monotonous spontaneity.

One Day.

2012-02-08T20:12:00.005-05:00

Sitting next to Helena (my third grader who reads at a first grade level) as she took her test, I marveled at the thought that one day, she would be taking classes at some university, reading Marxist theory and writing colloquium papers just as I am. I read my assignment for my own class while she bubbled in any random letter she felt like bubbling. She guessed on every single reading comprehension question, and lied to me saying she had already read the passage.

She grabs a prized sticker from her desk and gives it to me. It's a picture of two Barbie dolls (I suppose they aren't "dolls" and one of them is Theresa, not Barbie), which says, "I'm with my BFF!"
She is completely uninterested in her test, probably not realizing the gravity in which this test actually means to her: either she will move on to fourth grade in the fall, or she will stay behind to repeat third grade again.

Still, I think about Helena's capacity for learning. That she will appreciate her education some day in the future. And I think about myself, and how blessed I am to be surrounded by so many intellectuals that are motivated to use their abilities for the greater good of society.

I Hate Your Wandering.

2012-02-03T18:28:00.000-05:00

As if sitting next to the lonesome Asian girl jotting down some notes and reading a book was a better option than sitting next to the lonesome white guy who was eating a sandwich, another Asian boy decides to sit next to me.

When I glance up at him about two minutes after he sits down, I see what looks like a middle school nerd. Used-to-be white Addidas, denim jeans as blue as your dad's, round, gold-rimmed glasses. He stared at his phone but to no avail: he just needed to kill time somewhere.

For some reason, people are intrigued by learning others' pet peeves. Among many flaws I withhold, I have an internal impatience for stupid, futile, and ingenuine questions (like, "What are you eating?"), as well as an impatience for people who sit or stand around aimlessly within my proximity.

I hate this because I have a purpose for being where I am, at all times. Even when I'm trying to kill time, I kill time on a piece of paper with pen in hand. Or if I have a drab book in front of me, I'll at least pretend like I'm reading it while I daydream in its stead. But to be somewhere and stare at the person sitting next to you, who, at one point, was minding her own business (or perhaps cooking, cleaning, diligently doing something productive), is to destroy her spatial and mental territory. His ineptitude irritated me. His uselessness annoyed me. He is neither friend (where he would be welcomed) nor foe (where I would tacitly scrutinize him). He is just there.

Why this bothers me to such an extent puzzles me as well. I wondered if I should move to prove to him that he could have chosen anywhere else to sit and stare, and that I wanted my space. But I was too nice this time.

Like many hip people these days, I like to shop alone. For one, I usually don't like getting feedback for the things that I choose to purchase. If I do ask for an opinion, it's solely to reassure what I want or don't want. Yes, I'm that stubborn and think that highly of my own opinions. Secondly, I hate shopping with people because they tend to aimlessly follow you around if they're not looking for something themselves.
I'LL ADMIT-- I've been that person before. Everyone has! And what else can you do if you're there simply for supportive reasons? I am always reminded of one of my guy friends at home who loves to talk (as I love to listen to him talk), and he likes to talk while I shop. I feel like I can't really shop and find what I want if he's there following me around, talking to me, looking at the same things I'm looking at, and making side commentary about the things I pick up. It just bothers me.

So here it is, a few of my flaws of impatience laid out for you. Be a person of utility. What's the appropriate political term for that...?

Blogging About Blogging.

2012-02-02T01:43:00.001-05:00

Bloggers have to be rampant. They must write in the most heated of circumstances, the most inspired of mundane moments.

I wrote a long entry for this blog and then stopped when I realized it wasn't going anywhere. Sometimes I am on a spree, and sometimes I am not. These are the moments when I am on a spree of hiatus. This is precisely why I am not pursuing journalism anymore. I'm not fit for forceful writing. I suppose it comes with practice, and sometimes you just have to pull things out of your ass, but I hate that. I hate mediocre. I hate settling when you know you can do better. (The question still stands: Why settle for Robert Pattinson when there's Jude Law?)

But still, I know how it feels to be on the other end of blogging. Always wondering when they'll update, simply wanting to read anything, regardless of how "bad" the entry may be.

Blogging is a relationship. An imbalanced one, but a relationship nonetheless. Where the blogger is an egotistical, narcissistic, self-reflective being, the reader is the the supportive motivator (implicitly). Although the blogger is seen as a self-absorbed type of person because all he talks about is himself, in reality, the blogger is the giver. The blogger gives all of him (or herself), and the reader takes it all.
What does the blogger ever get in return?

Almost nothing. A nice comment here and there. Lots of trolls if you write controversial or disagreeable entries. If someone hates you, they just like to pick on you for the smallest things. When you're an honest blogger, you will get haters. But you will also get really pleasant emails once in a while from strangers and friends alike. There is hope!
The blogger gets the mere satisfaction of knowing their thoughts via writing are out there somewhere, at least having a modest audience, if not simply taking space in the void of the internet.You read about our lives and we get nothing about yours. For the sake of the preservation and beautifully playing with language and words, be a little sensitive, please!

+ more

Gates Of Injustice.

2012-01-29T21:59:00.005-05:00

[Psychiatrist]: How do you as a Christian man balance your homosexuality with your Christianity?

[Prisoner, rape victim]: From my personal opinion, I really don't feel that I'm any different from anyone else that serves God, you know... I mean, everybody has their own ways. Even yourself, you have something that you do wrong that God wouldn't approve of. So I feel like that I'm just as equal as you. I still have the same chance. As long as I do what's right by others, try to respect and honor others and do things that's favorable in God, I don't think that there is an imbalance.

"Gates of Injustice"

Actually, Nobody Likes You.

2012-01-23T13:49:00.000-05:00

Have you ever dared wonder the possibility that there is a multitude of people who don't like you?

Most normal human beings tend to assume that they are generally likeable people. Unless you are highly insecure about yourself or ceaselessly prove to be a dick to the people around you (in which case, I assume is also a result of insecurity and self-defense), why not assume that people like who you are, what you believe in, how you live your life, how you look, and the way in which you carry yourself?

If you like you, why would any other person not like you?

Pride, arrogance, confidence, and superiority. Once you're jaded, it doesn't matter how prideful or arrogant you are because you no longer care how it affects the people around you. I suppose it's a gift when you're ignorant of your own faults; are we truly content by just being ourselves and not knowing that, as a matter of fact, nobody likes us?

I mean, not everyone doesn't like you. I'm sure your closest friends like you. Unless they're only friends with you out of convenience and don't really need you after a certain amount of time (let's say, after some milestone in your life, like college). I guess you'd know by now if they're your real friends or not.

But if you think about it that way, I'm sure all your closest friends are also aware that you are not a likeable person to the general population of your vicinity. In that sense, perhaps we should be grateful to our closest friends, that they are brave enough to look past the judgement, and to look beyond the things people like to say about us.

It's just crazy how people who are so sure of themselves most likely like themselves, and therefore expect others to like them as well. But that unfortunately isn't always the case, and now I wonder why.

The Impressionator.

2012-01-23T06:14:00.000-05:00

Are you a first-time impressionator?

Yes, impressionator.

I made that up just now. It's a noun for someone who leaves an impression. Some people don't leave impressions, you know. But most do. I think it's better to leave one than to not leave one, regardless of how awful it may be. Although I must warn you that it depends on the person you do the impressing on. For me, I like to regard myself highly and say that I gladly give people ample time to make up (or break up) their first impressions with their second (or third, or fourth...).

When I look back at the first time I've met some of my friends, I think of how horrible their impressions were.
But they're my friends now. Isn't that all that matters? And it's a funny story to tell.

I was thinking about this whole idea of being an impressionator because I had just recalled an incident that happened a year ago. I met this guy who I was clearly aware that I didn't leave a single impression upon. Now I wonder if I ever leave a first impression on people (by words and action, not by appearance).
This incident was actually quite amusing. Friend A (female) tells me that some impressionee (person who is impressed upon) will be coming and he is sooo for me. Friend A's suggestion is that I change into a short, tight dress. I probably blushed and fervently shook my head. Friend B (male) tells me I'm smart for not being stupid (aka not changing into a short, tight dress). I feel empowered already. A male backs me up for being sophisticated and well-mannered! So of course I'm not going to change! Besides, it's not like I looked haggard as I was anyway...jeez.

Although quite flattered at the idea that I was chosen to be THE impressioner who impresses this particular impressionee, I decide to play it cool and not really care-- which is exactly the kind of impression I ended up giving off. Which... was kind of a mistake. Something so small and insignificant, yet regretful in my lifetime.

True, I'm glad my impression wasn't trashy, but I kind of wish I left some kind of impression. It's sad and lonesome to be the face without a name.

All You Need Is Lah-a-ave Part II.

2012-01-22T20:07:00.000-05:00

Often frequented by late-night, cheap-but-not-really coffee drinkers and weekday drunkards, Leela's European Cafe is the only 24 hour cafe in Denver. In my opinion, it's a little emblem of the city's Broken Windows Theory: Leela's is the main contributor of urban disorder and chaos in Denver. Which is why I often write about or mention Leela's in my blog (especially over the summer) because it's such a tragic and reluctant go-to place for nightowls, procrastinators, last-resort bar hoppers, and people with the misfortune of having an unpleasant roommate.

Aside from being the catch-all cafe of the Mile High, Leela's is also appropriately a platform for lone artists who seek to start somewhere in their music endeavors.

Use this real-life, relevant photo to picture the following words.

This picture, taken on my phone sometime midsummer, always gives me inspiration to write in my blog (and I never actually got to it, I suppose until now). I believe we were at Leela's because we were killing time before deciding to go see Sarah in Aurora. I was blogging on my laptop when this dude started setting up his equipment on stage. This indicates that it is a Friday night at Leela's.

The reason Stephen took this photo was because of the irony of the blonde bombshell sitting by herself, front row, smirking as she's watching her quirky, potential-man-to-be make some odd noises on stage.

Not surprisingly, there I am, only half listening to the music, but silently analyzing the entire situation in my head. Does this girl even care about his art? Is she at all embarrassed that even after 30 minutes of playing synth sounds on his keyboard, she is still his sole audience? Is he embarrassed? Or is he proud that his girl is there, supporting him?

To be honest, the situation reminded me of my parents. No, my dad wasn't a loser (I don't think. In fact, he once was a DJ and quite the tweed-jacket king), but it's similar to the love, pride, and expertise my dad has in his work, despite all the hardships. In the meantime, my mom is always there, by herself, supporting him until the end.

I wonder if I could do that. Sitting there at the most annoying cafe ever, smug at my lover's prideful work of art.

Missed Connections.

2012-01-08T14:46:00.000-05:00

Oh, God.

Not the kind of "missed connection" that happens because your plane was stuck in the snow and you arrived to JFK just in time to see your plane leave to LAX without you. No. I mean the kind of "missed connection" that happens, let's say, when you sit in the plane a few aisles behind someone you wished you spoke to when you had the chance.

Craigslist is infamous for many things. Sometimes for the better (a cheap DLSR), other times, for the sake of necessity (a sketchy job posting). But "missed connections" seem to be overlooked.

Of course I knew of its existence. I just didn't care. Today, as something reminded me of Alexi Wasser, I went on IMBOYCRAZY for the first time in, probably over a year, and was not surprised that she's still doing her series of the Blind Leading the Blind (her little take on advice for guys and girls).

9. always check the Craigslist ‘missed connections’ section to see if someone is trying to contact/find you. you might just meet the boy/girl of your dreams… or at least the person who’s going to murder you!

I'd never really think to go home and post on Craigslist after seeing someone I regretted not approaching, or for the little flame of hope that someone posted about me. But I suppose posts come from girls with googly-eyed "celebrity" crushes on people who don't know of their existence, or most notably, to guys who see an attractive girl. Oh, and also frequented by wishful, egotistical and vanity-stricken women who think someone might be looking for them.

A lot of postings made me laugh (You were with your mom so I didn't want to be impolite and ask you for your number, but if you know this is you, please contact me and we'll hook up, make out, whatever you want), but others weren't really about the missed connections that happened because they didn't have the courage to approach the person. They posted because of the guilt they had for the things they couldn't do for their partner while in years of a relationship (I miss you and I hope you don't hate me. I still love you).

Missed Connections apparently aren't just for those who couldn't say something to a stranger, but for people who couldn't say things to their significant others while in the relationship as well.

Crazy. It's such an ironically tragic little Craigslist link.

Blogger Appreciation Day.

2012-01-07T23:19:00.000-05:00

Recently, I've been getting some messages and emails from my readers. Thanks for the love! You don't know how much it means that you would take the time to write to me. Such an encouragement.

Yours truly,

E

Hathaway Rant.

2012-01-02T21:43:00.000-05:00

What better than to start off a new year with a rant?

Without reading the novel, I gave in and watched One Day, starring Jim Sturgess and Anne Hathaway.

I love Jim Sturgess. But, I hate Anne Hathaway. I refuse to receive any satisfaction from her films. No such feelings in The Devil Wears Prada (did not read the book). I thought she did a horrible rendition of Jane Austen (not that I would know, but her accent is terrible. And she co-stars opposite James McAvoy...such a shame for him). Overall, I am not too thrilled that this pale, lanky, overly large-smiled, and frizzled-haired girl (who, may I kindly remind you, is always typecasted as the ugly girl who becomes pretty after she acknowledges the existence of a straightening iron) is going to play this sexy, leathered-onesie, red-lipped catwoman. Too extreme, Hollywood (not that I really care about pop culture).

Don't get me wrong, the only reason people are so harsh on celebrities is because they're allowed to be. Hollywood hires women like Megan Fox, and then they have women like Tilda Swinton. Obviously they are begging to be compared, and there will be criticism, granted that they are selected for their differing, various talents. But that's why people (like me) are allowed to say that Jennifer Aniston isn't pretty and plays a boring character in all her films.
Anne is a lovely girl, especially with the right makeup and dress. But I just don't like her movies. She plays such a loser. The nice, pushover. Does she always just happen to play those roles well or does she just relate to them in real life? Is her hair really that ratted or do they do that on purpose? Who knows.

Anyway. I hate to admit it but I'm a sucker for romance literature. And everyone knows it all started with Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. To be honest, because it's a film and not the book that I experienced, I don't know how I feel about One Day. I felt so much pain while watching it because the story was so weirdly heartbreaking. I meant to read it over the summer but I got really carried away with other books.
But what really got me interested in the novel was reading the first page after I first saw that horrid show-stopping cover, amidst the endless shelves at the Tattered Cover, of Jim Sturgess and Anne Hathaway making out on the streets of London (all my sympathy, Sturgess). David Nicholls used the words "pre-dawn voices" and it really got to me for some reason. It's just too bad it had to be Anne Hathaway!

You Are What You Wear.

2011-12-31T00:42:00.000-05:00

Everytime you go out to meet someone, don't you consciously think about what you should wear?

For example, people dress differently when they go to church on Sundays than when they do any other day of the week. To me, that's stupid. But I guess that depends on what you wear on the weekdays. I don't think I find my dress to be particularly different on Sundays than my Fridays. Sure, a little more respectable, but I always wonder why girls are so concerned that things aren't "church appropriate." Okay, well, there's that silly "temptation" thing with the opposite sex, and then there's that other "disrespectful" thing towards God, but I think the term "tastefulness" is really subjective...

The other day, I experimented with this hideous, oversized, t-shirt (literally red, yellow, orange, and black in leopard print size men's XL. Thanks, Steph). Accessorized with a belt, gold draped chains, and black knee highs (it's 80 degrees here), it became a dress. But I still didn't want to wear it out in front of a hundreds of kool teenagers over in Victoria Gardens (an elegant outdoor suburban mall turned disgustingly infested by spoiled, pubescent girls with pink hair and fat DC shoes and their short, scrawny boyfriends attached to their hips). Not because I wouldn't fit in, but because I didn't think they would appreciate such effortless work on my part. Someone needs to appreciate it!

So I changed. To really boring clothes where I wouldn't really be noticed. I certainly don't need to waste my clothes on Inland Empire inhabitants.

Just like when you want to wear something "tasteful" yet subtley spunky to your job interview, you change to impress people. It's not always about approval, but about making a statement. I love being judged for what I wear. I always wonder what they're thinking. Last Sunday, as I was standing next to my friend who is a student at UCLA, people began comparing our dress. It was so easy to see that my friend was "soooo LA" with her wedges and her denim skinnies and her flowy top. And it was apparent that I didn't fit that stereotype (did I ever?).

I like wearing my AA "legalize gay, repeal prop 8" shirt to church because I like seeing people's reactions. I like wearing holes in my stockings because my mom hates it. I like overaccessorizing because it's excessive and unnatural. I know that when I'm around Stephen, my fashion statement doubles its strength (sometimes because he's more daring than me, other times because he just looks foolish next to me and I feel better). I know that if I was around someone who wore sweats and hoodies all the time, I probably wouldn't accessorize just so I wouldn't feel as girly.

And when I'm at home, I literally a huge shirt every day where pants are pretty unnecessary until I'm forced to change.

Dump Trucks And Narcissistic Talkers.

2011-12-29T03:36:00.000-05:00

Left: Dump Truck. Right: Narcissistic Talker

I used to have friends where I did all the listening and almost no talking, and kindly, I still thought of them as "friends."

From my experience, I found that only listening doesn't necessarily make them my friends. It's more like I'm their friend. I grew up through high school not realizing this, and letting people use me as their [let's call it] "dump truck."

People hate that. People hate it when other people talk too much about themselves. I know this guy who never reciprocates questions. I don't find that to be such a repulsive idea (in fact, what innovating conversations that can lead to!), but he doesn't utilize that non-reciprocity correctly. He just uses your questions to answer them, and then his response becomes a story about himself.

Imagine asking someone how they're doing and then never getting that question in return. Albeit how are you doing is really not an important question anymore. But it gets weird if it's not asked anyway.

Sometimes you feel like that reciprocity is etiquette. I remember I was in the car with one of these narcissistic talkers and after about an hour of his love story, he asks, reluctantly, "So...what about you?"

Listening is a skill that requires patience, understanding, and even small things like knowing how to respond, when to speak, or when to throw in the appropriate facial expression. Somewhere along the lines of being a quiet, heavy-thinker to an overly confident, narrow-minded individual, people begin to forget how to listen. And somewhere along the lines of trying to keep things real and trying not to have any awkward silences came the idea of talking a lot about yourself.

I like talking. It sounds ironic but it makes a lot of sense. I guess what I really mean is that I like conversations. With friends, I found that I never want to do anything but I always want to talk. I think conversing naturally is a skill that takes a lot of experience listening in order to become good at the whole art of conversation. And it's never conscious. I think I can confidently say that I've had conversations with people who consciously tried to refrain themselves from talking so that they can just listen to me, but I never felt good after talking. Almost as if they weren't listening at all. A good listener will know how to respond to your talking.

For me, the first half of a friendship starts off with listening (Dump Truck). As it progresses, the latter half is me talking (Narcissistic Talking). When I finally find someone I want to invest my time in getting to know, and keep knowing, all this listening and all this talking is really just mutual.

Year Of The Heartbreak.

2011-12-27T19:21:00.000-05:00

This year has given me a lot of surprises. I've come across many difficult situations I never thought would happen to me.

The things that we don't expect always leave deep scars on us. Even though I feel like I've just started getting the hang of all this negative energy and finally began learning how to cope with unusual circumstances, the year is already ending.

One of the greatest things I've experienced was fully grasped just this year.

We say we are there for our friends, but how often do we actually make ourselves fully available to them? How often do we overlook a simple conversation? Who do you actually care about and who is just present in your life because it is convenient?

When you keep yourself busy, it's easy not to think about things. All semester, I feel like I've been trying my best not to think. Introverted me did not know how easy it is to neglect feelings by keeping yourself busy. No longer do I have time to myself to just sit and reflect, to make an attempt to solve, to regret, or to make sense of. For the first time in my life, I felt scared to be alone.

I learned that there is no time to waste. Every moment with every person that you choose to spend time with is valuable. Every time your friend just wants to talk, give them that time. There is never anything beneficial in disliking someone. Just move on. And you never know what people are going through. Even your dearest of friends. It would be so easy if only we could go back in time and change the way we did things, but there's never a point in looking back. We as humans have so much emotion, and each person deals with things, and deals with them in their own ways. We care so much about ourselves, and always want to be loved, but that just means every person has that same capacity and also wants to be loved. If that's what every person wants, shouldn't every person know how much they are needed by others? I think about this and wonder how I could ever be so selfish. Why is it always about me and what I want and what I wish I could do and what I could do to get it?

"If I could go back in time, and if I could change something I didn't do..." I always think this to myself only about the same event in my life.

What would have happened had I only just cared a little more? Why does it take something so big and so grave for me to comprehend and to regret and to keep looking back and to keep ignoring and to keep myself busy so that I would feel better about myself? That I didn't do anything wrong. And not feel any pain.

All I can do at this point is to be there for the ones I can be there for, regardless of their acknowledgement or gratitude. Do not expect anything in return. Be selfless. Be real.

The Aging, Cold-Blooded, Ruthless Bitch.

2011-12-18T23:52:00.002-05:00

Two Asian girls about my age came up to me on the plane to go to LA from Cleveland and asked if I could switch seats with one of them so they could sit together.
I was sitting in the aisle, and they were both assigned to middle seats.

I begin to think about their illogical request.
I picked my seat. I went through the effort to pick where I wanted to sit on the plane. Now, tell me why anyone would switch from an aisle to the middle if two lazy ass friends couldn't take two minutes of their lives to pick their seats prior to the day of the flight? Besides, five hours of probably sleeping next to each other or watching a movie on their own separate laptops is probably not imperative quality bonding time anyway.
So after some hesitation, in which my mind kept wanting to say "sure," I actually broke my train of thought, looked up from my seat, and said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "I'm sorry, I prefer sitting in the aisle," and looked right back down to my book and put my other earphone in.

One girl looked at the other, as if they didn't expect the nice little Asian girl to say no, and reluctantly separated from her friend, and sat down next to me, in the middle. It was almost awkward but I kept wondering how weird it was that I felt so powerful, and actually realized that sitting next to her gave me the chance to be more prideful and stern about what I had just done.

I think, what's so wrong about having it your way sometimes?

Welcome Back.

2011-12-18T23:21:00.000-05:00

I hate coming out of LAX and seeing a bunch of tall palm trees.

All those fancy cars. Women who wear heels to the airport just because their destination is here. Christmas music is almost inappropriate for the sun and the brightness and the superficial kind of cheeriness.

I think it's about time for me to get out of soCal!

Appreciation Day.

2011-12-17T12:17:00.002-05:00

As blogs are a narcissistic outlet for introverts, I will just say now that yesterday was my grand 22nd birthday. Writing that number out makes me realize that it is crunch time for a lot of things.

Here is what I learned yesterday about birthday etiquette, or birthday wishing strategies to make someone feel really special (allowed to outwardly say now that I have a whole year until my next birthday):

-if you are not close to the birthday girl/boy, text a happy birthday regardless.
-if you are close to the birthday girl/boy, a midnight text would be very nice. Bonus if you are not close.
-texting a simple happy birthday to someone who you greatly admire but lost touch with is so nice (thanks Peter).
-creative and charming and witty Facebook/text messages are THE BEST!!
-phone calls are always more special (thanks Eyang, thanks Cliff).
-birthday cards are always my favorite part. More than gifts. Although the gifts were all very nice and very thoughtful and really unexpected (thank you everyone).
-speaking of gifts, the more it pertains to your interests, the more meaningful, no matter how big or small.
-never buy useless gifts.
-triple-ing the happy birthday through Facebook, in person, and text is bonus x3.
-when writing happy birthday on Facebook, please address the person. If you don't know the person too well, is it worth writing on their wall and having an awkward wall-to-wall that only says an exchange of "happy birthday" for three years? Just don't write on my wall!
-waking up to multiple post-it notes (regardless if it is placed on very inappropriate personal belongings..) is pretty cute (thanks Tom).
-meaningful, small gifts/cards are better than buying dinner. But both is great! :)
-dinner with a not so close friend is better than a close friend not saying happy birthday until night time when they see your name on Facebook.
-Do not randomly decide to call one of your closest childhood friends on her birthday to tell her you had no one else to talk to and was "fucked up," and "oh yeah...isn't today your birthday?" Rude as HELL. I was pretty upset about that all day, actually.

So anyway..

It's my last day in Syracuse before I head back home tomorrow morning. Absolutely dreading the flight.

Thank you to all the individuals for making me feel so special, in our own personal way. Oddly, the more mass attention I get, the more lonely I feel, so these private talks have much value to me.

Much love.

Hypocrites Doing Long Distance.

2011-12-14T11:03:00.000-05:00

That moment in the summer was quite vivid, actually, when Stephen's Roommate broke the news to him that his Girlfriend wants to move in with them starting...this month (December).

We were at Burger King. One of the last places you'd see either of us. We did quite well this summer avoiding fast food but compensated with other foods and inverted times of days.

Burger King was our refuge that day. After aimlessly walking around The Highlands in Denver, we were starving. Hot, and cold, in the rain and in the sun. It was yet another place we could go that wasn't home with Roommate.

As soon as he got the text message, Stephen holds up his hand without taking his eyes off his phone, and interrupts my story with an abrupt, "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP" and zones out of the world of BK to read Roomate's long text.

I've shortened his explanation, but this encompasses both Roomate's personality and the way he actually speaks:

"Uh, hey bro, sooo.. Girlfriend wants to move in because she's scared of her crazy ex that keeps stalking her. 'Cause you know, that's not cool. You think she can stay? After our lease is up, we're gonna keep the place, 'cause I know you wanna move out someplace else. Lemme know, bro."

Slowly, Stephen's angry voice comes out.
"Elizabeth........Roommate wants to know if Girlfriend can live with us..."

Girlfriend is from Chicago, and their long distance relationship works via Skype, literally 24/7. We hear the loud buzz of his hot, glowing laptop every night as we watch her sleeping on the screen.

Stephen and I discuss that to be fair, he at least had to give her three months to live with them, since Roommate dealt with me being there for three months and didn't complain.

"They just saw each other a week ago. They're just attached! That's the only reason why he's so desperate to get her over here so suddenly," Stephen said.

It's the month she supposedly should be moving in and her name hasn't been brought up yet. We recalled saying how desperate Roommate was to see her as soon as she left back to Chicago, but here we are-- the hypocrites-- merely four months since we've last spent every waking and sleeping moment together for three months, meeting again in New York City in January.

I don't know what's worse. A long distance boyfriend urging his long distance girlfriend to move in with him, or a long distance hag urging her long distance gay to meet in New York.

Sincerely,

Attached and Desperate

Feeling/Emotion-Extraordinaire And Screw Up.

2011-12-13T22:19:00.000-05:00

I'm having a blog identity crisis.

Ever since I made that side project, things have just been getting more and more complicated. I thought I was satisfied. I thought I was getting my writing out and free associating and venting and being so personal, but I'm just getting more confused. The sole purpose of that blog was to heal myself. I did not plan to abandon this one. People have asked me why I can't just relapse and write like how I used to in here, instead of always trying to bring up interesting, solution-less stories.
I'm lost. And this is normal. This feeling comes to me about twice a year since I've been an active blogger.

Portion control.

That's the thing I need to practice with The Candid Project. Plus, it was meant to be light-hearted and picture friendly, like The Mile High Project. I guess that doesn't come as easy as it did for me this past summer. Without my photographer, I suppose things don't always go as planned.

So that's my spiel.
Hello. I'm back.

Not MOM Enough.

2011-11-28T18:53:00.005-05:00

I'm not gonna lie. I don't know how to work with kids.

Foolish women freely admit this without hesitation, not knowing it is detrimental to their current boyfriend, potential suitor, or newlywed husband's opinion about the whole shabang of marriage and family and ever afters. The thing is, men want children, even if guys do not, and if a girl doesn't enjoy the presence of innocent, happy, and carefree angelic creatures, he starts to wonder if she has a soul.
Deep inside, girls who don't like kids also wonder this.

On the other hand, smarter women will not admit to this, and tacitly learn how to love children, though they struggle.

And then, what feels like to me, is that the girls in my vicinity not only love children more than you could ever imagine, but they also love cooking and baking perfect cupcakes and cleaning and wearing aprons with squirrels holding pink hearts. Most girls are torn about this seemingly idyllic figure (to guys): do I want to be known as the motherly girl who takes the freshly baked cookies out of the oven, or do I want to be the girl with unprofessional long hair who buys Pepperidge Farm milanos?

One of my close girl friends HATES children. I don't know any girl who is more blatant about her disinterest in children except for her. She bullies them around as if she's five years old and needs to proclaim her title on the playground. Honestly, I can't tell if it's a joke or if she truly feels like giving them dirty looks. But they love her nonetheless. I guess it's kind of like that hard-to-get factor, even with little kids. It's like an accomplishment when you finally get her to love you (although the sad reality is that she will never love you).

Then there's me. It might have to do with being the youngest of my family, but it also might have to do with being such an unaffectionate person. It's like I'm somehow getting caught in the midst of trying to help children grow, while understanding what exactly it is that they want from me. Love, affection, and compassionate concern, or just to yell at them until they get it and laugh about it later? I don't seem to know how to balance both the extremes of love and tough love, but I'm somewhere along the lines of compassionate and passive aggressive. Um, I guess that's somewhere in the middle...outside of the lines?

My kids are teaching me patience, two days of the week, early in the morning, and I can't help but to love them more.

Candid.

2011-11-26T23:16:00.000-05:00

I have a new side project! Which will have an omnipresent link on the right side of this blog.

In Third Grade.

2011-11-14T22:55:00.000-05:00

I was trying to think back to when I was 8 years old, in third grade, but I can't seem to remember what my thinking process was at the time. I'm not certain of my skills, my insecurities, my interests, or my perception of people at the time.
I wonder how innocent my thoughts were, or how immature, or how undeveloped my critical analysis of situations were.

The time when I was in third grade is most likely much more different than third graders now, and I realized today that I have a complete disconnect with their level of thought processing.

I began volunteering at a high-needs elementary school in the Syracuse City School District today and work with third graders in an English/reading comprehension class. While the majority of these third graders read like first graders, three of them are ESL students that work on computers all day to receive their learning, (which is completely non-interactive), only eight students read on par to the level they are expected to read.

Five students ask to go to the bathroom at the same time, each taking their turns, and three students fake illnesses to get out of a reading comprehension test, all of which are typical procedures from students during a test (says the teacher).

Yelling, threatening to take away "cards" that do not discipline children anymore, balancing education for students at different levels...
I just can't help but wonder what drives these teachers to wake up every morning. It's so impressive. I met my teacher for the first time today and I just wanted to give her a hug.

I respect all the teachers out there so much more, just from one day.

Long live education.

It's A Test.

2011-11-13T20:55:00.001-05:00

A few years ago, standing silently outside the library, waiting for who knows what, he and I stood side by side, staring off at the blank nothingness of the night. Most girls like to show that they're angry by yelling, but I tend to show it by not speaking. Somehow, it is always so obvious that I am upset.
Silence in an unwanted situation instills fear, I've learned.

A friend told me that there are two different types of guys: ones who aren't afraid to go out of line, and ones who comply to a girl's so-called "wishes."

These so-called "wishes" are most typically not what they actually want. This is why I can understand the frustration from a man's point of view. Guys think girls are so complicated; rarely you will find girls telling the truth.
I think the reason can only be two things: either they feel bad and must avoid speaking up in order to keep things status quo/make the guy feel more comfortable, or it's a test, in which the guy-- if he's unsuave-- will probably fail.

It was such a horribly easy test, too. That's what made me upset. That's what would make any girl upset! Telling him that he didn't need to call me actually meant that he should call me, so that whatever incident that had happened to create such silences could be resolved. Initiating the call would have meant he cared. It would have meant he knew something was bothering me, and hopefully him too. But he didn't call because I told him he didn't need to, and he listened (so well this time).

On the other hand, there are the guys who break these "wishes." I'm not sure if it's because they know how complex a girl's emotions are (what we say does not always equal what we think), or if it's truly out of their own concern (ideally, maybe both?), but these guys tend to be more confident with themselves. That no matter what his response is, he will ultimately be highly regarded by the upset female rather than come off as "aggressive" in the end.

I find that my emotional girl friends overridden by heartbreak would rather have him call her despite her demands, and then regret it later on, as it often times leads to nothing. Girls are walking contradictions and confusing as hell. It amazes me how all this compromise takes place in relationships. Congratulations to all of you-- the blokes and strapping rapscallions.

Running Into You.

2011-11-08T00:58:00.000-05:00

There's this guy I always run into at, literally, any given coffee shop on or near campus, and every time, it is very, very awkward.

It's the same guy who asked me for coffee almost a year ago. I assume he asked me out of courtesy. Like a, "Hey, we run into each other so many times getting coffee, but never together" kind of thing. It's very tacitly acknowledged that we are both overdue an actual meetup. When you meet someone that many times coincidently, and probably have much to talk about regardless of how well or not well you know each other, it's almost common courtesy to set up an appointment.

But we never have anything to talk about. Don't you feel so stupid when all you can talk about is that one mutual friend of yours? And if it wasn't for that mutual friend, there would be no conversation? I think that is one reason why we never mention setting up a date to meet up. Another reason is because I like to flee before he can suggest one: I think he thinks I'm interested in him, and further conversation on my part will only make me more embarrassed.

When we first met, for once, I was the one who approached him first. I did it because our connection to each other is quite odd, and I noticed him. Unfortunately for me, he had no idea who I was, and I knew exactly who he was (story may be told in future date in fear of being outted). Ever since I approached him, I don't think it's been successful like I had imagined it to be. I thought he'd appreciate my forwardness, hopefully easing him into attending school here, et cetera, but instead, I found myself placed in a desperate little hole...where we both keep falling into it no matter how much we try to avoid it.

But I wonder how these so-called "awkward" situations have shaped the way I think about approaching people. Or confronting people. Or initiating casual coffee dates. Does awkwardness indicate incompatibility? How many attempts does it take to rid of awkwardness before you realize how compatible or incompatible you are? And how many times have you had encounters where conversations flowed, and it didn't work out in the end? You just honestly never know.

Although I can't say I keep my options open for Coffee Boy because I don't know any guy who drinks coffee more than me. That is a serious problem.

Mindful Sleep.

2011-10-31T22:54:00.000-04:00

Sleep does three things for me, as I'm sure it does for you. Rest, rejuvenate, and evade.

Sometimes, I think it's a form of giving up. I go to bed when I no longer find myself productive with my work. I go to bed when I want to forget about something bad that has happened. I want to sleep when I can't think anymore.

It is where dreams happen. It is where I momentarily escape from reality. I no longer want to think. I no longer want to try.

It is when you are most vulnerable. You don't know what's happening outside of your sleep. It is its own void, it's own world, it's own way of nothing.

In times that your sleep is revitalizing, are you a happier person? Does good sleep reflect a good life at the time being?

On sleepless nights, you lay awake thinking about everything. Every possibility. The worst case scenario. The most wishful thinking. That's why sleep is ironically more realistic than being awake, because when you're sleepless, you think about foolish things. Too many things. Overanalyzing what they said over and over again. Replaying images. Rewinding time. Fast forwarding to impossibility. It is where things are temporarily held in place, at a standstill. And then life continues when you wake up, as if someone pressed the "play" button.

Are the best moments of relief supposed to be the times when we are awake or when we are sleeping..?

Happy Early Would-Be Birthday.

2011-10-24T11:35:00.001-04:00

This Friday is the day that would have been your 21st birthday.

In high school, that meant a lot to you. It meant legality and endless alcohol. By the time you were a sophomore in college, I don't think the number 21 meant a single thing to you except another year of life God has blessed you with. But you chose not to reach 21, so I guess you haven't quite had that extra year.

We probably made a lot of stupid plans like going to Vegas, and laughing about how you and Branden are the youngest of the bunch, making some of us wait almost nine months until a trip to Vegas was even remotely possible. I don't think I'm going anymore, definitely not without you there with us.

I thought a lot about this and I think it would have been wonderful had you held on even just long enough for your many, unfulfilled "firsts." First boyfriend, first legal drink, first drive, first time visiting Denver, first trip to London, the first to graduate in your family. One more year, and we would have graduated college! Can you believe all that studying in AP Calc really made no difference now? All those college apps. That fight with the Korean restaurant owner just before the Backwards dance. The stress that you had trying to make ends meet for the missions trip to Uganda. Your horrific roommate problems. Your shitty waitressing job. It's so stupid you had to worry about that when in the end, none of it even mattered!

I'm writing this note to you four days early because I don't want to be too late. I've made that mistake with you last time, and four days later, I saw it as one of the biggest regrets of my life.

Happy 21st birthday, Joyce.

Number One Quality.

2011-10-23T14:21:00.001-04:00

A few days ago, my house was open to all the girls at my church and we went around introducing ourselves, making sure every girl answered what their number one quality was in a guy (obviously, it was my question because no one except me admits how much they enjoy hearing these things. I didn't realize until now that it was wrong of me to assume that everyone is heterosexual. Oops). Anyway, one girl said, in a very complicated and flowery manner, that she observes how other guys are drawn to him. She had difficulty trying to explain this complex response (which I don't even know if anyone in the room understood), but if I had the audacity to shout out what she really meant, I would say, "Oh, you mean, you care about his status."

Girls don't seem to acknowledge this because it's the equivalent of guys being shallow for their affinity for physically attractive girls, but girls are shallow in the same way, except in terms of a guy's status. It could be anything from money, to popularity, or skill.
Maybe in high school, you're into the football players. If you think about it, outside of high school, these uber-cool football players are nothing. Post-grad, I assume the guy with higher status is the money maker. And in college, supposedly, the general answer that encompasses any guy who has the ability to "draw other guys to them."
But think about it: what does this guy have in order to draw other guys to him? Obviously some type of amazing skill-- could be humor, could be a sport, could be leadership, maybe even money at this point (although I don't think is important until after college when we realize we need it).

Maybe this isn't always the case, but a lot of times, I feel like girls hesitate getting into a relationship with the subconscious uncertainty of whether or not he is good enough in a social setting. How "popular" he is, what he is known for, how he can prove himself worthy, what he is capable of.

I would say the first quality most frequently answered that night was "passion."
Uhhh..which is another status indicator! What does passion lead to? Something he's good at doing. Something that drives him. Which exudes confidence. Which means he has status because it's acknowledged to the people around him that he's good at doing whatever it is.

So my answer was "assertiveness." I got zero reaction. I assume this came to my mind because I didn't want to say "passion," "confidence," "humor," or any other indicator that leads to the same thing: a nice, well-rounded answer in one word also known as "status."

Why I Write.

2011-10-23T00:46:00.003-04:00

by Terry Tempest Williams

“It is just after 4:00 a.m. I was dreaming about Moab, Brooke and I walking around the block just before dwn. I threw a red silk scarf around my shoulders and then I began reciting in my sleep why I write:

I write to make peace with the things I cannot control. I write to create fabric in a world that often appears black and white. I write to discover. I write to uncover. I write to meet my ghosts. I write to begin a dialogue. I write to imagine things differently and in imagining things differently perhaps the world will change. I write to honor beauty. I write to correspond with my friends. I write as a daily act of improvisation. I write because it creates my composure. I write against power and for democracy. I write myself out of my nightmares and into my dreams. I write in a solitude born out of community. I write to the questions that shatter my sleep. I write to the answers that keep me complacent. I write to remember. I write to forget. I write to the music that opens my heart. I write to quell the pain. I write to migrating birds with the hubris of language. I write as a form of translation. I write with the patience of melancholy in winter. I write because it allows me to confront that which I do not know. I write as an act of faith. I write as an act of slowness. I write to record what I love in the face of loss. I write because it makes me less fearful of death. I write as an exercise in pure joy. I write as one who walks on the surface of a frozen river beginning to melt. I write out of my anger and into my passion. I write from the stillness of night anticipating - always anticipating. I write to listen. I write out of silence. I write to soothe the voices shouting inside me, outside me, all around. I write because of the humor of our condition as humans. I write because I believe in words. I write because I do not believe in words. I write because it is a dance with paradox. I write because you can play on the page like a child left alone in sand. I write because it belongs to the force of the moon: high tide, low tide. I write because it is the way I take long walks. I write as a bow to wilderness. I write because I believe it can create a path in darkness. I write because as a child I spoke a different language. I write with a knife carving each word through the generosity of trees. I write as ritual. I write because I am not employable. I write out of my inconsistencies. I write because then I do not have to speak. I write with the colors of memory. I write as a witness to what I have seen. I write as a witness to what I imagine. I write by grace and grit. I write out of indigestion. I write when I am starving. I write when I am full. I write to the dead. I write out of the body. I write to put food on the table. I write on the other side of procrastination. I write for the children we never had. I write for the love of ideas. I write for the surprise of a sentence. I write with the belief of alchemists. I write knowing I will always fail. I write knowing words always fall short. I write knowing I can be killed by my own words, stabbed by syntax, crucified by both understanding and misunderstanding. I write out of ignorance. I write by accident. I write past the embarrassment of exposure. I keep writing and suddenly, I am overcome by the sheer indulgence, (the maddness,) the meaninglessness, the ridiculousness of this list. I trust nothing especially myself and slide head first into the familiar abyss of doubt and humiliation and threaten to push the delete button on my way down, or madly erase each line, pick up the paper and rip it into shreds - and then I realize, it doesn’t matter, words are always a gamble, words are splinters from cut glass. I write because it is dangerous, a bloody risk, like love, to form the words, to say the words, to touch the source, to be touched, to reveal how vulnerable we are, how transient.

I write as though I am whispering in the ear of the one I love.”

A Chemical Reaction.

2011-10-21T02:10:00.001-04:00

A few weeks ago, I ran into my roommate from last year and we talked in front of Starbucks.

I recall her saying that in Kazakhstan, girls get married at an early age. So I asked her what her love life looked like at the moment, seeing as that she is at the prime age of marriage.

"I think I am going to marry my best friend," she said. "I don't love him, but he's intelligent, and he has a big political background. We would both be helpful to each other in the future. Maybe I'd marry him more out of money, and he'd marry me because he is attracted to me. It works out," she shrugged, then sighed.

I told her that love is an American ideal. It doesn't initially exist in marriage in many other cultures, and when Americans marry out of blind love, they often get divorced.

Logically, why wouldn't she marry him?

They're the same ethnicity, so families wouldn't clash. He's her friend, so she already trusts and confides in him. He has old and new money, so she will be financially stable. And lastly, she benefits off of his would-be career in her home country. Seems like not marrying him would be a bad choice.

In Pillow Talk, Doris Day flatly says to her unfortunate lover, "I don't love you."

"I'm young, rich, and healthy. And I'm very good looking. I've got everything," he responds.

"Love isn't an opinion, it's a chemical reaction."

"They didn't hit the moon with the first shot."

"I guess that's what I want. To hit the moon."

Americans. Always want Hollywood romances applied to their own lives. Hitting the moon, is that a ridiculous thing that girls are so infatuated with? Is that why guys get angry when girls complain about not having a boyfriend, when really, they're just missing opportunities because they're trying to "hit the moon" ?

All this logic makes my head hurt. Can any girl get herself to explain why she just doesn't like the guy who is logically a good choice for her? Perhaps like my roommate, you're just supposed to wait for that chemical reaction to happen after marriage. After the logic.

Myers-Briggs.

2011-10-18T01:40:00.000-04:00

After years of living as an ISFJ, I am now officially an INFJ.

Cutting Apples: The Perfect Korean Daughter-in-Law.

2011-10-13T00:41:00.000-04:00

Today at work, I discovered the apple slicer.

On good days, one of the professors or advisors bring in a basket full of hand picked apples (typically mushy). In the mini kitchen, I saw it: the apple slicer. I didn't really know what it was until recently, so I obviously don't own one at home.

In fact, owning one at home would most likely be degrading to the Korean household.

You see, I've grown up watching my grandmother and my mother and my aunts cut apples with knives after family dinners. They would gracefully peel the skin manually-- forming as little angles as possible-- cut the core and seeds, and place them delightfully on a plate. Fruit forks at hand.

One time, on TV, my mom and I saw a chef on the Food Network use a potato peeler to peel the skin of an apple. My mom couldn't believe it.

I was always taught that I had to cut fruit in an impeccable manner. Peel with a knife, as close to the skin as possible, without letting the peel break into multiple segments. That is key for the perfect apple wedge.

I failed numerous times.

1. The peel breaks off after one inch

2. In fear of slicing my hand, I cut too far into the apple and not close to the skin

3. Also in fear of bleeding everywhere, I have a hard time cutting the core out of each wedge

4. The result: one tiny wedge of apple, with jagged edges, and sharp hollows

Fruit I cannot cut well:

-Apples

-Mangoes (that cubed thing is not as easy as it looks, and the seed is a bitch)

-Korean pears

-Nasty yellow Korean melon (chameh...the only fruit I really hate)

Fruit I cut well:

-Cantalope/most melons

-Kiwi

-Soft peaches

-Pineapples (I know, I'm surprised myself)

Every fruit I can't cut well is a Korean household staple, and every fruit I can cut doesn't seem to matter.

Fruit. It seems to be the one thing my mom has really made me encounter that is crucial for a woman when married into a Korean family. How pleased your Korean mother-in-law will be when she sees that after you've had dinner together at your in-law's place, that you have cut up all the fruit in perfect, flawless pieces.

But then I saw that apple slicer.

So I did it. I went against all my mom had taught me and used it for the first time.

I have to admit. I could not believe how beautifully and precisely it cut into the apple. So easy. All I did was force the slicer down on the apple and almost everything was finished: the core was pitted, the fruit partitioned in even slices. At this point, marveling in its simplicity, who cares about the skin?

Perhaps there will be a generation of girls like me who will hide one of these things in their cuboards, and magically bring out beautiful fruit slices to their in-laws.

The Milk Carton Test.

2011-10-10T23:27:00.001-04:00

Over the summer, I had a male roommate that did not know how to prepare his own meal.

I realized this bothered me greatly.
Don't get me wrong, I understand that not everyone is Joy The Baker. Even as a female, I'm definitely not Joy The Baker myself. But, there is a great distinction between eating properly and being too lazy to make something.

I didn't expect him to roast a turkey in the oven, but I at least thought Betty Crocker's Hamburger Helper would be his ally, maybe even his forte. But no. This kid ate cereal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Hey. I like cereal. In fact, I think I can say I love the right cereal. I understand that others love cereal too. But I know he doesn't love cereal to the point where he could eat it three or more times a day. I knew he did this because he not only didn't know what to eat, or how to prepare it, but because he was too lazy.

It's one thing when you know how to cook and you eat cereal once in a while, but it's another thing to completely rely on cereal to give you any form of nutrition. But I'll tell you why exactly he made my other roommate and I tick.

He never bought his own milk.

Stephen buys whole milk because he's apparently a new born baby. If I had to drink milk, I'd drink skim. For the most part, I drink soy. Our roommate drinks skim as well. We decided to test him.

It didn't take long to realize that he never goes to the grocery store! He has a cabinet full of Kroger brand "cocoa pebbles" or "lucky charms," and doesn't buy milk. So what do we do? We buy milk for a month and a half. I thought, "He probably won't like soy, so let's switch to soy." But he claims he loves soymilk. So then we proceed with this test and stop buying milk entirely for the rest of the summer. And we see if his eating habits change, or see if he'll buy some milk since he's that desperate for cereal. Besides, who likes it when your roommate takes your food without your permission? It gets fiercely annoying for some reason.

Days, weeks passed. Sometimes we saw him go to sleep without eating. One time, we came home and saw that he "secretely" ate our leftovers. Another time, he admitted (almost arrogantly) that he had cereal with water for dinner. WATER!!

DO YOU KNOW HOW ANGRY I WAS??

I wanted to scold him and tell him to just GO BUY some milk or at LEAST cook himself some instant ramen. INSTANT RAMEN! Why couldn't he do that?? Why did he need to have some form of inappropriate liquid with his imitation lucky charms??? I couldn't understand. I was hysterical.

Let's be real. I have low expectations for guys knowing how to cook. So when they do, I'm impressed. I don't expect them to make some kind of fancy marinade, but PLEASE, don't starve yourself or eat cereal with water because you're too damn lazy!

Men Are Manipulators, Too.

2011-10-10T17:58:00.001-04:00

Lately I've been thinking about the idea of manipulation because often times, guys are the targeted victims that fall prey to girls who like to play these so-called "mind games."

But I'm here to argue that I've encountered multiple guys who play the manipulation game just as well, if not better, and this happens on a level that involves, most typically, games that really have no purpose.

Take, for example, a boy I will call "Hogan" that I met this summer (this story is irrelevant to my life, by the way). He initiates the phone number exchange by suggesting that he be reached first, in order for him to get the victim's number after the first text/call. But even after the first text/call, he acts unavailable, apathetic, almost-- dare I say-- annoyed? What happened between the time that he gave out his number and the time he was texted? Surely he hasn't already lost interest?

Another example actually happened to me. It was the first time I recall actually enjoying and observing and playing along with all his antics. Of course, I still fell for it and lost in the end, but that's what I look back on and smirk about because he's living proof that guys have such ridiculous tact to make a girl swoon for a mere three hours! To admit my vulnerability, I actually thought about him for a good week even though we only talked for three hours (though, you can read that structurally and analyze how I am writing a blog entry about him four months later). At the end of the week, when I figured out it was all part of his manipulative game, I could not, for the life of me, figure out what the point was in him exchanging numbers, sending clever texts, and wasting the time to celebrate a friend's graduation on little, insignificant me instead.

On the other hand, the second form of manipulation comes with time, and this actually does have a purpose. I realized that in all of my anthro classes, the same phenomenon happens cross-culturally and that is, love comes after marriage. Americans find that unattractive, but as I've been observing the general public that are involved in romantic relationships, I'm not surprised to find that the girl didn't like the guy at first. It took him a long time to go through that process of becoming her friend, gaining her trust, being nice to her ugly ass friends, initiating everything, sending her pointless, twitter-like text messages to signify that he's thinking of her, making sure he's balancing one-on-one's with group hangouts....and ALL that time he spends trying to move from one ladder to the other really doesn't take much skill. It just takes time and practice. With that said, I'm like, uhh.. 90% sure that any guy can get any girl as long as they spend enough time together and as long as he doesn't do anything to hurt her perception of him (which, in turn, can be the slightest thing).

In my opinion, neither party involved in manipulation is stupid. One person sees it, and they agree to play along for various reasons.

"Nice" Is An Insult.

2011-10-09T22:00:00.000-04:00

Nine times out of ten, I found that describing someone as "nice" is never ever a compliment.

Most of the times, I catch myself using "nice" as an adjective to describe someone's personality out of the lack of things to say. After all, who likes "nice" guys? And since when are girls just "nice" and neither ugly nor pretty?

I've heard several times that guys like girls (both as friends and as significant others) who are, at the very least, "nice." I assume that would make sense, since no one wants a bitch as a girlfriend, but the claim was that if she isn't pretty, the least she could be is nice. Either way, I see that "nice" is the second option. I'm sure if the girl likes him, she wouldn't be mean to him anyway (right, ladies?)

"Who cares if she's nice?" I recall a friend saying to me a few weeks ago. "That's the only word I can think of to describe her. Which is great, but what else does she have to offer? She has no personality. There's no other way to assess her character."

I don't think I'd ever describe someone I'm close to as nice because I know they have better adjectives that describe why I'm friends with them. I actually don't think I'd want to be friends with someone who is just "nice." You don't learn much from nice people except maybe to be nice yourself.

As for the infamous nice guys that seem to repel girls, I think it takes a girl to experience a jerk before she'll turn to the nice guy and realize he really appreciates her. I'm friends with a lot of friend-zoned guys at home, and it is solely because they are "too nice" that girls overlook what they can offer them. But to be honest, girls will try to find a "nice" thing about every jerk. My solution to guys? Just give up the ancient woo-ing techniques, and maybe then girls will stop stomping over you and neither boy nor girl will be "nice" for very long.

Long Manes For Bimbos.

2011-10-05T01:43:00.002-04:00

I met this girl recently who basically told me she doesn't take me seriously because I have long hair.

I was pretty upset because YEAH, okay, she didn't directly tell me that, but obviously I have long hair (which needs a trim), and she's telling me that short hair is crucial for the working girl. So yeah, she's basically telling me that she doesn't take me seriously!

Perhaps the discussion of Business Women Behavior was the perfect juncture to hate on my hair, but what if I don't like the Business Women Hair? What if I don't like their precise, cut-and-dryness, their simple, boring, uncreative hair? What if Business Women Hair just wasn't part of me, and I don't need the people who won't accept me for my unseriousness, just as much as they don't need me? What if Business just isn't part of me?

So this girl who was hating on my hair, has hair like this:

Kiko Mizuhara too serious.

This girl is to be taken more seriously than me, who would, in turn, look like this:

Kiko Mizuhara not serious enough.

So then I started wondering why it is that guys like long hair on girls so much when that same girl with long hair isn't good enough to be making money or cooking food for you.

I keep my hair long partly because my head is too big for short hair, and partly because I think there is a lot more you can do with it. Less boring, more variety, and fun to play with! And it's not necessarily because I'm afraid of change or because I know boys like long hair for some odd reason (actually, the guy I had a crush on over the summer specifically told me he only liked girls with short hair. Way to blow me off). Isn't hair just another form of expression? I understand that girls with long hair look younger, ditzy, and naive. I'm definitely not going to cut my hair just because I feel the need to be taken seriously. If you want to take me seriously, take me seriously for who I am, what I do, and what I believe in, not what I look like.

....besides, I can always just tie my hair up.

Drinks, Theory, And ST.

2011-09-23T23:54:00.008-04:00

I hate going out to the bars.

I learn almost the same things every time I go. They are as follows:

-cover sucks, and when there isn't a cover, it usually means the bar is boring (to me).
-money loss as a result of carelessness and the anxiety of the environment.
-general awkwardness of the act (dressing up, spending money to "socialize," and witnessing/experiencing the hitting-on or hitted-on-ness. Desperate advances, if you will).
-confrontation by people typically unable to express their feelings when not intoxicated, most notably saying, in many different forms, "I love you" or "I hate you" (after all, wasn't it Freud who said that there are only two human motives-- sex or aggression? Yes it was. Thank you, theory classes).

Overall, my experience is pretty much the same everytime I go. Is it just coincidence that I happen to go and join a bad crowd every time? You can ask me about all my single-day, horrific experiences bar-hopping in Denver. I reviewed each one on Yelp that same night and gave them all one star for false hype, but also to warn others of their potential drinking (or soul-searching) adventures out.

I lost $17 last night after paying a $20 bill for a $3 cover. Didn't even buy a drink. Fresh money lost at such a terribly boring event. No offense to the company. As a matter of fact, I genuinely liked everyone that I went with. Just wasn't a) in the mood b) inebriated and c) enjoying the crowd. Not that inebriation is necessary.

I need to go beyond my measures of comfort. That's what I kept thinking to myself as I stood there with a bunch of dirty college kids. I saw half my ETS class for some reason. Perhaps they were celebrating the end to our discussions on the philosophy of history analyzed by Foucault, Hayden White, Lyotard, and Walter Benjamin (pronounced "Ben-YA-meen"). Yeah, we all needed a drink or two after that exam. Cheers to that mess.

Before we went out, we sipped on our white zinfandel (more like our strawberry soda) while discussing the topic of ideals, marriage, and casual dating. Our conclusion: um... sadly, nothing.

Here is my opinion on casual dating though:

I think it's cool. But for myself, I think too much into it. Would I be hurting his feelings if I ended up not liking him even after three or four dates? Is that leading him on? Was that a douche move?
Well, one date? Sure, why not.
I prefer becoming friends first, rather than getting to know someone while dating. Besides, who doesn't love that initial interest turning into either sexual tension (or, as a select few like to call it, "ST") or the awfully tall friend-ladder?

Last night, I had a discussion with a friend who was describing his recent experience with ST. Is it correct to say that ST means you wouldn't mind having sex with this person? Because I don't necessarily think about it that way. Maybe because I'm a girl and think with my inner heart and not my nonexistent penis, but to me, ST means you have that "what if" question. What if I he liked me? What if he kissed me? What if we dated?

Was this all just too forward?
Well, I know you enjoyed reading my honesty despite it all. Writing is a form of entertainment! Just super personal, that's all.

Defense Driving.

2011-09-18T20:25:00.000-04:00

I recall getting in the car to experience my friend's driving for the first time.
"Girls are most attracted to guys when they drive. What do you think?" he asked me, smirking, while he was backing out of a parking lot. I studied him as he put his right hand behind my seat, his left hand on the wheel, and stared back into the rear window. His stale breath in my face. Uhh, no.

In high school, I had another friend, two years older than me, who enjoyed driving his rsx like he was in a race. Ironically, with all my heart, I trusted his driving. It takes a good driver to drive like that. Few years down the road, he trades his speed racer for a truck because he said he needed to grow up. I wasn't too thrilled because 1. I hate trucks (they take up unnecessary amount of space, and are ugly to our environment) and 2. I would miss our spontaneous drives with absolutely no destination sometimes. That was the result of being an adolescent.
I'm reminded that fast driving only gives me bad vibes about a guy. Either to prove to someone how cool they are, or how impatient and rushed they are-- both physically and mentally. Every time my friend was upset, I felt his anger through his driving. Random moments of dangerous speed, my body held tight by my belt and glued to the passenger seat. I didn't worry, but we never spoke during those moments.
I think it's good that he traded his car, even if it is an ugly truck.

"Defense driving," my dad always says to me. "That's what girls need to learn. Guys have faster reflexes, and they think on their feet. Girls are impulsive when they see danger in front of them."

I'd like to think we know when a guy is just as dangerous as his driving.

Second Step: Admit That You Have A Problem.

2011-09-15T00:43:00.001-04:00

Confession: I hate it when I contradict my strong ethics.

Not too long ago, I had some small talk with an acquaintance about our summers. I hate that part. I try to avoid it, hoping not to sound rude, hoping that we had at least one little talk about the summer during the summer, but with my lack of keeping-in-touch-ness, I doubt it.

Somehow, this fearful "summer" talk brought forth the topic of being surrounded by gay culture, for the both of us.

In lieu of sounding absolutely typical, Asian, homophobic, and ignorant, we tried to be "progressive" and pro-gay and gay-friendly by talking about how "fun" it is to be around gay guys. I hate this more than I hate "how was your summer," but I heard myself nervously laughing at my own attempt at revolutionary tolerance.

I felt the guilt ooze out of my lips as I smiled and laughed a fake laugh. It wasn't funny, it wasn't an intelligent statement, but it was a very generalized and naive thing to say. And so I applaud myself...

Ah, yes, the marginalized being even more marginalized by people who pretentiously think they're so helpful to the cause of awareness and advocacy. I don't know why I do it, to be honest. And to be even more honest, I don't think anyone would even bring up something as lighthearted and foolish as "gay guys are so fun" to me had they known me a little better. Looking back, it might be my instinct to just "play along" with someone I don't know too well. Like a positive initial reaction to something I don't even agree with. Kind of like how when you compliment someone's shoes, they say thanks and try to compliment your...uh....hair....? For the lack of things to say or do.

To me, it's personal, despite that it doesn't affect me directly. I realized that it is this kind of feeling that people should have in order to evade all sorts of apathy, and it is not an easy task.

TRUTH: gay guys are more fun. Until you hit their serious side, and realize that they're more than just fashion designers and your backup plan and your dump truck. They're kind of real people.

Mood Rings, Mood Swings.

2011-09-14T02:18:00.001-04:00

She hates him for the first three months, becomes purely platonic "best friends" for two years, and falls in love with him in three.

My sister claims she one day "woke up" (literally), knowing that her good guy friend was someone she desired to be with, when just a few months prior to that, she told me he was "just" her friend.

As dumbfounded as I was (and sometimes still am), often times, the initial assessments of a guy find a seat in the back of a girl's heart. Rare circumstances, such as a negative extreme, unfortunately does not have an alternative conception because further interaction typically tends to let you down time and time again.

Most girls can assess a guy's character well enough to determine if he's right for her at a cap of 25 minutes, considering that it is a semi-engaging conversation for a certain amount of time.

I actually re-met 25 Minute Assessment Boy during my short remainder of summer in California, and to my surprise, my assessment was spot on. Further interaction said: he's a gentleman alright: polite, a good listener, and overly nice. But mainly, boring. Nothing interesting about him. He makes my parents laugh, but he's not that funny to me. His mom one day hopes to see that our assessments of each other will change (regardless of his ongoing relationship with his girlfriend). But really, how can anyone be so sure of not liking someone? How do you know you're not passing up a good opportunity?-- Logically speaking (since girls are soooo emotional).

To be frank, I honestly already know that I wouldn't change my mind about him in the future (ha ha). I just find him terribly easy to read, uninteresting, and too nice. "Too nice." How in the world do I explain that concept...

Well, my sister's "just platonic friend" was also "too nice" and still she woke up realizing they were meant to be together, despite her history of badass boyfriends.

Maybe girls are just more forgiving and open-minded. Or just really moody.

Leave It To Franco.

2011-09-02T01:52:00.004-04:00

"A lazy fuck" ?

He's a capitalist!

I know there is a huge homeless problem (see: Civic Center Park).
And I do think there is a better solution than to beg for money.
But I do not think they are "lazy fucks."

I'm taking a food studies class, and my teacher looks like James Franco. But let me tell you, he looks like James Franco if James Franco gained 40 pounds (which is unfortunate). He talks just like him too. That slow, oddly mysterious, but kind of annoying voice.

I've never really been into all that rebel-without-a-cause/I-hate-authority counterculture, but I think the past couple of years have changed me. It's not that I hate authority, it's just that I hate it when people tell me what I should and shouldn't do, or should and shouldn't believe. To be honest, my own parents are pretty laissez faire, and always have been with me.

Recently, an older colleague was narrating a beautifully inspiring story that made me want to get up while she was speaking so that I can finally go about and fulfill the purpose of my life. It was that motivational. The problem was that she kept talking. And it became "you need to do this, and you can't do that." So as quick as it became an inspiration, it became a turn-off just as quickly.

I hate it when people tell me what to do with my life. So down the drain my epiphany went, as her words went in and out of my ears.

The first time the idea of "questioning authority" even occurred to me was when I was 20 years old. I remember my very first thought: "Pastors can be....wrong...???" Which is why I now absolutely love visiting new churches and listening to messages, smirking the entire time as I jot down everything I disagree with. I think it has become a negative passion of mine.

Perhaps you think I'm naive and slow, if you've caught on with this way before I have, but I just figured that if these people are teaching me and are sometimes even messengers of God, then shouldn't they be right? And what kind of harm can come from them?

Yesterday, I disagreed with an educator for the first time. I'd love to call him a professor but he's not. Mr. Fatty Franco is just a grad student. To be insensitive and ignorant of people's situations and call them "lazy fucks" is quite the statement. In fact, a very big generalization. He was surely not afraid to say what he wanted to say-- which I'm okay with! I'm all for the First Amendment, you know? What kind of rad, pretentious, thick-rimmed, glasses-wearing liberal progressivist isn't?

"A lazy fuck?" I thought to myself again. It lingered in my mind for a while, echoing the vulgar term.

I don't know. Maybe I'm being too sensitive and empathetic of too many people in this world that I don't even know exist and don't know I exist. Or maybe he's too harsh.

All I know is that just because you study and teach food politics, doesn't mean you're a healthy, fit vegetarian. That's forsure!

The Romantic Employee Fascination.

2011-08-17T02:47:00.002-04:00

This summer, we met a great deal of employees. People who served us at our table. People who made our Peach Pleasure from Jamba Juice much more pleasurable. People who gave us advice on what kind of watch to buy. And people who helped us pick out expensive wallets.

All of them were captivating and attractive for some reason. We befriended almost all of them. Even the mean guy at Chili's (Matthew) who said he hated his job, because he joked around with us, was comfortable around us. My Burberry/model/ideal man (Stevie) was certainly more tame and charming in his black-suit-and-tie work environment than, let's say, when I saw him at the gay club dancing with a drink in his hand after he was naked, covered in baby oil on stage for a fashion show. Our humble and local cafe run by our too-old-to-be-hitting-on-me friend (Bode) who gave me free cookies, drinks, and the like. Or his partner in crime (Nate) who modestly likes to talk about his band with customers while he's cleaning tables. The guy who talks like George in You've Got Mail who works behind the counter at The Market (shoot, what was his name?) gave us free strawberry cheesecake (despite that I don't really like cheesecake). American Apparel served us right this summer by giving us free shirts on the day of Denver's PrideFest, thanks to befriending the 6'4" smooth-talker (ironically named Stephen Henry). And the guy who makes our coffee (Blake) at the small joint we always stop by before work.

With all these, we realized that there is something romantic about employees. It's like they're prohibited from being anything other than unattractive. Stephen got two numbers from our summer employee fascination, and I got one. One boring, weird, disgusting number...
Great.
I lost.

But good thing everybody is striving to become an employee at one point in their lives-- we'll all have a civilized, attractive side someday, if not already.

Girls And Gays.

2011-08-13T01:02:00.001-04:00

A man on a bike slapped my ass while walking in downtown Denver sometime past midnight last month.

In this case, I don't really know how to react. It was after a friend's birthday dinner, and after perusing down the streets and deciding to go home, I walked (with a male friend) down past the sucky 24 hour cafe and just before we hit the Hyatt Hotel, it happened.

It didn't feel like how most of my friends jokingly slap my butt to surprise me from behind. It felt like an icy, cold electric spark, if that makes any sense. I was completely startled. Before I could even turn around, I realized the culprit was on a bike, his left hand holding on to the bike handle, his right hand still sticking out, body facing forward.

What a pussy.

First, he's on a bike. Then, he doesn't even have the balls to turn around.

Did he see my face? Not at all.

To be honest, I'm over feminism. I mean, not really. But I'm not gonna cause an unnecessary scene over how women are objectified by men. Everyone already knows that, and the world does not need yet another female to state this. So yeah, I'm over my feminist fad (I'm into food politics now).

Just a few minutes prior to this ass-slapping, the male friend I was walking with was called a "homo" by a fat, easily recognizable, regular McDonald's customer for the way my friend was dressed. Black skinny jeans, a black shirt, black oxfords, and a fitted black cardigan. I recall us intending for this outfit to have "a dark presence" over the previously mentioned birthday dinner (for reasons that will not be mentioned). They mocked the way he spoke.

We proceeded to walk in silence.

First, was it okay for this McDonald's Regular to call my friend a homo for what he was wearing? Secondly, what has my friend done to threaten him? Dress better? Eat healthier? I don't know.

My fellow females, Asians, gays, disabled, and others who were born into this world without a choice of their outward identity (including Lady Gaga) probably experienced something similar at one point or another in their lives. Sometimes, they do what they like (slap a butt), run away (on a bike), and unfortunately feel accomplished afterwards. Other times, they call you names (like "homo"), laugh (by themselves), and feel remorseful a few seconds later (I wonder). In cases like these, I never know if I should speak up or stay silent (which, haha, I did neither). I've learned that silence does wonders, but at the end of the day, you always reenact the situation and do it your way.

In my reenactment, I threw my shoe at his head and he fell off his bike.

Your Asian Future, Your Asian Children.

2011-08-02T18:31:00.001-04:00

I've never been all that intrigued by parenting and its effect on how individuals have become the people they are as a result of their childhood until about a year ago. But if you aren't as slow as me, you already know that it has a tremendous impact on who you become as you grow older and how you view the world around you.

Anyway, so let's be real here. My friend, Lillian (who has been in the same institution(s) as me since elementary school until now) has been trying to get me to read this particular book since the beginning of the year called Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua. Perhaps you've heard of it.
It's not that I didn't want to read it, but it's just that, like many college students, it's difficult to read for pleasure during the school year. I can barely keep up with the required reading for my classes, how can I read for pleasure without feeling guilty? So, I think I've taken the book from her three times and returned it twice to no avail. This third time-- as she brought it home from school to haunt me over the summer or something-- I took it and actually opened it. I didn't get to read any of the books on my own list (aside from the Klosterman book), and I'm trapped in my house with little to no internet (plus, I just broke my charger for the second time and thus have no computer of my own for the time being. Fortunately, my dad is the most useful, handy, and intelligent man I know, and is fixing it as I type).

So I've been breezing through this book and it's amazing. It's inspiring in a way that I don't think Amy Chua meant to inspire in people.
Three things came to my mind while reading:
1. I am definitely going to write and publish a book one day. This book inspired me to do this in the perfect way. You see, my hesitation in publishing a book about myself has always been my biggest trouble ("who will want to read 500 pages about some Nobody's life?"). And the question has always been: how do I get readers to read my book without boring them, by keeping it relevant, but still integrate parts of my life? Amy got it right: find something relevant but specific (like Chinese child-rearing), don't make it boring (by making it provocative), and integrate parts of her life (by talking about her past, people that have been significant in her lifetime, and morals that have influenced the way she started raising her kids in that particular way). This way, you get people to read it for a purpose, but still trick them into reading about her life. What makes her more interesting than any other person who wants to write about themselves? She got that down juuuust right. Now I just need to find something relevant and specific. Great...

2. How am I going to raise my kids in the future? An obvious question that will be raised, without a doubt, if you are Asian American and have read this book. My parents weren't the typical Asian parents that forced me to practice the piano and go to SAT school (maybe that's why I turned out the way I did). They let me quit when I didn't want to do something. They let me (and a lot of times, encouraged me) to go out and play with friends. They trusted me when I was out late and never questioned where I was or what I was doing. So okay, I don't have Tiger parents. They didn't lecture me when I got anything less than an A. My parents are first generation immigrants from Korea too. Yes, I'm equally forever indebted to them just as Amy was, but I'm not rebellious like some of the "Western" kids she described. Often times, the more strict parents are, the more wild the kids get. My parents learned that from my sister (who was wild), but toned down the strictness when I came around (and I am not wild). You really just don't know how they'll turn out; it all depends on the kid's personality, and I guess how that has developed is thanks to the parents' understanding and patience, OR, their authoritative nature and superiority complex over their child. The huge responsibility that comes with having a child is that how you talk, how you joke, how you fight with your spouse, how you interact with your friends, how you play, how you feed, how you train, how you teach, how you freaking live-- influences your child in every possible way, and that is one big ass responsibility. Do people realize that a baby is more than just lineage, a result from love, and a lot of money? A baby is a tabula rasa, and you're the one writing on its chalk board, most of the times, unconsciously. Do I relate to her Jewish husband, and like questioning authority and enjoy freedom and independence? Or will I be like her, enforcing things and pushing people to their limits because they can get there eventually? I really don't know.

3. I couldn't believe how intelligently her children spoke at such a young age. 13, and her daughter using words like "moral deficiency" and "Manichaean." That appealed to me more than their musical talents. In fact, the more they practiced and excelled, I found it less attractive that they were so immersed in such a black and white world. Piano or no piano. Violin or no violin. It was music or nothing. Let alone, the typical, cliche Asian instruments. I understand. I've taken both before, and I hated both. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I had not given up on them so easily. But this is the way I see it: there are far too many Asian pianists and an abundant amount of Asian violinists. I find it much more exciting to see an Asian excelling in percussion or singing or being in a band in the American music scene. Yet this is all only restricted to music. Why must it be music? (I'm not hating on music. Music has shaped my life while growing up in a very significant manner, but not by playing it. I don't know anything about music anymore. I have a very particular music taste, and I like it. It made me me. Dress the way I do, think the way I do, appreciate the things I appreciate. But all I do is listen to others' masterpieces.) To me, it's more impressive to see an Asian writer. Or an Asian athlete (however, there is MUCH to say about soccer, but maybe more on that in some other post). So music? Yes. I think it would be wonderful if my house was filled with boys practicing the same guitar chords over and over again (I'm only having boys, by the way). But equally as important, I want to drill some high vocabulary in their language. Now that's impressive!

His Ideal Stay-Away-From-That-Bitch.

2011-07-25T20:27:00.001-04:00

One of my favorite and memorable movie quotes comes from a fictional character opposite of the heroine who I feel like I relate to very well. She has a hard time saying the thing she means to say the moment she means to say them. Her male protagonists warns her though, that when she does say the things she wants to say, "...remorse inevitably follows."

I met Douche Boy again.

It wasn't like we were making an effort to meet; things just turned out that way. But instead of refusing to see him, I wanted to. This time, to play along with his stupid antics. To make him feel like crap. For sheer amusement.

This, my friends, is something I am tactfully good at, though it's nothing to brag about.

The same thing happens again: more perverted, immature jokes, more staring, more sneering and snickering with his buds- I couldn't take it anymore. So my sarcastic, tight-smiling, superficially-happy, and fearless side came out. Shameless, painful words that came out in a very sweet and lovely tone. Ironic sentences. It was absolute enjoyment on my part, watching him try not to really anger a girl. Let alone, the one he put down and embarrassed so many times the first time around.

Standing next to me, he asked in a quiet, but still with such a confident smile, "Do you hate me?"

I will remind you again that this is, indeed, the second time I am meeting him, and he is already asking me if I hate him.

What have I done? Or rather, what has he done?

But it's not true: I don't hate him. I don't hate him at all. He's just stupid. And for that, I take part in the satisfaction of creating this awareness around him. He should know how stupid he is, but I don't mean to implicitly state that I hate him.

I smile anyway. "I don't hate you."

Involuntarily, my eyes shift and my head turns. He reads my body language and says, "Then why do you always look away when I talk to you?"

He's right. I don't look at him after I'm finished talking to him. He's not worth my time if he really enjoys acting like a pompous, pubescent, pre-teen. I just look at him and smile without answering his question.

Things like this, plus loads of silences, fill the entire night.

At the end of our war-- probably my last time ever seeing this kid-- we look at each other and he holds his arms out for a hug. I was surprised.

To me, it was like a sign of surrender. It probably hurt me more than it hurt him, and I felt bad.

It was either that he felt bad for being such a dick to me, or he purposefully made himself look like the "bigger person" by "turning the other cheek." This was my first time being the douche, intentionally at least. I could imagine him and his friends going back to his car and talking about how bitchy I am.

Still, no one can deny how horrible of a boy he is, all the time.
Well, I guess considering that this was our second and last meeting, he'll forever deem me The Bitch, just as I've deemed him The Douche.

Something Elated.

2011-07-23T00:19:00.003-04:00

Let's face it: I'm an introvert. And a big one at that.

There are so many moments when you're forced to face a situation and you don't know how to cope in a way that won't frighten others. You don't want them to know that you're going through something-- big or small-- or feeling off, or "not in the mood," but like it or not, there has to be some type of outlet.
So, what I like to do to cope-- aside from writing-- is stay silent. And to stay silent, and to think in silence, I need to be alone. And not talk to anyone. And shut everyone out.

Sometimes it's not even a big deal. But just the necessity and dire need of having that alone time is kind of like being a drama queen, introverted style. Instead of acting up and being outwardly emotional to our friends; frantically calling them on the phone at 4AM crying outside their apartment without shoes on, yelling at your mom, punching a hole in the wall, throwing a fit at your roommate...well, the list goes on and on and on...
Instead of that, you dig the deepest hole, and stay in there until you finally muster up some strength to climb back out.

But sometimes, the best thing to do is to force yourself to do the unexpected. There was this specific moment in my life when I was just feeling like a big pile of nothing, and the best solution was as simple as chatting online with a good friend, laughing, and not at all talking about whatever it was that made me feel like a big pile of nothing. She didn't even know how I was feeling ten minutes ago. She didn't need to know. And I was okay and alive and better and stronger, until finally, I was more sure of myself than ever before, and until that cycle starts all over and you realize again and again the same thing, the same cycle, the same ups and downs of life, you come to see that YES: life is just a worldly life and you're wasting your time thinking and worrying about something that will be over eventually anyway. That somehow, you'll get through it.

So thank you, to everyone who has unknowingly made me feel better. I owe you.

Little Boys vs. Big Boys.

2011-07-18T19:06:00.001-04:00

Meeting strangers online has its perks.

Dailybooth is one of my odd, narcissistic favorite hobbies (which was on hiatus for various reasons until yesterday), but one thing I enjoy about blogging and Dailybooth and other online mediums that involve anonymous commenting, non-private permissions, etc, is simply that it's public. I don't take it super personally since I won't be meeting any of them any time soon (but if you do want to meet, I'm currently in Denver and you'll find me on 16th Street 9 times out of 10; or if you're in Cali, you can meet me at my church on Sundays; and if you're from anywhere else, good luck).

So I just posted a picture on Dailybooth (and for anyone who STILL won't conform to it, seeing as that it's still not big in the online world, think of it as a Twitter with pictures rather than words), and I allowed for random people to look at my pictures on the live feed. Sometimes I get comments cheering to my toasts, sympathizing with my heat strokes, or, like in this case, having a 15 year old boy telling me that he thinks I'm a "cutie."

After waking up late to work (but thank God the EIC wasn't in the office today), reading through a bunch of articles, and walking around in the heat, I came to Barnes by myself to prevent myself from melting. I go on Dailybooth, see this lovely comment, and read this kid's profile (named Joshhh***). According to his profile, he's a 15 year old male, likes pancakes, and PLEADS for you to check out his Tumblr. You could tell he's one of those follow-for-follow, sub-for-sub kids who still aren't over the whole Youtube Tim Tam Slam tags and stuff like that.

Me, six years his senior, is a "cutie" to him?? Don't call me a cutie! I should be calling you a cutie, little boy!
My trend (as I've noticed) is that I attract the high schoolers (and when I was in high school, the 6th graders), or the single older guys who already have careers and all they need is a wife to complete their lives.

One year younger, okay. I'll give you that. I'm kind of considered to be among the oldest of my grade/class. A lot of my peers are a few months younger-- sometimes even almost a year. Completely understandable. A few more months over a year? Also understandable (and almost entirely forgiven without guilt if he is over 6'0").

I met a girl here in Denver who dated a guy who was four years her junior. I also ironically met her ex-male counterpart a few days after she went on and on about how they didn't have to break up (but...they did). Her ex-male counterpart is almost exactly a year younger than me, but quite the cocky little prick (he is...dun dun dun, the aforementioned Douche). Now, I'll admit that my private thoughts can be bitchy, but if I can say so myself, my heart just absolutely cannot bring itself to slash out on people. For once, my mind works optimistically when I meet people; that means I'm quite open-minded despite what I've heard about you, what you look like, and how you act (that is, until (IF) you end up being an idiot, which then I resort to having absolutely no interest in investing my time and effort. 1 time out of 10 will I forgive and forget. You know who you are). Anyway, so I think his "confidence" (if that's what you want to call it) made him seem a bit older than me. I didn't get the vibe that he was at all younger.

I'm a prideful and stubborn person. I think I learned from my dad, who is equally, if not more, always right (at least, in our minds we're right). Being as prideful as I am, dating a younger dude takes a lot of guts. And dating an older guy (4+) scares me. I think they scare me more than younger dudes because I always wonder why me? Why not my older sister (who's taken, by the way)? Or why not that girl who already has a job?
4+ guys make me think they couldn't find someone their own age. Which contradicts my marriage standards: nothing more than 5 years my senior. I just can't find myself to admit that I'm finally at that age where it's okay for a 21 year old to date a 25 year old. Isn't that weird? But once I'm 25, wouldn't it still be weird to date a 29 year old? He's almost 30!

One of my good friends told me I need to find a guy who will appreciate every detail about me because I'm an intricate person (come to think of it, who isn't?). And sometimes I can't see how a younger dude will be able to recognize that. Though, I'm really not looking for praise for being effortless because it's not like I need him to tell me everyday that I have beautiful hair (this model I met a few months ago told me I had beautiful hair. He is the most attractive man I have seen in a very long time. I was very pleased).

Maybe I'm just closed-minded about dating in general (well, among many of my non-beliefs, I don't believe in dating either). Then again, you learn over and over again: the unexpected happens, and you wish you had never said never. Not that it happened to me...yet.

I Am The All-Singing, All-Dancing Crap Of This World.

2011-07-11T15:51:00.005-04:00

I was really mad at Whole Foods yesterday, in a very Fight Club kind of way.

I've never really experienced a Whole Foods until I came to Denver.
Well yes, I've passed by one in LA, my sister used to explain the Greatness of it in VA, and I've acknowledged its existence in NYC, but it wasn't until yesterday that I realized I hated it.

Today is all about organic. All about green. And using reusable (recycled material) bags when going grocery shopping. Or aluminum water bottles. More walking/biking, less cars. Being compostable. Biodegradable. You know, sustainable stuff. Perpetuating good habits and other EPA concerns.

I'm all for it. It just sucks when you realize that- SURE, in the long run, you're not harming your body with chemicals and pesticides and you're not contributing to global warming, BUT, you're making choices such as paying $1.22 more for Organic Valley milk, and then realizing that $344 later, you're not feeling any different.

Health reasons? Okay. Smarter choices? Sure. Imperative? Not really.

Watching all these pretentious (and rude) people buying organic crap made me angry. Like they were stating, "I need groceries, but I need expensive ones."

I like the idea of supporting ethical family farms. And I don't condemn anyone who shops at Whole Foods (It's freaking heaven in there!). It's just that I begin to think about the abundant amount of people who buy groceries to survive and have to buy Kroger products, while Whole Foods people have the luxurious option of buying organic products. That's what bothers me.

One day, I do believe that organic and natural products will become the norm (and hence, the lowering of prices, and their pride along with it), but for now, it's a novelty and a sign of affluency.

Can't we all just be friends?

"You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everyone else, and we are all part of the same compost pile."

Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

Ads, And The People Who Hate Them.

2011-07-06T01:15:00.000-04:00

I've told you how much I hate links, but I haven't told you how much I hate advertising too (independent of commercial advertising..which is a whole 'nother entry in itself).

BUT, at one point or another in your life, there comes a time when you have to put your pride down.

I've done it quite a few times: to high school lovers (or should I say un-lovers?), to The Douche, to my critical anonymous commenters, and now to you, when I tell you that SUBTLE Magazine has relaunched and am telling you to check it out.

Well, now I'll just go all out.

Not only do we want you to follow us on Tumblr (or subscribe via Google reader, Blogger, or other RSS feeds if you don't "tumble"), but we also have created a new Facebook page and want you to "like" us!

Come on, it's the LEAST you can do. THEN you can share us with your friends.

And, in the meantime, a blog entry is pending in "drafts."

Eulogy.

2011-06-30T14:01:00.004-04:00

To my one and only Joycie,

I wish we just spoke for one last time.

There were so many things I wanted to hear from you, so many things I wanted to tell you.

I was going to meet you at the airport today. I was supposed to show you around Denver before you left for London. You were supposed to be here.

I still wear the bracelet you got for me from Uganda. Everyday. It reminds me of how much you've changed and grown since we first met senior year of high school. It makes me proud.

You make me proud. You make God proud.

Joyce, I have this heavy, dark, black, void inside me, but I can't feel anything else.

Despite it all, despite that I don't understand, despite that we all don't understand, I want to let you know that you were my genuine friend, one of the greatest. We're all praying for your family. For each other.

I'm sorry I wasn't there for you.

With so much love,

your Eliza-berry (aka White Angel)

They Think We're Together, And Other Stories.

2011-06-23T21:07:00.003-04:00

Walking around downtown as a female in solitude is a 180 from walking around downtown with a boy by your side.

About 90% of my time here, I'm walking around with a boy. Doesn't matter what kind of sexual appetite either of us has because there is an implicit meaning behind all this traveling and dining in opposite-sex pairs.

In one of the rare 10% of being away from each other, Friend and I parted ways. He went to American Apparel while I was on my way home. Within five minutes of walking by myself, I get a "compliment" from a male stranger passing by. When I get home, said-Friend also has a story to tell me about what has happened to him in American Apparel.

Since I've been in Denver, I've stepped inside that particular American Apparel three times, and each time being greeted by the same tall, Jude Law-looking boy who talks like he's dying a happy death. He wears slinky tank tops, short, tight neon shorts, and keeps his hair unruly and long (but in a very Russell Brand type of way, with dirty blond locks).

Hot or not, this guy didn't actually give out his number (what a bold move) until I was gone.

Since then, the inexperienced me had much to say about when or what to do next. Although indie Jude Law did say to "Facebook" him, I told said-Friend not to do that. I told him to call (not text) him-- the next day. But said-Friend was way too impatient and without-game that he texted indie Jude Law (bad move #1) on the same night that his number was given (bad move #2).

Hey. There's nothing wrong with texting on the first night. It's just that indie Jude Law was definitely too nonchalant of a person to want such a quick and clingy response (like a little puppy). I know this because I met him three times and he's waaaay too social of a person to simply need the guts to give out his number. Truth is, he didn't need to find guts for my said-Friend because he needed his guts for other, more top-of-the-food-chain-ish people. To him, said-Friend was just a little side dish.

When the text response was slow and even-- dare I say-- non responsive, said-Friend began to grow sad. He began to realize that games are crucial in the world of flirting and dating. He finds it upsetting. He wants to know why relationships can't just be honest and simple. Real.

Sad reality is that "real" is boring. And people enjoy watching others squirm when they realize they've been led on.

It's much easier trying to give other people tips on how to play the game, but when it comes to yourself, you're completely lost.

Recently (let's say, from the past three months until now), I experienced a game well-played. Never in my life have I seen a game so well-played by some bloke, let alone a bloke who only had four hours to leave some type of impression on me. In comparison with Douche Boy, I cannot stress how much respect I give him, because he was very good.Wait, maybe not "respect." Maybe "props." He played games like any analytical and tactful girl would play a game. Each move was executed as if practiced until perfection. Each text was carefully thought out. He was suave, and I gotta give it to him despite that I hate his very being but love his absolute brilliance.

I played along with his stupid games that he probably thought I was ignorant of (here is where "playing dumb" comes along), and fell into his trap just as said-Friend fell into his: I texted him first because said-Friend said I should.

Big mistake.

The only difference between our situations is that I gave said-Friend advice that he didn't follow (hence, the screw up), while I listened to said-Friend and got screwed over.

Thanks a lot, said-Friend.

My Ideal Douche-Bag.

2011-06-18T15:51:00.001-04:00

Exactly how hard must he try to turn a girl off the moment she meets him?

Create in your mind the douchiest, most raunchy, absolutely repulsive type of boy, and I'll tell you right now that I met him just a few days ago.

I'd like to believe that I give people time to save themselves from a rocky start. Bad first impressions don't stick with me if you can prove yourself otherwise (I'm forgiving, if you will). But to have the feeling I had about this boy on our first meeting made me certain that I could not, for a second, be in this guy's vicinity.
I no longer wanted to be associated with him.

They say nice guys finish last, and chicks love the jerks...but I've never met anyone who tries so hard to be a dick, and then keeps going because he thinks it's working its magic.

I liked him when he stuck out his hand and told me his name and smiled with his dimples. From there, just about everything fell apart into a million and a half pieces.

1. He scoffed, and told me I didn't need to go to school to go into journalism.
2. He outwardly analyzed the way I was sitting to tell me what he thought I was thinking at the moment.
3. He likes to stare and then laugh as he turns away. You give him that look like, "what are you laughing about," as if you really care, and then he says, "no, it's nothing..hahaha...nothing." He desperately tries hard to be "mysterious," but in my mind? I don't care what he's laughing about.
4. Speaking of mysterious, he tells me he has a website because he "likes to write." I don't bother to ask him what it is. He says he can't tell me because it would change my perception of him (as if it was good in the first place). The topic changes. We're five minutes into a different conversation but he's dying inside because no one is asking him what his website url is. So he randomly blurts it out and then creates a scene by himself saying that we were all going to judge him now.
5. So while he's staring intently at my face, analyzing everything, I let him without questioning. I even turned my head to the left when he asked me to because I didn't care to find out where all this was going. Then he says, "okay, I just wanted to see something. Yeah, you definitely look like this girl from my high school, _____." From then on, he cannot stop talking about how much I look like ______. What do I say to that? Is that a compliment or an insult? Why does he keep talking about her when no one else knows who she is?
6. Four of us are now at dinner sitting in the outdoor patio. He is sitting across from me, facing the passersby. The three of us are engaged in a conversation while he is constantly distracted, looking out to see if he knows anyone. This probably annoyed me the most.
7. The frat that he is no longer involved in is still the central subject in all that he says. Clearly, that's all he has left to his name-- his former fraternity.
8. I can handle bluntness, but I only take it from people I know. It makes sense. After an excess amount of time trying to figure out who I look like, he calls me the most unflattering name, and then laughs and sprews out a meaningless and still-comical "sorry." My reaction to anything that anyone says of that nature is to look down with a tight smile of disbelief, while my heart is BURNING and remain speechless. But I know he knows by my reaction that he didn't do well. He cracks jokes to ease the situation. I don't smile, I don't laugh, I just look at him with complete interest wondering, how can he think he's so smooth right now?
9. He hesitates to say this, but he says it anyway: girls have it easy because all we have to do is look pretty. I hate it when girls don't wear makeup, he says.
10. To top all of his unattractive and demeaning personality, what in the world was he wearing?

This guy was confident. But his confidence stemmed from the insecurity of being a complete loser, and it was obvious. To save himself, he had to be the one who cracked inappropriate jokes (ie. "The term we use is 'slay.' We 'slay' the sorority sluts at our parties"), made pathological lies (ie. "my frat spent $10 million on renovations"), and tried to use the "I'm inscrutable" tactic by not finishing his sentences and tearing himself apart inside when no one bothers to ask him to finish.

Let's just say that I was completely fascinated by this loser who thought he left an impression on me. An impression? Well, sure. An impressive one? Not the least bit. But thanks to him, I think any girl could give any sane guy five extra steps on the ladder.

He was, without a doubt, my ideal douche-bag.

The New Yelper.

2011-06-10T00:54:00.000-04:00

I've been writing literally all day.

And then I ended up making a Yelp account just for fun. I Yelped for two hours for 8 different places in Denver. It's part joke because it's not particularly helpful for people trying to see if the place is any good, but it's also part serious because these are my real experiences and real opinions.

Check it out and let me know what you think. It's super addicting. I recommend everyone to be a reviewer and not just a reader.

That Touchy Subject.

2011-06-08T22:33:00.000-04:00

Every girl after a certain age begins to think twice about the calories she consumes.

This morning, out of my desperation to get out of the house early (small studio + three people + no food = get out), I left to grab something to eat before heading out to work. Out of my unsuccessful attempt to find a peaceful morning joint, I went to the very typical Starbucks. Immediately, my options became narrowed. Sure, I was avoiding a bagel from Bruegger's, but could this be any better?

In the leisure of my hour before the arrival of #44 bus, I consumed approximately 500 calories for five dollars.
A tall, skinny, hazelnut latte for 90 calories (thank you, skim milk) and a 380 calorie blueberry muffin. Yes, looking classy with Starbucks for ridiculously priced coffee and a designer muffin.

I remember during my high school yearbook staff days, my friend Diane would sing-song a phrase I never forgot: "A moment on the lips, forever on the hips."
Every female's nightmare.

Why is it so hard for girls to stop themselves from eating that one extra piece of chocolate or controlling their immense PMS craving for ice cream?

Easy solutions. I've seen so many attempts to find the right one: the gym, Insanity, cutting carbs, time restrictions, or skipping meals. This is not including more serious, problematic "solutions" like bulimia, which is hardly even discussed among friends at all.

Ah, but the gym. Such a simple, healthy solution. I tried it before. Just run until you can't run anymore (for an hour), at least four times a week, but eat the same. It worked beautifully. Not in the way where I saw major results, but in a way where it maintained a good weight balance and I felt like I trimmed down a bit. And then excuses like finals or illnesses come in. Or the menstrual cycle- the best excuse for anything (ranging from moody bitch fits to binge eating).

But the thing about the gym-- just like allowing yourself to eat unnecessary or excess amount of calories-- is that there is always a tomorrow.

Contrary to what the Bible says about the uncertainty of a tomorrow, girls love to believe that our diets start tomorrow. Or that we have just this one more day to eat excessively, and tomorrow, we will torture ourselves. The gym is always available tomorrow.

I miss the days in high school when I ate whatever I wanted and it never seemed to make a difference. Did it really? And I was just ignorant about it? Or did my carefree mindset really set me free from the chains of calorie-counting and exercise-obsessing (or wishing I was exercise-obsessed)? Who really knows. All I know is that today, I had half a slice of banana cream pie, half a cookie, a smothered veggie burrito, a Starbucks muffin, a skinny hazelnut latte, Goldfish, a small apple, and 1/3 of a Jimmy John's sandwich.

Yeah, diet starts tomorrow, fatty.

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures.

2011-05-31T20:19:00.001-04:00

You can do some really stupid things when you're desperate.

I know this because the one thing I fear is looking stupid. But sometimes, you can't help it. If that requires looking like a fool, then by all means, call yourself "pathetic" for the sake of being saved from whatever calamity you're going through.
I have to be in a very deep hole for me to risk looking stupid-- in other words-- it takes a lot.

...Even when looking foolish in front of an omniscient God.

How can anyone feel so stupid in front of God, who already knows you so well? I never understood when people used to share about how they felt "too guilty" to ask God for forgiveness. How can you feel too guilty? He loves you no matter how far away you have gone!

Finally, I was able to understand what they meant by feeling guilty.

It must have been God's perfect timing that I actually posted about my lack of meltdowns a few days ago to make me come crawling back to Him because today, I did just that. And I felt stupid.

Not only was it perfect timing that I wrote about needing this "desperate call," but also that it was about me being really sick. These two ideas, a) needing God and, b) the situation of being ill, is exactly what made me call out to Him.

I was alone in the apartment. I would be alone for eight more hours. Yet there I was, laying in bed, my face so intensely hot that I thought my head was going to explode and my body, shivering.

Here's what went through my head for an entire hour while in bed:
Drink water. Don't put a thick blanket over yourself. I should wash my face with cold water. I'll use a cold washcloth to put over my face. Should I take another fever reducer? I'm trying not to take any today. No, I can't take it, but I have to. Yeah, I'll take it. Lay back down. I think my head is literally going to explode. Should I call Stephen even though he's at work? He won't be able to do anything. Should I call Matthew? What would he do? I can't go to the hospital, I don't have insurance. What if I die right now? Stop being so dramatic!

Then, because I felt like I had no one else, and out of absolute pain, I called out to God.

But I didn't want to.
I didn't want to because what did I ever do to deserve His grace? Was I just too proud? Maybe a little, but mostly, I was just completely ashamed. I felt so stupid saying "sorry" over and over again and coming to Him just because I had no one else. If someone was with me, I probably wouldn't have called out to Him.

And just like that, when I got up as a miserable, hot, frantic mess, I was okay.

I felt stupid again. He helped me out? Why?
I mean, I know why. But really, why?

I can't make any promises about my faith from here on out but I just want an every day calling out to God again, like before. Even just a "good morning," and no more foolish, desperate, 911 calls.

I am lowering my pride by telling you all about my stupidity because I trust you and hope that this means something to you as much as it means something to me.

Then later, of course, I felt even more stupid-- I thought I was going to die?
Oh my...

Happy, Burden-Free, And Godless.

2011-05-29T23:39:00.001-04:00

I am feeling so much pain right now.

I figured that it's okay to write on a public blog about how helpless I am because a great majority of my friends and family are not in the slightest proximity to show me some type of sympathy.

One of the things I don't understand about Facebook statuses are the extreme acceptance of announcing to your network of friends (and not-really friends alike) how much pain you are going through. Then those who are in your vicinity and those who are able to help have the obligation to help you. So is it genuine sympathy or just plain obligation?

I've been sick since before finals week, but not much physical pain. During the past few days, I was recovering (as I rightfully should by now-- hasn't it been a month?), but today I woke up feeling pain all over my body, my lips extra chapped, and special stuff in my throat that didn't let me speak for a while. I just traveled 20 minutes by myself after taking a nap where- yes, you guessed it- I had the worst fever ever, as all fevers are the worst ever. My body was burning hot but I was shivering. I get fussy when I have a fever, like a little baby. It's probably the only time anyone would see me so helpless. I forced myself out of bed, washed my face, and took off because I needed some type of painkiller- absent in our household. It was quite a strenuous journey.

So I woke up feeling like that at 8:30 in the morning, yet, I needed to go to church.

Lately I've been thinking about how my life has been running during the past few months. Happy, burden-free, and Godless.

Happiness, which is temporary, came crashing down multiple times since I've been here. Maybe a little before I came here too.

Burdens were not non-existent, but simply repressed-- it's still there, dude.

And Godless for who knows how long. I used to feel bad but now I'm indifferent. But my question is, what compels God to be so good to me? One answer that every Sunday school student can answer is "love." As Sunday-school as it sounds, I can't fathom this type of love, which I believe to be true.

The solution is to break this apathy. Sometimes, God likes to do it by breaking down my world. He takes away my happiness and replaces it with this hard, boulder-like object, and then I feel helpless. It goes from helpless (what happened?), to meltdown (what do I do?), to epiphany (oh yeah, I need God), and then to In-a-Relationship (I can't believe I ever neglected my Father).

But that hasn't happened yet. Or maybe it has and I'm just ignoring everything because I'm so immersed in my own subculture that I created within myself. This subculture says: I can do it because I'm strong enough. I don't need anyone.

But I realized while laying in bed, destroyed, helpless, hot, and cold, that I needed someone. That I wanted someone so badly to just help me.

"What am I doing here?"

Maybe that was my small cue from God. I am alone here, technically.

So yes, I did go to church today for the first time since I've been here. But I can't say it was a holy moment yet. To be continued, I guess.

Bookstore Theory.

2011-05-29T23:38:00.000-04:00

I really believe that bookstores make you smarter.

It's not that the act of looking at books increases your knowledge, but it definitely ignites something because of the exposure you're getting. I've realized that the more I spend even the slightest moments waiting to meet someone before heading out to lunch, to countless hours in any bookstore, these encounters with books inspire me.

Suddenly, I not only find something to read, but something to write about, such as I am doing now.

It would be so tragic to see bookstores fall.

Here is a list of books I want to read, but probably won't get through, in case you needed some suggestions:
-Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman (first on my list)
-One Day by David Nicholls (though I hate to say that I want to read a book in which Anne Hathaway is playing the heroin. Such a shame that Jim Sturgess has to deal with her)
-The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin
-Unmarketable by Anne Elizabeth Moore
-The Story of Stuff by Annie Leonard
-Free Food For Millionaires by Min Jin Lee
-Blink by Malcolm Gladwell
-The Screwtape Letters by CS Lewis

Note: majority of these books would be found in the "cultural studies" section of B&N.

Expiration Dates.

2011-05-21T02:02:00.002-04:00

Two years ago, I was moving my belongings for storage during the summer. While we dropped the last box off, the guy who was helping me asked me how I felt about the next year- the year that just ended. I believe I told him I was scared that things would be different, as ridiculous as that sounded, since every year is different from the last.

He said I shouldn't look in the past because I would miss the opportunities in front of me.

I can't speak for you and suade you to determine whether that statement is cliche or not, but to me, it was an irrelevant yet important suggestion at the time. I knew it would eventually mean something.

My friend recently asked me what the "solution" to an emotional attachment was- omitting time travel to the past.

I wonder how wrong it is the look in the past. I don't rely on the past, but I do remind myself of it all the time. It's my hobby. Writing is a reminder of the past. A record of historic moments in your life- big and small.

Every once in a while, I'll read back on previous entries in my diaries that date back to days where I was most miserable or most happy. Sometimes I'll be laughing and other times I'd be crying. Is that unhealthy?

Is there no point in looking back? Is who we are now shaped by past experiences, but never to be experienced again?

I know that in my situation right now, the past is not a solution, but it's just so difficult not to go there when it's all that makes me feel happy sometimes.

Silhouettes And Realness And I'll See You Again Later.

2011-05-18T01:16:00.000-04:00

Being neither at home nor a second home (school), I've been wondering what brought me here, and why God has brought me here. Not being able to see the people I usually see, I've been reflecting a lot about the relationships that I've formed throughout my life. Why some have strayed, why some float around, and why some I keep so close. What they mean to me and what they don't mean to me. Sometimes I feel as if I've been surrounding myself with silhouettes. And then a small, tight-knit percentage of tangible, living, breathing, heart-aching, pain-staking, joy-making, extremely real people.

Realness is what we always search for in people.

Yet, recently, I feel as if realness was what I was completely immersed in for one aspect of a relationship, and then on the other end, a complete waste of my energy on worthless, cowardly, silhouettes. Just a substantial and heavy outline of uselessness.
Though you have wasted my time, I'm not upset.
I figured that that means something. I find it strange that I'm not upset. Maybe the weight of the realness made all that worthlessness so insignificant. You're lucky.

I left Syracuse not really saying goodbye to anyone. It was unintentional, as was my frantic hurry and mess to get to the airport. Then someone told me it's more reason for us to meet once again.

Launch.

2011-05-16T03:24:00.000-04:00

http://themilehighproject.blogspot.com/

Up and running, but slightly dysfunctional. Kind of like my life right now. There will be some changes throughout the week, and hopefully an actual blog entry on here soon.

Capable Of Love Spell.

2011-04-27T19:51:00.000-04:00

I like to write about Victoria's Secret's Love Spell quite often. I think it's a genius product. Although it is unfortunately an undeniably ubiquitous scent (that makes you want to melt as soon as you get a whiff), my friend and I like to use the catchy title quite literally, without referring to the actual scent. It's a metaphor for something real: making someone fall in love with you, even if it's for the split second that they walk past you on the street.

Someone once told me they fall in love with strangers. It's the effect that none other than Love Spell seems to propel. I don't know what falling in love with strangers means though. At least not ones I walk by on the street.

You see, Love Spell all depends on how good of a manipulator you are. That's the key to knowing how much Love Spell you are capable of spewing out of your aura. Your very existence. That your presence just cries out "I am what you want."

A group of girls were having dinner one night when a fourth member joined late. I made introductions since some have never met before. As soon as the dinner was over and we parted ways, friend #1 couldn't stop raving about the 30 minutes we spent eating with friend #4. She was laid back, easy to talk to, friendly, non judgmental (whatever that means), and a good listener.

When you can make positive judgments about a person that quickly, you know that that person has just manipulated you. And manipulation doesn't have to be a negative thing (what's wrong with making someone fall in love with you?). It just means they have Love Spell.

Love Spell is as easy to spot as it is easy to smell it.

First Step: Admit That You Have A Problem.

2011-04-17T18:17:00.003-04:00

I never knew what it meant to "be honest with yourself" because I never had trouble being honest with myself. How can you hide something from yourself? Repress, suppress, forget about it, relax, relapse all over again. But the first step to improving yourself is to admit that you have a problem.

Maybe I just never faced the facts because I was so lost in the moments of my non-existent glory.

Here is my problem: I lost my motivation to write.

I know.
Like all problems, a downfall to a person's nature. But ironic because I'm telling you that I lost motivation to write, but am writing it to tell you. This may not be good news for my readers.

So a friend of mine made sure that I clarify that it was not out of laziness that I wasn't writing as frequently as I would like (I actually have a ton of things to write about), but because I have lost motivation. Daily, I write things as I go places, talk to people, see and hear things.

Scouts honor, I am not on hiatus because I am lazy. No one can be lazy when it comes to their passion.

Motivation is different from inspiration. I unexpectedly find inspiration from many small encounters, but motivation is something big. It's the very thing that drives you to do what you do, and that drive is very hard to come by.

I had lost my drive, for about a month, but it has only recently been giving me that five o'clock shadow. It's exposing me completely. It's bare. Everyone can see. My ETS professor gave me an 80 (= C) on my second paper this past Thursday. It's official: my writing has gone down the drain, and Prof Lyons has confirmed it.

Being an English major, I get asked many times what I want to do with my life, but I've always felt confident in it simply because I know that's what I enjoy and what I want for myself. Why should anything else matter? Some people need the assurance that they will safely have a stable and successful career, but I can't say the same for myself. Ideally it would be nice, but I wouldn't mind otherwise (maybe this is where I should insert the all-encompassing husband who will tell me that everything will be okay). I've never been the type to be confused about the direction of my life, even if it isn't going "smoothly," so maybe that's why I'm being frantic now. People say it's a phase everyone goes through, but I want to be sure.

This is what I want. This is what I am going to do. And this is what I am doing.

I'm just rambling to myself....in the public blogosphere.

Eyes Wide Shut.

2011-04-16T21:01:00.000-04:00

Have you ever wondered about the enormous capacity that we have as human beings to feel so much emotion? Capable to hold so much and to give off so much? To cause someone so much pain, unintentionally, or to give them so much happiness, also unintentionally?

Some say they would like to have the power of persuasion as a superpower, but if you were cunning enough, you wouldn't need it.

Crunchtime.

2011-04-08T01:49:00.006-04:00

It hasn't really been all that warm here, but the fact that you can see blue skies, have less frequent snowfalls, and feel temperatures shyly rising, the weather has clearly been trying to match up to the date.
Hello, April. There is only one month of school left, and we don't know what to expect from you.

Let me guess. It was probably your fastest year ever. Just like last year, and the year before that.

Everyone has that same feeling this time of the year. They call it "bittersweet."
Happy/sad. Excited/apprehensive. Relieved/scared. Over-joyed/dread. The ultimate paradox.

I think you know exactly what I'm talking about.

After all the wind-blistered walks trudging from one side of campus to the other, the so-called suffering of eating monotonous dining hall food, sacrificing a pound (or two?) to order late at night, "girl-talk" during moments you are most busy, and all-nighters studying with people you care about, you say to yourself, "it was so worth it."

It's worth it to spend every tiring, sleep-deprived, waking moment with people you care about. It's worth every dollar you've spent together even if it was the worst meal you've ever had, even if you were broke. And sometimes, it's worth skipping class. It's worth those short, 30 minute breaks in between classes to meet up just to read silently next to each other. It's worth all those miserable hours of lab together. It's worth waking up earlier for work to get off earlier and have lunch together. It's worth looking like a fool if it makes them laugh.
Sleep? Eyes shut? Failed that exam? Worthless. Who really cares.

Complete and utter bittersweet lives, compressed within four years, and about to burst in the last few weeks of college history.

To the class of 2011.

The Date-less Society.

2011-04-03T19:41:00.005-04:00

Is it true that dates are no longer officially called "dates" until after the "date" is over?

Before the start of the weekend, a few "colleagues" (to sound ingenious) and I entered an essay contest for the New York Times column called "Modern Love." We were to submit 1500-1700 words about our thoughts on love in today's twisted little world (perhaps if you are good readers, I will share with you some day after May 1). I didn't write about the idea of dates, but I did think about it today when Lillian brought it up. I thought, "what a great blog entry, since it's too late to enter in Modern Love."

How in the world are girls (or guys!) supposed to know if your lunch or dinner or bubble tea or Starbucks or mall day-trip or hour-long drive to LA is supposed to be a date unless you say it's a date?

For most girls, it's unlikely that their own initiation towards a guy means it's a date, whereas guys think their initiation towards a girl is implied that it is a date. That's what I think.

It's a whole generation of fear. One half is ball-less and the other half is left in complete confusion. Should they take the hint? Or is it bad to make assumptions? I never make assumptions, because you really do end up looking like a fool a lot of the times (personal experience).

Whose fault is it, the one who doesn't call it a date or the one who doesn't make assumptions?

Quantity Over Quality.

2011-04-01T14:53:00.003-04:00

I remember this specific night my freshman year of college when I had proved my point of quantity over quality, in which clothing, accessories, and shoes fall into place. This is probably my only belief in the arrangement of these words (except maybe food. Does that make me unhealthy and unattractive?).

Style changes all the time, and I don't think I'd spend more than $30 on a top that will be out of "fashion" within a few months, maybe even weeks. Remember gaucho pants? Utter and complete disappointment to all.

I know tons of people who are advocates for brand names, not necessarily because of what it stands for (wealth, superiority, class), but because it simply lasts longer. Ugg boots- perhaps they are worth paying $170ish to keep your feet warm (but think about the $170 making your feet look stupid too). So what I do, to compensate my reluctance to spend $170 on Uggly boots, is buy $13 imitation boots, to last me however long until I realize how dumb I look in them.
But how long is too long?

I took a class last semester on Victorian fashion and the culture of consumption and saw that haute couture dress collecting is one hell of an expensive hobby. But I understand. If I had all the money in the world, and nothing better to do, I guess I would buy couture dresses and look at them without wearing them. It's kind of nice to have a collection of dresses (as I realized while looking through Ariana's closet a few weeks ago. I should invest in some kind of collection too).

Since blogging has died (since I don't know when), the only, single blog that I follow consistently is Rumi Neely, my hero. And oddly, she's not a "life" blogger but a fashion blogger (hardly any writing involved. But I can argue that she has this really attractive way of writing. Maybe she's just overall a hot person). I like her because she represents a whole range of fashion, definitely not couture, not just BCBG, often times F21, and a lot of the times, your local thrift store. Still, she puts it all together so elegantly, you wouldn't even know the difference between her wrinkly, oversized Alexander Wang and her Goodwill coat.

I found the perfect dress today, in sizes too big for me. Poo.

PS. Announcement (also linked on the right side of this blog, titled "the mile high project").

The Smartphone Nightmare.

2011-03-30T03:34:00.001-04:00

Let's be real.

I'm sure it must be a drag to read about my insane, pretentious, love-to-hate-on-technology rants, but sometimes I think the world is advancing too much to the point where human interaction is ironically disintegrating. I mean, everything is an ironic contradiction. All the "-ism's" of life. So really, what I am arguing against is ironic because of the process I took to get here: I am blogging and I am using my laptop and I found this article through surfing the web on my phone. It was on Yahoo (obviously) and the article compiled a list of gadgets that you should or should not keep.

Half the list was about the rise of the smartphone! Get rid of your point and shoot because you have your phone. Get rid of your iPod because you have your phone.

Just to save some of my contradictory credit (if you gave me any at all), I carry my phone, camera, and iPod with me and I think they are all very useful in their own ways. Nothing that one phone can do with the complete satisfaction you get with these individual, specialized products. At least not for me.

Just glad that books are still doing alright for now, until ebooks take over (RIP Borders). Like I said, -ism's are full of contradictions. If you want to be an environmentalist, you can't be a book lover (think of the trees!).
You could be an environmentalist and advocate of technological determinism (but you won't be indie anymore). Take your pick.

National Geographic, Unlovely Couples, And The Underground Wasteland.

2011-03-20T03:34:00.007-04:00

I always get surprised when my peers tell me they're subscribed to National Geographic.

Of all magazines, National Geographic? Am I really that insensitive and uncultured towards our little planet?

Two friends recently told me they were looking through National Geographic while referencing some passion, interest, or amazement in life. But of course, I now respect those who read NG only because I'll never know what the deal is.

[A lot of people nod their heads in agreement with the whole "you are what you [fill-in-the-blank]" phrase, and I believe you are what you write, but not what you read. My guilty pleasure is stuff like Bridget Jones' Diary...so what does that make me? (Hmm..). NGer's and non-NGer's alike, you are not what you read.]

I bring up NG because Soy mentioned it while telling me she wanted to scuba dive all over the world. I don't know why- maybe I'm too absorbed with my current life, maybe I am culturally narrow-minded, or perhaps I am too fascinated by what is around me (is that bad?), but I hardly ever think seriously about traveling and doing adventurous things like scuba diving. I'm too worried about other aspects of my life. It's kind of like when you want to read for pleasure while you're at school, but feel guilty since you could and should be doing your school reading instead. I tend to hold off all my leisure reading for the summer and splurge then.

She said, "you only live this life once."

Stupid, cliche, overrated, and belittled phrase, but it's true. I hold back so much because I think about the practicalities of life. The logistics (though I am more emotion based than logical). It's so unconventional of me... but in trivial things, practicality is important, and in seemingly significant things, I go with what my heart says.

But with that said, a good friend of mine asked me not too long ago when I have ever gone through something where it didn't work out in the end.

I'm sure we can all draw a line between fruitless consumption/action and an inner joy that comes with letting go of your worries.

Spend your money on things with great value to you, confess to someone how they make you feel, do the things you want to do, and don't hold back.

That was the first thing I learned while in NYC.

The second thing I learned was to be open-minded.

Decibel had kind of a date-esque vibe to it, and there was one couple that came in and sat next to us. You could tell it was a harmless date. They were, as a matter of fact, aesthetically unsuitable for each other. A balding, 40 year old man and a late 20s/early 30s woman- but to their defense, totally casual, and they looked like they were having fun even if they knew it wasn't going to lead to marriage.

They were ironically in no hurry in the busy city of New York.

And during this time I was observing them, my friend was telling me about a boy-- three years her junior-- whom she had both regretted and was grateful for not getting involved with, but an experience she would have liked nonetheless. I was pretty speechless.

I mean, open-mindedness doesn't just apply to dating, but in general. Living in a new place, riding the subway by yourself for the first time, etc. It just so happened to be about dating that one night.

But speaking of subways, the third thing I learned was about the equality and odd serenity that the subway brings under the city that never sleeps.

Maybe only tourists observe the people as carefully as I did while I was in the subways, but I saw a lot.

Everyone uses their time wisely. Reading and sleeping caught my attention the most. And shoes. I looked at everyone's shoes.

Because there's no reception, it's as if cell phones never existed. Business commuters and the homeless alike, taking the same transportation. No fancy smartphones, only catching up on reading, sleeping, and having silent contemplations.

Equal.

I think it's a brilliant method: a combination of the great old invention (the train) and the death of technological determinism (the highly addictive cell phone).

Now to find a way that the subway dream can happen outside of the underground...

These aren't feelings only felt in such a city, are they?

The Violet Hour.

2011-03-19T03:51:00.002-04:00

So much to tell you about what I learned from the past five days in the city, but for now, we'll have to settle with a pictorial.

Thursday started off with cardigan weather. Glad I got to see New York in the spring. We went to Soho to shop and met up with Michelle for a brief moment.

(By the way, I went into Muji and didn't buy anything. They didn't have planners!)

Zee's Chocolate...some creme-brulee-custard type of chocolate that Soy had to reserve over the phone in the morning.

She made this for dinner heh.

Then we went to an underground sake bar called Decibel. Kinda dingy, very secretive, but pretty cool.

She got this really tasty sake and I got this extremely strong and not-so-pleasant lychee martini. It sounds cute but it's not [ps. yeah Soy's kind of a fob :) ]

It wasn't quite satisfying so we had to make more. Soy's friend came over and I literally thought I was going to fall asleep while they were talking so I went to the room and passed out.

On to Friday, my last day. Went to Chinatown to meet up with Jessica and have some soup dumplings.

I didn't know Ten Ren's was everywhere.

I guess we weren't full.

Then, spontaneously, we went to Jessica's apartment (where we fatefully ran into Jpio and Caron ha ha ha), then parted ways in the subway.

That's when we went to Central Park. These kids...at almost 75 degrees, were ice skating with trails of water behind them. The ice was melting! Such fools.

Possibly the most unflattering angle and thus a very small picture (I just wanted to show you what I was wearing).

My frozen yogurt phase died during my senior year of high school. Let alone, Pinkberry, because of its overpriced-tartiness. So I'm not sure when the mango flavor came out but it's freaking delicious.

Plazazaza Hotel.

We then proceeded to walk about a million miles along 5th ave and stopped by St. Patrick's cathedral (oh, how appropriate). It's very beautiful inside.

Got to destination: Kinokuniya, notebook heaven.

We rushed home, I packed, and exhausted, found my way to a very miserable bus ride back to Syracuse. Like I said, I have so much to tell you. So many collected thoughts.

Big thanks to Soyoon :)

The Big Apple Experience.

2011-03-16T21:26:00.003-04:00

Other than having the biggest headache of my life today, it was quite eventful. Full of walking, first lonesome subway experience (hella big accomplishment for a Californian I must say), and good eats. I am quite disappointed in myself for allowing such ridiculously high-calorie substances to enter my mouth, but I thought about it, and this is part of a life time experience: there is no such thing as coming to a place without eating everything it has to offer you. Why not? The following weeks are going to welcome me with exams and papers-- might I add, completely unprepared-- so I might as well create my own hell on earth: gym, read, study, write....until it kills me. And if it doesn't kill me, then God must have bigger plans for me than to die while working hard. After all, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" (yeah, whatever).

Met Est and Sus at Shake Shack. Would it be treason if I said I like it better than In-n-Out?

Walked to Times Square and did some shopping/eyeshopping.

Recyclable art??

Katz's: where Harry met Sally (kinda).

Now Soy is doing her laundry and I should be reading, until we fully digest our pastrami sandwiches and find room for these cupcakes I bought earlier with Est and Sus from Magnolia. By now, perhaps you know I'm not much for dessert, but I "had" to.

Middle Middle.

2011-03-15T23:09:00.000-04:00

Murray's Bagels, MOMA mishap, spontaneous shopping, chicken and rice, unsuccessful meet up, and walking all by myself to meet with Jennifer and Caron to eat at Spice. I'm so proud of myself.

From Musing to Amusing.

2011-03-15T11:10:00.003-04:00

Something I started noticing was the slow crumbling of Blogspot. It happens from time to time, where the people around you get hyped up about some social media trend and then move on. Sometimes it comes back, sometimes it doesn't. Despite that SUBTLE is on Tumblr, I just want to announce that you should not be expecting me to go to Tumblr, even if everyone else around me is addicted to reblogging. It's just not my thing!

I have some entries that I've been working on- all saved as drafts, but I can't seem to finish them. It seems as though my writing has dried out a bit this past month (we'll call it a dry spell), so I'm taking a break from musing you so I can tell you a little about my life.

I am currently on spring break, in New York City, staying with my friend from home, Soyoon (Soy). She is a Parsons artist-extraordinaire. I just arrived last night, and upon arriving and dropping my luggage off at her apartment, she took me to a Venezuelan restaurant called Caracas. The arepa was possibly the most delicious thing I've eaten all year.

Here's to more good eating for the days ahead.

You're Nice.

2011-03-09T22:22:00.004-05:00

Last night, I had a conversation with a few guys that made me realize that the word "nice" is actually more meaningful than most people acknowledge it to be. It is probably one of the most underrated and overused words to simply describe something or someone.

When I use the word, I abuse it and take it out of its context. It's like its own word that equals, symbolizes, and replaces other, could-have-been adjectives. For example, many guys joke around in movies (let's just say it doesn't happen in real life) that if a girl is nice, or has a nice personality, she is most likely unattractive (cf. When Harry Met Sally). "Nice" is then a replacement word. Or, when girls are asked if she is interested in a guy, sometimes she replies with, "he's nice," and there is almost always a "but..."

Then I realized that "nice" has tremendous weight to its name. How nice is nice? And how do you know how genuine nice is?

The term is just so broad that it could mean anything from "ugly" to "fills my heart with joy."

So yeah, I've met a lot of nice people in my lifetime.

Summer Skin.

2011-03-02T21:40:00.002-05:00

The thing about thinking about summer is that everyone has their own, extremely strong memory attached to it, and it never seems to go away, no matter how many summers you've lived through.

Thinking about summer gives me this stomach-dropping feeling. It's the feeling I always get when I'm standing outside as it's just about to get dark and the heat is finally starting to die down. All I hear in my suburbia are dogs barking and air conditioning units outside people's homes. Lots and lots of air conditioning units. And possibly the ice cream truck that comes by every night, but never to my street.

Doesn't matter, I don't like ice cream that much anyway.

The worst feeling that comes with summer is that lethargic-afternoon feeling. When it's so hot and my mom won't let me turn on the AC that I begin to feel so miserable, and there's nothing to do, but I don't want to go outside and sweat. My dog gets sleepy. All she does is sleep in the summer.

Is it just me or do you get this really uncomfortable feeling when you wear a bathing suit? I hate that feeling.

The best feeling that comes with summer is knowing that you can have endless, juicy, sweet pieces of watermelon. And go swimming with friends and then get really hungry afterwards for some odd reason. Staying up really late with the windows open, talking. Sleepovers. 86 degree mornings. Going for a run outside. Fourth of July shindigs. Fancy pink fruit punch at mansions. The smell when you walk into Jamba Juice. Bonfires at beaches that make your clothes smell for days- I love that smell. Really bad, sappy, emo, old school Daphne Loves Derby. The notorious Californian flip-flop tan. And outdoor parties and picnics. Mosquito bites...on your toes(?). Walking out at night without a jacket, finding the perfect temperature. It's so hot in the car but opening the window makes it hotter. How I can't sleep at night because my feet are so hot. And how strange it is that the musty beach air surprises me every time I go there.

Memories of certain people I used to be close with. Painful moments. The happiest of times. Anticipating the best and worst of the new school year.

Just three months away, but I know I'll want something else once it's here.

One Four Three.

2011-02-27T14:27:00.001-05:00

I've been into emails lately.

So I've been receiving a lot of emails regarding paper and pesonal statement editing, blogging opportunities, a Daphne Loves Derby show in norCal, and long-distance K-I-T's from Beijing.

My friend left a post script on her email to me about how she felt weird signing off with "love," and when replacing it with the heart symbol, everything felt right in its place (she suggested I blog about it).

"<3" is used for many reasons. My favorite time to use it is when I want to soften the blow. "I hate you <3" is so contradictory but we know that by using "<3," it'll make it okay to say something you really mean.

Then you realize how uncomfortable it is to say "love, Elizabeth" but much more casual to say "<3 Elizabeth." It's almost meaningless, but so easy to use.

Does anyone else see the tragedy of the world advancing and thriving in so many technological, commercial, and branded ways, but find true meaning becoming obsolete?

To make matters worse, I remember in high school, one of my friends used to say "less than three" for "<3," and there was a Youtube celeb who started using "1-4-3," each number representing the number of letters in each word for "I love you."

My ETS professor said there are three rules to abide by in life:
1. Don't have children
2. Don't get married
3. Overthrow capitalism.

This is the answer to end all forms of love and power!

Memory Games.

2011-02-26T16:47:00.004-05:00

I remember how I met all of you, if I met you at all.

I remember everything you've told me. Sometimes the seemingly insignificant things to you are the things I remember most.
I always thought that was a strange thing about myself.

The things I remember about you are out of the ordinary. The things that stick out to me most are your reactions towards me, my questions, my nonresponsiveness, my indifference, or my concern for you. I don't remember what you wore unless it was strikingly odd. And I try not to remember the thing you said at that exact moment in time when I felt like falling apart, but I do remember. Or, the reason why I remember what you said is because it left such a great impression on me- good or bad.

I can't remember a lot of things but I always remember agreements too. Agreements to meet, to hang out, to eat together. Sometimes you forget and I pretend like I forgot too, but I didn't forget. And then I'll always remember that you forgot if I really wished you had remembered.

Having a good memory sucks sometimes.

PS. I get asked a lot if the things I write about come from a recent source, which of course is true, but this "memory" thing has always been something I've thought about.

Pity And Censure.

2011-02-22T22:47:00.002-05:00

During my small group, the issue of "homosexuality" came up and I didn't speak up despite my burning desire to say something. Partly because I didn't want to steer the conversation completely away from the main point, but mostly because I wasn't sure if I wanted to get into this long debate against a majority that would end up in chaos. Not in the third meeting, at least.

I just want to say here what I would have said.

Many of you agreed that homosexuality should be hated on but the actual people should not be.

Regardless of being gay or not, people are to be loved. It becomes a natural part of us to love others (or at least strive to) when we say we are Christians- and truly mean it.

But I don't think homosexuality is to be hated on. That's an ignorant statement. I don't believe that being gay is a choice, just as I don't believe anyone would want to live their lives being discriminated against. So with that said, we are not to be SYMPATHETIC towards gays because they make unfortunate decisions or live an unfortunate lifestyle. Maybe to us, in our obtuse and shallow bubble of compulsive heterosexuality, it seems unfortunate. It is not our duty as Christians to pity gays and therefore consciously make that decision to "love" them because the Bible tells us to love our neighbors. We should love them because we are all equal, even down to the smallest actions we do in life, and because God has graciously given us that love first.

Of Mornings.

2011-02-18T07:12:00.006-05:00

Not too long ago, my brother's Facebook status had quite popular responses of validity from his friends. It read, "eating by yourself makes the food taste bad."

I suppose it's not surprising when I say that there are moments when I love to eat by myself, and thoroughly enjoy the food.

via coriandersea (she's adorable)

Of course, there's a hierachy of what and when is appropriate to eat alone, and at the top of my list is breakfast.
Maybe it's because breakfast doesn't require talking. It's a really peaceful time of the day. It's also optional, since not everyone wakes up for breakfast. But those who do get the pleasure of soaking in that extra time to themselves are able to enjoy their food. I feel like other meals throughout the day are never enjoyable. If you're taking the time to eat breakfast, then let it be leisurely.

And for some reason, eating alone at the airport always amazes me. Maybe because we have a legitimate excuse to be eating in solitude, no matter who we are, stripping ourselves of our reputable identity, and ultimately, we're all made equal-- friendless-- traveling to some destination in a world where we rely so much on another person.

But, dependency is another issue. Another issue that should not be brought up when talking about a beautiful, solo wasteland in the blueness of light.

All that I require is a simple breakfast and the stillness of the early morning, like now, and I'd be happy.

Eat The Chocolates.

2011-02-15T13:20:00.001-05:00

In lieu of the dark side of V-day, my friend told me last night, "Eat those chocolates like you DGAF and walk your fabulous self home."

He reminded me that I only have one Valentine's Day left in my college history. He told me to "live it up and make out" (it's a joke, I think). He reminded me of the allegory of Julia Robert's post-divorce boyfriend, the charming James Franco (in the film version of E,P,L). "He makes her feel sexy and brand new. He's her little toy. His eyes unstitch her," he paraphrased (though, for the wrong character).

Yet, he argues that he doesn't blame me for being the way that I am. He sent me this picture:

Then he said, "It gets the best of us-- even Shakespeare and Lucy."

I don't really know anything about celebrities but I do love using James Franco and Jude Law to represent ideals of particular guys.
Jude Law-- the unattainable yardstick to measure all other men (though in real life, I would much rather have chosen JF...some mistakes in writing that you just can't take back).
And James Franco-- the one you like to have fun with; possibly the rebound.

So, is it okay to metaphorically "eat the chocolates," DGAF, and go for the guy whose ability to unstitch me is quite amazing-- despite that he is not Jude Law (though he doesn't quite exist in my world yet)?

This particular friend telling me to "eat the chocolates" offered to be my Valentine in advance this weekend as I had one of the most un-unstitching Valentine's Day weekends in Eliza-history, and he knew that: I am swamped with responsibilities that I am not taking care of very well. I declined only after little contemplation. I have yet to put down my pride and be dependent on some guy to send me flowers because he feels bad for me, my workload, and my feelings. Of course, this "some guy" is my best friend who, if we were in each other's proximity, our "plus one" problems would never be a problem.

Is there such thing as too much pride to "eat the chocolates"?

PS. remind me never to write about Valentine's Day ever again. SO horrifically overrated.

Intangible.

2011-02-13T01:41:00.002-05:00

It's bad when you know you're the object of the social gaze because you made a disappointing decision. It's bad when you blew their hopes for you. And, it's bad when they know you're trying not to conform, yet you have conformed. You let them down, and you try not to care what they think but you can't because they keep shaking their heads.

The moment I had officially decided to buy myself a smartphone, I knew I was going to write about it. I wasn't afraid of not sticking to the permanency of my words, but the fear of being attached to something so unreal. The internet is so unreal. Technology is so unreal. I hate it but I support it. I wish things were more tangible.

My touch screen is intangible.

That in itself makes me go crazy. And to use this intangible keyboard to talk to intangible people is frustrating. Therefore, the internet is something I hate and love for a few reasons.

The idea that communication has gotten easier, less "awkward," and more casual, is a big perk. At the same time, face-to-face becomes less personal and less meaningful. In cases where you are not close enough of friends, talking more online makes talking in person more uncomfortable.

Also, dependency on a source to keep you entertained, as well as accessible, fast answers gives you instant gratification- which is never a good thing. Ever.

Ironically, technology and the internet is the death of communication, but an extension of networking.

My only hope for my very first experimentation with this form of self-indulgence is that I can peacefully remain human.

PS. If you are in the DC, Brooklyn, Amherst, or NYC area, please check out my friend for some good music! Andrew (and his brother Albert) is doing an East Coast tour, and I am positive they will be the most talented and most agreeable people you will ever meet. They are traveling all the way from Southern California, so please make them feel welcome with your support.

*Mention my name and you'll get in free!

Just kidding, the shows are free of cost (except for the ECAASU conference).

Here is the Facebook event.

Thrown In.

2011-02-09T23:02:00.001-05:00

Lack of words these days.
I've been swamped with readings, so I will leave you unsatisfied with these pictures from Christine's birthday dinner at Empire Brewery on Monday night.

My scrumptious looking gumbalaya. It tasted much better than it looks.

But in other news, I got a new phone. For the longest time, I've been wondering whether or not I should comply with the rest of the society or to remain peaceful and uninterrupted from a world of fancy buttons and miniature computers.

I gave in.

Jlo gave me a link to watch, but I haven't seen it yet because I'm almost positive that this video might make me regret my decision.

If you have some time, read this. Nora Ephron is my hero. The last paragraph about Google is a sad reality, but, at least I don't have a Blackberry...

Off The Wall.

2011-02-08T01:06:00.001-05:00

Ladies,

my friend is doing a FREE giveaway of VANS shoes. Please check out her blog at thesoaktree and leave a comment for your chance to win! Hooray! Plus, she is a cool, novelty DIYer/blogger and knit my legwarmers for me.

547 Pages About Me.

2011-02-05T21:42:00.002-05:00

Did I ever tell you that I started a book over the summer?

I started one.

As in, I was in the process of writing one. And of course, it was about me. That's the only thing I know how to write about: me.
Me and my experiences.
Let's say the book was going to be an unconventional size of 6x11, then I wrote maybe ten pages front and back. But I deleted the whole thing because it was too personal. It would have been one of those books that were written while the story wasn't quite finished yet, and so it would take years to finish writing. And it's also one of those things that wouldn't be published until after I die-- or even better-- if, for some reason, I become ridiculously rich and famous. Then it wouldn't matter if the real-life characters in my book get offended, flattered, or screwed over.

But I'm definitely going to write a book before I die; it's one of the sure things on my life to-do list.

This past December, I flew to go home on my birthday but was surprised with a delayed flight and an extended three hours at JFK. Since I had a lot of downtime and wasn't in the mood to read the book that I had brought with me, I looked through the best sellers in one JFK's novelty stores. I realized that I didn't have a pen or paper with me so I noticed (just today, about 1.5 months after writing it) that I put whatever I was thinking at that moment into my phone, in fear that I would forget what I wanted to write.
It reads, "December 16 10:38 AM. How famous do you have to be for someone to be willing to read a 547 page book about yourself?"

I can't remember anymore whose autobiography it was, but it was definitely someone I didn't know right at the top of my head. Then again, I'm told I live under a rock when it comes to pop culture (but I can assure you it wasn't Ricky Martin. I actually think his book would be quite musing, only because I saw his interview on Larry King while at the gym a few months ago about him coming out). Either way, it made me doubt writing a book because of people like me ("who would read 547 pages about someone I don't know?"), but also encourage me to do it (since this 547 pager was published and then shelved on best sellers. But don't hold me accountable-- it might have been a best seller in that particular bookstore).

I will tell you that I'm not that prosaic and will not write an autobiography, but some aspect of my life that I think has some potential to be read by you with interest, and hopefully, relevance, inspiration, or emotion.

The Cigarette Friend.

2011-02-01T22:11:00.002-05:00

Apparently, smoking cigarettes has some sort of communal understanding attached to all of its derogatory nature.

I've never smoked a cigarette before, but I've always pictured some imaginary heroine smoking a cigarette while furiously jotting down meaningless notes for her book, wearing a thin, nude, raggity, off-the-shoulder, over-sized shirt and a cup of coffee unintentionally gone cold by her side. Black ink. Papers everywhere. Messy bun. Crummy apartment. And finally, insomnia.

It sounds so dreamy but I know I would personally hate to live such an unruly life.

Over my long, Thanksgiving break this past year, I saw a constant, communal act of smoking and really thought about it for the first time. Smoking was not really something that I acknowledged until I got to college. What kind of bond could possibly happen between two people who go outside to smoke? It takes about five minutes to finish a cigarette, but those five minutes must mean a lot to communal smokers. What do they talk about? Do they talk at all?

I try to think of something like smoking where I can communicate with someone without talking. Sometimes I wish I had someone to listen to my music with in silence. I see smokers and they often times smoke with people who they're not so close with. But to share that similar experience must be a seemingly trivial yet oddly powerful time spent together.

I've been thinking a lot about friendships lately, and I can't tell if the Cigarette Friend would be significant in my life. Short, aimless, talks about nothing. A nice, harmless relationship to have once in a while. But could they possibly be more important than some of the shallow relationships we have with friends, the ones we like to have fun with?

I dream of that sometimes.

Grocery Shopping.

2011-01-26T00:54:00.001-05:00

One of the most highly romanticized yet mundane wonders (besides coffee) is grocery shopping.

Pushing carts, browsing the produce section, picking unblemished [organic] apples, finding the perfect loaf of bread, and checking the expiration date of the carton of milk before putting it in the basket.

So romantic, so intimate. But why?

Is it the idea that sharing one cart means sharing one household? Cooking together?

Sometimes I wonder if the idea that girls are so engrossed with marriage scares guys away. I mean, I'm pretty sure it does. I only know a handful of girls who don't think much of marriage yet. And the girls I know who say they don't want to get married, don't really mean it. They say it because they're afraid they won't get married. Kind of like how you don't tell anyone that you applied to Stanford unless you get accepted. Saying you want to get married and then end up not getting married is pretty discouraging and therefore a bold statement to make when you say you want to get married.

I personally don't think of marriage very often because I need to find a boyfriend first. Duh. But I think that's what scares people (even girls....like me). It scares them that these girls don't even have boyfriends and they're romanticizing shopping carts and paper grocery bags (and if you're indie enough, reusable bags).

It's so romanticized that it makes me cringe when it's played out in movies.

When I think of grocery shopping as a romanticized phenomenon, I think of Scarlett Johansson. The queen of sluttiness in every movie she's in (except like, Ghost World). She's a lovely girl. I always thought she was cool.

Totally random.

I wonder how many girls out there truly anticipate an intimate time of grocery shopping and how many girls actually fear it. I think I'm somewhere in the middle. I'm not mushy and sweet enough to anticipate it.

What a shame.

Magical Candles, 11:11, And Stray Eyelashes.

2011-01-20T03:24:00.000-05:00

I rarely find myself wishing for things.

I find that I say "I wish" out of habitual redundancy and meaninglessness, but other than that, the words have no backbone. So, maybe the very idea that I just so happen to not enjoy cake and therefore rarely receive birthday candles on top of perfectly molded sponges and overly sweet frosting is actually parallel with my indiference to wish-making.

Among many things that I don't believe in (un-environmental things on wheels, writer's block, all-nighters, advertisements, "my favorite music is billboards top 100," dating, resolutions, soul-mates, etc.), wishes are another thing. When fate brings you to that split second when your eyes meet the clock and it changes from 11:10 to 11:11, do you make a wish? I just rolled my eyes. It happened to me a few hours ago. Hence the spark that made me want to write about this split second.

It's not that I look down on people who make a wish at 11:11 or people who close their eyes and actually say something in their head when they blow out candles or people who admire a stray eyelash rather than cry about how they lost something so precious (to Asians, at least). It's that, many years ago, I always knew that my 17 year old crush was never going to like 13 year old me. That was always my wish at 11:11.

Pessimism? Or just being realistic? You can pick your preference.

The day before I left home this winter break, my mom was sharing about how her resolution this year coincides with the Bible verse that she picked during the NYE service. I can't remember what it was, and honestly, I can't remember our conversation, but!- I do remember telling her that she really meant "hope" but kept saying "wish."

So I've been thinking: maybe I've been hoping too much when I should have been wishing all this time.

"Serendipitous."

2011-01-19T02:45:00.000-05:00

I cannot tell you how eerie that word is to me tonight. Not in any romanticized way, but as an ironically taunting reality.

But, I suppose it is these subtle instances that even mean anything from the most private of relationships.

Real Life Facebook.

2011-01-14T01:03:00.000-05:00

Don't you wish you could "unlike" something as quick as you could, like on Facebook?

But, no one dares to unlike something.

I must admit that I really do like Facebook. Despite all the dehumanizing effects of online networking, I think it's important that people become Facebook users. Sometimes it's cool when you don't have the thing that everyone has (ie. Tumblr), but it's not cool if you don't have a Facebook. Have you ever tried looking someone up but realized they must not have a Facebook? It's horrible. You start to wonder what they do with their lives and kind of scorn at their poor decision.

Anyway, it's true that you won't see me on your newsfeed very often or see me on Facebook chat, but I am a fan of Facebook nonetheless. I may not be actively participating, but like most silent Facebookers, I see everything that goes on (yes, everything).

I try to imagine college life without Facebook, and it's a pretty grim life. Would parties be coordinated not through message threads but through two-way phone calls? Would event invitations be through word-of-mouth? Would you have emailed your random roommate instead of looking him/her up on Facebook?

Facebook is like all the simple and easy forms of communication in that it's such a love-hate passageway for people to get to know each other or to keep in touch. Emails, instant messaging, texting, Facebook comments...such a fast, easy way to get to know someone, yet so inhumane.

Could life possibly be getting easier?

Recently, my friend Eunice "accidentally" clicked on the "like" button when I commented her on Facebook, and instead of unliking it, she commented saying that it was an accident. Why? Probably because I already got a notification saying that she liked it. So if she unliked it, I would know that she unliked it (which is rude, of course).

Everyone knows Facebook etiquette, such as not using the available "unlike" button. Another rule of etiquette is: when someone adds you to be their friend, the acceptor has to comment the acceptee first (I admit I'm guilty of disregarding this FB etiquette).

If it's hard to unlike something on Facebook, I'm sure it's harder to unlike something in real life.

The Borderline Cynic.

2011-01-12T19:29:00.000-05:00

On our last day (Mon. Jan 10), we woke up late, watched half of You've Got Mail, and went on a nice walk to Rite Aid for ice cream. I'm telling you, it's the best ice cream ever, and I don't even like ice cream.

This is the backdrop of our future coffee shop/cafe/clothes line/magazine spread. So uh, I'm going to copyright this.

Pretentious water or....?

They're actually quite painful (because they fit so perfectly). I'm reconsidering bringing them to Syracuse.

The 99 cent perfection. He got cookies and cream, and I got sweet tea. I know. But I'm rarely in the mood for dessert.

These days, chivalry is dead, so I had to pay for it. I'm older, and I dictate the relationship anyway.

How I would look if I had a middle part like I did in junior high.

Suburbia?

"The Boomi."

On the slide, I think. I'm not sure though, since I was busy doing grown-up things.

We never plan our trips, whether to CA, CO, or NY, but somehow, we meet up. We would not be good friends living as neighbors. This is fact, as it was lived-out while we were in the 7th-9th grade. So, when he says he will move to NYC upon graduation, I won't be staying in New York. I guess I don't know that yet, but I just don't think my internal frailty really belongs in such a city. I can't say I'm a soCal girl anymore either.

Finally the picture galore is over. I'll give you some real entries soon.

PS. Thanks to everyone who has been reading (and "liking") the SUBTLE link on Facebook. My article is out for the week, so check it out. Though, I kind of feel like Johnny Depp and his vow to never see one of his own films. In the same way, I don't really want to read my own published articles.

Getting More Substantial.

2011-01-12T11:04:00.000-05:00

Sunday morning (Jan. 9) was spent at my church.

The BF/GF retaking their prom photo in front of Good Neighbors Church banner.

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Potato-Flavored Oil Sponges.

2011-01-11T18:54:00.000-05:00

Saturday (Jan. 8) started off with Reb at VG.

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The Pop Killer.

2011-01-11T00:29:00.000-05:00

Upon such a busy weekend, I finally found the time to myself in order to update you on what exactly made me so busy. I'm separating each day with a different post, so today's will be from Friday (Jan. 7).

I took the metro to Union Station to meet Stephen. We calculated today and found that we meet up at least once a year since he moved to Colorado, which is quite fortunate considering such strange circumstances and hardly ever being in the same state. The secret to this fortune is that it's purely platonic: no one gets hurt for choosing not to see the other, and no harm is done seeing the other person either.

We first went to MOCA (in Little Tok.) to go to the gift shop for Murakami stuff. Bad merchandise. Read his journal, which was quite amusing. The last line said "maybe elee should have bought me a journal with lines. Gotta stop talking about her."

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Don't Hate This Link.

2011-01-05T13:29:00.000-05:00

I hate links.

I hate it when people link me to things, particularly on my Facebook or when we're talking online. It means you're being direct by making me click it. Just the mere idea that you choose me to share this link with, and aggressively force me to click on it makes me not want to click on it even more.

So I'll never do that to you. I only present links to you if only you want to click on them. I give you that freedom. You can choose not to click on them, but it's readily available for you to click at anytime. Hence the links on the right side of this page, hence the random taupe-colored words on some of my posts, and hence the lectures I link on Facebook because I want you to attend with me (yet you never do).

Here, I present to you another link. The same link that's always on my Facebook and the same link that's always on the right side of my blog (but I know you never click on it unless I present it to you).

SUBTLE Magazine is now a weekly online publication! Every Tuesday, we'll have something new for you to read and think about.

If you're a Tumblr user, follow it, reblog it, like it, comment it, and whatever else it is you Tumblr-ers do.

Don't hate this link.

Pollen And Salt.

2011-01-02T23:16:00.001-05:00

The scary thing about starting a new year is that every little thing you do will be the first for the entire year.

This is my first blog entry. I just painted my first nail polish of the year. And the first new people I met just minutes after midnight were twin boys that I have been urged to meet since I've been home from school.

My mom's resolution is probably for me to get a boyfriend this year. With twins, the possibility doubles. Le sigh. I guess every mom thinks their daughter is the biggest catch. It's scary to think that parents have no idea what goes on with their children's love lives (or lack thereof). Listening to some of my friends' stories, I can't face their parents without seeing how clueless they are. Either that, or they play dumb.

Anyway, to make a short story even shorter, I was too flustered about the new year that I didn't try to make conversation. Bitchy? Yeah, kinda. But come on, while the rest of the West coast is celebrating with a midnight kiss, I had to make conversation with two people I'll never see again? Not fair at all. Plus, they didn't surpass my 5'9" minimum requirement anyway.

Just kidding...

So other than the twinsies, I spent my NYE with Annie as usual. We dined at "Pizza N Such" at the Village (we planned on Saca's Mediterranean but it was closed) and ordered hot sandwiches. Traveled back to Annie's house in Diamond Bar for a few hours until we decided to go to Guppy's for brick toast and coffee. And like usual, we arrived to the NYE service late, but in time for the countdown, where I rushed to find my mom. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing familiar faces in my first hour of 2011.

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Monotonously Spontaneous.

2010-12-30T03:32:00.001-05:00

I've been in a crisis.

I never really thought "monotonous spontaneity" would be permanent. But in fact, most people know my blog as "especialee" rather than its actual title (which I also regret). But my blog truly is monotonously spontaneous with all of its adaptation; from writing about my day, to insightful posts, to a million pictures of me and my friends, to motivational posts, to my observations of social relationships, and to what I now call my tipping point--the "coffee post"--(which, by the way, was completely unintentional). But finally, I am now stuck in a standstill.
I have no idea how to write anymore thanks to the guy who asked me to get coffee!

So what I'm trying to tell you is that "monotonous spontaneity" is perfect, but it makes me feel uneasy. I just hate how it sounds and how lengthy it is (though credits go to David Crowder for coining the phrase).

Yet, I can't come up with a title that I know I'll cherish forever. I wonder if Kevjumba ever regrets his username. Probably something he never thought would matter five years down the road. But seeing how everyone throws out his name like nothing, maybe it isn't strange to him at all, as it isn't strange for me to call him Kevjumba. Maybe I'm just self-conscious about my own creative attempts with titles, despite that this isn't even my own creative attempt.
Then again, why do I need to worry about forever if forever isn't what anyone expects from being monotonously spontaneous?

Mexico And Some Shopping.

2010-12-28T23:23:00.000-05:00

Yesterday we went to Riverside to see Joyce and eat some good Mexican food at Los Jilbertos.

Jlo and Bran ready to eat.

I know. I'm going to cut my hair soon. It usually doesn't look that long since I rarely like to leave it straight. But at least Joyce looks cute as always.

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End Of The Year Fiasco.

2010-12-27T11:34:00.001-05:00

I love the end of the year because it's so overwhelming.

First, you DGAF about the resolutions you made at the beginning of the year since in a few days, you'll be making new ones (or renewing old ones). Second, it's like we have to try our best to be nice to everyone before Christmas, and give that leeway of meanness for that after-Christmas shopping. Lastly, we're then trained and transformed to be all teary-eyed and extra friendly by giving hugs to people you actually don't know why you're hugging (what a story to tell today), and be apprehensive for the unknown in the remaining days of the year.

I have a few resolutions for 2011 (except I don't believe in resolutions so I call the whole thing a "revitalization list." You'll see that I don't believe in a lot of things), which I will share when New Years draws closer.

In the meantime, I realized that there are so many things I want to say about 2010. So many things to reflect on. So many moments that deserve recognition, and so many moments that deserve to be forgotten. Yet, at the same time, there are so many things I want to say about the horribly terrifying 2011.
2011 means a lot to me looking at it from the end of 2010. 2011 has scared me since 2009. Maybe I'll explain to you later, but for now, let me just say that the end of the year is always a fiasco. Find me a person who can eloquently summarize their year in one blog post, and we shall give them a prize.

A gajabillion words, a million thoughts, too many experiences, and so little time before it's too late.

Overwhelming.

I'm going to change my blog title. A new year, new title. Expect to see changes soon.

PS. My Christmas was eerily quiet this year. At one point, I went in my backyard with my dog and simply sat there, amazed at the warmth of the sun. I've been hearing about the blizzard in the East and I feel like I'm in a different world. I can't tell if it's a good thing or not, but for that moment, I thanked God for the year-round sun that I used to hate.

Happy Hour: Three Philosophies And Four Inch Platforms.

2010-12-23T06:08:00.004-05:00

I just had very own first happy hour with jiyoung. I can't believe I let myself eat so late. Definitely weird that I still feel like a 15 year old except I'm allowed to do anything I want.

I hate combining irrelevant posts together, but this happy hour led to a very fresh awakening.

I have a few strange and controversial philosophies for my own life.

The first is that I don't believe in name brands and labels. True, it's inevitable to avoid them. What about the second-hand shopping I love so much? It's hard to avoid labels, so I can't say that I don't own any name brands. Nevertheless, it's not that I don't like them, it's that I don't want to be dominated by a label, stripping what's left of my originality, and ultimately, paying money to be a walking advertisement.

Which leads to my second philosophy, that is, I don't believe in advertisements- yet another thing that is unavoidable. I first cringed at an advertisement last semester during my fashion and feminism course. Advertisers are freaking geniuses, but they leave me so unbelievably speechless at their ruthlessness. They weave so many subliminal messages. The vulnerability of women. The dominance of men. Stereotypes. Social roles and stigmas. Corruption. Manipulation. Temptation. Most of all, they're usually wrong because ironically, social norms are hardly ever "right." In my cultural studies class, I wrote an entire paper on a food advertisement (Sierra Mist Natural) and though I did poorly, I learned the ridiculousness of ads, and of the encouragement of waste, consumption, and of planned obsolescence.

Lastly-- and this is where the awakening happened during the not-so-happy hour of consumption-- I don't believe in dating. I'm on the friends-first side. And this friends-first thing should be at least six months. That gives each person enough time to realize if you would like more than friendship. I think I would go on a date for fun, but nothing that could lead to heartbreak or misunderstandings of being "led on." Of course, I talked to a few people about this and they all think I'm nuts.

Oh well. The good news is that I sporadically have a wonderful shoe collection at home. The four-inch platform ankle boots and my newly purchased buckled ankle boots are my favorite. Both very practical in the rain. Who needs rainboots when you're four inches off the ground?

This makes me very excited for my mental wardrobe list during the week Stephen is coming. I don't know why my fashion is enhanced when he's near me, but maybe it's because no one else appreciates my style. Gotta look savvy in Denver, sophisticated in LA. Can't wait to show you, friends.

PS. Love DIY? Or blogs? Or my friends? check this out.

All Is Not Lost.

2010-12-20T01:14:00.008-05:00

A special thanks to Reb for planning my birthday dinner at Kabuki upon my return. It was a lovely, simple dinner. By the way, I have no idea where the picture of Reb, Bran, and Jackie went (did you guys delete it?!).

Hehe so cute. I brought Joyce along to church today since she slept over (our conversations were pleasant).

A-mong made me baked goods, a pillow, and bought me unmentionables for my birthday :)

We met up with the other mongs, and Justin joined us for our lunch at Mix Bowl.

I love David :)

Other than that, the weather sucks. I used to love the rain but now I realized all the shoes I have are useless no matter where I am.

Birthday Gallery.

2010-12-16T23:28:00.003-05:00

I was stuck in JFK for three hours because the horrific snow in Syracuse made me miss my second flight to LAX. But after a mere ten minutes of passive aggressiveness to a bunch of strangers, I realized that this is all I need: free access to an iPad to catch up on blogs (via Google reader), The Tipping Point, a pen, my Muji notebook, Starbucks, and my iPod. Thanks for the reminder of what a blessed person I am, God.

21 years of life and living, who would have thought I would be spending half my day in the greatest city in the world? Well, the greatest city's airport, that is...

It took me a grand total of 15 hours to get from Syracuse to my humble abode across the country. There was traffic everywhere. I realized this was actually the worst birthday I've ever had. Flying is my worst enemy, and if you really want to see me cranky, the best way is to pick me up from the airport after flying from one coast to the other. It's not a big deal to be whining about, but I just get so overwhelmingly oily and miserable and hungry and my butt gets numb from sitting in the same position for so long. Not to mention that I actually had to sit in between two people for six hours because it was a last minute flight.

So after dinner with my parents, I had to open this "time capsule," which I made in the 6th grade (along with everyone else in Mrs. Steinmetz's class).

Some interesting things I found inside:

Nope. No favorite clothes, and what?? What does "Favorite T.V. shows" mean????

Guess I always knew I wanted to be a "reportor," and something about being successful because I knew what "publishing" meant in 6th grade.

There IS snow in California!

Anyway, though it was a miserable birthday, I had a great last week of school despite the busyness of papers and finals. Thanks everyone. But I have to ask you, is it infidelity if I didn't want to come home? Sometimes I wonder why I do end up coming home every year.

Hm. Well, I think it's time for me to watch You've Got Mail with a cup of Jasmine green tea and maybe tomorrow I'll watch the annual Charlie Brown Christmas. It's actually only in the 60s here, and Jennifer and I brought half the weather with us. It's going to rain all week.

Spoiled With Good People.

2010-12-11T18:26:00.003-05:00

Facebook statuses are the easiest and quickest way to show appreciation on birthdays/congratulatory occasions, but I thought it would be a lot more meaningful if I didn't try to condense my gratitude into one, small impersonal status into the internet void. Besides, I don't want people to just "like" what I say. I want them to know how much of a blessing they are in my life ;)

I was absolutely, thoroughly shocked last night when I opened the door and found about 20 people in my common room waiting to surprise me for my birthday, mainly because they were six days early. Not to mention that the planning was extraordinarily discreet.

Everyone put so much thought and effort (and $$) into all this and I am so, so blessed to have all the coolest and best people in my life (am I hogging all the good people in this world?).

Photos courtesy of Jennifer Pio.

I recently complained about having the worst camera in the world, and so my gift, among all the early birthday wishes, thoughtful card-signings, great food, and amazing company, was a new Canon Powershot.

Not 5 megapixels, but 14.1.

I wish I could write this on my actual birthday, but I couldn't wait. Thanks to everyone who planned, pitched in, and showed up (or some that couldn't show up). Special thanks to my roommates Yoojin and Jennifer, and to Simon (who's not even in Syracuse!). I never expected anything like this, and truly, every birthday for me is a spoiled birthday.

Cheers, Happy Anniversary.

2010-12-07T20:05:00.009-05:00

I just wanted to let you know that this month marks my two year blog anniversary. The content and form of my writing has definitely evolved into something entirely different from when I first started, most likely because I never intended this particular blog to 1) last this long and 2) have a readership.
Even now, the content is changing once again. Someone told me, it's more "cheesy," more about life and its mundane questions rather than about non-existent relationships and observations (which an anonymous commenter once called me "desperate").

I just remembered one anonymous commenter over the summer who told me that my entries amused them- not that they were meant to be amusing, but that they can be musing as well. Whoever you are, I appreciate your clarification very much. It's nice to know that I'm not solely writing to people who just want to kill time.

Two years and counting, my dear friends. Thanks for reading.