His Little Princess

I guess I’ve always been a “Daddy’s girl.” A fair amount of my Facebook profile pictures are with him, mostly because he’s just that good at making faces. I share his love for singing, though, I will humbly admit, he’s better at it than I am. I’d rather not share this fact with him, however, since it would stroke his ego immensely and merely give him more reason to karaoke around the house at the most absurd hours in the loudest possible voice. I even kind of look like him when I smile, which I always jokingly groan about because I don’t really like my smile. I suppose there’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s a little too big – it really hides my eyes so I end up looking like some kind of inane simpleton with Asian eyes. I used to smile all the time for dance performances until a girl told me that when I smiled I looked like “a retarded dog.” After that, I became incredibly self-conscious about my smile. But I digress. I mention all these things about being a Daddy’s girl because I was listening to the song “Cinderella” by Steven Curtis Chapman today and it almost made cry. You can listen to it here, or at least until Youtube takes it down. My linking it here will probably increase that likelihood, but whatevs:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BUk5SZ18WhY

It’s really a cute and touching song, describing a little girl growing up and dancing with her father at various stages in her life, and that he has to cherish these times of dancing because “all too soon the clock will strike midnight and she’ll be gone.” The whole time, though, all I could think about was how Chapman lost his youngest daughter when his son accidentally hit her in the driveway. At first, I thought he had written this song for her, but it actually turns out that he wrote this song before the accident happened and that he had written it for all his “Cinderellas.” That made the song a little less sad for me, but even so, it reminded me of two things:

1) How close my dad and I are and how I don’t want to lose that. Well, I’m actually really close to both of my parents. I’m definitely a Mommy’s girl, too. I just want to put that out there in case she reads this and gets all hurt. I think my dad and I are more openly gushy about it, though. His nickname for me is “Baby.” And we have various routines that we go through that would probably make a majority of you throw up (my mom certainly does). I remember many times throughout high school when we would go through them and he would say, “When you go to college you’ll be too embarrassed and just ignore me, or you’ll be too busy with your new boyfriend.” Whenever he said that I would say “never,” but now that I think about it, I realize how much more cynical I’ve gotten about it. I now make fun of him more than I go through these routines. Maybe it’s because I like to think I’m too “grown up” for these kinds of things. But remembering them makes me realize just how little things like that are important for preserving our closeness, and they probably mean a lot to him. There’s a scene in Meet the Parents where Ben Stiller’s girlfriend runs up to her father, played by Robert DeNiro, and she jumps on him like a little girl and they go through a little routine. I want to be like that. No matter how old I am, I think I’ll always be his baby. So why not keep dancing like Cinderella? Hopefully that part of me will never be gone.

2) I was just really struck by Chapman’s tragedy. I found an article where they interviewed him and his family in their first public interview after the accident and one thing they said really spoke to me:

When asked whether or not the accident brought them to question their faith, Chapman confessed that it did, “absolutely,” but explained to the GMA anchor that faith is believing without having all the answers.

“My son said the other day that, ‘You know, yeah, we are family – like people say – of great faith … but we’re a family with a lot of questions,’” Chapman said. “But that’s what faith is. It’s living with the questions. That doesn’t mean you have the answers. That’s exactly what faith is.”

Faith is living with the questions. That was such a great reminder for me, because coming to college, it’s been such an exciting time of renewing my faith in my true Father. But that doesn’t stop the questions. I had such a struggle with that in high school, and I think the ultimate thing God taught me in high school was that it’s okay to have doubts and questions. I’ve sometimes wondered that if I’m too absorbed in my faith right now and not questioning as intellectually as I did in high school. That was one of my major concerns, but God’s reminded me that that’s okay. And really, that’s what faith is about. It also just puts so much into perspective; I haven’t suffered a tragedy as drastic as the Chapman family, and yet they remain in their faith in spite of and even because of the questions. Everyone’s going to have their ups and downs, but I’m just so thankful because right now, God has just given me so much peace and every day I’m reminded of His overwhelming love. This song reminded me that I’m a Cinderella to an even greater Father in heaven, and that I’m a little princess in His eyes. I want to dance with that Father forever.

Wow, sorry, this was really supposed to be a short entry, but it turned out rather long. The best part about this is no one’s going to read this entry because I deactivated my Facebook for two weeks so it won’t feed into Facebook like it usually does. But may I just say, life without Facebook is amazing. It’s given me the time to focus, reflect, and be with God. I thought it would cause me so much stress, but it’s given me so much more peace instead.

Procrastination Detestation (aka my incoherent thoughts at 5 am in the morning)

So this will definitely be a quickie post for several reasons:

a) I have a paper to write that is due in 1 day, but I’m trying to get as much done as possible. I wanted to finish tonight, but that’s probably not going to happen.

b) I feel bad for staying up so late; I can hear my roomie tossing and turning occasionally due to the light of my desk lamp. Bless her heart for having to deal with an insensitive roommate like me.

c) I am tired and I would really really like to sleep. But I can’t. I need to get my paper at least half done. I guess the question to really ask is, why am I sitting here trying to get this done at 4:47 am? I never was really that bad of a procrastinator in high school. But that was back when my mom watched me over my shoulder and wouldn’t sleep until I did so I was guilt-tripped into not wasting my time. But I also think it’s because I’m doing too much. It doesn’t seem like I’m doing a lot because I love every activity I’m doing, but now that I look back on it, each one actually takes a lot of my time, so much so that I’m out literally every night of the week and by the time I come back I’m just too burnt out to do any real work, or even think about it. My parents told me recently that I was doing too much, but I didn’t want to admit it. I think it was my pride that was holding me back; I wanted to be able to say that it was fine, I could handle everything. But I really can’t. On the other hand, I also don’t know what to give up on, because I love each of them so much. I guess the logical thing would be to do less IV, because the other two activities are pretty much fixed, but it really is hard to let go for several reasons. First, the people there are all so amazing and pretty much make life here at Berkeley the best ever. Second, because that would mean I’m cutting down on my “God” time, though I don’t know if that’s inherently true, because your “God” time is defined by you, not by how much time you supposedly spend in fellowship with other people. The stuff that I would be sacrificing would really be hangout time with others,  really. I don’t know. Am I just rationalizing? Really, I have too many thoughts at this late an hour. Either way, the thing is I realized I’ve been trying to go it alone for the past couple of weeks, trying to juggle everything myself. The truth is, though, that I just gotta humble myself and let God take care of it. So here I am, God. I really can’t do it alone and I need Your help. I know your plan might not fit me the way I want it right now, but I know I’ll end up getting everything I want in the long run and more, even if it’s not exactly the way I envisioned it.

d) I realized today from some blunt advice from a friend how immature I am, which is kind of sad because I prided myself on being more mature for my age. Well, at least compared to most guys my age. I think most of it stems from caring so much about what other people think of me – that lends itself to all sorts of sensitivities. I guess all of my problems in life all stem from a spiritual problem: I really lack confidence in myself because I am not confident in God’s love, which is quite terrible of me. But also really kind of contradictory and weird. Because if I know that God loves me the way I am and loves me more than I will ever know, how can I still feel so insecure about myself? It’s pretty illogical.

Anyways, back to the paper. Mmm my head’s not feeling good, though. Mayhap a nap, first?

P.S. I apologize if none of this made any sense. I tend to not make sense after pulling all-nighters.

All It Takes

Sometimes all it takes is one person to ruin your day. One comment, even. It doesn’t really matter how you were feeling before. It could have been the happiest moment of your life, but somehow what that one person says or thinks weighs in much more. Am I being melodramatic? Maybe I am. Maybe all this emotional crap I’m feeling just goes to show what a drama headcase I am. The worst part is that I can’t even say how I’m feeling because that would just descend into a prolonged, unnecessary fight. And who wants to do that? I just wish I wasn’t such a people-pleaser. Yesterday at chuch the pastor mentioned in his message that we sometimes care too much about what other people think; when he said that, I was thinking, “Oh, that’s not really me.” But it totally is.

It’s just that nothing I ever do seems to be good enough. All I wanted was for someone to be proud, to share in my happy moment. But that one word left me wanting to cry. The thing is, their comment wasn’t out of place, or even wrong. It was actually quite accurate. Perhaps I didn’t want to hear the criticism, but it wasn’t the criticism part that mattered so much. What hurt the most is that I realized I could have the most amazing accomplishment, and it still wouldn’t be good enough, because there will always be something to critique, something that could have been better. It hurt because I realized that even those closest to us can disappoint us. And the disappointment is even greater because you expected so much.

This all sounds so depressing, doesn’t it? I find that quite ironic because I’m really not a depressing person. So let me end this post on a happy note: Even though people can disappoint you (and they inevitably will), God never will. The people who love you the most can say the most hurtful things, but God will never disappoint, because He understands and loves us even more than we understand ourselves. If I base my happiness on other people, I’m going to be living a pretty sad and angry life. But if I base my happiness on God and trust what He has for me, well, that just might be the best life I could ever have. Living God and trusting Him to have the best plan for you – sometimes that’s all it takes.

We Gotta Make It Work (Ay oh Ay oh oh)

I apologize for the ay-ohs; I simply couldn’t resist. But contrary to what you might think, this post really isn’t about Ne-Yo (as much as I love him), or the song, or for those who know me well, that amazing So You Think You Can Dance Shane Sparks piece danced by Sabra and Dominic. No, this post is about something much more mundane: relationships.

Relationships are funny. (I’m not sure if that’s a line from Scrubs, but I can hear J.D. saying it in my head so I’m just going to assume that it is) They can change so quickly, going from one extremity to the other. One minute you’re crying or ranting or giving the silent treatment, and the next, what do you know, you’re BFFs. Who cares that you just screamed and shouted obscenities at each other? All of that has suddenly become erased – at least until the next time when one of you brings it up again. Guys who have witnessed a girl fight before know what I’m talking about. Isn’t it just weird how the fight can end in a hug? It make absolutely no sense. I can see the conversation in a movie: “So you guys are friends now, huh?” “Sort of.” “What do you mean?” “Well…we’re frenemies.” *camera pans over to confused expression on guy’s face*

Why am I writing about this? No, I haven’t been involved in girl drama lately. In college, everyone’s pretty much past that stage – I think. And no, I’m not dating anyone (I know some of you were excited at that prospect…Sorry to disappoint). But it’s because I’ve been thinking lately about my conception of relationships, the realization of how much work they take, and most importantly, my relationship with God. I know that’s a lot of stuff that seems unrelated, but bear with me as I try to explain.

Since the topic of relationships is extremely broad, for the sake of post length I’m going to focus on 1) romantic relationships and 2) friendships and then tie it back to how I see my relationship with God.

1) Probably one of the most exciting parts of college is that I’m finally allowed to legitimately date. If you’re confused right now, I will end your confusion with two words: Asian parents. I’m sure you understand now. But I’m actually kind of grateful I didn’t date in high school. For one thing, it let me focus on school and all the other stuff I was doing to try to get into college. For another, it gave me time to really know myself and understand what I’m looking for in a guy. And after observing so many people in relationships, I’m starting to think I’m probably still not ready. There’s just so many factors you have to account for, like things you do that piss the other person off but that they don’t tell you about till much later and all the stuff that builds up and starts coming out. And even if you’ve been together a long time, dang, can your relationship can fluctuate. Listening to other people, watching other people – it’s really weird. And kind of scary, because I’m one of those people who’ve watched one too many chick flicks and have a very fairy tale-like idea of a boyfriend. It just made me realize – getting a boyfriend won’t really be a be-all end-all panacea to every problem I’ll ever have. In fact, it will probably give me more problems. If I get a boyfriend, there’s no guarantee I’ll be happy. But I do know one relationship that will give me the guarantee of being happy, and that’s a relationship with God. So for now, I think I’m going to focus on that and just trust that whatever God has for me, it will be amazing. I don’t need to really try to look for someone – it will happen when God wants it to (and hopefully that’s not when I’m 30, but if that’s the way God wants it, then so be it).

2) Along with people sneezing right next to me really loudly, jiggling their leg, or being fake, one of my biggest pet peeves is flaky friends. I really get annoyed by that, because it’s antithetical to the whole idea of friendship. I mean, if you’re really my friend, then you would talk to me in some consistent interval. If you really cared about me, you would try to help as  best you could. Even if you don’t really do those things, then you should at least respond reciprocally depending on how good a friend I am to you. That’s always kind of been my philosophy. This is coming up because I’ve been annoyed at a particular person lately for not really being a friend while claiming to be one. But I realized last night that like every other pet peeve I have, it’s incredibly hypocritical, because I do it too. Even worse, I do it to the person I claim is my best friend. For the past four years, I’ve barely given God the time of day. Sure, I pray to him 3 times a day for like 30 seconds each time, but they’re usually very general and involve me asking Him for things that I don’t deserve. The sad truth is, I’ve been neglecting the person who’s given me everything. If the person I was annoyed with is a flake, then I’m the biggest flake to have ever hit the planet. So who am I to judge? I really don’t have that right. Until I stop being such a flake to God, I can’t be mad at others being flakes to me.

Thinking about these things have really helped me realize that the most important relationship in my life right now should be the one with God. Even though I’m a total flake to Him, it’s amazing how much He still loves me and the extent to which He blesses me. Now that’s what I’d call a real friend.

So God, are you ready to make this work? Because I am. Or at least, I can try. In full-out Ne-Yo fashion.

Brainless Musings

There’s no doubt about it: I have gotten exceedingly dumber this summer. I can almost feel my brain cells dying. The fact that I just spent 30 seconds thinking about what would be the proper word to use for brain cells since they obviously don’t just leave my brain and shrivel merely confirms this sad truth. Granted, I wasn’t very intelligent in the first place, but even so, having to spend over a minute grasping the right word for “intellectual property rights” is a sign that I have a problem. Yesterday, I sat in on a class at my workplace, and realized I had forgotten all my US history when the teacher asked if 1969 was a happy time for the US (I was about to say yes when some kid started talking about the Vietnam War. Needless to say, I was quite wrong). I didn’t even know about the solar eclipse in Asia today until my mother notified me through her Chinese news (speaking of which, why does she always get these things quicker than I do? She even knew about Dumbledore dying before my brother had finished Harry Potter 6 – and that’s saying something). That’s when it kind of hit me: I don’t really bother to read the news anymore. Is it because I’ve decided this is supposed to be the chillest summer of my life? I didn’t exactly tell myself to check out intellectually, but I guess that’s what’s happened. Instead of actually knowing what’s going on in the world (my biggest criticism of today’s tween generation), I’ve squandered my time and life on Facebook and really bad movies, the kind that the Google people know are so bad that they don’t even bother taking them off Youtube (case in point: Ella Enchanted).

I suspect that once school starts again I will be all over current events, but this just goes to show that perhaps I don’t take a true interest in these things. That’d I’d rather live in my own bubble of entertainment than actually care about recent political conflicts in other countries. Naturally, I don’t want to admit this too lightly since it would be affirming that I am, simply put, a hypocrite. But I guess that’s what I am. And what horrifies me is how easy it has been to become one of the empty-headed, unaware potato couch morons that I love to scoff at – the stereotypical, overweight American. The Ms. South Carolina that says Americans can’t locate North America on a world map because they don’t have one. The reality show contestant who doesn’t know how many quarters are in an hour. I’ve laughed because I didn’t think it would ever be me. But maybe it already is.

Half a Year’s Worth of Updates, Except Not Really

Six months is a long time to not have written anything creative, or even remotely interesting (by my standards, at least). I guess that can be taken as a sign of either general laziness or extreme business. Let’s go with the latter, for the sake of my pride. It’s really too bad, because I had at least three somewhat fascinating blog post ideas in mind. One of them, about papayas and their potential for breast enlargement in Asian girls, will probably have to be scrapped, due to a lack of scientific data and possibilities for offensiveness. The other one, about Channing Tatum and his annoying tendency to play uneducated, gangster teens growing up in the streets, should probably saved for a more convenient time when he makes yet another movie just like Fighting, Step Up, A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints, and Coach Carter. Let’s hope that time doesn’t come too soon. The third, about ways to keep yourself warm in the winter without a heater in your house, or, perhaps more accurately, a mother who is unwilling to pay the exorbitant heater bills, will have to be reserved for the winter season. I am, however, hoping that in college, I won’t have the same problem.

Now onto important life updates. I graduated from high school. I suppose that’s a rather important milestone, but it doesn’t feel like it. Throughout the week leading up to grad, I kept saying it still hasn’t hit me. And now, a month and a college orientation later, it still hasn’t hit me. Maybe it’s because I know I will still be seeing my friends before the end of the summer. Or maybe it just won’t hit me until I’m actually moving onto campus. I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because I’m just so excited about the whole prospect of college; I’m somehow convinced that it will be way more fun than high school, although all signs are that it’s also going to be way more difficult than high school. If I were to put it on a scale, I would say high school was definitely better than elementary school (although anything would, really), but still a lot of unnecessary blood and tears. I’m just hoping college will just blow high school out of the water, and I have a feeling it will. Definitely, maybe.

Maybe it’s because I’m listening to music and lack the seemingly simple ability to multitask, but I have run out of things to say for now. But don’t worry. I have a particularly large rant on the Twilight movie that I want to write – sometime when I’m not busy being lazy.

My Celebrity Obsessions

This is a kind of little-girl-crush-gushy post. You have been forewarned.

Every once in a while, I will get these crazy celebrity crushes that last a week. Jonathan Rhys Meyers, Oliver James, Leonardo DiCaprio, Robert Pattinson, and various other heartthrobs have all been objects of my affections. I’ll go through them haphazardly, then remember one of them, and suddenly obsess over that one person again. But anyway, my newest celebrity crush is: Wang Lee-hom. Or Alexander Wang. Except no one calls him that. Here is a picture of him to prove that he is worthy of an obsession:

So I don’t know what it is that has suddenly brought on this obsession. Maybe it’s the fact that I spent 2 straight weeks in Taiwan looking at his face practically every block. Pretty sure that’s a form of brainwashing. But anyway, I’ve decided that he is amazing. The best part about him is that he speaks perfect English since he was born in the US. Also the fact that he’s hot. Oh, and smart. Check this out:

http://star-ecentral.com/news/story.asp?file=/2008/12/28/music/2883374&sec=music

Came across one of Leehom’s interviews with a British columnist dude. And this guy is crazy smart. So there you have it. Wang Leehom is an amazing musician, intelligent, nice, funny, and hot. Oh, and did I say hot?

Alright, I’m done with my little girl crush for now. Here’s an explanation of my conspicuous disappearance from the world of blogging: First Semester Senior Year. Yup.

It’s been too long, but Christmas break was my only time for any real creative writing, and that was spent on backbreaking trips throughout Taiwan, so as you can probably see, I haven’t exactly written anything interesting for a while. That isn’t to say I haven’t got some truly amazing ideas, though. Just kidding. They’re ideas, but not amazing. But to give you a glimpse of what could possibly come in the near future on this blog, and by near future, I obviously mean next 3 months, my next entry will be entitled “Papayas: A Natural Means of Breast Enlargement.” Come help me explore this incredible new phenomenon. Next time you see a girl with large breasts (especially an Asian or Chinese girl, because Chinese girls usually have small chests) ask her if she has ever drunken papaya juice, milk, soup, or any liquid with papayas on it. Ask her how much and how often. Hopefully you can get all this information before she slaps you or calls the authorities. If you are successful, it’d be great if you could report your findings. Maybe I’ll make a scientific breakthrough some day. I’ll share the profits, of course. Just like Carl Denham from King Kong.

A Close Shave

“Let me explain…No, there is too much. Let me sum up.”

- Inigo Montoya, The Princess Bride

My last SAT test this morning was commemorated by a power outage. That’s pretty much all you need to know. I suppose I could tell you more, like how I very nearly missed the test, on account of the fact that none of the alarm clocks in our house are battery-based. Or I could try to express the sense of urgency I felt when my mother woke me up and I glanced accusingly at the clock, only to see a blank screen. Perhaps it would be more insightful for you all to hear my belief that God saved me, performing a grand miracle through my father, who usually lacks a bit of common sense. I could explain to you the once-in-a-lifetime genius act that my father performed last night when he decided, by a sudden flash of divine wisdom, to set up an alarm on his watch just in case a power outage occurred. And maybe, just maybe, you’d be intrigued to hear that despite this most despairing of circumstances,  I rejoiced silently as I brushed my teeth in the yellow gleam of a flashlight. I like to imagine that you’d want to hear about this particular hardship (a difficult task, indeed, as the darkness only added to the visually-impaired blur I am accustomed to seeing before I put on contacts). It is quite possible that you’d be interested in everything I have to say on this close shave. Maybe you thought that, for once, I wouldn’t be that long-winded and verbose – that I would be able to sum up. But I can’t.

The Hilarity That Is America’s Next Top Model

In the midst of trying to copy some 20 pages of a test prep book double-sided, I casually turned on the TV. I was confronted with a rather intriguing scene: about 50 girls on the verge of nervous breakdowns with Tyra Banks injecting as much suspense as possible into the words, “The next name I will to call is…” I guess the music helped too.

I’ve always been curious about America’s Next Top Model, just as I am curious about Gossip Girl, Project Runway, Heroes, and the long list of TV shows that capture millions of teens my age – the shows that I would explore if I actually had the time. Let’s just say half an hour of ANTM was enough for me. I found the entire thing rather amusing, though that’s hardly surprising, since I find everything amusing. I did find myself enjoying about half of it, though. The other half was covered by disgust at myself for actually enjoying the horror that was unfolding on TV.

For one thing, this new “Cycle 11,” is unique in that it included a transgendered woman named Isis. Obviously this led to much controversy and already some pretty catty remarks from the rest of the contestants. Anyway, I’d love to rant more, but I really need to get back to being productive, so I will just list some of my favorite quotations. And remember, these were all in the space of about 30 minutes (20 if you subtract commercials). Imagine how much I could compile in an hour.

1. The various forms of “OHMYGODD”s from the newly announced contestants.

2. “Hi, my name is ShaRan, and I AM America’s Next Top Model.” (continues to repeat this to every judge who looks at her weirdly)

3. Nigel: “So what in your opinion is the difference between a beauty queen and America’s Next Top Model?”

Sharan: “Well, a beauty queen is like save the world, love world peace, you know?”

4. From the one Asian contestant: “YEAHHHH ASIIANN” “YELLOW FEVER REPRESENT!!!” (at least that’s what the subtitles said)

5. About the transgendered contestant: “I just feel weird knowing that she’s different down there, you know?”

6. To the transgendered contestant: “You’re like a butterfly, being reborn.”

7. The mass giggling and screaming that would ensue every time a message from Tyra appeared and the words “Love, Tyra” were read.

8. Paulina (apparently some really famous model): “So if you were at a shoot, and a photographer requested to have sexual relations with you, what would you do?”

Interviewee: “Walk over, kick him hard right in the balls, and walk away.”

*camera pans over to Paulina’s shocked lock*

9. Nigel: So who is your favorite photographer?

Interviewee: *giggles nervously*

Nigel: Ok, confidence is key here.

Interviewee (continues to giggle nervously. then finally catches her breath and says): YOU. *more nervous giggling that is incredibly awkward to watch*

10. And my all-time favorite. (The girls were supposed to each model according to a political issue theme. Like immigration, or health care, or environment)

“I have to represent bureaucracy, but I don’t really know what that is.”

To other contestant: “Hey, do you know what bureaucracy means?”

Contestant: “I know, but I’m not going to tell you.” *smiles seductively*

Bureaucracy girl to camera: Okay, that girl needs to chill.

Alright one more…

Girl whose photo theme is Environment: “I don’t get how all this background environmental stuff is supposed to help people get out and vote.”

EXACTLY.

Playtime is over.

To quote a seemingly innocent Ellen Page seeking revenge against pedophiles in the movie Hard Candy, it is, indeed, time to wake up. Well, for me, anyway. In a mere 4 days, I shall be embarking upon the miserable journey (or so I’ve heard) of a first-semester senior. And I’m not exactly looking forward to being overwhelmed by a slew of schoolwork, exhausting extracurriculars, and, of course, the biggie: college applications. Someone recently asked me how come I haven’t burned out yet in all these years of high school, and I guess the answer is I’m kind of burning out right now, at a most inopportune time. But in all honesty, I am feeling a little lost in the whole college application process. There seem to be a lot of opportunities, but, then again, compared to all the competitive genius kids my age (of which there are millions), my accomplishments (which seem to be diminishing daily by closer inspection) don’t seem quite enough. Not that I ever really thought they would be enough. Right now I’m just worried about a lot of things, primarily the essays, since I’m not a particularly strong writer (just ask my English teachers). But really, what can I do? Now isn’t the time to try working on my literary skills, though I do know it’s relatively early on in the actual application process. Since playtime is now officially over, it’s time for me to stop trying my poor attempts at humor on this blog and focus on the stuff I should be focusing on. So forgive me if you don’t hear from me within the next 3 months (that’s rather unlikely, though, since I get ideas and want to write them right away). Before I take my indefinite leave of absence, though, I have two last anecdotes to share, which I decided were not good enough to be entries on their own.

“A Rant on Those Ghetto Asian Shopkeepers Who Pretend They Don’t Have A Restroom of Any Kind” (aka Yet Another Bathroom Story)

I recently paid an exclusive visit to the Asian parts of Los Angeles. I asked my dad why LA didn’t have a Chinatown. (every time we go somewhere, we always pay a visit to that city’s very own Chinatown) My dad answered that the area we were in was basically shaped like a bell, and that was the LA Chinatown. Aka LA doesn’t need one because it’s already flooded with the Chinese population. Reaching our favorite 99 Ranch plaza, I was disappointed to find that the big Asian department store there had been closed down for remodeling. But I needn’t worry. My mother had already done the research 2 weeks before and found a cute Korean-esque boutique across the street for me. We made our way across the back of the plaza to a sketchy-looking area and entered the store. Not long after, I was plagued by nature’s calling and quickly rushed to the one employee at the cashier, asking if there was a bathroom.

Me (attempting to be casual, but really not good at hiding the urgency in my voice): “Hey, is there a bathroom here?”

Girl: “No, sorry, we don’t have one.”

Me (catching a glimpse of a bathroom right behind her that says Private): “Oh…okay, well, where’s the nearest bathroom?”

Girl: “Oh, we don’t have one in this area, so you’ll probably have to go across the street.”

What lies. There was clearly a bathroom in that store, and there were probably a lot of other ones in the surrounding ghetto shops. I mean, are you really asking me to believe that these sketchy shopkeepers didn’t have their own need to fulfill bodily functions in the middle of the day? Seeing as they can’t exactly leave their shop, where else would they have to go? I was rather furious with her at this point and wanted to say, “You might as well let me go here since there is a very strong possibility that I will buy clothing from you.” Fortunately, I controlled my tongue and walked across the street. The first stop was Tapioca Express. I rushed in and, to my delight, found a bathroom after boldly pacing across the cafe, trying to ignore the many stares that soon came my way. I restrained the urge to jump up and scream for victory when I saw Women sign on the door, but then…I noticed another sign that read, “Please ask for key.” So here it was, a sign that was clearly meant for those people like me, who walk into Tapioca for the sole purpose of using their bathroom. It was such a clever ploy to make us feel guilty that it succeeded with me. I was too embarrassed to walk up to the counter and ask for the key when it was quite apparently that I was not a paying customer. Sorely disappointed, I stalked out of Tapioca and tried my luck at Nubi, a new froyo place that’s to Socal as Yogurtland is to Norcal. And though I had to wait because there was only one bathroom in the entire store, and then deal with the disgusting cigarette smell from the previous user, I managed to succeed. Though hardly triumphantly.

“Idiomatically Challenged”

While I have spent all my years in the US and am a very firm American citizen, I still struggle with the English language – particularly in the idiom department. For example, I failed to understand “just what the doctor ordered.” My most notable incident this year was when we were supposed to write a parody of Pope’s “Rape of the Lock” and the prompt instructed us to create our own “tempest in a teapot.” Like the stupid, idiomatically-challenged idiot I am, I thought that the “tempest in a teapot” part was our prompt and was ready to literally write about a storm in a teacup until my friend (poor girl) was confused by my interpretation and proceeded to ask the teacher for clarification (thankfully none of this happened in class). My English teacher couldn’t help laughing at my idiocy, but nicely explained that “tempest in a teapot” was an idiom. I was incredibly embarrassed and made the casual remark that I seem to have difficulty with idioms, to which my teacher replied: “Grace, were you born in America?” I glanced up at her face, sure she was joking, but no, she was deadly serious. And I had to humbly admit that, yes, I was a full-blood citizen and have lived here all my life. Needless to say, I left her room rather deflated – was I that bad that she actually had question my years of learning English? That’s probably an overreaction, but still, this incident made it official: I am strongly idiomatically challenged (along with being vertically challenged and all that good stuff).