New ways and old ways

I was talking to my counselor yesterday and she commented that I often react to Matthew the same way I react to my parents. I thought about it and realized that she was right. Whenever my parents tried to make me do something because they knew it was good for me, I acted passive-aggressive and rejecting. Whenever Matthew did the same thing, I reacted the same way: passive-aggressive and rejecting. I felt so helpless, so out of control when people did that, like they were not listening to me and devaluing my decisions. I felt like I had lost my self-determination when they did that and slowly, I began to resent their love instead of appreciate it.

"Maybe being passive-aggressive helped you survive when you were with your parents," my counselor said, "but it's not helping now. Maybe now is a good time to try something new."

Try something new. She was right, of course. I couldn't be passive-aggressive and rejecting forever. I didn't want to be that way forever. More than that, I knew that it wasn't good for my relationships and I wanted to change. Maybe it's time to learn some new ways.

A new friend?

I was getting out of my seat to leave class yesterday when this streak of brown hair comes zipping up to me.
"Hey!" the streak says, enthusiastically.
"H-hello...?" I stutter. Very smooth of me.
"I saw the turtle on your laptop screen! Is that the Discworld turtle?!"
"Yes. Oh, I mean no. I mean, it does LOOK like the Discworld turtle."
"Do you know what I'm talking about?" she asks, a litle hesitant now.
"Yes, I totally do. Terry Pratchett? Rimwise and Hubward?"
"Yes! I saw that and I thought it was the Discworld Turtle!"
"Oh, well, it sort of does look like the Discworld Turtle."
This conversation seemed to be going in circles.
"I've read The Color of Magic and The Light Fantastic," I told her, trying to sound credible and legitimate.
"Oh, have you read this yet?!"
"N-no..."
"You HAVE to read it! We should have lunch sometime. I will bring the book and you will read it!" Finally, she introduced herself as Dani and I asked for her phone number (what else was I supposed to do?).

Now I know what it feels like when I sidle up to people like a lightning streak, pounce on them, and force them into awkward conversations where they inadvertently agree to have lunch with me and start tentative, awkward friendships.

Speaking Slowly

I gave a presentation on Wednesday and my teacher gave me her comments and critique at the end of class. Apparently, I had done really well in researching the topic and I had an easy, conversational style. She did say, however, that I should slow down my talking a bit and to project my voice. I'm not sure if I can learn to project my voice any better, but I could learn to speak slower. My mother's always telling me that I talk too fast. Little did she know that I learned to talk fast so I could get my whole thought out before she interrupted me. And my mom interrupts people a lot, especially my brother and me. Then again, my friends also tell me that I talk too fast sometimes, and they don't interrupt me very often. I suppose now is a good time to start learning. Maybe I could find some books or articles on how to speak slower and to project my voice.

I was also talking to my counselor yesterday morning and she said that it would really help me if I learned to take deeper breaths. I suddenly connected that I was often out of breath whenever I talked really fast. Maybe my fast talking is connected to the fact that I take such short, shallow breaths. Perhaps if I learned to breathe more deeply, I could sit back and enjoy the moment instead of constantly worrying about getting all my thoughts out before someone interrupted me.

Carmen: The Opera

The day rounded out with a trip to the Metropolitan Opera House to see Carmen. Just for the occasion, I dressed up in the black Chinese dress Matthew had bought me and wore some heels with it. I must say, how DO women walk around New York City in heels? I only wore heels for a few hours and even though most of that time I was sitting down, my feet still hurt really badly at the end of the night. I'm not going to wear heels around New York again. Not if I can help it.

When we arrived at the Met, I called my father to tell him that I was at the opera. He said,
"Oh, the one on Broadway." Pause.
"No, dad, the one at the Metropolitan Opera House."
"Oh, okay. Have fun. Now, see, you've always wanted to see a show on Broadway and now you get to see it!" I shook my head and hung up. I love my father, but I think he doesn't really listen to me when I talk to him. I called my mother, but didn't mention that I was going to the opera. Instead, I talked to her about the weather instead. It's something to which we can both relate. After a while, Matthew signalled for me to get back in line and I excused myself saying that I would call back tomorrow because I was standing at a place that was really loud. I don't think my mother would know what an opera was even if I explained it to her. Oh well. To the show!

When we were waiting in line, I asked Matt if the performers sung live or if it was all pre-recorded. Matt gave an indignant, off-put gesture. "Of course it's performed live! This is the opera! Not some cheap....(mutter, mutter)". I felt really stupid then and didn't say anything more. I suppose I should research a performance before I attend so I don't ask stupid questions.

The opera was fantastic! I never thought I would like opera, but it turns out I was wrong. Everything was very well-performed and man, can those singers really project their voice. I also like that my first opera was Carmen, since it was scandalous when it first came out.

All in all, a very good time. Surprisingly, I didn't fall asleep during the entirety of the opera, in spite of my short attention span and the fact that the opera ran from 8:30-midnight. Bill, who wanted to see the opera in the first place, nodded off several times, and Hector fell asleep once. Hector also didn't like the opera because he thought it would be more dramatic than it turned out to be. Of course, he was also starving the entire three and a half hours of the opera so I'm sure his mood wasn't the best, either. Last, he called the singer who played Carmen "chunky." I suppose some people would consider her to be like that, but I thought she did very well, regardless of her body shape.
 

Dragon Dance and Chinese Food

After the tour, Bill, Hector, Matt, and I went to Manhattan Chinatown for lunch and there was confetti everywhere! Everyone was celebrating the Lunar New Year and several groups of people were traveling up and down the street visiting shop after shop to perform the dragon dance. There were huge drums on trolleys, people banging cymbals, and boys snaking through the streets and stairwells underneath the colorful guise of their dragon skin. So I got to celebrate Chinese New Year, after all, I thought and while I enjoyed it, I was relieved when the dragons left the restaurant so we could all sit down to a (relatively) quiet lunch.

Once again, I ate a lot of food, but I was much better at controlling myself this time then the last time I ate at a Chinese eatery. Poor Hector. He took one bite of the food and decided he didn't like it, so he didn't eat anything else. He was probably the hungriest out of us all and so I felt bad that he didn't like the food they had to offer.

One day, I want to try eating at the restaurant by myself to see what I can order. Definitely dumplings. Lots and lots of dumplings.

New York City Tour

On Saturday, Bill, Hector, Matt, and I went on a tour of the World Trade Center during the morning. Now, I don't go on many tours but I'm glad I went on this one because it was fascinating and I learned so much. I really like history and facts and historical figures so I wondered why I didn't go on many tours. It never crosses my mind much, I suppose. I also learned a lot about the buildings around New York City and the male egos that went into building them. Apparently, New York has been the site for many competitions to construct the tallest building in the world. Additionally, we visited some very beautiful churches and learned about their history. One of them, the Trinity Church, has assets of over a billion dollars a year! I can't even think of money on that large of a scale. The other church we visited, St. Paul's Chapel, was the site of rest for many rescue workers during the September 11th fallout. Speaking of which, we went to the September 11th memorial at Ground Zero and saw the waterfall dedication there. Apparently, the United States had held an international  contest for someone to design the memorial and an Israeli architect won. His design was simple, elegant, and meaningful, the way a memorial should be. It just consisted of these four black walls dug into the site of Ground Zero and several stories down from those walls were four more walls. Waterfalls flowed into them and the names of those who had died in the September 11th attacks were etched onto the railing. It was a powerful moment for me, thinking of all those who had died that day; I almost started crying.

The other interesting thing was the Survivor Tree planted at Ground Zero. The tree was planted just outside of the original World Trade Center and was still standing after the attacks. It was badly damaged however, so people moved it to a park and nursed it back to health. It was struck by lightning twice while at the park and still remained standing. Once it was well again, it was transplanted back onto the site of Ground Zero. I stood looking up the tree and noticed where the color and texture of the bark changed from its old, original "skin" and the new bark that had grown while being nursed back to health. A survivor tree indeed and a fitting analogy for the American spirit.

Valentine's Day Weekend: Part I

So Matthew and I spent some time with Bill and Hector over Valentine's Day weekend and we had a blast! First, we went to their ritzy hotel in Times Square, and waited for Hector to finish dressing. As Matt and I were waiting in the foyer, we took a look around at the ceiling and walls of the place. The interesting thing about the hotel was that the foyer's ceiling was made of glass and had water flowing on the top of it. The walls were dark green marble and so it gave this effect of being in some classy aquatic lobby. It also had an interesting smell, not quite sea breeze or aquarium, but the fresh smell of water, slightly chlorinated. After a minute, Bill came down in the elevator and took us up to the lobby. On the frickin' seventh floor. Who has a lobby on the frickin' seventh floor?! This hotel, I guess. Anyway, the lobby was dimly lit with plush couches everywhere. It really looked like the kind of VIP room where celebrities hung out. Bill and Matthew compared phones and checked the weather forecast for tomorrow while I just passed the time looking at these women with VERY long legs and doing a critique. I'm very snobby about those kinds of things. When Hector arrived, we took him and Bill on a subway ride to Matt's apartment where we all had a dinner of spaghetti and pasta sauce (Matt likes to keep it simple). This is also when I found out that Hector likes to put avocado on everything, even spaghetti.

"I like to put soy sauce on everything," I commented. Bill laughed.
"I'm being serious." He got really quiet. End evening.

The Duck Prince

I've been reading this manga called The Duck Prince. I stumbled upon it while trying to look for a different manga, and I couldn't help but be drawn to this one since I can relate to it so much. The title of the story refers to the Ugly Duckling by Hans Christian Andersen. Its introduction starts out with stating that in real life, an ugly duckling can never become a swan. The story itself centers on a boy who is described as "short and ugly". People at his school call him Helmet Head and his sister cruelly berates him, saying that she would be embarrassed if anyone knew that he was her brother. The boy becomes very depressed because of this and at one point, he says that he just wants to die so he can be reborn beautiful. One day, however, he saves a dog from being run over by a car and the car smashes into him instead. The dog, having secret magical powers, grants him his wish. He wakes up from a year-long coma with a brand-new (and gorgeous) face. Apparently, a plastic surgeon re-constructed his face and so now he is considered a "heart throb" by girls. He goes to a new school where no one knows him and starts life with a clean slate. However, he is still the nerdy, comic-book guy on the inside and, in spite of gaining the admiration of all the girls in his school, he just wants to find and reconnect with his childhood friend--the only girl who was ever nice to him. Trouble and drama arise, however, and he wonders if being beautiful is all it's cracked up to be...

I really relate to this story because I've always seen myself as ugly. Oftentimes, I wished I would go to sleep and wake up the next morning suddenly looking gorgeous. I often go through this list of all the things I could change about myself if I could and, while I realize that it's not a healthy attitude towards myself, I can't help but wish anyway. In that sense, I really relate to this story. I suppose, in a way, I'm living through the main character, who got his wish. I won't even wish so much to be a swan. Maybe one day I won't be an ugly duckling anymore. Just an average-looking one.

Snoopy slippers

I accompanied my roommate when she went shoe shopping today and came home with two new pairs myself. I bought some sky blue Snoopy slippers. They were on sale--only $7 for the entire pair. I also found an affordable pair of snow boots--black with furry insides. Strangely enough, for both pairs of shoes, I had to get them two sizes bigger to fit. I'm normally a size six, but this time, I had to upgrade to a size eight in order for my feet to feel comfortable in the shoes. I thought that maybe it was just a late-bloomer growth spurt, but then I tried on other pairs of shoes size six and they still fit (some were even a bit big on me). Then I reasoned that I had to buy some shoes in bigger sizes because they were made out of thicker material. Either that or the shoes aren't always made following a standardized measuring system. My two roommates got a pair of slippers for themselves as well. One got a black pair of Snoopy slippers and the other one bought light blue slippers. I saw some Hello Kitty socks and Tinkerbell socks that I wanted to buy as well, but decided against it. I already had plenty of socks, even if half of them were missing their mate.

At least now, I have slippers to wear around the house when it's cold and snow boots for wearing when it's ankle-deep drifts outside. I suppose the snow boots can also double for rain boots since they're waterproof. Hmmm, that was a good bargain after all. So Asian of me, always looking for a good bargain.

Too much food

I ate WAY too much food today. My friends and I went to a Chinese buffet to celebrate the Chinese New Year and I regret all the food I ate. My stomach was fit to burst. And so I made a resolution: I will control how much I eat from now on and not overeat at buffets. Or anywhere.

Well, guess what? I broke that resolution the very same night. My roommate won a free pizza online and when we went to pick it up, I wasn't even hungry. I thought about telling everyone that I was just going to skip out on dinner and go to bed early. That did not happen. Not only did I join everyone in eating pizza, but I ate more pizza than everyone else! I ate three slices while everyone else only ate two! I feel like a pig...

Right after I ate at the buffet, I went home to change and I had trouble putting my jeans on because they felt so tight. I switched to a looser pair of pants and even those felt tight! Oh no! What's happening to me? Am I turning into an overeater? Is this an emotional problem? Do I lack self-discipline?

Wait, do I worry too much? Probably, but I feel like this is an issue that needs to be addressed soon. Either that or I'll keep packing on the pounds and have to go buy new clothes...

On the bright side, there's a new weight scale in my bathroom so I can weigh myself every morning and see how well I'm doing. Hopefully, I can get back to a healthy weight and stay there.

Root for me, people. I'm going to need it.

The Power of Belief

Last night, I was lying awake in bed with several trains of thought going through my head. The first one was self-deprecation and negativity towards my self-image. I continued on my self-destructive path of thinking of myself as ugly, incompetent, and a failure. Then I did what I always did: blamed my problems on my parents. I kept thinking about what they did to me and how I would have been different if my parents had been different. Then I had another thought arc that I thought was unrelated to the first two arcs. I began thinking about how strongly people's beliefs influenced them. I was thinking this more in the vein of objectivity and subjectivity, in a postmodernist perspective. I thought about science and religion, how religious belief can really shape a person's worldview and how science strives for objectivity. Then I thought about how there was no way someone could be purely objective since to be human IS to be subjective. There is no way to measure something perfectly or to make observations without filtering it through one's background and biases. Then I thought about how even scientists can miss out on important details because they were never trained to look for those details, hence they "miss" a part of reality. Then I thought about religious people and how they often relied on something greater than themselves to help them make sense of the world. Some people actively engage in religion even though they know full well that it may all be some grand delusion. "Religion is a useful fiction," Matthew once said. And it's true. I mean, if every human being just died out right now, would "religion" still exist? Probably not. For some reason, I don't think it's likely that any other organism on the planet would make up their own religion. Something that separates people from other animals is the fact that we have beliefs. And not just that, but our beliefs shape our entire world, our entire reality. Wow, I thought, people's beliefs can influence them a lot. Then I suddenly connected something. I tend to believe that I'm ugly. And incompetent. And will never amount to anything. And yes, part of that comes from my parents, but they can't possibly be to blame for everything that has ever happened to me. Well...what if I changed my beliefs? I mean, I don't need to radically switch to thinking that I'm beautiful or that I'm going to be good at everything I do, but how about this: I start believing that I'm worth something. I start believing that I am not the ugliest girl on the planet and that I won't fail at everything I do. I can start believing that I am human, just like everyone else, and yes, I do make mistakes and I do have bad hair days, but I'm also competent and good and adequate most of the time. And maybe my beliefs will change me.

Fried Rice

Today, my roommates and I made fried rice for dinner. It was such a massive undertaking since it was the first time we were cooking for a lot of people. At first, I didn't think we would have enough ingredients to make a flavorful dish, but when we pulled out all the vegetables out of the fridge, we ended up with a sizable amount of food. By the time everything was done cooking, we had three cups of yellow rice mixed in with:

Garlic
Ginger
Carrots
Onions
Green onions
Mushrooms
Scrambled eggs

And then some. One of my roommates had the good idea to season the rice with turmeric and salt so the white basmati rice turned a golden yellow. Also, since we were all eating together, we used the dining room table for the first time. Usually everyone just eats at the breakfast table in the kitchen, but we thought this was an occasion that warranted the official dining room table. It's a nice table, too--polished dark wood where we laid red placemats and set utensils out for everyone to eat. All in all, we had a good time. For some reason, we started talking about our parents and how they did cooking and chores around the house. That conversation quickly evolved into discussions about paid house helpers and later, incest marriages. Yes, we are a strange bunch.

After the meal, everyone pitched to load the dishwasher, wash the pots and pans and clean the kitchen. It was the first time I felt like we were a real family. A real family. :)

Roadkill in the snow

I was driving home from the counselor when I saw a opossum and a deer lying dead on the side of the road. It was snowing that day and snowflakes were starting to cover up their lifeless bodies. For whatever reason, that made me very sad. I thought about what their life must have been like, growing up and learning how to survive, foraging for food and escaping predators. Now they're just gone, unseeing and unfeeling as they lie there in the snow drifts while cars pass by and no one gives them a second thought. The possum and the deer stayed on my mind for days, returning to my thoughts whenever I had a spare moment. It made me suddenly glad that I didn't eat meat very often. Then suddenly, I thought about someone picking up the roadkill and taking it home for dinner. I mean, it was probably still fresh since it was snowing and cold outside. Most likely, however, no one picked them up and took them home so they'll just lie there in the snow drifts until they waste away...

Whistling Man

The other day I was walking to class when a well-dressed man on a bicycle rode past me, whistling. I'm not sure why, but that just brightened up my whole day. I think that people who whistle just sound so happy and cheerful, like all is right with their life. For some reason, I also found this odd and out-of-place for where I live. I mean, I expect to see a whistling man on a bicycle if I were walking down the street in the United Kingdom, maybe Ireland or somewhere, but people here just look so oblivious all the time. Either that, or they look aggressive. All in all, it still made me day. Maybe one day I'll get a bicycle and a nice jaunty hat. Then I can learn how to whistle and ride my bike around town, whistling about the merry month of May or my fair love or something like that.

Placing of values

I was reading an article for one of my classes when I came across this statement: "American society places a premium on youth, athleticism, independence, power, wealth, beauty, and achievement. Helping people look beyond these ubiquitous values and treasure the spirit that they and their loved ones bring to our world--a spirit uniquely theirs that transcends the mundane issues of how one walks or talks or eats or looks or thinks--can be tremendously rewarding" (Gehlert & Brown). The article itself was talking about chronic illness and disability, but I found that this statement rang true regardless of one's health or ablity. It relates to what I wrote in an earlier blog post about how I feel like American society is a bit misguided in placing their values into things that seem very superficial to me. Now I'm not saying that I do not fall victim to these as well. I myself have often sought beauty, achievement, independence, and wealth (maybe not so much the other "values" however). Then I think, at the end of my life, is any of that going to matter? Will I look back on my life and mourn the fact that I wasn't beautiful enough or rich enough? Maybe. But just the thought of that alone points out that right now I may be placing my values into the wrong things.

I also like the second part of that statement. It takes about spirit, not so much in a religious or supernatural sense, but in the way people have survived, thrived, and overcome. As someone studying the social sciences, I have come across countless stories of people who have overcome hardships and impairments to live a fuller life than their "normal" counterparts. The point is, I'm hoping to be able to do this someday. I'm hoping that one day, I can re-align my values with something else and help others to look at life in a different way. Maybe by doing this, we can learn to appreciate uniqueness and variation rather than chase after things we "can't take with us" when our lives are over.

More on this idea as I go along.

Beautiful Women

The other day I was sitting in the kitchen of my house talking to my roommate. I looked up from the table and she looked up at the same time. That was when I realized how beautiful my roommate looked. I'm serious. She's this girl from Nepal with a round face, high cheekbones, and very straight teeth. She has smooth, caramel-colored skin and the most gorgeous long black hair I've ever seen. My other roommates are quite good-looking, too and sometimes I envy them. Other times, I feel like I'm living out one of those manga stories where there's a bathhouse or a dormitory and all of the women there just happen to be unbelievably attractive. Sometimes, I'm just struck by how beautiful women can be and I can see why they are called the "fairer sex."

Then there will be times when I'll be out in public and see a woman who's so beautiful that it makes me do a double take. Or it'll be the first day of class and when we go around the room to introduce ourselves, I learn the names of some of the most beautiful women I've ever set eyes on. Seriously, these women do not have makeup on, their hair isn't done, and they're not wearing fancy clothes yet the mere sight of them is very aesthetically pleasing. So maybe I sound like a lesbian, but hey, even I can appreciate the beauty of my fellow females.

And I thought impossibly beautiful women only existed in movies and Victor Hugo novels...

A Dusting of Snow

It snowed on Friday. I was driving home from internship and watched as the snow dusted the street. "They say it's only going to be a powdering of snow," a woman at my internship had said.

There was also a girl at my internship who came from California and so this was her first snow day. She was very excited. I was excited, too. Even though I've had snow days before when I lived down South, I still loved it whenever there was snow. Friday's snow was special since I've never seen anything like it before. Instead of the deep, thick snow that packed down on the side of streets and turned into slush, this snow really was a "powder." It was all tiny snowflakes that spiraled on the ground like crystals instead of melting. The wind often scattered the snow and swirled it around, forming a whirlwind of dancing diamonds. The effect reminded me very much of wind-swept mountains and I kept staring at the snow as I drove by, mesmerized. Even though I can't stand frigid temperatures, I might brave it one day to go see snow-swept mountains. Make friends with the caribou or the alpacas, whichever mountain range I end up visiting.

Ah, I love snow days. The woman at my internship said that on snow days where everything closed down, she liked to stay at home in her onesies pajamas. I told my mother about this and she reminded me of how much I loved to wear onesies pajamas when I was a child. I suddenly felt nostalgic. I DID like to wear them a lot. I had a pair of them when I was seven; they were butter yellow and buttoned up at the shoulders, kind of like coveralls. The only thing I didn't like about them was the fact that I had to unbutton them and take the whole thing off if I wanted to use the restroom in the middle of the night. I suppose when I start making money, I might buy a pair. Then, when there are snow days and I don't have to be anywhere, I can sit in the window seat in my onesies pajamas, sip hot chocolate, and watch the snow fall.