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!
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
To be a Na Ra
Recently I started watching this Korean drama with the somewhat awkward title of “Exhibition of fireworks.” Except for the one scene where the main characters watch a display of fireworks, the relevance of the title is at best, tenuous to the story and themes in this drama.
One thing I find interesting in the drama is the expression “Aigoo!” I think the closest counterpart in Chinese would be “Aiyaa” it’s a verbal expression of dismay, surprise, resignation, annoyance – well basically, it can be used quite liberally at the beginning of each sentence. I watch the version with English subtitles. Everything would be translated just fine into English except for this expression. So the subtitles will literally say, “Aigoo! How could do this to my daughter? Aigoo!” It tickled me to read the translations and the word appeals to me in the same way “droogie” from Clockwork Orange appeals to me.
So what have I learned from this drama? The main character is 30 year old Shin Na Ra, a woman who was dumped by her boyfriend of 7 years and then promptly falls in love with a younger guy who, unfortunately for her, believes himself to be in love with another woman. That woman, coincidentally, was the same woman that her 7 year boyfriend left Na Ra for. Now you see how the plot gets interesting.
Although not much happens in this drama besides the usual petty jealousies and misunderstandings and fits of possessiveness, what I like most is the character of Shin Na Ra. She ultimately realizes that she can’t place her hopes in men. They will disappoint, as they have demonstrated repeatedly. Instead, she has pulled herself together admirably after being successfully “dumped” by two guys, each time for the same woman no less. She throws herself into her work and she is determined to do her best at something other than relationships and matters of the heart. I applaud this determination and willingness to strive for independence and achievement.
The Korean culture is very interesting. In the home, you can see how the man tries to dominate the woman. Many times, their tyrannical father has thrown Shin Na Ra, her mother and sister out of the house. That is something I can never imagine happening in my own house. Yet on the other hand, the show also portrays a successful business woman who obviously holds tremendous power and influence over all the characters in the drama. I suppose this is a reflection of the times. Even as traditional Korean culture favors male dominance, modern influences, rising numbers of capable and financially successful females are nonetheless changing the fabric of society. In this respect, the Chinese are somewhat more advanced than the Koreans because there is less of the alpha male mentality in Chinese households and I’d like to think that we are moving towards a more egalitarian mindset regarding the gender roles. However, I do concede that among Chinese familes, there is still this strong preference for male heirs.
One thing I find interesting in the drama is the expression “Aigoo!” I think the closest counterpart in Chinese would be “Aiyaa” it’s a verbal expression of dismay, surprise, resignation, annoyance – well basically, it can be used quite liberally at the beginning of each sentence. I watch the version with English subtitles. Everything would be translated just fine into English except for this expression. So the subtitles will literally say, “Aigoo! How could do this to my daughter? Aigoo!” It tickled me to read the translations and the word appeals to me in the same way “droogie” from Clockwork Orange appeals to me.
So what have I learned from this drama? The main character is 30 year old Shin Na Ra, a woman who was dumped by her boyfriend of 7 years and then promptly falls in love with a younger guy who, unfortunately for her, believes himself to be in love with another woman. That woman, coincidentally, was the same woman that her 7 year boyfriend left Na Ra for. Now you see how the plot gets interesting.
Although not much happens in this drama besides the usual petty jealousies and misunderstandings and fits of possessiveness, what I like most is the character of Shin Na Ra. She ultimately realizes that she can’t place her hopes in men. They will disappoint, as they have demonstrated repeatedly. Instead, she has pulled herself together admirably after being successfully “dumped” by two guys, each time for the same woman no less. She throws herself into her work and she is determined to do her best at something other than relationships and matters of the heart. I applaud this determination and willingness to strive for independence and achievement.
The Korean culture is very interesting. In the home, you can see how the man tries to dominate the woman. Many times, their tyrannical father has thrown Shin Na Ra, her mother and sister out of the house. That is something I can never imagine happening in my own house. Yet on the other hand, the show also portrays a successful business woman who obviously holds tremendous power and influence over all the characters in the drama. I suppose this is a reflection of the times. Even as traditional Korean culture favors male dominance, modern influences, rising numbers of capable and financially successful females are nonetheless changing the fabric of society. In this respect, the Chinese are somewhat more advanced than the Koreans because there is less of the alpha male mentality in Chinese households and I’d like to think that we are moving towards a more egalitarian mindset regarding the gender roles. However, I do concede that among Chinese familes, there is still this strong preference for male heirs.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Memorial Day Weekend 2007
Having just completed a whirlwind tour of New York City and Philadelphia, I am exhausted but filled with wonderful memories (oh man, I’m in danger of turning into a Hallmark spokesperson)
Saturday was a day filled with so many highlights, that they were virtually competing with each other to be the crowning glory of the day. Was it the adventure-filled bumpity ride en route to the wedding? Was it the beautiful, very sweetly nuanced ceremony and reception that I attended? Was it the sumptious food and multiple alcoholic beverages, pina coladas galore? Or was it seeing once again old Columbians from days of yore and having nostalgic memories flood the gates of my hippocampus? I don’t know exactly. All I remember is the general feeling of excitement and euphoria, of laughing a lot, of drinking quite a bit, of dancing and shimmying around and just having a grand ol’ time. Later in the evening brought more social engagements - dinner in lower east side and party in midtown. Through it all, I appreciated more than ever the feeling of being young, alive and vibrant and at every turn, life was brimming with possibilities. There was a lot of girlish banter and giggling of “eligible men” at the wedding – all in good fun and to the mild exasperation of one of my friends’ long-suffering husbands.
Oh New York! As I was driving from Queens into New York City on the Queensboro bridge, I was able to catch an expansive view of the cityscape that is Manhatttan. As the skyscrapers rose into view, they seemed to me proud stalwarts of civilization, standing tall in the sky as if to declare to the world their beauty and significance by virtue of their existence. Flowing in front of the building is the glistening water that danced with the rays on its surface and though I was driving, I was even more tempted to just park my car and admire the view, and butter up NYC’s already puffy ego. Sometimes before beauty, one is helplessly lost in admiration. I suspect my love affair with New York will continue for quite some time to come.
Saturday was a day filled with so many highlights, that they were virtually competing with each other to be the crowning glory of the day. Was it the adventure-filled bumpity ride en route to the wedding? Was it the beautiful, very sweetly nuanced ceremony and reception that I attended? Was it the sumptious food and multiple alcoholic beverages, pina coladas galore? Or was it seeing once again old Columbians from days of yore and having nostalgic memories flood the gates of my hippocampus? I don’t know exactly. All I remember is the general feeling of excitement and euphoria, of laughing a lot, of drinking quite a bit, of dancing and shimmying around and just having a grand ol’ time. Later in the evening brought more social engagements - dinner in lower east side and party in midtown. Through it all, I appreciated more than ever the feeling of being young, alive and vibrant and at every turn, life was brimming with possibilities. There was a lot of girlish banter and giggling of “eligible men” at the wedding – all in good fun and to the mild exasperation of one of my friends’ long-suffering husbands.
Oh New York! As I was driving from Queens into New York City on the Queensboro bridge, I was able to catch an expansive view of the cityscape that is Manhatttan. As the skyscrapers rose into view, they seemed to me proud stalwarts of civilization, standing tall in the sky as if to declare to the world their beauty and significance by virtue of their existence. Flowing in front of the building is the glistening water that danced with the rays on its surface and though I was driving, I was even more tempted to just park my car and admire the view, and butter up NYC’s already puffy ego. Sometimes before beauty, one is helplessly lost in admiration. I suspect my love affair with New York will continue for quite some time to come.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Not so sanguine after all
On Friday I went to the blood bank intent on making a liquid deposit. The nurse pricked my finger to test for my hemoglobin content. Minutes later, with what seemed like genuine disappointment, she said, “Ohh, your hemoglobin is too low! You can’t donate today.” She then launched into a crusade to recruit me to join their iron study. I thought about it for five seconds and then I said, No thanks. I didn’t want to deal with all the hassles of lab tests and followup questions. Enters Sarah, a young and frank looking nurse. She tells me that even if I don’t want to participate in the iron study, she can still draw up a few blood vials and run some tests to see if its anything serious. The hypochondriac in me relented, driven as much by morbid curiosity to see if there really is anything “terribly ill” about me.
She settles me down in a cushioned seat and has me lie on my back. She asked me which side of my arm would I prefer to have the blood drawn. I pointed to my left arm. Already though, I had a glimmer of thought that perhaps I should choose my stronger, more well used right arm. This thought came and went, and later I was to regret my choice…
She starts to wrap a rubber strap around my limp, skinny left arm. She feels for a vein that pops out. Across the smooth span of my arm, not a ripple can be seen. Everything is hidden well beneath. She tells me to squeeze a rubber ball with my left arm to get more blood action going. I complied graciously (my arm being at stake and all) She seems a bit hesitant but she brings out the needle anyway. Here goes, I thought, and I braced for the painful plunge. She injects me with the needle. Yowser!! It hurts! I looked away, because I have this belief that if I were to look at that metal thing sticking into my arm, it would hurt even more. I grimaced. Seconds later, she is still peering confusedly at my arm. She pulls the syringe back and nothing. No blood. She maneuvers the needle which is, must I remind you all, still stuck in my flesh!! She tries to poke it in the northern direction. No luck. In the eastern direction, PAINFUL!! All the while, I braved these assaults on my arm with admirable stoicism, but inside, I was screaming, Dude, lady! Hit the vein already, stop digging around! She probably caught a glimpse of the agony that was my face and she said, I’m going to take this out and not bother trying anymore. She pulls out the needle, (another sharp sensation of pain goes through me) and then she peers again at my arm, rather suspiciously. She asked, “do you have ANY blood in you? “ Indeed, not one drop welled to the surface to give testimony to how violated it was just seconds ago.
After all this, I thought I would be spared further pain and torture. Instead, the next thing I knew, she turned to me, smiled and said rather brightly, let’s try your right arm shall we? I managed a weak smile. Shall we indeed.
She settles me down in a cushioned seat and has me lie on my back. She asked me which side of my arm would I prefer to have the blood drawn. I pointed to my left arm. Already though, I had a glimmer of thought that perhaps I should choose my stronger, more well used right arm. This thought came and went, and later I was to regret my choice…
She starts to wrap a rubber strap around my limp, skinny left arm. She feels for a vein that pops out. Across the smooth span of my arm, not a ripple can be seen. Everything is hidden well beneath. She tells me to squeeze a rubber ball with my left arm to get more blood action going. I complied graciously (my arm being at stake and all) She seems a bit hesitant but she brings out the needle anyway. Here goes, I thought, and I braced for the painful plunge. She injects me with the needle. Yowser!! It hurts! I looked away, because I have this belief that if I were to look at that metal thing sticking into my arm, it would hurt even more. I grimaced. Seconds later, she is still peering confusedly at my arm. She pulls the syringe back and nothing. No blood. She maneuvers the needle which is, must I remind you all, still stuck in my flesh!! She tries to poke it in the northern direction. No luck. In the eastern direction, PAINFUL!! All the while, I braved these assaults on my arm with admirable stoicism, but inside, I was screaming, Dude, lady! Hit the vein already, stop digging around! She probably caught a glimpse of the agony that was my face and she said, I’m going to take this out and not bother trying anymore. She pulls out the needle, (another sharp sensation of pain goes through me) and then she peers again at my arm, rather suspiciously. She asked, “do you have ANY blood in you? “ Indeed, not one drop welled to the surface to give testimony to how violated it was just seconds ago.
After all this, I thought I would be spared further pain and torture. Instead, the next thing I knew, she turned to me, smiled and said rather brightly, let’s try your right arm shall we? I managed a weak smile. Shall we indeed.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Darkness then light...
Today started out badly for me. Before 10 AM, I have found myself writing out two apology emails. One was addressed to a person whom I inadvertently stood up this morning because being the incorrigible doofus that I am, I forgot about my appointment to meet with her. This was supposed to be a little shadowing experience for me at the NIH hospital and I blew it by one too many snooze and a terribly distracted mind. =( The other email I sent out in apology was to a girl from small group who invited me to her wedding and requested a respond by date of yesterday. Coincidentally, I saw her last night and she asked me point blank if I was going to go. I had not planned to, but caught off-guard as I was, I could only say that I would get back to her on this. Then I went home and looked at the date to respond by and it was OH SHIT, oh Crap, oh goofey Emily strikes again!! Let me tell you, having to start the day off with a round of apologies is a stinky way to start a day. I spent all of this morning with a strong urge to kick myself in the behind.
However, the bright spot in my day was a seminar that I attended in the afternoon. It was a topic on the Chinese traditional medicine treatment of SARS. A historian from JHU delivered the talk and her primary focus was on how traditonal Chinese medicine practitioners frame the idea of SARS within the context of traditional medicinal views. It was both enlighening, refreshing and familiar all at once. I felt as I did back at Columbia, back in one of my old East Asian profs’ classes, engaged and attentive and absorbed.
Anyway, crux of her argument is one of a paradigm shift. It’s not a shift necessarily from Western traditional views to Eastern traditional views, it’s a shift from unilateralism to multilateralism. It’s a conscious effort to move out of one view of seeing an idea to being able to see that there are multiple ways of looking at the same thing. She points out how western medical professionals tend to view SARS within the context of a viral pandemic, an outside entity that invades a body and can be transmitted from host to host. However, within the context of traditional chinese medicine (TCM), SARS is looked upon as a “type” of condition, a wenbing, one that is a result of multiple factors such as climate, environmental conditions, one’s own physiological conditons and predispositions and that SARS is categorically a “wind-heat” illness. She also mentions how the isalis root or “banlangeng” was employed to counter the effects of this wenbing. I am actually quite familiar with banlangeng myself, because whenever anyone in my family has a cold or sore throat, they are immediately directed to make a banlangeng potion for themselves to combat the onset of the fever or cold.
Anyway, to sum up my feelings about this talk, I feel the topic has ignited my interest in understanding traditional Chinese medicine further. This is all in coherence with my natural affinity and disposition to understand more of my ethnic and cultural heritage. I have resolved before the end of the talk to begin studying this more in earnest, because it is such a mysterious yet astounding tradition to me. Even the language of TCM appears to be couched in esoteric and rather mystical language like “wind”, “heat”, “yin-yang imbalances.” My private hope is to one day achieve a level of competency in TCM to the point where I can even incorporate some of it in my future practice. But let’s not yet count the chickens before they hatch, right?
However, the bright spot in my day was a seminar that I attended in the afternoon. It was a topic on the Chinese traditional medicine treatment of SARS. A historian from JHU delivered the talk and her primary focus was on how traditonal Chinese medicine practitioners frame the idea of SARS within the context of traditional medicinal views. It was both enlighening, refreshing and familiar all at once. I felt as I did back at Columbia, back in one of my old East Asian profs’ classes, engaged and attentive and absorbed.
Anyway, crux of her argument is one of a paradigm shift. It’s not a shift necessarily from Western traditional views to Eastern traditional views, it’s a shift from unilateralism to multilateralism. It’s a conscious effort to move out of one view of seeing an idea to being able to see that there are multiple ways of looking at the same thing. She points out how western medical professionals tend to view SARS within the context of a viral pandemic, an outside entity that invades a body and can be transmitted from host to host. However, within the context of traditional chinese medicine (TCM), SARS is looked upon as a “type” of condition, a wenbing, one that is a result of multiple factors such as climate, environmental conditions, one’s own physiological conditons and predispositions and that SARS is categorically a “wind-heat” illness. She also mentions how the isalis root or “banlangeng” was employed to counter the effects of this wenbing. I am actually quite familiar with banlangeng myself, because whenever anyone in my family has a cold or sore throat, they are immediately directed to make a banlangeng potion for themselves to combat the onset of the fever or cold.
Anyway, to sum up my feelings about this talk, I feel the topic has ignited my interest in understanding traditional Chinese medicine further. This is all in coherence with my natural affinity and disposition to understand more of my ethnic and cultural heritage. I have resolved before the end of the talk to begin studying this more in earnest, because it is such a mysterious yet astounding tradition to me. Even the language of TCM appears to be couched in esoteric and rather mystical language like “wind”, “heat”, “yin-yang imbalances.” My private hope is to one day achieve a level of competency in TCM to the point where I can even incorporate some of it in my future practice. But let’s not yet count the chickens before they hatch, right?
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Bits and pieces of drabbery
Assuming that I don't take whimsicality to a completely warped dimension, I do want to share some random things that I have either thought or encountered over the past several days.
A) Two squirrels trying to make it. The guy, overeager as usual, tries to pin the girl down and bounced on her rather enthusiastically. She fought him off and starts scampering around with him hot on her tail. When will guys know that "no" means "no"??
B) A member of my bible study group brought her two kids to join us today. Normally I'm the Scrooge's twin sister about things, but I have a soft spot for kids. Not today. I looked at those two little blond vermins suspiciously, trying to see past their innocent little angelic faces to the brattiness that lie within. I didn't find them very cute at all. Yeesh...kids...what a bundle of annoyance sometimes. The one boy won't stop whining. I thought back to my recent conversation about spanking kids as a form of discipline. That kid was definitely spank-worthy.
C) I researched how much in the hole I will be post four years of medical school. I don't know, I am usually traipsing around in my own little world and sometimes I admit that I spend money very casually. Anyhow, I realize I need to start getting more serious about budgeting. Money isn't going to spout from my wishful thinking after all.
D) Rewatched Howl's Moving Castle. It's a film that deserves its own posting and not just a bullet point among many. However I do want to quickly say that I enjoyed it immensely the second time I watched it. For what it's worth, in all its glorious idealizations of love and cheesy valor, it's a film that celebrates true beauty, true courage, true camaraderie and sometimes, a little magic can go a long way.
E) I love the word "wicked." I'm going to start peppering my speech with that word. It's just wicked good fun.
A) Two squirrels trying to make it. The guy, overeager as usual, tries to pin the girl down and bounced on her rather enthusiastically. She fought him off and starts scampering around with him hot on her tail. When will guys know that "no" means "no"??
B) A member of my bible study group brought her two kids to join us today. Normally I'm the Scrooge's twin sister about things, but I have a soft spot for kids. Not today. I looked at those two little blond vermins suspiciously, trying to see past their innocent little angelic faces to the brattiness that lie within. I didn't find them very cute at all. Yeesh...kids...what a bundle of annoyance sometimes. The one boy won't stop whining. I thought back to my recent conversation about spanking kids as a form of discipline. That kid was definitely spank-worthy.
C) I researched how much in the hole I will be post four years of medical school. I don't know, I am usually traipsing around in my own little world and sometimes I admit that I spend money very casually. Anyhow, I realize I need to start getting more serious about budgeting. Money isn't going to spout from my wishful thinking after all.
D) Rewatched Howl's Moving Castle. It's a film that deserves its own posting and not just a bullet point among many. However I do want to quickly say that I enjoyed it immensely the second time I watched it. For what it's worth, in all its glorious idealizations of love and cheesy valor, it's a film that celebrates true beauty, true courage, true camaraderie and sometimes, a little magic can go a long way.
E) I love the word "wicked." I'm going to start peppering my speech with that word. It's just wicked good fun.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Thelma & Louise
The film of Thelma and Louise is the story of a journey and a transformation of two women, verging on middle-age, who finally found themselves and had the courage to face the crumbling, sorry shell of an existence they’ve always known as “their lives.” In their fight to defy that existence, they pay a high price but it is a decision in which they will probably never regret making.
This film which started off prosaically enough, fooled the viewer into a comfortable little nook at the beginning and its humble small town feel belie its ultimate transcendent messages of transformation, of breaking free, of fighting back, of embracing liberty. You see two women, good friends, yapping at each other over the phone, planning a weekend getaway. One woman, as you can see is a neat, tidy woman, always in control. The other woman is a loosey-goosey sort, scatterbrained, packs for a 10 day vacation when she is only out of town for two. The two women couldn’t be more different, but you also know that this is the right dynamic for the relationship to work.
From that point on when they roar off into the streets, there was no turning back – though they didn’t know it quite just yet. Neither, for that matter, do the viewers.
The first turning point which turned the girls into a tailspin was when Louise shoots a would-be rapist of Thelma dead on the spot. The girls have now irrevocably stepped over the line between their past lives and their future incarnations. Living life as a fugitive, on the run from the law, had its high points. They’ve lost all chances of turning back but when they were honest with themselves, they didn’t really want to turn back all that much anyway.
A series of other unfortunate events led the girls deeper into the path they had accidentally strayed onto. In between reflections on their vastly transformed selves, they actually take moments to enjoy the freedom of where they find themselves. At one point, they were driving down the freeway and they marveled to each other that it was “some” vacation they had been on. Then they grinned at each other and they shared a wonderful moment of complete camaraderie.
The final scene in the film was brilliant and beautiful. As had been evident for some time now, they crossed a line way back when and there was no turning back for them, either physically, metaphysically, socially, psychologically, whatever. There was beauty in the simplicity of having no choice but to go forward. And go forward they did, into the abyss, into the future, into an infinity that awaits.
This film which started off prosaically enough, fooled the viewer into a comfortable little nook at the beginning and its humble small town feel belie its ultimate transcendent messages of transformation, of breaking free, of fighting back, of embracing liberty. You see two women, good friends, yapping at each other over the phone, planning a weekend getaway. One woman, as you can see is a neat, tidy woman, always in control. The other woman is a loosey-goosey sort, scatterbrained, packs for a 10 day vacation when she is only out of town for two. The two women couldn’t be more different, but you also know that this is the right dynamic for the relationship to work.
From that point on when they roar off into the streets, there was no turning back – though they didn’t know it quite just yet. Neither, for that matter, do the viewers.
The first turning point which turned the girls into a tailspin was when Louise shoots a would-be rapist of Thelma dead on the spot. The girls have now irrevocably stepped over the line between their past lives and their future incarnations. Living life as a fugitive, on the run from the law, had its high points. They’ve lost all chances of turning back but when they were honest with themselves, they didn’t really want to turn back all that much anyway.
A series of other unfortunate events led the girls deeper into the path they had accidentally strayed onto. In between reflections on their vastly transformed selves, they actually take moments to enjoy the freedom of where they find themselves. At one point, they were driving down the freeway and they marveled to each other that it was “some” vacation they had been on. Then they grinned at each other and they shared a wonderful moment of complete camaraderie.
The final scene in the film was brilliant and beautiful. As had been evident for some time now, they crossed a line way back when and there was no turning back for them, either physically, metaphysically, socially, psychologically, whatever. There was beauty in the simplicity of having no choice but to go forward. And go forward they did, into the abyss, into the future, into an infinity that awaits.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
My Poster Session
Today I participated in a poster exhibit at NIH and very proudly displayed my not-so-successful-thus-far research project, only one of among hundreds of very nerdy, very earnest research here. I can say unequivocally that my poster carried the distinction of being the simplest, most childish looking poster there, with its large fonts and even larger pictures. I took a quick walk around and every single poster had no less than 5-6 complex, color-coded diagrams, fluorescently dyed cells and iridescent scientific imaging. Everything was so high-tech and sophisticated that my poster was very much the shabby cousin amongst its rich and flamboyant relatives.
Much like my amusing speed dating experience a while back where I had the dubious fortune of sitting next to this buxom, vibrant Australian redhead and thus had to endure the veritable traffic jam that piled up as guys lined up very patiently to get her number, at the exhibit, I’ve had the similar pleasure of watching people congregate at all the sexy looking posters AROUND me while I stand there, neglected, lonely and sad.
Just kidding! I am being a drama queen, true to my nature at its core. The truth is, I had a few people come up to me and ask me decently intelligent questions about my research. Hopefully, I was able to articulate my research in a clear enough manner. Most people went away, if not bowled over by the genius of my research, at least very pleasantly happy that they found everything easy to understand and digest.
This rather cute guy approached me at one point and we had a pleasant conversation. As it turned out, he’s attending the University of Maryland School of Medicine and I told him that I wanted to go there, but didn’t get in. He laughed and told me that a friend of his wanted to go to Drexel but didn’t get in. We both shook our heads at the bewildering phenomenon otherwise known as med school acceptances. He said he wasn’t loving the city of Baltimore though, to which I comforted him by saying, well at least you can look forward to an awesome library. I said that not without a twinge of envy, because I truly was very impressed with Maryland’s library.
The other standout person that I met was this Chinese guy with a mop like hair. He works for the FDA and is interested in small, silencing RNAs. He approached me and began asking me questions in Chinese. Now, folks, explaining science in plain English was hard enough already. Imagine that I had to explain it in mandarin Chinese!! I did my best but a couple of times, he asked me some questions to which I had no frickin’ clue what the hell he was referring to. I was only able to shake my head apologetically and say, “Bu zhi dao” and then I apologized for my Chinese but to be perfectly honest, I probably wouldn’t have understood the same question if asked in English. The great thing about this guy was that he got all mystical and he said it is his belief that RNAs are the original genetic materials on Earth and that it precede both DNA and proteins. Not only that, RNAs, he asserted, were introduced to Earth by extraterrestials and thus, that was how life began on Earth. I listened to all this in awed silence, because it felt surreal to hear of such sci-fi beliefs at a science convention, at the NIH no less. But whether or not there is any validity to his beliefs, I really can’t say. However my encounter with this person definitely stood out in my mind as one of the more interesting encounters I’ve had in a while.
Much like my amusing speed dating experience a while back where I had the dubious fortune of sitting next to this buxom, vibrant Australian redhead and thus had to endure the veritable traffic jam that piled up as guys lined up very patiently to get her number, at the exhibit, I’ve had the similar pleasure of watching people congregate at all the sexy looking posters AROUND me while I stand there, neglected, lonely and sad.
Just kidding! I am being a drama queen, true to my nature at its core. The truth is, I had a few people come up to me and ask me decently intelligent questions about my research. Hopefully, I was able to articulate my research in a clear enough manner. Most people went away, if not bowled over by the genius of my research, at least very pleasantly happy that they found everything easy to understand and digest.
This rather cute guy approached me at one point and we had a pleasant conversation. As it turned out, he’s attending the University of Maryland School of Medicine and I told him that I wanted to go there, but didn’t get in. He laughed and told me that a friend of his wanted to go to Drexel but didn’t get in. We both shook our heads at the bewildering phenomenon otherwise known as med school acceptances. He said he wasn’t loving the city of Baltimore though, to which I comforted him by saying, well at least you can look forward to an awesome library. I said that not without a twinge of envy, because I truly was very impressed with Maryland’s library.
The other standout person that I met was this Chinese guy with a mop like hair. He works for the FDA and is interested in small, silencing RNAs. He approached me and began asking me questions in Chinese. Now, folks, explaining science in plain English was hard enough already. Imagine that I had to explain it in mandarin Chinese!! I did my best but a couple of times, he asked me some questions to which I had no frickin’ clue what the hell he was referring to. I was only able to shake my head apologetically and say, “Bu zhi dao” and then I apologized for my Chinese but to be perfectly honest, I probably wouldn’t have understood the same question if asked in English. The great thing about this guy was that he got all mystical and he said it is his belief that RNAs are the original genetic materials on Earth and that it precede both DNA and proteins. Not only that, RNAs, he asserted, were introduced to Earth by extraterrestials and thus, that was how life began on Earth. I listened to all this in awed silence, because it felt surreal to hear of such sci-fi beliefs at a science convention, at the NIH no less. But whether or not there is any validity to his beliefs, I really can’t say. However my encounter with this person definitely stood out in my mind as one of the more interesting encounters I’ve had in a while.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Emily rant
The other day I was watching this television show where an exclusive interview was being conducted of the 2004 Olympics women’s tennis (doubles) gold player Liting, from China. Having lately acquired a real predilection for tennis and all things tennis related, I watched the program with piqued interest. My interest soon turned to disgust however when the television host, sitting there looking all pale and smarmy, decided to zero in on one specific topic: the color of Liting’s skin. Now, she’s no southern magnolia with cream colored skin, that is true. However I looked at her and my first impression isn’t, My God, look how dark she is! Nyuk nyuk nyuk! But this television host decided to turn to her college-aged studio audience and proceeded to conduct her own little survey. She goes, “How many of you find dark-colored skin attractive?” I rolled my eyes but I continued watching. Of course like 90% of the audience prefers pale skin, because Chinese people are just biased like that. This one guy did stand up and profess his particular preference for dark-skinned girls because he asserts they look healthier. Anyway, it just dragged on and on and to be perfectly frank, I thought what the TV host was doing was insulting to her guest of honor. This woman was clearly in need of a crash course in basic professionalism and perhaps common decency. Why instead of focusing on Liting’s tennis triumps and sorrows are we focusing on the color of her skin?? Who cares about her skin? She’s not in the running for the title of palest beauty in all of China after all. What relevance does that have to her tennis ability? Really, if I could roll my eyes more than 360 degrees, they would take a road trip to California.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Lawn-mowing
It is curious function that once a person is able to defeat the powerful stagnating force of inertia, momentum kicks in with relative ease and agility. All this mumbo jumbo is just to say that I finally got my lazy arse to the yard the other day and faced down the lawn mower in a contest of willpower. The first five minutes were the most frustrating because the mower refused to start. I grabbed that handle and boys and girls, did I pull and pull! I nearly yanked my own arm out of my sockets actually and if the mower could chortle, it'd be rolling on the grass at all the effort I was expending. After about 5 minutes of futile struggling, I finally wised up and actually read the instructions. It said to push this button five times (a cold start primer) and then like a lazy tigercat, it purred to life. What beauteous music to my ears at that moment! However the giddy feeling of success lasted but a nanosecond as I started pushing the mower across the fat, overgrown fur that is our lawn. Soon again I was pushing the mower in what seemed like an uphill battle. I held on to the mower with tenacity however and even though the tremors of the motor were pulsating against my palms, I just kept right on going. I amused myself by cutting patterns in the grass and then going in concentric fashion til I hit the bulls' eye. 1.5 hours later, I managed to give my lawn a successful haircut, very brisk, businesslike, no fuss. The whole time I was doing it, I was also plotting how to become super yard girl by mulching my trees, pulling out weeds, killing off the evil little things taking over the front of our yard, trimming the hedges and so forth. But at the end of 1.5 hours, with my hands literally shaking and numb from all the "massaging" action of the mower motor, I told myself that he who paces himself lasts longest and there's no sense in trying to do it all in one day. With that in mind, I bid my yard responsibilities a pleasant adieu and went on to enjoy the rest of my day in reverie.
Friday, April 27, 2007
This guy
I’ve been wanting to blog about this one guy for some time now. Every once in a while, on my way to work, I’d pass by this bus stop and see this guy just standing there waiting ostensibly for the bus. He is a trim, clean-cut and neat guy in his 40’s, with light gray hair. He would invariably be standing there and he would play with this one metal ball, the size of skeeball. What he does with the ball is very tai-chi like, he would undulate his arms and have the ball travel up and down the length of his arms and he would have the ball travel to the tip of his hand at which point he would let it flow very gracefully to the other hand. It’s difficult to describe what he’s doing with the ball, but it requires great control, dexterity, grace and balance. Generally speaking, he allows the ball to flow down the front and the back sides of his hands and the overall effect is like the ball is dancing in the air very close to his arms and hands.
In all this time, I’ve yet to see him drop the ball. But Alas! Today, he dropped the ball! The ball then rolled into the street and he very nimbly hopped into the street to scoop it back up. Because the red light allowed me to stop right next to the bus stop, I very shamelessly indulged in voyeurism by watching the whole incident in its entirety.
The other thing I like about watching him is that, he seems so focused on what he is doing as to be completely oblivious to all the gawking passerbys, such as yours truly. He just does his own thing and exhibits very tangibly that sometimes lofty, sometimes elusive thing called “independence of spirit” so trumpeted by proud Americans. More than his skills with the ball, I hope to display that spirit more and more as my hair slowly makes the shift from black to gray.
In all this time, I’ve yet to see him drop the ball. But Alas! Today, he dropped the ball! The ball then rolled into the street and he very nimbly hopped into the street to scoop it back up. Because the red light allowed me to stop right next to the bus stop, I very shamelessly indulged in voyeurism by watching the whole incident in its entirety.
The other thing I like about watching him is that, he seems so focused on what he is doing as to be completely oblivious to all the gawking passerbys, such as yours truly. He just does his own thing and exhibits very tangibly that sometimes lofty, sometimes elusive thing called “independence of spirit” so trumpeted by proud Americans. More than his skills with the ball, I hope to display that spirit more and more as my hair slowly makes the shift from black to gray.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Dr. Paul Farmer's talk
One of the things that I find fortuitous about working where I do is the wealth of opportunities to go hear interesting talks given around campus. Today was one of those blessed days when I was actually able to hear Dr. Paul Farmer, live and in person, give a presentation about the work he has been doing to deliver community-based health care modules to the very destitute in Haiti, Rwanda and other such places.
Dr. Paul Farmer did not disappoint. With his studious look but boyish voice and mannerism, he gave a very buoyant talk that was punctured with clever little jokes. You can tell this is a guy who thinks quickly and who thinks deeply. He is impassioned and he is not afraid to point out what he thinks is completely absurd or ridiculous.
This is in sharp contrast to the very measured, rational and almost banal tone that most researchers/scientists have when delivering a presentation on the protein mediated transport through cellular membrane in s. cerevisiae for instance. He has a bit of a bulldog approach to adhering to his vision of what rural healthcare should be like. And he said quite frankly that he’s not afraid to just tell patients what they need to do to get better.
Of course, there are already enough people out there singing his praises, so I think I won’t devote my entire post to just that. Judging from the size of the audience there today (I had to stand for a whole 90 minutes and if you know me, that’s asking a lot of me), he is a man widely admired and known at least through the NIH community.
Anyhow, this talk gave me a good reminder. Whatever it is that we want to do, we should pour our hearts and our souls into them. For people like Dr. Farmer, with the brains, the energy, the vision and the abilities, he can go very far with dedication to boot. With smaller, more modest people like me, with perhaps ½ the brain of his, with 1/3 the energy, with ¼ the vision and 1/5 the abilities, I can maybe at least go a third as far as he’s gone with the proper dedication and heart and single-mindedness, and that’s probably farther than I would ever go if I were just to wander aimlessly through pleasure or comfort seeking corridors. So it’s not so much that I want to go out there and save the world in typical superman fantasy-like machismo. It’s more like I want to create my own niche where I can achieve my own modest goals.
Dr. Paul Farmer did not disappoint. With his studious look but boyish voice and mannerism, he gave a very buoyant talk that was punctured with clever little jokes. You can tell this is a guy who thinks quickly and who thinks deeply. He is impassioned and he is not afraid to point out what he thinks is completely absurd or ridiculous.
This is in sharp contrast to the very measured, rational and almost banal tone that most researchers/scientists have when delivering a presentation on the protein mediated transport through cellular membrane in s. cerevisiae for instance. He has a bit of a bulldog approach to adhering to his vision of what rural healthcare should be like. And he said quite frankly that he’s not afraid to just tell patients what they need to do to get better.
Of course, there are already enough people out there singing his praises, so I think I won’t devote my entire post to just that. Judging from the size of the audience there today (I had to stand for a whole 90 minutes and if you know me, that’s asking a lot of me), he is a man widely admired and known at least through the NIH community.
Anyhow, this talk gave me a good reminder. Whatever it is that we want to do, we should pour our hearts and our souls into them. For people like Dr. Farmer, with the brains, the energy, the vision and the abilities, he can go very far with dedication to boot. With smaller, more modest people like me, with perhaps ½ the brain of his, with 1/3 the energy, with ¼ the vision and 1/5 the abilities, I can maybe at least go a third as far as he’s gone with the proper dedication and heart and single-mindedness, and that’s probably farther than I would ever go if I were just to wander aimlessly through pleasure or comfort seeking corridors. So it’s not so much that I want to go out there and save the world in typical superman fantasy-like machismo. It’s more like I want to create my own niche where I can achieve my own modest goals.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Scribbles et al.
Lately all I can think about is how to best jam in everything I want to do before medical school all within my schedule and at the same time, fulfilling all the various obligations of my multi-faceted roles within society. So far it’s not been working out too well.
I even got an organizer. I find myself compulsively making To Do lists. The problem with To Do lists is that, prioritizing them is very important. I’ve not yet mastered the art of prioritization. Therefore, I’d find myself dilly-dallying with low priority tasks like organizing my latest collection of clothing and meanwhile, forgetting to ah..well, let’s just say, neglecting some more important and pertinent tasks at hand. I’m also horribly and unrealistically ambitious. I want to swallow that elephant whole. I want to go to the gym and work out everyday. But as soon as I don’t make it to the gym one day, I am super annoyed with myself and then pretty soon, I don’t go for a week. I don’t know why it’s always a do or die for me, I guess at heart, I am a binary creature, not making enough room for the inevitable fallacies of human nature.
Sunday, I went to play tennis. It was a gorgeous day, a day you’d imagine to be the typical lovely day someone in the Great Gatsby would be able to enjoy on a lazy afternoon, it was warm, breezy, perfect for sipping lemonade and sitting out in the shade. It was however, a bit warm for tennis. So there I was, playing tennis, all the while wishing I had the wisdom to bring a little cap to protect my “southern belle” paleness. Just kidding. I am the black sheep in my family – quite literally.
So there I was playing tennis and I was conscientious about not breaking out into an all out sprint after every ball. I knew for one thing that it would be too much for my poor beating heart to exert so much effort. I proceeded to play a lazy man’s tennis. Any balls that are too much out of reach, I’d just let it go, quite contentedly. I noted philosophically that it’s not unlike my tendency and approach at life. I’m no bulldog that’s for sure. But on the other hand, I’m pleased to report that I’ve gained some measure of control and grace whenever I do make contact with the ball, and 8 times out of 10, the ball is a nice smooth shot back into the opposite court.
Today I took my folks to the airport. En route, I made an illegal left turn, mostly my fault of course, but it didn’t help that my easily excited Dad yelled, “Left light!” and caused me poor head to spin in confusion momentarily. So I gassed the pedal and proceeded to make a left turn and very narrowly missed being (I was in the path of collision too) made into Emily hotdog. We made that narrow escape and all of us suddenly had the feeling of having been through an Indiana Jones episode. It took a while for the collective nerves of the Yenstones to calm down. Then we were on our merry way again.
I even got an organizer. I find myself compulsively making To Do lists. The problem with To Do lists is that, prioritizing them is very important. I’ve not yet mastered the art of prioritization. Therefore, I’d find myself dilly-dallying with low priority tasks like organizing my latest collection of clothing and meanwhile, forgetting to ah..well, let’s just say, neglecting some more important and pertinent tasks at hand. I’m also horribly and unrealistically ambitious. I want to swallow that elephant whole. I want to go to the gym and work out everyday. But as soon as I don’t make it to the gym one day, I am super annoyed with myself and then pretty soon, I don’t go for a week. I don’t know why it’s always a do or die for me, I guess at heart, I am a binary creature, not making enough room for the inevitable fallacies of human nature.
Sunday, I went to play tennis. It was a gorgeous day, a day you’d imagine to be the typical lovely day someone in the Great Gatsby would be able to enjoy on a lazy afternoon, it was warm, breezy, perfect for sipping lemonade and sitting out in the shade. It was however, a bit warm for tennis. So there I was, playing tennis, all the while wishing I had the wisdom to bring a little cap to protect my “southern belle” paleness. Just kidding. I am the black sheep in my family – quite literally.
So there I was playing tennis and I was conscientious about not breaking out into an all out sprint after every ball. I knew for one thing that it would be too much for my poor beating heart to exert so much effort. I proceeded to play a lazy man’s tennis. Any balls that are too much out of reach, I’d just let it go, quite contentedly. I noted philosophically that it’s not unlike my tendency and approach at life. I’m no bulldog that’s for sure. But on the other hand, I’m pleased to report that I’ve gained some measure of control and grace whenever I do make contact with the ball, and 8 times out of 10, the ball is a nice smooth shot back into the opposite court.
Today I took my folks to the airport. En route, I made an illegal left turn, mostly my fault of course, but it didn’t help that my easily excited Dad yelled, “Left light!” and caused me poor head to spin in confusion momentarily. So I gassed the pedal and proceeded to make a left turn and very narrowly missed being (I was in the path of collision too) made into Emily hotdog. We made that narrow escape and all of us suddenly had the feeling of having been through an Indiana Jones episode. It took a while for the collective nerves of the Yenstones to calm down. Then we were on our merry way again.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
And so it is...
What now, can be said about the massacre that occurred this past Monday at Virginia Tech? I read an article on the New York Times about how Korean-Americans are immensely uneasy as the news of the massacre trickled out and revealed a psychotic Korean-American who was responsible for such brutality. Indeed, they should be uneasy. The American public hasn’t been known to be very kind to the colored races in general, whatever their range of colors may be. I am not surprised that bigoted white Americans will take this opportunity to let their long repressed racism rise untempered to the surface and explode in the form of expletives uttered at the Korean race, or hate mail, or property damage, or even physical violence. That’s how an emotional, unrational world operates, an eye for an eye and these people would feel properly justified to give voice to their inner bigot.
What’s more so, I am to some extent uneasy myself, wondering if strangers on the streets will take me for a Korean and randomly beat me up for an event that truly has nothing to do with me OR my race. But this isn’t an issue of race and it never should be. It’s an issue of mental illness, social isolation, deeply simmering anger and dysfunctionality. I also read in the papers about how the family is supposed to be a very nice family, helps neighbors shovel snow, etc. That’s all well and nice, but I can’t help but think, they really could have done more on their end to prevent what happened on Monday. But as someone very angrily and cogently pointed out, (see jason’s blog), it’s not exactly useful at this point to play the blame game.
My thoughts and prayers go out to the families of those who were gunned down this Monday. I can only imagine how dark the world seems right now to those that are in mourning. I saw one picture of a grandmother gazing with forlorness at the picture of her beautiful grand-daughter, only 18 years old and now dead. As for the family of the killer, I don’t even want to imagine what they must feel now, having raised and contributed to the society their monster of a son. Yes truly, this is a tragedy that appears to lack the least bit of redemptive value.
What’s more so, I am to some extent uneasy myself, wondering if strangers on the streets will take me for a Korean and randomly beat me up for an event that truly has nothing to do with me OR my race. But this isn’t an issue of race and it never should be. It’s an issue of mental illness, social isolation, deeply simmering anger and dysfunctionality. I also read in the papers about how the family is supposed to be a very nice family, helps neighbors shovel snow, etc. That’s all well and nice, but I can’t help but think, they really could have done more on their end to prevent what happened on Monday. But as someone very angrily and cogently pointed out, (see jason’s blog), it’s not exactly useful at this point to play the blame game.
My thoughts and prayers go out to the families of those who were gunned down this Monday. I can only imagine how dark the world seems right now to those that are in mourning. I saw one picture of a grandmother gazing with forlorness at the picture of her beautiful grand-daughter, only 18 years old and now dead. As for the family of the killer, I don’t even want to imagine what they must feel now, having raised and contributed to the society their monster of a son. Yes truly, this is a tragedy that appears to lack the least bit of redemptive value.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Onward brave soldier!
Recently I learned of a phrase that I found intriguing. The term is coined “counter-factuals.” I first learned of this phrase while listening to a series of lectures on the History of the United States as presented by The Teaching Company. It’s a wonderful companion for the early morning rush hour and I highly recommend it to everyone.
In any case, the term “counter-factual” was used to denote the speculation that had Japan not attacked Pearl Harbor and enraged the roaring beast that is America, then Japan may have been able to hold on to its massive Asian empire that stretches from Korea, through many parts of China and almost all of Southeast Asia. When I consider that scenario, I do shudder for all of Asia, because it would be a vastly different world today and everyone would be speaking Japanese and all non-Japanese Asians would have been second-class citizens in the hegemonic Japanese empire. I would never have been born in Taiwan and never would have immigrated to America and never would have started my hobby of blogging and in short, I would not be here today.
Of course, that is where the “counter-factual” comes in and douses muddled heads with a splash of cold rationality. The truth is, this is mere speculation and too many events could have occurred in place of a nonexistent Pearl Harbor attack that it is simply presumptuous at best and imaginative at worst to conjecture such a scenario.
But as I tend to be moralistic in my blogging, I would venture to say that the active use of such speculations occur commonly in our everyday lives and could use a dosage of counter factual realizations. I often fantasize that had I not chosen A, B or C, perhaps I would have ended up in med school years earlier. By now, I would have been almost finishing up residencies and I would have saved my mom and dad the multiple gray hairs that they have had to spout during the course of my meandering. But true to my sheep nature and my wandering soul, meander I did until I finally meandered to where I’ve always, at the bottom of my heart, wanted to be. Yet is it true? Is my regret founded on something quite untangible, too many layers of speculation and uncertain factors? Yes, I would have to say that is possible. Had I not chosen A, B, or C, I may very well have chosen D, E or F and ended perhaps even farther away from my very original goal than I am now. I may have meandered still farther into the pastures of exploration and who knows? I could still be in Asia, teaching English, traveling with the Peace Corps, convinced myself that I should become an English teacher, worked my way through an East Asian studies PhD, ended up marrying a philosophizing hippie and traveling distant lands. Or I could decided that practically trumps all and gone back to school and got a degree in something useful and marketable, be spit back out in a couple of years and proceed to climb the corporate ladder.
All these speculations, no doubt can be boring to people unrelated to me, but I just want to demonstrate the endless possible permutations of life unfolding. This is all to say that, it is best to think of life in this manner. All that has happened was meant to be. All the choices that had been made were meant to be. Some were erroneous perhaps, but they can provide a lesson well learned. Some will prove to be beneficial in the long term, though were painful in the short run. The best thing that counter-factual has taught me is to steel myself against useless regrets and lamentations. And with this belief, hopefully I can be instilled with bright hopes for the future. The best is not what has not happened in the past. The best is what will happen in the future.
In any case, the term “counter-factual” was used to denote the speculation that had Japan not attacked Pearl Harbor and enraged the roaring beast that is America, then Japan may have been able to hold on to its massive Asian empire that stretches from Korea, through many parts of China and almost all of Southeast Asia. When I consider that scenario, I do shudder for all of Asia, because it would be a vastly different world today and everyone would be speaking Japanese and all non-Japanese Asians would have been second-class citizens in the hegemonic Japanese empire. I would never have been born in Taiwan and never would have immigrated to America and never would have started my hobby of blogging and in short, I would not be here today.
Of course, that is where the “counter-factual” comes in and douses muddled heads with a splash of cold rationality. The truth is, this is mere speculation and too many events could have occurred in place of a nonexistent Pearl Harbor attack that it is simply presumptuous at best and imaginative at worst to conjecture such a scenario.
But as I tend to be moralistic in my blogging, I would venture to say that the active use of such speculations occur commonly in our everyday lives and could use a dosage of counter factual realizations. I often fantasize that had I not chosen A, B or C, perhaps I would have ended up in med school years earlier. By now, I would have been almost finishing up residencies and I would have saved my mom and dad the multiple gray hairs that they have had to spout during the course of my meandering. But true to my sheep nature and my wandering soul, meander I did until I finally meandered to where I’ve always, at the bottom of my heart, wanted to be. Yet is it true? Is my regret founded on something quite untangible, too many layers of speculation and uncertain factors? Yes, I would have to say that is possible. Had I not chosen A, B, or C, I may very well have chosen D, E or F and ended perhaps even farther away from my very original goal than I am now. I may have meandered still farther into the pastures of exploration and who knows? I could still be in Asia, teaching English, traveling with the Peace Corps, convinced myself that I should become an English teacher, worked my way through an East Asian studies PhD, ended up marrying a philosophizing hippie and traveling distant lands. Or I could decided that practically trumps all and gone back to school and got a degree in something useful and marketable, be spit back out in a couple of years and proceed to climb the corporate ladder.
All these speculations, no doubt can be boring to people unrelated to me, but I just want to demonstrate the endless possible permutations of life unfolding. This is all to say that, it is best to think of life in this manner. All that has happened was meant to be. All the choices that had been made were meant to be. Some were erroneous perhaps, but they can provide a lesson well learned. Some will prove to be beneficial in the long term, though were painful in the short run. The best thing that counter-factual has taught me is to steel myself against useless regrets and lamentations. And with this belief, hopefully I can be instilled with bright hopes for the future. The best is not what has not happened in the past. The best is what will happen in the future.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
More to this life perhaps
When two or more females congregate together, invariably the topic of conversations turns to relationships and the subject of love. This has been my experience time and again with all my female friends. In fact I cannot really think of even one female friend with whom I have never discussed this topic. People talk of male bonding over beer and football, but for women, there is ever only one thing that truly glues: the subject of men.
Which brings to me to my second point and lately, a point of ire. Is it possible that we women focus too much on members of the opposite sex? What finally is the endless intrigue and fascination, what is all the to-do about these creatures? Men are just men, boys are just boys and truly, in and of themselves, they are not all THAT inexhaustibly interesting. I suppose I can chalk it up to the age old evolutionary drive in all women to establish a healthy and robust nest for her future egglings. Therefore, with so much at stake, it is endless exciting to discuss the ways to figure out what relationships are all about and what makes for successful, good, lasting relationships. As for dysfunctional relationships, well, one can’t possibly understand what is good about a “good” relationship until one thoroughly analyzes the myriad ways in which a relationship can flounder and dramatically sink to the bottom.
Really, women approach the topic of relationships with the microscopic zeal of the craziest, maddest and baddest scientists out there. They scrutinize every angle, they comb for underlying meanings, they sniff for the unsaid implications, and they concoct fantastical theses on what a man really means when he says X, because of course, he can’t possibly only mean X.
I don’t know if I can offer any true insights on the topic of relationships but I think one very cliched phrase bears repeating here. “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” Lord knows life is stressful enough as it is as we juggle our career aspirations, being good friends to our group of hyperstressed female friends, fulfilling our various obligations as good daughter, good sister, good girlfriend, we really need to at some point learn to let the little things go. In other words, don’t be anal and resist the urge to psychoanalyze every thing your guy does. At least psycho-analyze something else that might be more interesting – like what is God thinking today? Yeah, the big Kahuna up there deserves some more scrutinization than I confess to giving to Him recently. But I do believe that.
I think I will make it a personal point to NOT talk about relationships every time with my various friends. Maybe we will talk about famine in Africa, the gross neglect of the Japanese government to make sufficient reparations and expression of regret over its atrocities, the latest movies, the unique style of Jack Keroauc, etc etc. With so many things under the sun, we are doing ourselves a disservice by being overly myopic about our focus.
Here’s a list of things I would like to do before I head off to boot camp in the Fall.
1. Finish editing my video of Grandpa
2. Donate like 25% of my clothes, or sell on ebay, I won’t mind the extra cash
3. Donate 50% of my books to the public library – decluttering is on my mind recently
4. Find good housing in Philly
5. Plan an awesome vacation for July
6. Read every single book I have recently checked out from the library – 10
7. Help rehaul my house’s sad little lawn, currently overrun by evil little weeds
8. Re-memorize all the countries of the world, I’ll do this every year til I’m 80
9. Mmm…more to come when I think of them
Which brings to me to my second point and lately, a point of ire. Is it possible that we women focus too much on members of the opposite sex? What finally is the endless intrigue and fascination, what is all the to-do about these creatures? Men are just men, boys are just boys and truly, in and of themselves, they are not all THAT inexhaustibly interesting. I suppose I can chalk it up to the age old evolutionary drive in all women to establish a healthy and robust nest for her future egglings. Therefore, with so much at stake, it is endless exciting to discuss the ways to figure out what relationships are all about and what makes for successful, good, lasting relationships. As for dysfunctional relationships, well, one can’t possibly understand what is good about a “good” relationship until one thoroughly analyzes the myriad ways in which a relationship can flounder and dramatically sink to the bottom.
Really, women approach the topic of relationships with the microscopic zeal of the craziest, maddest and baddest scientists out there. They scrutinize every angle, they comb for underlying meanings, they sniff for the unsaid implications, and they concoct fantastical theses on what a man really means when he says X, because of course, he can’t possibly only mean X.
I don’t know if I can offer any true insights on the topic of relationships but I think one very cliched phrase bears repeating here. “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” Lord knows life is stressful enough as it is as we juggle our career aspirations, being good friends to our group of hyperstressed female friends, fulfilling our various obligations as good daughter, good sister, good girlfriend, we really need to at some point learn to let the little things go. In other words, don’t be anal and resist the urge to psychoanalyze every thing your guy does. At least psycho-analyze something else that might be more interesting – like what is God thinking today? Yeah, the big Kahuna up there deserves some more scrutinization than I confess to giving to Him recently. But I do believe that.
I think I will make it a personal point to NOT talk about relationships every time with my various friends. Maybe we will talk about famine in Africa, the gross neglect of the Japanese government to make sufficient reparations and expression of regret over its atrocities, the latest movies, the unique style of Jack Keroauc, etc etc. With so many things under the sun, we are doing ourselves a disservice by being overly myopic about our focus.
Here’s a list of things I would like to do before I head off to boot camp in the Fall.
1. Finish editing my video of Grandpa
2. Donate like 25% of my clothes, or sell on ebay, I won’t mind the extra cash
3. Donate 50% of my books to the public library – decluttering is on my mind recently
4. Find good housing in Philly
5. Plan an awesome vacation for July
6. Read every single book I have recently checked out from the library – 10
7. Help rehaul my house’s sad little lawn, currently overrun by evil little weeds
8. Re-memorize all the countries of the world, I’ll do this every year til I’m 80
9. Mmm…more to come when I think of them
Monday, April 09, 2007
The Namesake
Saturday I went to see The Namesake, a film by Mira Nair. I came from the film with mixed feelings. Firstly, this is one of the few films that I watched that made me feel like I was watching a three-day serial in one sitting. It was like watching the third installment of LOTR, the film could have ended probably half an hour before it finally did and not be worse for the editing. That said, there are moments in the film that I really enjoyed, and I have to agree with Stephanie Zacherek of Salon.com that the two brightest jewels of the film were the parents, who came together in India and immigrated to America to begin a new life for their family.
Whenever the two of them share the screen together, the poignancy of the moment deepens and thickens. The time when Ashima locks herself in the bathroom to shed a few self-pitying tears at being scolded by her newly wed husband for shrinking his clothes at laundromat illustrated the typical domestic disagreements of any young couple. What was particularly sweet however was how the husband, immediately chastened, coaxed his wife out of the bathroom by cooing a litany of little sweet nothings, “my ashima, my crazy ashima, come out, my sweet sweet ashima.” Inspite of her tears, she starts to grin nonetheless. It was not only a realistic portrayal of a young couple, it was a glimpse into the tenderness that the two shared.
As a first generation immigrant who was raised in America however, I can empathize deeply with some of the themes of this film. I can understand feeling both ashamed and proud of one’s ethnic heritage and the jarring conflicting feelings of this duality. I can also understand seeing a person who is Caucasian and mainstream in every way and feeling like we are light years apart in terms of our life perspectives. At times, that feeling occasionally turns into outright rejection (as Gogol did to Maxine). And even as I do so, I am meanwhile sipping my Starbucks mocha latte, surfing the web and chatting on my cellphone. I am no more or no less different than I choose to think myself to be. I can also somewhat empathize how the parents must feel whenever they look at their children and see only strangers. Surely at times my own mom has looked at me in astonishment, thinking, “How on earth did I give birth to this…creature?” Because as if the generation gap isn’t a wide enough gulf, often there is a cultural gap, contributed in part by the environment I grew up in, a world vastly different from their own.
The film by Mira Nair is the film of every middle-class immigrant who has sought a new life in America. The film highlights the tension for children caught between the old and the new who are not sure, often times, which way to go. For all its good intentions, it sometimes became overly ambitious, trying to say too much at once and ending up not getting anything very clearly across. The film would have benefited from slowing down, splicing out unnecessary footage, and forming a stronger cohesive vision. Yet irregardless, it was nice for me, as a Chinese-American, to sit through a film about an Indian-American and to realize, aah yes, I can relate. I’ve been there.
Whenever the two of them share the screen together, the poignancy of the moment deepens and thickens. The time when Ashima locks herself in the bathroom to shed a few self-pitying tears at being scolded by her newly wed husband for shrinking his clothes at laundromat illustrated the typical domestic disagreements of any young couple. What was particularly sweet however was how the husband, immediately chastened, coaxed his wife out of the bathroom by cooing a litany of little sweet nothings, “my ashima, my crazy ashima, come out, my sweet sweet ashima.” Inspite of her tears, she starts to grin nonetheless. It was not only a realistic portrayal of a young couple, it was a glimpse into the tenderness that the two shared.
As a first generation immigrant who was raised in America however, I can empathize deeply with some of the themes of this film. I can understand feeling both ashamed and proud of one’s ethnic heritage and the jarring conflicting feelings of this duality. I can also understand seeing a person who is Caucasian and mainstream in every way and feeling like we are light years apart in terms of our life perspectives. At times, that feeling occasionally turns into outright rejection (as Gogol did to Maxine). And even as I do so, I am meanwhile sipping my Starbucks mocha latte, surfing the web and chatting on my cellphone. I am no more or no less different than I choose to think myself to be. I can also somewhat empathize how the parents must feel whenever they look at their children and see only strangers. Surely at times my own mom has looked at me in astonishment, thinking, “How on earth did I give birth to this…creature?” Because as if the generation gap isn’t a wide enough gulf, often there is a cultural gap, contributed in part by the environment I grew up in, a world vastly different from their own.
The film by Mira Nair is the film of every middle-class immigrant who has sought a new life in America. The film highlights the tension for children caught between the old and the new who are not sure, often times, which way to go. For all its good intentions, it sometimes became overly ambitious, trying to say too much at once and ending up not getting anything very clearly across. The film would have benefited from slowing down, splicing out unnecessary footage, and forming a stronger cohesive vision. Yet irregardless, it was nice for me, as a Chinese-American, to sit through a film about an Indian-American and to realize, aah yes, I can relate. I’ve been there.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Call me Emo
When I was in middle school, I once observed a feud that developed between this Asian girl and this semi-white trash girl, we will call her WT girl. It was junior high and the middle school I attended at the time wasn’t known for its stepford children. Some pretty mean kids from the ghettos of Maryland suburbia attended that school. So the feud between these two girls got intense. In the locker room, I observed as sixth or seventh grade girls surrounded this Asian girl and then dished out ugly and hurtful insults at her. Her looks, her body, her b.o., her choice of sexual partners even. I don’t remember what the insults were, but I highly doubt they were all that original or creative. Nonetheless, it was quite painful to watch this girl get bullied. She was clearly outnumbered and ostracized.
WT girl kept talking about “beating” her up and “kicking her ass”, classy comments like that. So the big day arrives and the two of them faces off in front of a large crowd of people. I was one of the onlookers. Even before WT and A girl started anything, A girl starts crying hysterically and says brokenly that her mother told her that she shouldn’t fight because it wasn’t the Christian way. That Christians don’t fight and aren’t violent. I swear, I’m not making this up. So WT girl goes up to her and pushes her around, roughs her up a bit, but almost uncertainly and half-heartedly. All the while, A girl has her face buried in her hands and she was crying, but she didn’t hit back.
I guess I’m relating this story now to illustrate two things. One, I’m a big wimp. I didn’t try to stick up for her at any point in the game. Granted, she wasn’t my friend and I had no real obligation to, but I did think it was wrong that everyone picked on her. I guess WT girls had a lot of WT friends. Anyway, the mob effect can be kind of scary and for a 12 or 13-year old kid, I wasn’t looking to join the party and get some nasty blows coming my way.
Secondly, I think ever since then, I developed a protective shell of my own. Although this incident had really nothing to do with me, I experienced it somewhat vicariously and I was always scared to think about what if I had been that A girl and I had to be bullied or pushed around by a whole mob of angry, overly hormonal teenage girls? Case in point, back in elementary school I was quite a tough little cookie. I got into fights with kids before, mainly because it was like a knee jerk reaction. You don’t like what someone said? Just push them. Pretty soon I earned the reputation, well undeserved, of being “the one you don’t mess with.” But that was after all elementary school. Then the small fish graduates to go to a bigger pond and there, she sees all these scary ass big and tough people that she doesn’t want to mess with either. Then she realizes that she is a small fish after all and contented herself to floating quietly in the background, to avoid the predators. I am now that fish.
WT girl kept talking about “beating” her up and “kicking her ass”, classy comments like that. So the big day arrives and the two of them faces off in front of a large crowd of people. I was one of the onlookers. Even before WT and A girl started anything, A girl starts crying hysterically and says brokenly that her mother told her that she shouldn’t fight because it wasn’t the Christian way. That Christians don’t fight and aren’t violent. I swear, I’m not making this up. So WT girl goes up to her and pushes her around, roughs her up a bit, but almost uncertainly and half-heartedly. All the while, A girl has her face buried in her hands and she was crying, but she didn’t hit back.
I guess I’m relating this story now to illustrate two things. One, I’m a big wimp. I didn’t try to stick up for her at any point in the game. Granted, she wasn’t my friend and I had no real obligation to, but I did think it was wrong that everyone picked on her. I guess WT girls had a lot of WT friends. Anyway, the mob effect can be kind of scary and for a 12 or 13-year old kid, I wasn’t looking to join the party and get some nasty blows coming my way.
Secondly, I think ever since then, I developed a protective shell of my own. Although this incident had really nothing to do with me, I experienced it somewhat vicariously and I was always scared to think about what if I had been that A girl and I had to be bullied or pushed around by a whole mob of angry, overly hormonal teenage girls? Case in point, back in elementary school I was quite a tough little cookie. I got into fights with kids before, mainly because it was like a knee jerk reaction. You don’t like what someone said? Just push them. Pretty soon I earned the reputation, well undeserved, of being “the one you don’t mess with.” But that was after all elementary school. Then the small fish graduates to go to a bigger pond and there, she sees all these scary ass big and tough people that she doesn’t want to mess with either. Then she realizes that she is a small fish after all and contented herself to floating quietly in the background, to avoid the predators. I am now that fish.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Ah yes...updates...
Yesterday was a highly satisfying day. I saw the culmination of a few years’ of hard work and intense innard knotting. I have to thank many people who helped me get to this point in my life and truly, I consider myself a lucky lucky girl.
Last night I made the very deadly mistake of rubbing toothpaste on an emerging pimple in the effort to dry it out faster. However, I compounded on that mistake by putting a band-aid on it and then going to sleep. It became a sauna and hotbed for the pimply virus all night and this morning, I woke up to a grossly mishapened face. I was all hot and panicky as I tried to mold my face back to the way it was before. Then I had the brilliant idea of pressing ice on it to make the swelling go down. As I’m writing this, my face has thankfully resumed its erstwhile shape but I now have a big ugly flaming red something or another in the vicinity of the pimple. I’ve even taken ibuprofen to tame the reaction. The score at this point: Emily 1, Pimple 4. But the war will go on.
Last night I made the very deadly mistake of rubbing toothpaste on an emerging pimple in the effort to dry it out faster. However, I compounded on that mistake by putting a band-aid on it and then going to sleep. It became a sauna and hotbed for the pimply virus all night and this morning, I woke up to a grossly mishapened face. I was all hot and panicky as I tried to mold my face back to the way it was before. Then I had the brilliant idea of pressing ice on it to make the swelling go down. As I’m writing this, my face has thankfully resumed its erstwhile shape but I now have a big ugly flaming red something or another in the vicinity of the pimple. I’ve even taken ibuprofen to tame the reaction. The score at this point: Emily 1, Pimple 4. But the war will go on.
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