Open to Interpretation

I respect the frugality of Asian upbringing, but sometimes I really resent it.

I make quite a lot of money for a fresh graduate. I can support a family with this income, but fortunately for now, no unforeseen pregnancies or surprise adoptions have forced me to do so. However, no matter how much money I make, I live like I’m near the poverty line. It’s ridiculous how reluctant I am to spend money on myself, or even get the non-generic brand of cereal just because it’s a couple cents more expensive. I’m scrimping on cash and counting every penny I spend in a budget to watch how I do. Though I do allow a small amount for some indulgences like clothes, for the most part all my parents ever seem to remind me about is that eating out is expensive and that I should put forth the effort to cook for myself.

Honestly, I’m about to starve to death because I’m sick of what I make, and I don’t have the energy at the right times to make something good for myself.

I should have a lot of spare cash, but it seems to be a mandate to pay off my car and school tuition in a year. That puts a lot of strain on me to watch every penny. Unnecessary strain. In addition, I’m saving up for future schooling (which I think is ridiculous because I’ll be drowning in so much debt that whatever I save up will be utterly INSIGNIFICANT), and also putting some into investments which hopefully will have me being a millionaire by the time I retire.

See the problem here? This upbringing stresses saving for the future, but there’s not much to live for now as it is. Is there ever a time where I can distance myself from the stress of money? I think that’s why a lot of low-income families are able to be so happy; they just don’t think about or worry about money. Can’t pay the rent? It’s okay there’s beer in the fridge. Money can’t buy you happiness? Yeah, it sure won’t when your happiness is so remote in the future that it doesn’t really exist to you now. I always wonder if I die today, what would I think about my life? Pretty sure I won’t be happy with the way I live, but I’m obedient to my parents who raised me and I am indebted to them in a way that most people don’t seem to understand. What am I going to do? So be it.

I am so annoyed right now. The apartment is messy too which also annoys me, and it takes a lot of messiness to annoy me since I am far from a neat freak. If I was living alone I wouldn’t mind so much since I would know that I made the messes myself.

I should be more grateful. Why is it so hard to be?!

Props to whoever can figure out who originally said the lines in the title or where they’re from. Hint: it’s one of my favorite TV shows!

The company dress code is basically that one must wear clothes. As a result, it’s tempting to roll out of bed and just go in my running shorts and t-shirt, college style. I admit I was so lazy in college because I had to walk forever to get from one corner of campus to another, and also, I was always stressed and running late all the time. This frazzled feeling translated to my dress, in which I was too lazy to even pull on a nice shirt and a pair of jeans. Fashion was impractical in college, so I was completely disheveled all the time.

Now that I’m working in such a casual environment, it’s easy to revert to looking unkempt on purpose. However, I spend most of my time in an office or walking in buildings, so it gives me more incentive to dress nicely because I wouldn’t have to deal with the wind blowing at my skirt or sweating out an outfit. But the main incentive for putting thought into my outfits is that it’s something to look forward to, and I adore it. People who don’t understand think fashion is superficial and perhaps think that girls spend too much time on their outer appearances. But it’s not even that. Every day is just another notch on the calendar for me. Every week rushes by with such hectic frenzy that I feel as if I have little to look forward to. But this little thing in the morning… This small infusion of living art I create myself… surrounding myself with notions of fancy… this comforts me. It sets me up for a better day and I feel more composed and confident because of it. I also love styling. It’s calming, and if I create an outfit that I love, getting ready in the morning doesn’t take very long. Clothing choices in the morning are usually planned or thought of ahead of time randomly.

So this is why I dress nicely. It’s just that something to look forward to when everything else around me seems bleak and never-ending. I wish I was a stylist. I can do this all day.

Working life. As I stared outside the window at the brink of sunset in my sedentary position stationed beside the fluorescent screen of my computer, I realized that I was living working life. Before this entire job started, I was reluctant to trade in my lounging days where I was free to pursue whatever I wanted to pursue, with all the time in the world. If I wanted to be awake at 4 AM, I would be awake at 4 AM. If I wanted to read about economic theory, I had all the time in the world to do so. But now, time no longer belongs to me. I should rephrase that. I have the time, but I have lost the will to spend it elsewhere.

There’s nothing to come home to, nothing to anticipate or be excited about. There’s simply dwindling rotation of the weekdays and the weekends. Even if I could be doing something else, I wonder what I could be doing, and I find that I choose to spend that time doing work. There was a time where I would scoff at myself for doing this, and that time was not too long ago. There was a time where I staunchly refused to put more into a corporate entity than I must. But now, for lack of anything better to do, I suppose I have given up on such idealistic approaches. I am nothing more than part of a silent assembly line.

It’s not that I’m unhappy at my job. There’s just nothing here other than my job. Nothing to really feel rooted or passionate about, no joyous rush in the morning, nothing at all. There are people all around and all these things to do but all I can really think of is the practical drone of life and the money that fuels my mechanical motion. I find myself really missing home and not really feeling connected to anything or anyone here. But I don’t even have time or energy to really be unhappy.

It’s funny how I’ve waited so long to become employed, and then had such nagging reluctance to start my job that I delayed starting for a few months to play more soccer, and now I can’t seem to do anything else but work. In interviews, I tried to tell prospective employers what a great asset I would be. Perhaps I am not the most intelligent person out there, but I make up for that with unparalleled diligence. I tend to be so obsessed over everything that I spend ungodly time trying to outdo myself. Perhaps that is what I am resorting to now.

Even carnal pleasures must be relinquished for nirvana, but what exactly am I relinquishing, and what is this mythical nirvana? As I live each day counting the minutes of a commute, I wonder just how much more I have to do before I stop feeling so empty.

When you wrote those words, I felt myself wonder what things would have been like if you actually said them. You wouldn’t ever even jokingly admit to loving me. You thought it was weird. Those overdone words that mean nothing to everyone meant more to me than the world. Back in those days, when you were every second of my waking thought, I’ve waited for you to say them. You never did. And as time went by, I thought I knew for sure that you would never love me.

With the distance, and the majority of our time being apart, the thread that held us between rare visits was a load of arguments, halfhearted conversations, and tear-soaked sheets from wondering what would happen to us. I wanted to be with you. It’s so rare to find a connection like this. I still remember those nights we could talk until the sun rose, and the times we had together before you left the state. Throughout our relationship, I have never been more depressed. I have never been more happy either. But happiness is short-lived. As we said goodbye each time, the same thing would happen. Tear-soaked sheets, halfhearted conversations, wondering what we were doing and when you would ever realize how much I loved you.

I wonder if you could even fathom how much you hurt me. Or else why would you have continued the way you did?

When I left for work, I kept thinking of how this would continue. In my mind, there were things that were inherently broken about us that couldn’t be fixed unless we were together for good. How would we see each other or grow together? I could count the days we spend together on one hand. And for what? Someone who wouldn’t refer to me as his girlfriend?

To tell the truth, this last week has been when I’ve felt more emotionally stable than I have been in a long, long time. I still cried when you talked to me, but for once, I felt like I could actually focus on my own life rather than spend all my effort trying to make a relationship work. It felt incredibly liberating. I missed you, I was sad, I wanted to talk to you again, and I tried very hard not to do it. It was difficult, but it was a weight lifted from my spirit.

You say you loved me, but you should know that you took me for granted for far too long. If there was no intervention, we would still be in the same point of complication. I’ve taken out my anger and bitterness on you in such hateful ways before. But this time, it’s not because of sheer spite. I need to put myself first. I can’t afford to ruin my own future for ours. You can say it’s excuses not to continue a relationship, and that if I really wanted it, I would make it work. But even saying “I love you” and telling the whole world I’m yours is not going to repair everything. We have far too much damage from the past to reconcile by seeing each other a few days a month, and I’m not willing to exhaust myself on it.

We had a connection that I never thought I’d find in anyone, and I’m thankful for you. There’s also nobody else who could possibly make me suffer so much for so long. When you lose someone you finally realize how much they were worth to you and it makes you love them more. You finally realize what I meant to you and I finally think I can let go of all the bitterness I have felt for you. I finally feel like I am ready to forgive you. We had wonderful times together despite it all. I miss those days, and I miss you. I’m sorry. It’s a shame that we were such a mess and are so far apart still. I desperately want us to have a fair shot at this, but until then, this is for the best. I love you.

Have you ever reflected on a certain period of your life that felt as if it blitzed past you while you were living? All the time, many situations. I can’t even count the number of times I come home and realize that it feels exactly the same as when I left, and questioned if I ever left at all. Sometimes I feel like I have more time, more days ahead of me to whittle away hours with, but then that time suddenly vaporizes to dying seconds.

I have always felt a deep appreciation towards my family, deeper than any sense of worldly displeasure or pleasure can skim. But I never feel like I would be so remote from them until now. As I was counting down the weeks till I start working, it felt like I had ample time to relax with. Those weeks dwindled to days, and now to mere hours before I leave the place I have grown roots in.

What is ahead of me scares me, because I do not know anything anymore. At least with school, I had a vague idea of how long I would be there, and what I would be doing, and who I would be fraternizing with. I just know that life is running wild ahead of me now, unstructured and without template (perhaps you can argue that the corporate world is a lifeless template of its own). What is going to happen to every sanctuary that I know?

Well no more playing Halo 2 and soccer all day. I’m about to step into the working world, reined in by managers and bridled with mindless roles, suppressed by dull tasks that never end. How sad.

Played a total of 5 games between today and yesterday for a women’s teams state soccer tournament, and my legs feel so dead and sore. I haven’t been this sore in a long time.

Notes to self…

1. “They say the first half-meter is in your head. What’s in yours?” – Nike commercial. I tend to psyche myself out a lot. I don’t have as much experience, coaching, and size as many girls, so going against them makes me feel inadequate, especially since back in the day, I wasn’t technically adept. It’s seriously all in my head though. Playing in this tournament made me realize that I play best when I am confident in myself. Sounds simple, but when I’m going against girls taller than me (most of them) or with fancy footwork (I’d rather not be on the receiving end of my own jar of tricks), adding the fatigue factor, I feel like I definitely shut myself down. I started getting more confident when I sensed any sort of hesitation or passiveness from the opposition though. That confidence carried from one game to another. I think this really just helped me win 50-50 balls or force turnovers. I think my technical side got weaker as I just plowed through the ball to win it in the midfield… A coach of mine always told me to just run through balls to win them. It doesn’t look pretty, and it’s not what I spent hours developing on good touch to do, but it’s effective. If people are taking their time trapping it, not trapping it perfectly shielded from me, or if they are waiting for the ball to settle or get to them, I can just sprint through the ball to win it with my body, or force my body between them and the ball. Since I usually play fairly chill pickup, I haven’t had to play this aggressively in a long time, and it feels good to be hustling and outmuscling again…

2. Since I don’t have as much coached experience, I feel like sometimes I don’t understand the game as well as I should. What runs to make, how to play a position effectively, what to do for set pieces, what to do on defense, etc… Actually, it’s not that I don’t understand, since I watch enough games to realize what should be done. It’s just difficult to get it done during an actual game. Conversely, since I’ve played so much pickup, I feel like I’m probably more aware of where passes should go than most people. It’s one of my favorite things to shred the defense with a well-placed pass. Picking out a player to pass to is the easy part. Delivery of the actual ball to the player or to their anticipated run is more difficult. Threading the ball through the defense and with correct pace so that the target player can take an easy touch onto it is the most difficult part. The more I play, the more I realize that a pass that does all the work for a player is so underrated in the game, and people tend to just like the parts of the game that they can see. There are so many fine nuances of playing a good pass that are often overlooked. I feel like my passing is probably the best part of my game, though in a game it’s often hectic and there’s pressure everywhere.

3. Defense isn’t as tough as I feel it is, though it’s my biggest test of focus. I’ve been stuck on this outside mid position for long (probably because nobody really wants to play it), that after I had a chance to play center mid, forward, or defense, it feels like drastically less sprinting. The biggest test is coming back on defense. In pickup, there’s less pressure to really come back on defense. In real games, it gets pretty intense. I feel like moving without the ball is the main source of exhaustion. Defense is mainly about focus though. Focusing on pushing through the fatigue, focusing on marking a player, focusing on anticipating the runs/delivery, and focusing on containment once your mark gets the ball. I think I’ve gotten the body positioning for containment down. Basically force them one way and don’t dive in…

Task: to have something inspire imagery for a poem.
Inspiration: Electronica music.

We were nothing but synth arpeggios and pulsating distortions,
neon faders ecstatically on, inhibitions surreptitiously off.
Nights drink into the morning and the mornings thirst into the nights as
we collect sunlight through tinted windows,
and count the revolutions of the ceiling fan,
the subtle taste of sin settling in my mouth
teetering on the edge of unknown adrenaline and languid acceptance.
Keep your china doll from prying eyes and polite conversation
meanwhile knowing that the moment your eyes meet hers for the first time each day
becomes the moment when your day first starts.

“He loves you, he loves you not,” as the petals of the flowers are yanked bare,
So are the dignified feathers of the Indian war bonnet affixed on a ravished name.
So are the pages of the patient calendar, murdered on the ground.
So are the puppet strings of beauty and joy once stitched into my face.
I yearn to be ink: on your arm, in the pages of your history books, the kind of ink that haunts your brain.
I can’t stand another moment awake next to you as empty and nameless as I am.

What does being “classy” mean?

My parents bring up the term “class” fairly often. For example, they strongly disapprove of tattoos due to its “low-class” connotation. They say people who don’t study hard at school are not “high-class”. Class can mean many things, though. In one sense, it is a reflection of socioeconomic standing. In another, it is inherent quality of something, or someone. While these definitions can be correct in a general sense, and can be expounded on in separate posts, I personally believe class represents something that cannot be captured through the use of money or quality alone.

One can exude class without spending an exorbitant amount on oneself. After all, would anyone say “Jersey Shore” reality TV stars are classy even if they are wearing designer clothes and driving nice cars? Being classy is in a class of itself. It’s an elegance of carriage and an understated composure that people believe in. It’s humility without exaggeration or hunger for attention. It’s tasteful beauty without the garishness of excess and showboating. It’s living within one’s means, understanding when to indulge, and staying grounded to money. It’s the quiet assumption of leadership under dire circumstances. It’s the understanding of temperance and discipline. It’s knowing how to deal with people effortlessly and diplomatically.

To me, that is what being classy embodies. What does it really mean to you?

A video of a UCLA girl ranting about hordes of Asians everywhere, and talking on their cellphones in the library, has recently made it viral right after it was posted. People have gone as far as making a hate page about her, complete with contact information and a link to expel her, and have completely sullied her internet reputation. That’s extreme.

First of all, all of us have probably participated in some petty generalizations and stereotypes about certain groups of people before. The difference is that she had the gall to post it publicly, instead of keeping it between friends or even just on Facebook. Posting something like this on a public venue is bound to make sensitive people angry. I am not exactly super sensitive or politically correct, so I saw this video as more of an innocuous testament to the unbearable ignorance of the masses out there. You would think that someone going to an acclaimed school would be slightly smarter… I feel slight pity.

The video amused me the way Jersey Shore stupidity amuses me. A couple of things do bother me about the video though. Even more than the fact that she imitated Asians speaking on the phone, or she was insensitive about the tsunami disaster, the fact that this girl called UCLA “our school” and says that they admit hordes of Asian people, as if she has more ownership in UCLA than Asian-Americans, bothers me. Throughout the entire video, she makes it seem like she is more entitled to America than any of her assumed-to-be-slanty-eyed compatriots. She makes clear distinctions between American manners and child-rearing protocol and Asian ways. Her assumptions that Asians were raised inferiorly without manners, imported from the far east, and somehow not entitled to America the same way she is, made me squirm a little due to her ignorance.

Asians generally have different values than what her mommy has taught her. There is greater emphasis on the filial unit and family. Hence, the hordes of “old Asian people” who generally come to dote on their children in college. Asians value reverence of hierarchy, and diligence in work and study. Asian-Americans have worked hard to set their lives in America, and not all of them have been recently sent from Asia. Asian-American children of this generation are high performers and hard workers due to the values that their culture has pushed into them. Asian-Americans have every right any blonde American girl would have under the Constitution. This girl seems to believe that every Asian she sees at UCLA just recently came over to “our school” from Asia last week. Quite misinformed.

People who take immense offense to this video need to chill out. Yes, it can be offensive; a lot of things are. However, taking offense doesn’t change what people think behind what their mouths are saying. There are worse cases out there. Ignorance is an epidemic. We are all affected, some worse than others. This girl just put it out there on Youtube, and confirmed her ignorance with her remarks about the tsunami and her poor imitation of Korean (the “OHHH” part was spot on, and everything else sounds like poor Cantonese). Sadly, there are a lot of people out there who are as dumb as her, and there’s not much we can do about it. The best way is to live well, I think. In the future, when I roll by some dumdum in my new Porsche, they can “ching chong ling long ting tong” me all they want.

Anyways, just my really quick 2 cents.

1. One of my greatest weaknesses is a slight lack of confidence in the face of intimidation. It’s a mental game to be able to keep up with an attacker or get past an esteemed defender. Sometimes when I feel like they’re just too good, the mental barrier is already there. Solution? Be cocky forever.

2. I hate missing games, and even practices. I don’t care if it’s a futile regular season game, a playoff game, or if I’m even going to be vital in that game etc. I just hate missing out on games. The last time I missed out on a game was an intramural playoff game in which I had a genetics test at the same time. The time before that was because of bio lab being at the same time. Both games were first round playoffs, and both games were without victory. I even skipped a UIL Spelling district meet to play a regular season club game before… What a waste of time memorizing spelling words. Spelling would have made for good resume filler…

3. I wonder what I look like when I execute moves.

4. When I was in high school, my coach called me wimpy on the ball and since then I’ve been working to hold my own on the field. It’s easier playing with guys since they give me a lot more room to work with usually. Ever since I started weight training too, I’ve been more confident creating space for myself physically.

5. Off the top of my head, I admire these following players: Zinedine Zidane, Kaka, Carles Puyol, Jisung Park, Steven Gerrard, Andres Iniesta, Lionel Messi, the USWNT, Sun Wen. Missing a few, but off the top of my head.

6. There’s a long list of things to work on… Positioning, 1v1 defending, 1v1 attacking, finishing with left foot, finishing on frame in general, finishing from the air, winning 50-50 balls, individual possession, volleys, list goes on and on.

7. I feel like I’ve spent quite a portion of my life just alone with the ball and working on technique, but it’s not enough. I need to work individually more often…

8. I feel like not that many people understand what soccer means to me. It’s more than just a game, a sport, an activity. It’s more than just a goal to work towards, lessons in life, and a goal to score on. Soccer has fished me out of the darkest periods of my life where I was quite depressed and lonely. Back then it gave me some reason to wake up every day, and even now, it brings unbridled joy to the most unfavorable situations. People don’t understand how much it means to me, or even how much it could possibly mean to anyone who doesn’t play pro or something. But to me, it’s more than a game. It’s an affirmation that life is worth living.

9. I would have tried out for the university club team if I were more fit during the summer. I guess I just didn’t work hard enough. I kind of regret that. Not that I would have made it anyway…

10. I get a burst of jubilation when I destroy someone on the field. I’m a meanie.