby. This really makes sense and it is the smartest route. That's also the easiest route.
I see a long road ahead of me. I see many stories of attempts and failures. I hope to one day look back and be able to tell a story of triumph.
Here's inspiration for you all:
The point is, I can’t tell you how to succeed. But I can tell you how not to: Give in to the shame of being rejected and put your manuscript—or painting, song, voice, dance moves, [insert passion here]—in the coffin that is your bedside drawer and close it for good. I guarantee you that it won’t take you anywhere. Or you could do what this writer did: Give in to your obsession instead.
And if your friends make fun of you for chasing your dream, remember—just lie.
As a kid, I've heard from so many speakers/adults/teachers/mentors to always follow your passion. They say "Do what you love." You know you love your job if you answer yes to this: If they didn't pay you, would you still work there?
And from a realistic standpoint, the job economy is so bad nowadays, that having any job is good enough. Others have told me that I should find a job, work on my hobbies on the side, and when I make enough money, quit, and pursue that hobby. This really makes sense and it is the smartest route. That's also the easiest route.
I see a long road ahead of me. I see many stories of attempts and failures. I hope to one day look back and be able to tell a story of triumph.
Here's inspiration for you all:
The point is, I can’t tell you how to succeed. But I can tell you how not to: Give in to the shame of being rejected and put your manuscript—or painting, song, voice, dance moves, [insert passion here]—in the coffin that is your bedside drawer and close it for good. I guarantee you that it won’t take you anywhere. Or you could do what this writer did: Give in to your obsession instead.
And if your friends make fun of you for chasing your dream, remember—just lie.
August 1, 2011
Lessons From My Mother/Small White Lies I Tell My Mother Daily
I proposed the idea of writing about shit my parents say but apparently there's a show called Shit My Dad Says. Does this mean I am unoriginal? Balls. Below are some things my mother tells me. She tells me a lot of things, repeatedly, everyday and this is all my mind can do for now.
Lessons From My Mother/Small White Lies I Tell My Mother Daily
Always Drink Water Because I live in a small apartment, my parents and I are very close. I eat in front of them, I use the computer in front of them, and I read books in front of them. For some reason, I feel like this could become a naughty post. Anyway, after every meal, my mother approaches me with a tall glass of warm tea. I lie to her saying I already drank water. She looks at me and puts the cup on the table. "Always drink water. You have to drink at least three of these cups a day so you can pee regularly. How many do you drink a day? It's good for you," she says as she walks away towards the kitchen." It's good for your skin and your body. You don't want pimples."
Sleep early if you have to wake up early/8 Hours of Sleep I'm always reminded of this when I wake up at 2pm. Or when I'm up on my computer editing photographs until 4am and she wakes up. Then the next morning I wake up at 6am for work. That's when she begins to talk to herself, but loud enough so I can hear. Some days I might only get 6 hours of sleep, but when asked how many hours, I reply "8" and the conversation ends happily.
Always eat rice If you come over, there will ALWAYS be rice in the rice cooker. Even if we are eating something outrageous like Pho that day, there will be rice. It's like that movie, There Will Be Blood. Just replace that with Rice.
Never owe people money "Yeah, I have to go to my friend's house to give him back his 20 dollars." My mom gets crazy and she rushes me out the door so I can get to my friend's house faster. She hates being in debt. She hates having to rely on others for money. She'd rather borrow/ask money from her than from people outside the family.
Don't eat fatty foods I brought home a box of chicken wings. She looked at them and proclaimed "Oh I hope you took off the skin before you ate the chicken. It's very fattening, you know." I'm trying to imagine myself tearing off the skin of a juicy hot wing. The waiter's going to be left with chicken skins and bones. She makes it a point to decrease as much fat as possible. She'll cut off any excess fat on steaks, pork, chicken, fish. If you ever want extremely healthy YET the most delicious Bun Bo Hue ever, come over! She does this technique where she puts the home made beef stock in the fridge so all the fat floats on top, which she discards.
Don't wear heels that are above an inch As I left for work this morning in my two inch high boots, she looked at me with caution. As I made my way down the stairs, she yelled from fifty feet away, "Be careful! Walk slower!" She's heard horror stories, actually just one story, about her co worker's friend's neighbor who broke her ankle from walking down the stairs in high heels. If it can happen to her co worker's friend's neighbor, it can happen to me.
Lessons From My Mother/Small White Lies I Tell My Mother Daily
Always Drink Water Because I live in a small apartment, my parents and I are very close. I eat in front of them, I use the computer in front of them, and I read books in front of them. For some reason, I feel like this could become a naughty post. Anyway, after every meal, my mother approaches me with a tall glass of warm tea. I lie to her saying I already drank water. She looks at me and puts the cup on the table. "Always drink water. You have to drink at least three of these cups a day so you can pee regularly. How many do you drink a day? It's good for you," she says as she walks away towards the kitchen." It's good for your skin and your body. You don't want pimples."
Sleep early if you have to wake up early/8 Hours of Sleep I'm always reminded of this when I wake up at 2pm. Or when I'm up on my computer editing photographs until 4am and she wakes up. Then the next morning I wake up at 6am for work. That's when she begins to talk to herself, but loud enough so I can hear. Some days I might only get 6 hours of sleep, but when asked how many hours, I reply "8" and the conversation ends happily.
Always eat rice If you come over, there will ALWAYS be rice in the rice cooker. Even if we are eating something outrageous like Pho that day, there will be rice. It's like that movie, There Will Be Blood. Just replace that with Rice.
Never owe people money "Yeah, I have to go to my friend's house to give him back his 20 dollars." My mom gets crazy and she rushes me out the door so I can get to my friend's house faster. She hates being in debt. She hates having to rely on others for money. She'd rather borrow/ask money from her than from people outside the family.
Don't eat fatty foods I brought home a box of chicken wings. She looked at them and proclaimed "Oh I hope you took off the skin before you ate the chicken. It's very fattening, you know." I'm trying to imagine myself tearing off the skin of a juicy hot wing. The waiter's going to be left with chicken skins and bones. She makes it a point to decrease as much fat as possible. She'll cut off any excess fat on steaks, pork, chicken, fish. If you ever want extremely healthy YET the most delicious Bun Bo Hue ever, come over! She does this technique where she puts the home made beef stock in the fridge so all the fat floats on top, which she discards.
Don't wear heels that are above an inch As I left for work this morning in my two inch high boots, she looked at me with caution. As I made my way down the stairs, she yelled from fifty feet away, "Be careful! Walk slower!" She's heard horror stories, actually just one story, about her co worker's friend's neighbor who broke her ankle from walking down the stairs in high heels. If it can happen to her co worker's friend's neighbor, it can happen to me.
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