Lately I've been feeling down. Some things here and there have become mountains I need to climb. I know, I know, don't make a mountain out of a molehill, life is what you make it, but these things weren't molehills to begin with. And as long as I keep walking, as long as I muster up all the strength I know I have, I will pass these mountains and find a much better view. But as much as I know that things will be great, I can't help knowing that things right now are different. Change is good, but as of right now, change hurts.
I have many blessings to count, too many to count. To breathe. To have the luck of living comfortably. To have an education. To have a family. To have the kindest, most supportive friends I ever knew existed. To live in a country that is not painfully oppressive. To have a future, where the only real thing I need to worry about is taxes. To be blessed, with a fiery spirit, mind, and soul. To know that the best things in life, are the simple ones. To have loved and lost. To have obstacles to face, reminding me how much I am capable of. I have so many blessings, I could list them for ages. These blessings keep me going. I have no doubt that the Sun will shine and I will have many more blessings to count, but my heart is broken and I feel a little slow. Things take time to heal, but how long? I know it's not when are things appropriate, right now is appropriate, carpe diem. But when will hardship feel less like baggage, less like a lesson, and more like a passing story to tell? I don't hate hardship, I hate not knowing what to do with it.
All I know is to keep telling myself to count my blessings. Keep doing what I love to do. Keep my passions alive and stay driven. Keep finding more reasons to love and telling all the reasons to hate, "Screw you, I will not!" Keep looking ahead, no matter how much I want to look back. I am not a static character, I am a force to be reckoned with.
March 1 - I have an affinity for the Spanish language. I don't understand it very well but I'm in love with the passions and emotions it exudes in the most simplest of phrases. Of course, it's also a romantic language and it can pull of the "tackiest" romantic lines with the straightest face. Anyways, I was listening to the song "Difícil" by Juanes. It reminded me of this blog.
27.2.11
19.2.11
Wake Up Call
I woke up and saw this...jealous? It's so nice to wake up to a window!
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| Not the best picture, but you get my gist |
15.2.11
A Bit O' Love
I came across this video a while ago and this guy's (Jaeson) mission is so wonderful to say the least. My understanding is that he's taping a series of videos under the theme 365 Days of Love. I haven't seen the other videos yet (which I plan to do) but what Jaeson has done in this video is simply amazing. I love (haha, what an appropriate word to describe this!) the idea and I'm thinking of trying it sometime.
Here's Jaeson's synopsis of what this video is about:
In this 365 Days of LOVE Episode, I was inspired by local church, Newsong, and their ministry Laundry Love, in which they go and pay for people's laundry and talk with them. I picked up some linens and dirty towels and headed over to a local coin laundromat that I always pass by on my way to work. I tossed my laundry into a washer and started talking to those that were also waiting for their laundry to finish. I had a blast!
At first people were surprised that I wanted to pay for their laundry or even talk, but they started to warm up! I met Mel, a sweet lady that moved from the Philippines when she was young; she shared her life's story with me as we sorted her loads of laundry. As she explained hardships she had gone through, I was struck by how much love she had given to others and how moved she was that someone was willing to listen to her for a couple minutes.
At first people were surprised that I wanted to pay for their laundry or even talk, but they started to warm up! I met Mel, a sweet lady that moved from the Philippines when she was young; she shared her life's story with me as we sorted her loads of laundry. As she explained hardships she had gone through, I was struck by how much love she had given to others and how moved she was that someone was willing to listen to her for a couple minutes.
12.2.11
Impact
I'm always surprised in a relationship. Any relationship really - parents, friends, family, acquaintances. When someone makes an effort to connect with me or tells me they miss me, love me, need me around, I'm always thoroughly surprised. How in the world could I make an impact on someone? ME. Measly, ol' ME. I mean, I've done nothing!
In my English class last semester, our professor had us do creative writing on anything our hearts desired (it was one of my favorite classes so far, the professor was brilliant and we were allowed to be whoever we were). One classmate wrote a very dark piece about death and how when she dies, she would want to be remembered. The professor said it was something that the general human race wanted when they died, to be remembered. As much as I would like to be remembered when I die, on what planet do I deserve to be remembered? And even more, how in the world do I have the right to prefer to be remembered by a certain characteristic or memory? I don't know, I just feel that's crazy talk, imagining how someone, or anyone even should remember me?
And not to say I'm modest and not conceited. I'm very conceited about many things. I'm just always thrown off when someone says something to me that shows that I've made some impact on them. Whenever a friend out of the blue makes contact with me, says they've been thinking about me, anything of the sort, I'm just very surprised. I don't quite know what to say other than "Thank you" and gush. Trying to leave an impact on the world and its living things so that I may be remembered when I die is simply too big of a goal. Not to say I don't want to change the world, oh that I'll do, but getting recognition for it makes me antsy. I just want to live and only hope good things will come of it.
Oh jeez, I realize how narcissistic this blog entry may sound, but I truly mean every word of it. I just have non-stop thank yous, and sorrys, and hopefullys to say. But that's for another rambling blog entry. Back to my date with homework....
(And thank you taking the time to read this mess! You're much too kind, much too wonderful.)
In my English class last semester, our professor had us do creative writing on anything our hearts desired (it was one of my favorite classes so far, the professor was brilliant and we were allowed to be whoever we were). One classmate wrote a very dark piece about death and how when she dies, she would want to be remembered. The professor said it was something that the general human race wanted when they died, to be remembered. As much as I would like to be remembered when I die, on what planet do I deserve to be remembered? And even more, how in the world do I have the right to prefer to be remembered by a certain characteristic or memory? I don't know, I just feel that's crazy talk, imagining how someone, or anyone even should remember me?
And not to say I'm modest and not conceited. I'm very conceited about many things. I'm just always thrown off when someone says something to me that shows that I've made some impact on them. Whenever a friend out of the blue makes contact with me, says they've been thinking about me, anything of the sort, I'm just very surprised. I don't quite know what to say other than "Thank you" and gush. Trying to leave an impact on the world and its living things so that I may be remembered when I die is simply too big of a goal. Not to say I don't want to change the world, oh that I'll do, but getting recognition for it makes me antsy. I just want to live and only hope good things will come of it.
Oh jeez, I realize how narcissistic this blog entry may sound, but I truly mean every word of it. I just have non-stop thank yous, and sorrys, and hopefullys to say. But that's for another rambling blog entry. Back to my date with homework....
(And thank you taking the time to read this mess! You're much too kind, much too wonderful.)
11.2.11
Chinese or American?
I was born in Texas and raised in the Northeast. I'm a product of Fourth of Julys, American freedom, democracy, a fine but lax education system, and individualism. But my face would tell you otherwise.
There's a question that always makes me shifty and uncomfortable. Where are you from? I'll answer this in one of two ways. Answer One: Oh, I'm from Texas. or Oh, I live in Connecticut. or Me? I'm an American. Or Answer Two: I was born in Texas but my parents are from Hong Kong. Wait, what? Why am I telling people where my parents came from? The first answer is logical and answers the question! I know, I agree, but whenever that question is asked, I can feel, in the bottom of my gut that the askers are expecting a different answer. It always feels as if my almond-shaped eyes and my dark black hair is not a sign of being American. After all, it's been a little more than 200 years, and it still feels as if being white is the holy grail of the American Dream.
But then I don't feel quite Chinese either.
I've visited Hong Kong many times and I love it there. The culture, being with family, the convenience of city life, the hustle and bustle, how the city never sleeps, and the food, oh the food. But every time I meet my parents' friends for the first time, there'll be a few bumps down the road. First, they'll speak to me in English. Oh, she understands Cantonese and speaks some too? Great! Then, they'll notice my chopstick skills if we're out for food. Most people, even Chinese, don't know how to use chopsticks. Good for you! As proud as I am to hear those comments, as many times as I've heard them, they still sting. I just don't know what race I am, what race I belong to.
Even my ability to speak and write, represents how lost and unattached I feel to both in countries. Even though most of the reason is that I've become shy speaking in class or to people I don't know, I blame my stumbling on growing up with parents who knew English in theory but not in practice. And in Hong Kong my brain and mouth can't cooperate on the phonetics and syllables. I try. I want to learn more Cantonese and expand my English vocabulary and learn all the languages this world has to offer, but I panic when I try something new.
Perhaps I'm making a much bigger deal out of this than I need to, it's not really important you might say. They're labels that inherently have nothing to do with character and all to do with genes, appearance, and health. That's it. Just biological matter. But it's hard to give up wondering if my classmates notice that 99% of the class is of European descent. Or if the woman who noticed the enormous luggage I brought home and asked if I was selling stuff, was imagining the hawkers on Canal Street. Or if the person next to me is asking what I eat for dinner because they want to know what I eat for dinner or they wanted to know what Chinese people eat for dinner. I can't help it. Being a part of two different cultures makes me highly aware of the differences between them, and even more highly aware (both rationally and irrationally) of how others may perceive me. I've convinced myself it doesn't matter, that I need to control my race-conscious thoughts. They're being genuinely kind. They don't notice the race of me (or John or Jane). You're just being sensitive. But I can't help wondering if any of my interactions with people or the interactions I see of others have any motivation of race.
Don't get me wrong though. I love being American and I love being Chinese. It's one of the greatest gifts my parents have given me. It that makes me who I am. I'm able to live the glory of both cultures. I'm hard-working and value academics (very Chinese) but I luckily, never had to face the ball-and-chain relationship between me and my education (Thank you, be-yourself-education-should-be-public-and-free America). I live in democracy while there's a chance (I believe), that China will shadow over Hong Kong like Big Brother. There's so many things I have living in two worlds. It has taught me more values, more options, more viewpoints than I could ever imagine having in one culture alone. I guess, it's all a balance I'm hoping to achieve.
There's a question that always makes me shifty and uncomfortable. Where are you from? I'll answer this in one of two ways. Answer One: Oh, I'm from Texas. or Oh, I live in Connecticut. or Me? I'm an American. Or Answer Two: I was born in Texas but my parents are from Hong Kong. Wait, what? Why am I telling people where my parents came from? The first answer is logical and answers the question! I know, I agree, but whenever that question is asked, I can feel, in the bottom of my gut that the askers are expecting a different answer. It always feels as if my almond-shaped eyes and my dark black hair is not a sign of being American. After all, it's been a little more than 200 years, and it still feels as if being white is the holy grail of the American Dream.
But then I don't feel quite Chinese either.
I've visited Hong Kong many times and I love it there. The culture, being with family, the convenience of city life, the hustle and bustle, how the city never sleeps, and the food, oh the food. But every time I meet my parents' friends for the first time, there'll be a few bumps down the road. First, they'll speak to me in English. Oh, she understands Cantonese and speaks some too? Great! Then, they'll notice my chopstick skills if we're out for food. Most people, even Chinese, don't know how to use chopsticks. Good for you! As proud as I am to hear those comments, as many times as I've heard them, they still sting. I just don't know what race I am, what race I belong to.
Even my ability to speak and write, represents how lost and unattached I feel to both in countries. Even though most of the reason is that I've become shy speaking in class or to people I don't know, I blame my stumbling on growing up with parents who knew English in theory but not in practice. And in Hong Kong my brain and mouth can't cooperate on the phonetics and syllables. I try. I want to learn more Cantonese and expand my English vocabulary and learn all the languages this world has to offer, but I panic when I try something new.
Perhaps I'm making a much bigger deal out of this than I need to, it's not really important you might say. They're labels that inherently have nothing to do with character and all to do with genes, appearance, and health. That's it. Just biological matter. But it's hard to give up wondering if my classmates notice that 99% of the class is of European descent. Or if the woman who noticed the enormous luggage I brought home and asked if I was selling stuff, was imagining the hawkers on Canal Street. Or if the person next to me is asking what I eat for dinner because they want to know what I eat for dinner or they wanted to know what Chinese people eat for dinner. I can't help it. Being a part of two different cultures makes me highly aware of the differences between them, and even more highly aware (both rationally and irrationally) of how others may perceive me. I've convinced myself it doesn't matter, that I need to control my race-conscious thoughts. They're being genuinely kind. They don't notice the race of me (or John or Jane). You're just being sensitive. But I can't help wondering if any of my interactions with people or the interactions I see of others have any motivation of race.
Don't get me wrong though. I love being American and I love being Chinese. It's one of the greatest gifts my parents have given me. It that makes me who I am. I'm able to live the glory of both cultures. I'm hard-working and value academics (very Chinese) but I luckily, never had to face the ball-and-chain relationship between me and my education (Thank you, be-yourself-education-should-be-public-and-free America). I live in democracy while there's a chance (I believe), that China will shadow over Hong Kong like Big Brother. There's so many things I have living in two worlds. It has taught me more values, more options, more viewpoints than I could ever imagine having in one culture alone. I guess, it's all a balance I'm hoping to achieve.
7.2.11
Effortless
The other day I saw a book with the tagline "The Effortless Way To Discovering Your Life Purpose." I know one's not supposed to judge a book by it's cover and I don't know anything about the book other than that it's about realizing your passions, but if the path of life is supposed to be effortless, then dammit, I quit!
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