Insomnia

I had a quiz today for which I put off studying until the last day, which was yesterday. And for some reason, I have the mind of a monkey last night, it just won't quit hopping from one random thought to another. It was terrible. I must have gotten into bed and gotten out like fifty times. This rarely happens to me. Sleep is like breathing to me, I never usually have to give it a second thought. But last night, I tossed and I flopped and I flipped myself like a pancake on a frying pan, and I snuggled deep, and I burrowed like a rabbit in my big red fluffy blanket and I counted, or tried to count from 1 to 100. I made it to about 50 and I got frustrated and I got up. But good thing is, each time I got up, I studied some more, so maybe my quiz grade will have benefitted overall from my insomnia.


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I kind of had a bad dream though. It involved a monster of some sort and it terrified me. I wish I can recall it more clearly now but damn that quiz, I woke up around 8:20 in a stupor. The quiz was at 9 AM. Of course, of course, of course. Oh Emily are you a character in a korean soap opera? Emily leaps out of bed cursing having overslept (original plan was to get up at 6 AM to study some more but going to sleep finally around 5:30 AM made it a little difficult) She then throws on some clothes, wraps her skinny neck in a long flowing purple scarf and pumps her legs to move as fast as she could to the school. Luckily I got to school when there were still seats available and I sat down, feeling tired and hungry and adrenaline-rushed. It's a very interesting state to be in, a little hyper-stretched, truth be told. I wish I could remember my dream, it was so fascinating, at least to me. I want to record it so that I could read it when I'm 80 and chuckle into my wrinkled hands and think, I once dreamt that? How funny. How amusing! Hee hee hee.

Googlemania and other thoughts

Google has recently "clonally proliferated" into an even bigger presence in my life, and millions others I'm sure. It has all sorts of nifty gadgets you can add to your iGoogle page, decorate it like a little girl decorates her room. I don't mean to put a disdainful spin on it, because at heart, I will forever be that little girl that loves to decorate her room, her scrapbooks, her wallpaper, her blog, etc etc.


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I recently went to visit an elderly resident at a nursing home-like facility. This woman, at 91, is sprightly and sharp and independent as ever. I admire her ability to still think critically and her interest in keeping up with the world and its current affairs. She mentioned some stuff about current politics which I thought were interesting, even though it was somewhat in opposition to mine. I didn't think it appropriate to start a heated political debate with someone who is more than 3x older than me, so I just listened politely. While I may not agree with her, I still find it interesting to talk to her.

Jason came back recently from China. He got to sample some scorpion and butterfly cocoon. I'm sure he will blog all about it later. He showed me some videos of him doing it. I don't think I would EVER want to be in the position of eating these fried bugs and sloshing bug juices in my mouth. Eegads! Apparently it's a big hit with the tourists who visit there though. I think all these world travelers who flock to China are looking for precisely these exotic out of the world experiences and some smart vendors in China figured out how to exploit that particular desire at that particular time. Apparently the locals are not exactly all that into eating bugs either, so the Chinese save their bugs for their wonderfully obliging and game visitors.

Thanksgiving is in a few days. I will be heading back to Maryland to spend some downtime with the folks. I think I will have to set aside some time to study though because I've not been keeping up as well as I should be. I also have a baby to visit and an ex-coworker to have lunch with. It shall probably be busier than even when I'm in school!

Em babbles on

Today I had the first of a series of exams. For some reason, it was a real struggle. I guess I know the reason - I didn't study hard enough, or was that it? Is it always as simple as that? Usually when I'm deeply immersed in an exam, the time just flies by. All that adrenaline and focused energy makes time disappear. This time around, I was excruciatingly aware of the passage of time. I was itching to get out of the exam, truth be told. I kept flipping to the end of the test and wondering how many more questions I have to answer. I think my ADHD has kicked in big time and perhaps to the detriment of my score. Score schnore, why do we care so much about grades anyway? Why do we let ourselves get all twisted up about some numbers? Of course, even as I say that, I wonder if my ego defense isn't kicking in (courtesy of studying Behavioral science and some Freudian theories) Am I in denial? Perhaps. I deny the importance of grades (but in my defense, I have been told that first two years' of grades don't matter that much unless you are a psychotic gunning for surgery or opthalm) There was even a question on the exam about a medical student who has a big biochem test in 7 days and keeps putting off studying to do these other more "urgent" tasks such as raking leaves, cleaning closets, etc. A lightbulb went off. Hey! That's me! I joyfully reconciled with my test question self, we exchanged some hellos and how are yous. And then I had to answer the question and move on. Sigh, as I answered the question, I imagined my test question self waving at me sadly from within the page, bidding me good luck and hoping I won't turn into her fully and completely, that self-destructive, procrastinating slave, pinned down by her ego defense of avoidance and escapism delusions.

I started watching a movie called Match Point, a film by Woody Allen. I love On Demand, though it's particularly tempting when test time rolls around, I don't know why. But in any case, I really enjoy it so far. Jonathan Rhys-Meyer, an actor I've noticed before, is and can be intense. He doesn't seem that comfortable in his own skin, ever, but then again, he plays characters that require that edginess. I think in this case, he was cast quite fittingly. And Scarlet Johansson, what can I say? She's a hot little number and I could see why every man and his grandfather swoons when her name comes up. I think if I had been born a blond little girl, I would want to look like her. I am absolutely in love with the white shirt-dress that she appears in, during the first scene we witness her in. I think I'll have to try to scope it out. I've taken my shopping habit to a whole new level, with very specific ideas of what I want now.

In the mean time, I still need a good idea for a costume. If nothing comes up, I'll just have to throw on some wild things from my closet. I think I can pull off the hippie look with my longer hair and bangs now, but I don't feel like donning a tie-dyed shirt and flashing the peace sign all night long. I could go gothic, but these days, I have the face of a tired gothic woman already, and I don't need to be even more gothic. I think I wouldn't mind going for a femme fatale look, ha.

Sequel to previous post

Oddly enough, based on the contents of my previous post exactly 22 days ago, today was the day I encountered my first rodent - a dead one. 22 days ago, when I first discovered to my great consternation, invaders of my Lays chips, my roommate and I laid down traps for them all around the kitchen. For 20+ days, nothing happened and we were gently lulled back into the belief that these little gnawly things are gone forever. At first when we placed the traps, I would go to the kitchen everyday and glance warily at the traps to see if we caught anything. Though I never wanted to, I was also half hoping that we would, as that would mean one less to run around, reproduce, and make more disgusting little pests. But after a few weeks, I began to think that we just won't see them anymore. Ha - boy was I wrong.

Today, after an utterly indulgent nap at 4 PM, I woke from my sleep close to 6 and lumbered into the kitchen. I thought I would make myself some dinner. Almost as an afterthought, as I was standing by the shelf close to where the trap was, I glanced down, only blurrily wondering if anything was there. And there it was, a grey plumpish gross pulp of a thing, lying there in the trap rather docilely. I don't actually know what I said or uttered at that moment folks, it was possible that my mind went utterly blank for a nanosecond as my soul popped out of my body to do an otherworldly scream of such magnitude you would not believe, or my fight or flight hormonal response spiked so suddenly and extremely that instead of jarring me into action, it temporarily paralyzed me. In any case, it was completely UNREAL. I may have turned green.

Immediately I decided that I had lost my appetite. Then I thought about what I was going to do. The evil thought was to walk away and leave it to my roommate to clean up, as she isn't lilly-livered about mice as I am. I didn't want to leave it to her, mostly because the idea of leaving that dead thing around is distasteful to me. But I didn't want to come within 100 feet of that thing either. So I played the girl card and asked one of my friendly neighborhood classmates to come and do the dirty deed. Lucky for me, he was feeling kind that day. Bowled over with gratitude, I ended up making dinner for him in return.

Anyway, the long story short is, I hate mice I hate mice I hate mice. I wish to God they don't exist on this green earth. I can't comprehend why they are around except they are these hardy little things that will never die no matter what. That one in the trap was probably not really dead, just playing dead.

Ugh, I got to do something about my phobia. And I promise folks that I won't blog about mice ever again, no matter what, I refuse to give my phobia even more of a hold on me than it already has. Now to sleep and to put an end to this accursed day!

The Irrationality of Fear

Yes yes I have a phobia and that phobia consists of shrieking uncontrollably at the sight of a little animal about the size of two fingers. I know it's retarded and though people have tried to talk me through the irrationality of it all, I just can't help it. Every time I hear a noise in my apartment, I tense up. Do I fear a break in? No...that would be way too rational for me. I fear the little four pawed rodents that really could do no harm to me directly, except perhaps by inducing a heart attack. The other day I discovered that these little brats have invaded my Lays chips, which I had purchased with great delight and planned on savoring for the weeks ahead. It was with great dismay then that I found a breach in the system (aka chewed plastic bag, hole, nibbles etc) For a good half hour or so, I kept hearing noises and though I investigated diligently, I was never able to find the culprit. I finally found that my bag of chips have been invaded. Of course the bag of chips went promptly into the dumpster, but since then I've been sort of high strung and tense. I even screamed when I inadvertently scattered some decorative objects, and one of them, a ball, but the size of a mouse rolled across the floor. My phobia and hysteria was such that I thought I saw one of those little buggers racing across the rug, and so a shriek erupted from me of its own accord. I scared my roommate and also myself. At least I didn't wet my pants, geez, I am such a lily-livered thing.

Malnourished Emily

As part of my nutrition course I had to make a food diary documenting what and how much I've been eating over a three day period. Although my food intake can vary largely from day to day, the overall average is that I'm only getting about 70% of what my body needs in terms of energy expenditure. Hmmm...could that be why I feel sleepy all the time? More food = more energy? What a brilliant concept, I must explore this further.

Actually, this exercise is quite good for me. It shows that I'm not getting enough of the vitamins that I need. I get a lot of potassium though, for one reason or another. Not nearly enough fibers. I have a high cholesterol and high sodium diet. I wish there was a Chinese version of this somewhere, because I would like my parents to try to document their daily intake to see where they are deficient. The site is a big pain to navigate, but if you are diligent, it actually is worth the trouble (so few things are these days...)

My Pyramid Tracker

Try it for yourself starting tomorrow! Don't be like me, accosted on the streets of Philly by some psycho because he thought he could bully some clinically undernourished waif who doesn't like food. Yes yes, I will get over this, eventually.

Chinatown Clinic

Today I went to volunteer at this clinic down in Chinatown. It's a solid operation run by volunteer students and doctors. The doctor who has been running this for the last 10 years is most probably a saint, but one that can be decidedly grouchy if he wants to be. I was placed in the "pharmacy" with these second year students.

My job was to play errand girl, I would take the medicine and give them to the patients. Often the job entailed such difficulties such as reading the label out loud to the patient, like "take this once a day." I'm sure I mispronounced quite a few names though. I smile to seem less threatening, it doesn't always come naturally. I think I have something wrong with my personality. I wish I was the bubbly girl who always exude natural warmth and friendliness, but alas.

Anyway, I had a good time. A couple of my classmates went with me and it was like that first episode of Grey's Anatomy, a bunch of newbies all thrown into this medical setting together and half the time, they look at each other wondering what the heck they were supposed to be doing. It was fun in that sort of communal spirit, because we were all in it together and all somewhat lost and clueless.

Four hours on the back

I just spent four hours studying, restudying, alternatingly drooling (read: sleeping) on my anatomy books. I have all told, about five different books opened as I hopscotched from one book to another. The target of my intense study? The back.

The more I study this gross anatomy stuff, the more impressed I am with the intricate designs that make up the human body. The back of the average human is sheathed in layer upon layer of muscles, some traversing diagonally right, some shooting up diagonally left, most of the muscles are paired, that is, you have a right and left version of the same muscle. Actually maybe all - I've yet to identify a muscle that is the lone ranger. Each muscle is there for a different purpose or function. Now the average couch potatoe (aka moi) do not take anywhere even remotely close to enough advantage of all his core muscles. But if you observe a dancer in action, you can bet that all those extensors and flexors are working hard to allow that dancer to create such beauty with her body movements.

Anyhoo, I shall retire for the evening and leave you to contemplate on the magnificence of such objects as semispinalis capitis, rhomboid majors, and my personal favorites: serratus posterior inferior and serratus posterior superior. Those good old profs of yore who made up these anatomical terms certainly didn't have economy of letters in mind at that time.

My Cadaver Story

From day one we’ve been harped on about professionalism. Well today was gross anatomy lab day 1 and we were going to be introduced to our cadaver and I was determined to be no less than 120% professional.

Our group assembled uncertainly around B5, our assigned table. On it lay a body covered under a white sheet. We peered at the form curiously and then at each other hesitantly, I think none of us were too eager to unveil what was beneath quite just yet.

Finally the professor’s clear directive rang out. “Remove the white sheet.” We complied. I looked curiously at the body and the first thing I wondered was, “what gender?” I looked first at the chest. It was flat, with protruding nipples. I thought, “oh, so it is probably male.” But then I looked further down and saw the absence of signifying organs and then I readjusted my logical reasoning. “oh, it is a rather thin female.”

A few kids looked over at our body, made the “yuck face” as they stared in morbid fascination at the green spots that had arisen on certain parts of our body. They smirked and said, “this one has mold.” I thought it was rather obnoxious of them, though I reasoned they were in part dealing with their own nervousness. I was already feeling connected to the body as well as somewhat protective.

The professor asked us to cut the plastic bag from the body. I grabbed the scissors and started zipping down the middle. My brisk business-like gestures belie my own hidden tremulous feelings. I was, truth be told, probably hyperventilating subconsciously because I was taking care to not inhale through my nose. When I got to the area near her face, I felt for a moment how surreal it really was. I was an inch from a dead person and all I cared about was the rather technical and mundane issue of removing her from the plastic body bag, just as if I were removing artichokes from a plastic bag recently purchased at Pathmark.

At some point not too long after, I got a chance to, or rather, I forced myself to look at the face of the body and see her as who she once was. She was a thin old lady, with a rather petite, symmetrical and comely face. I imagine that in life, she was one of those people who made you feel better just by her very presence. At that moment, my nervousness or repressed tremors subsided and I felt instead a quiet that came over me. I thought of her bravery in making this decision and I thought of how we have, by chance, by destiny, whatever you would like to call it, come to be linked in this very special and very intimate way. At that moment, I said a little prayer of gratitude for her and I also prayed to God for both strength and humility in the coming months. The best thing I can do for her is to honor her body and to learn what I am meant to learn, in a diligent, respectful, careful way, one stroke, one day at a time.

A long blog after a long hiatus

Morning: I went to a brunch titled Soul of Medicine. It was a pretty good event for physicians and medical students alike, all meeting and greeting, mingling and chowing. The food was good -- would have been even better hot, but as I went there late, I can only surmise with wistfulness. Some brave souls stood up before a crowd of 100 or more and begin telling their stories of doctor-patient interactions. One of the most moving of which was when a doctor shared about the time a group of patients banded together to try to save a failing hospital, testifying to the importance that this hospital and its doctors have played in their collective lives over the last 50 or so years. I listened and inwardly, I felt both gladdened and a bit saddened. The purpose of this brunch I suppose is to try and give cynical, tired doctors a morale boost and to give medical students space in which to grow their idealism again. Even amidst the chicken soup buffet, I found myself wondering, how will I manage to hold on to this idealistic, even naive desire to "help" others throughout my career, one that is sure to be full of ups and downs?

So my day started out pretty nicely overall and I left the brunch, if not exactly glowing with newfound idealism and skipping on clouds of noble dreams, I at least walked away satisfied that there are still doctors out there who really do care. I then spent an uneventful hour at the local Starbucks, unsuccessfully trying to cram in facts of spinal cord anatomy and the metabolism of glucose, two very diverse subjects, but all required and force-fed to your average med student.

I decided to take a break around this time and meandered to the local Borders bookstore to check out their goodies. It was also at this time that your not-so-intrepid heroine meets a potential serial killer. =(

So I was just moseying around when out of the blue, this middle-aged man with a metallic front tooth flashes his gnarly face in front of me and hisses, "Food and the body, they make a VERY NICE combination." To be honest, I was like, "WHAT????" I was too startled to even respond at first. My first intuitive gesture was to snap my head back like 2 feet to avoid any contact with this putrid specimen. I just stared at him in bewilderment, but to cover my confusion and because I'm Asian (when in doubt, smile politely - it's been inculcated into me) I just smiled politely and what I hope to be dismissively and walked away, like FAR away.

Later as I thought about this comment some more, I began to be more and more annoyed. This guy was insinuating that I have some sort of eating disorder, perhaps anorexia or bulemia, because he checked out my physique (probably simultaneously in a lurid and disapproving way) and decided that I was too skinny to be eating healthily. There was that little voice that rose up in me in protest whenever something injust has occurred and I smacked myself because I should have hissed right back at him, "Oh don't worry, I eat plenty, you dumbfuck" We all know it's wrong for a person to go to an obese person and tell them to eat less. It's insensitive and degrading. But what happens when it's the other way around? I've been singled out just because some shithead can't tell the difference between a healthy slender body from a clinically malnourished one. The asshole put a damper in my mood right then and there. But it got worse, or your N-S-I heroine just got more paranoid, I don't know which.

So anyway I went to the first floor to pay for my books, and lo! the schmuck was right behind me. I nonchalantly looked away but I was tense and braced for fight or flight. Flight - pretty easy, I'll just run to the nearest bookstore security guard and tell them to save me. Fight - I will be armed and prepared to scream at him if he comes near at me again to make some other invasive and inappropriate remark. Wasn't sure which, but I was set for either. But nothing dramatic happened. He seemed to be avoiding me too in his own right and not coming too close. I went to pay for my books and he did too. But then I noticed a curious thing. I told myself that I will not leave the bookstore before him. I would leave after him so that I have a good vantage point and not the other way around. This guy must have had some ideas of accosting me outside the bookstore, because he literally began to dawdle and wait around. He did everything he could to dawdle, he stared at some posters, he checked his watch, etc etc. Meanwhile I was standing a few feet from him, putting my books into my bag and pondering my next move. I smirked to myself and thought, "Oh NO you don't. I AM THE QUEEN OF DAWDLING. Let's see who can play this game longer." But on the other hand, I was caught between wondering if I'm just insane or he really is waiting for me to leave the bookstore too. So eventually the cat and mouse game came to a head and he left the bookstore, but he didn't LEAVE, he just stood outside the bookstore, biding his time. At this point, I decided that I wasn't going to leave the bookstore so I whipped out my cell phone and decided to call my parents. I thought, A, I could easily spend another 30-40 minutes on the phone talking to my mom if I have to or B, at the very least, I can tell my Mom what this evil creepy man looks like should it come to that.

So after about 10 minutes on the phone, I left the bookstore and he seemed to have disappeared to find his next victim and I went promptly to Five Guys and stuffed myself with a double cheeseburger topped with onions and mushroom. I thought I deserved it after the stressful ordeal I've just been through. And let me tell you, don't underestimate the power endorphins that can be released from the simple ingesting of saturated grease. Then I left Five Guys, if not deliriously happy, at least restored in my natural equilibrium and state of mind.

Medical School Week 1

Though I don't know if this is unique to my school, the curriculum that I follow at my med school is a fairly rigid and structured one. It's been good for me I think, because it forces me to be more organized as well and it does encourage a more organized way of thinking and planning. Medical school is as much about organization as it is about memorization and other skills.

This brings me to a point of some embarrassment. I live like five minutes away from school, 3 if I walk fast. I should be the eager beaver that is usually at class 30 minutes before it starts --- theoretically. But as in biology and in life, things rarely work as they should theoretically and it turns out that I'm usually dashing into the classroom either right as the lecture is starting or even later. Since this year, we have more students than we have seats in our lecture halls, this has occasionally resulted in me glumly being left out of a seat, the loser in the medical school musical chair rendition. Then I had to trudge my lonesome self to the "overflow" room, located in a far corner of the building, a sad little room full of other sad left out creatures who get to stare at a screen for the next hour or two instead of the live action the other early birds get to enjoy.

But that's okay, this smart cookie has managed to befriend a few young unsuspecting classmates of hers who would be glad to save her a spot should she need it. She still operates under the delusion that she doesn't need a spot saver, but very soon, she will learn the usefulness of such a gift.

In other news, I hope to take up yoga on a regular basis because I want to take a pre-emptive attack on this thing called stress. I was telling a classmate today how I wasn't sleeping very well lately and she sorta cocked her head to the side and said, "could Emily be experiencing something called stress?" I replied very earnestly, "yes perhaps, but it's kind of a foreign concept to me." But seriously, I do think I will need a good coping mechanism in the days to come and yoga just might be that feel good stress buster.

More later...I just want to not do below the mean for my upcoming first exam in medical school. How's that for setting the bar high?

First day of medical school

Well here I am, in medical school, sitting with all the other proud, privileged and most wonderfully earnest kids, heads up, shoulders straight, eager and bent to march down the road of selfless utility.

During orientation, I went through the usual meet and greets with everyone I met. Most people are so much younger than me, it's too depressing to inquire. I comfort myself that people usually have to ask me 20 questions before figuring out how nontraditional I am. It's all good though, we are all on the same path, though some of us are getting started a bit later.

So far, my school has done a great job of being welcoming, of being friendly and inviting. All the faculty and staff were smiles and cheers, hiding their gruffness for the sake of not raining on our parades. Just kidding, I don't know if they were pretending or not, but so far everyone has been uniformly nice, which, is truly pleasant.

But aah, we come to the first day of medical school. I arrive about 30 minutes before classes start (atypical of me, but hey, i'm in medical school!!) and I prepare my notebooks as is, I fold my hands and I sit primly to await for instruction. The professor started off congenially enough, giving us a run through of what to expect in the coming days. Very quickly though, it is clear to me that I am not going to just "play" at being a student. No siree, the message is, I will study and I will have to study damn hard. It is even more clear to me that I will have to do so simply to keep my head above the water, i.e. pass my classes. He proceeds to lecture for an hour on biochemistry, this hour being the equivalent of about 2 semesters of chemistry and biology in college. It's basically like being assaulted and battered by a tsunami of information in the biomedical sciences. And I have about 989 more lectures to go. =)

So here I am, blogging happily about my first day of class and already feeling psychologically behind. But that is no matter, I will plow on, I promise. Stay tuned!

Cancun 2007

For months prior to my trip to this lush tropical island, I've been dreaming of azure landscapes, palm trees swaying in the breeze and of course, white sand lined ocean to lap at my feet. In July, this dream came true and I found myself standing in front of the gorgeous blue vista in front of me and literally not being able to believe that I was right there, taking in the gorguosity and feasting on the colors. My eyes were in heaven and I felt for a moment at least, sheer and utter aesthetic delight.

Wow, friends, it REALLY was this beautiful, it really looks like those travel magazine photography spreads, promising miles of beautiful blue water and white sand. It was a sight to behold.

Taking advantage of the fact that I'm not at an oceanfront resort every day of my life, I woke up early to greet the sun (very atypical of this lazy cat, i assure you) and everyday, in the early calm, I would find a few people, even locals just sitting there on the beach, gazing out at the majestic visage that spread before them, a centerpiece that demanded your instant awe and worship. And I wondered to myself, do the petty things in life seem to fade away when you are sitting there, gazing out at the sea? Do things seem at once more trivial but life seems at once more sacred? A bit of a paradox, since what is life but the sum of all those little things in it? Anyhow, it wasn't my desire to analyze philosophically the whys and wherefores that people feel compelled to gaze at the ocean, as if entranced. I was certainly mesmerized by its beauty. If there were sirens, they were very effective ones. I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from the ocean. I did so ever so reluctantly and only after I made myself a promise that I shall be back.

I have taken a lot of pictures. But even as I pride myself to be a relatively decent photographer, with the knack for finding the right proportions and compositions, I don't think my camera really did the place justice. All I can say is, the image that is seared in my mind is one that shall stay with me for a long time to come. The Cancun of my dream, the Cancun now, in my memory.

I'm a cyborg but that's ok

"I'm a cyborg but that's ok" is about a young, mentally disturbed girl who believes that she is a nonhuman robotic entity designed for the sole purpose of avenging her grandmother's incarceration into the asylum. Early on, it's clear that mental illness runs in the family. Yet, it also clearly shows that the mental illness is exacerbated by traumatic occurrences in the characters' lives and it even suggests that if left to themselves, they would have been perfectly happy and content.

Instead, the traumatic separation of the young girl and her grandmother led to a sequence of events which culminated in her own incarceration. Soon, she enters a world of mentally deranged neighbors, each in their own way quite lovable and pathetic at the same time. The young girl, among other things, believes that she is to derive her energy from licking alkaline batteries and to connect with her world by talking to machines. She longs for the understanding of the purpose of her existence, for in the world of machines and robots, each is designed for a specific purpose. She aches for the simplicity of such an existence and bemoans the reason for her own construction. Existential angst, apparently, among other things, also greatly ails this frail, anorexic girl.

One of the sweetest and strongest selling points of this movie (besides the lush and brightly colored cinematography - it brings to mind the look and feel and certainly the lyricism of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory) is the romance that develops between the girl and a fellow inmate, a smart, sweet young man who was terrified of his own shrinking physicality. Despite his own issues, he is led by compassion to draw the girl out of her world so that she could physically carry on in this world. At first tentatively, but soon wholeheartedly, the girl literally entrusts herself into him. The young man is played by Rain, apparently the hottest thing to descend in Korea for decades. I knew girls all over Asia were going crazy for him, but I never understood his appeal until this film. In this film, I am charmed by his natural sweetness, which shows through despite his own mental problems.

I've read other reviews of this film and it has been compared to Amelie, a comparison I wholeheartedly agree with. This is a film about a woman living in her own fantasy world, because that makes the world a little more manageable to her. Yes, there is overacting, because in a film that mixes fantasy sequences with whimsicality, it's almost necessary for the characters to be "out there." However, I believe that the overacting in this film serves as an enhancement, not a detractor. In the end, it has proven to be a film with surprising heart and that alone made the experience overall quite sweet and moving.

Photo frenzy

Lately I've been spending some time playing around with my new notebook. I am testing its limits so to speak. I try to run a lot of things on it all at once, to test its multi-tasking ability as well as its processing power. I'm also rediscovering an old joy that I've always had - poring over pictures and tweaking them and printing them out. I get a little kick out of organizing my photos, a very visual representation of my life as it unfolds neatly into 4"x6" rectangles, little snapshots of moments in time that proclaim that I exist, and ever so fabulously. =P Now if I only apply this zest to all the other more important areas of my life.

Oh yes, yesterday I watched a movie entitled Sabrina, starring Audrey Hepburn. A wonderful movie actually, the man opposite Hepburn is played by Humphrey Boghart, you may have vaguely heard of him. To be sure, I didn't really see anything too physically appealing about him, especially with his rather dour looking demeanor, but wasn't Boghart supposed to be THE man of the 40's silver screen? Anyhow, boy meets girl, boy brother meets girl, boy brother and boy fight over girl, boy win girl, that's the short gist of the movie. But I'm not trying to disparage the film, it was actually delightful mainly in the conversation and dialogue, quite witty and still relevant even to today. I'm sure it's better than the Harrison remake, if that was a remake.

I'm also researching possible activities to do in Atlanta, a short little excursion I've planned not too long after I get back from Mexico. My aunt is suggesting that we hit up Chattanooga, TN. Great name eh? For that reason alone, I say, Chattanooga it is!

The bliss, the agony, the blah blah

Last Friday I said goodbye to yet another job and hello to a month of bumming around. Today is my official fourth day of bummin' and it's been fun my friends. Monday for instance, I took blatant advantage of the fact that I no longer have to get up at the ungodly hour of 8 AM to go to work (my workaholic friends may gasp here at the unbelievable laziness and self-indulgence of author) and I slept in until 11 AM!! Admittedly, this is okay for a day or two, but even I really couldn't justify such waste of time on a daily basis. Today I got up at the more reasonable but still indulgent hour of 9.

And off I packed my booty to the gym for an hour of kickboxing with Seigfred. It was intense. I was drenched, and I mean, sopping wet with sweat just 30 minutes into the class. I had on this tight red jumpsuit of sorts which outlines my skinny silhouette to disturbing precision. I watched myself in the mirror, shaking my ineffectual fists, pumping the air, left hook, right hook, the image of Oliver in all its absurdity comes to mind. If I had a little more meat to my bones, my punches and kicks would look less ridiculous and a little more substantial.

In any case, it was a great workout and I left the class feeling glad to be alive.

Now however, I am stuck in computer troubleshooting hell and it's like an endless loop. All I had to do was install a simple driver for a new hp printer my aunt bought and it sounds simple enough. However a 10 minute routine job turns into a 2 hour ordeal and still counting. I suspect, after the umpteenth time of cursing at the computer screen to no great avail that the usb connection I'm using is a piece of crap and the root of all problems. Either that or HP just makes really crappy drivers.

Ugggh...anyway, this blog is a vain attempt on my end to maintain some semblance of sanity, which is currently being shredded to microscopic threads by good ol' nonfunctional technology.

stream of unconsciousness

Lately I’ve been feeling sluggish, dragging my 120-lb body, slinking to work, slinking home, plodding along like tired and cynical eeyore. One of the nights this past week I had a nightmare where I had to confront a serial killer and I was very futilely inserting knives all over his body. Was I stabbing? It didn’t feel like it, it just felt like I was trying to pin him down to some surface with long sharp knives and then he did the obligatory “aah I am keeled!” posture where he lies down and plays dead for five minutes, but since I’m Miss movieathon, and I’ve watched too many scary movies to be fooled, I looked at him rather suspiciously and sure enough, he gets up rather nimblely and runs off across the street and disappears into some other house’s garage, they looked like they were having a frat party there. Me and my surviving friends all locked the house and looked out with scared eyes. I woke up from that dream with every nerve stretched taut and I was just like, oh for crying out loud, how is this a good way to start the day?? And with that, I somehow managed to rouse myself and went to chow down on coffee and eggs.

I am currently reading this book on improving vision naturally. It’s an extensive treatise on how to improve one’s eyesight, based mostly on Bate’s books. Ever since I was a child, I’ve had an ongoing fantasy that I would cure myself of my major physical ailment – my poor myopic astigmatic pair of eyes. It’s actually been semi-actualized one summer when I was in Taiwan. At 14 yrs old, I set about using as much of my own eyes as possible to see everything without my glasses. When I returned to the states and got an exam, my eyes did get better! However, after that time, high school and the stresses of college hit head-on and I think my vision faced a steady decline after. So now that I’m the ripe ol’ age of 28, I think I’m way past the age where vision still changes and fluctuates. So it does disturb me that it’s gotten worse still, (went to eye doctor recently) and honestly, I think it’s just bad posture, overtaxing my eyes with the computer, etc. I have a fair degree of confidence that I can improve my vision or “revert” it back to some baseline vision. The only way to objectively test this out of course is to begin a schedule, say a 3-month stretch where I work on my eyes and then go back to the doctor to get tested.

Ocean's Two Hot Men

Last night I went to watch Ocean’s Thirteen because I had read a nice review of it in the NY Times. While it was clear from the beginning that even the movie maker didn’t take his own work too seriously, and this sort of bonhommie jocular attitude was evident amongst the actors too, for me, it soon came to a point where I am rolling my eyes at the unrealistic unfolding of events much as George Clooney himself, did at one point in the film.

So it’s an interesting film because on the one hand, it seemed to be a satire of all those star-studded big blockbuster films and at the same time, it is undeniably one too, unable to shed its grandiosity – it wears it like a giant monster suit.

Danny Ocean and his gang are back this time to right a wrong done to one of their own, a loopy naïve old gamer named Reuben who was screwed over by a shrewd but finicky businessman Willy Banks. So distressed by the turn of events Reuben’s heart decided to turn on him as well and caused him to retire to his deathbed. As the comrades gathered around their fallen friend, they swore vengeance on his behalf. And of course, the object of their vengeful fury is none other than a very orangely tanned Willy Banks.

The problem is, Willy Banks was not an altogether dislikeable character. He shows his pathetic and almost endearing side when it became clear how important the Royal Five Diamond ratings are to him. The way he bragged about his past awards make him seem less like a 60 year old and more like a first grader. So the gang of thirteen swoops down on his newly opened hotel (which by the way, was spectacular and stunning) and wreaks appropriate havoc on Willy Banks’ bank.

And it was all…too easy. The lack of dramatic tension is the most notable element in this film. At no point was the audience in serious concern over the lives and welfare of any of the characters. The film went down as smooth as a creamy cheesecake and required little stress or emotional involvement on the part of the audience. The film was good eyecandy however, with two studly males strolling casually down the Vegas strip, gabbing about relationships and women problems. At one point, the two of them teared up while watching an Oprah show. There are moments of self-conscious satire and really really light humor.

I walked away feeling yeah, Brad Pitt still got it, so does Clooney. But beyond the fact that I just spend 2 hours oogling two hot guys over 40, I had little else to take away from the film.

Patience

People often think I am a patient person, but they generally make the mistake of confusing patience with indifference. I will admit with complete honesty that I am indifferent to many things. What some people hold so near and dear to their hearts, I am either oblivious or nonchalant about. Example? My two coworkers who care so deeply and passionately about how well their kids do in school. I nod politely when listening, and meanwhile I’m drifting 300 miles away in my imaginary Cancun. So point number 1, I am an indifferent person. But why does that follow that I am an impatient person?

I notice that I am impatient because of my general greed for faster results in a short amount of time. I want whiter teeth – instantly. I want a more toned body – tomorrow. I want to be skilled at tennis – no more than 2 weeks from now! Everything is, I want it soon and I want it at minimal effort. Of course the logical side to me realizes the impracticality of such desires. And sometimes my greed gets the best of me and I am crushed with disappointment at how slow the progress is. So point #2, I am impatient.

Point #3, perhaps my indifference is linked to impatience. If I care more about getting those results, I would proceed with greater care and patience. I would laboriously apply myself to the tasks at hand and have the patience to see things through. Since life is never black and white, an example of what I did care about: going to medical school and then the patience I had to muster up to endure the long waiting game – well, I did get through it somehow and no nervous breakdowns to boot. =)

But anyway, ultimately, the point I really want to make is, in my own best interest and in the interests of those I will serve in the future, I should switch the two characterisitcs around. I’ve gotten my share of half teases/half complaints. Oh Emily, you’re a reptile, you cold-blooded thing. You have no emotion. You’re botox girl. You hide all your feelings. You don’t care about anything. You’re a whatever girl. Blah blah blah ad nauseum. Haha, true to my nature, I didn’t care all that much about all these little insinuations and snide remarks either. But if only…if only I can learn to temper my personality more. I would choose to slide myself down the gradient from being less caring to being more caring, and then from being less patient to being more patient. Now essentially I am preaching my own favorite gospel again – how to become a better person. If only I have the patience to see it through!

Emily Antoinette

Confession I am an impulsive shopper. I say “impulsive, not compulsive.” I don’t have the urge to go buy something nice for myself every week. However, after extensive self-analyses, I do realize that I tend to be impulsive when I do get in the mood to shop. The times when I am most vulnerable to impulsive shopping are when I’m in a bad mood. I remember distinctly how I was under this black cloud one day several years ago and I went to Macy’s and promptly purchased an ankle-length denim jacket – totally impractical and totally Matrix-like. As I was strutting out on 34th St and 7th Avenue in my hot new jacket, my mood skyrocketed to 100. Such is the power of purchasing something at the right moment to temper the blues.

Yet another example of how I am just one of many among the malleable herds, I too am very easily swayed by visuals and suggestions and media. As mentioned in previous post, I am currently watching this korean drama. One side effect of watching such dramas is that you always get into a more superficial state of mind as you ponder such important matters as the type of hair you’d like, the type of shirt, the next cute outfit you’d like to put on. The underlying message of all these dramas is, “you can have a million different things going on in your life, your life could be an absolute disaster, your relationships are failing left and right, but HEY, you can look cute through it all.” Indeed, more and more I think I’m falling prey to that mentality. No matter what, I better look good while life is happening.

Actually something that I’ve always fantasized about is to give my closet an overhaul. I would like to give away all unused clothing and decide on a “look” for myself. I don’t know what look I should settle for. Should it be the sex kitten look? Nah…too obvious and over the top. Should it be the over-accessorized Japanese look? Too cutesy and cheesy. The classy Ann Taylor or Talbots look? Yawner. The Forever 21 pop teen chick look? I’m 10 years too old for it now. =( This is why I’ve always kept my style more fluid and eclectic, because my look tends to match my fluctuating moods. I think I tend to wear comfortable casual clothing, but I think I need to go it up a notch. Comfort and casual is sometimes a thin line away from sloppy. Oh well, perhaps I will never decide on the “look” that I should have, but I don’t want to be one of those people who wears a black turtleneck for the rest of their lives as a fashion statement. It would be too monotonous for my ADD tendency.

The other side to my fantasy of overhauling my closet is to pare it down to the absolute essentials. I’m not sure why it is that I need 20 pairs of shoes, 30 pairs of pants, 40 skirts, a bazillion gazillion tops to function and operate. I say I am not materialistic, but here I have a walk-in closet that I find too small!! Sometimes my own excesses surprise me when I bother to think and reflect on it.