pieces of grace

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).

In all my years of experience with my grandmother, I never would have expected this of her. Admittedly, I have not spent a lot of time with her, but the only TV program that I ever saw capture her attention for a significant amount of time was the ballet Swan Lake on the Arts and Music channel. Yes, the image of Prince Siegfried dancing haphazardly in a dark blue sheet will forever be ingrained in my mind (he was supposed to be drowning, but that fact never registered with me, a 7 yr old. And honestly, the directors could have tried to come up with something better). Oh, and she’s been a long-time fan of Clint Eastwood, so I guess anything by him would have held her to her seat as well.

I recently helped my grandmother move into her new assisted living apartment, as she is now 93 years old. Since she usually just watches TV all day, I settled her down with the remote control as I read a book and my father and aunt handled all the logistics of moving in. Surprisingly, she didn’t seem to enjoy anything on TV, as she continuously flipped channels (and I mean continuously, as in going back and forth through the same series of cable channels at least three times) and fiddled with the volume. I was disappointed in her lack of attention, particularly since I had specially set the channel to an old Chinese guy speaking with great passion. Eventually, she just turned the volume down and started reading something else.

Yesterday, however, I was eating dinner in my grandmother’s apartment room and was most intrigued when I witnessed her come across Gossip Girl and fail to change the channel even once. At first, I thought it was merely because she was talking to my dad at the moment, but no, she continued to watch Serena make out with a guy (excuse my lack of knowledge of the show – the only thing I know is that Blake Lively is Serena and that Taylor Momsen, who used to be cute in Spy Kids and How the Grinch Stole Christmas, now looks like she’s 20). I watched as Serena suggest that she and her making out partner go somewhere more “private” – most understandable, since they were pushed up against a stairwell at their high school. Now, my grandma doesn’t speak English nor does she hear very well, so I could excuse her for the privacy suggestion by Serena. But she can see quite well, and the fact that there was only excessive making out on the screen made me more than a little suspicious. I proceeded to leave for about 20 minutes or so to watch Spider-Man with by brother in the lounge area and returned to find her even more engrossed in Gossip Girl. Instead of Serena making out this time, I found myself face to face with a guy at a party trying to lick some candy off another girl’s tongue in a most suggestive way. I was sure my grandma had fallen asleep, but no, I turned around, incredulous, to find her smiling and apparently riveted by Gossip Girl. It was obvious that she was enjoying herself. My parents, on the other hand, had nothing much to say. In short, this little incident brought me disgust, shock, and vast amusement, but most of all, I gained a valuable piece of knowledge: I now know what to get my grandma for her 94th birthday. So Gossip Girl Season 1 DVD, here we go.

yes, i know the title makes it sound like i’m some sort of child abuser/pedophile. but i assure you i’m far from it. just because i adore babies and toddlers and want to hug them all the time does not make me a child molester.

today at church (interesting things never fail to happen to me at church) we were celebrating the retirement of an elder, and so naturally there was this huge farewell ceremony with a mass amount of (what else) food. that’s all everyone was staying for – you could tell, because by the third prayer in Cantonese/Mandarin/English everyone was already talking loudly and showing no respect (okay, so what if it was me?).

i always manage to pile up food on my plate because i want to eat everything and end up only eating about a third because i’m just not hungry enough. so i dove for the barbecue pork puns, carrots with spinach dip, little sandwiches, and – the best food on earth – fruit. unfortunately, there were no room for grapes or strawberries because i had grabbed about three BBQ pork puns and now had to hold them pressed to the plate in order to prevent my lunch from falling to the ground and being crushed by all the Asian people rushing to get food.

pushing my way through the horde of people, i decided to be brave and try to find a place to sit down and eat. i thought i found the perfect place and burst into the room, jubilant, only to find a room full of little toddlers and their mothers, each staring at me as though they didn’t know what to do with the giant Chinese girl who had just stormed their party. awkwardly backing out, i found another quiet, small room where there was a lone table in the center. i decided to walk in cautiously this time, for fear of storming yet another little-kid party. and lo and behold, i find myself in the midst of two young boys, eating their food and coincidentally (or not so coincidentally) glaring at me. and this is how the conversation went.

kid #1: You can’t be here. This is an all-boys’ room.

kid #2: Yeah, no girls allowed.

me: I understand that, but I need a place to put my food.

kid #1: Okay, we understand. (now he was a mature fellow)

me: And don’t eat my food. *glares at kids suspiciously* Okay?

*kids eye each other as though they’re sharing a conspiracy*

kids: Okay.

And so I left very quickly to gather together a plate of fruit. I was quite worried about the huge plate of food I had left behind with the kids, and therefore only managed to compile a plate of grapes and tomatoes, as the strawberries were on the other side of the room. needless to say, i was highly disappointed, since strawberries are only the best fruit in the world. but weighing the costs and benefits, losing an entire plate of food to kids less than 10 yrs old provided greater harms than the benefits of a couple strawberries.

For these reasons, I returned almost immediately after satisfying my fruit fetish. I was surprised and yet delighted to find that my plate of food had gone untouched.

(after setting down my second plate of fruit and starting on the first)

kid #2: You can go away now.

me: Sorry, I don’t take orders from 10-yr-old kids.

kid #1: He’s not 10-yrs-old. He’s less than 10-yrs-old. (he seemed to take pride in this fact)

me: Oh, well then, even better.

kid #2: I never respect my elders, except my sister. She’s scary.

me: That’s no good. You should respect your elders.  I can tell your parents about that. (the biggie threat; perhaps a little too mean)

kid #2: Sorry, I don’t take orders from weird people.

me: Too bad, because that would include yourself.

kid #2 knew he had lost at this point and proceeded to kick my Bible, which was next to my purse, creating a domino effect. so technically he kicked both my Bible and my purse.  I decided I should leave as soon as possible, because I’m pretty nonviolent and would definitely not win a fistfight with this kid, due to my complete lack of upper arm strength (or just body strength in general).

me: Thanks for kicking my Bible. I can tell your parents about this.

and that was the end of my verbal sparring. I wonder if one day that kid will grow up to own me. He looked like he had potential, anyway. But I have my drawbacks, because I shudder to think what will happen to him if he responds violently every time he loses a bantering war.

no, this is not about what you think it’s about. i’m terribly sorry if this puts disturbing images through your head. because if it does, you might want to go see your doctor – perhaps it is some Freudian repression of your own desire to have bathroom struggles. but all kidding/lame weirdness aside, this is an idea i had a while ago, and i’m just trying to get away from AP studying for about 5 minutes…so let’s see if I can do this.

one day after church, i was sitting around waiting to go to dance class. (the fact that my dance studio is a 45 minute drive from my home means that we stay at church because it saves an extra 20 minutes of driving) Anyway, I was trying to figure out derivatives and running around church like a madwoman asking anyone if they understood derivatives so they could explain it to me. Turns out, everyone already knew about the shortcut (Power Rule, anyone?) and therefore could not help me with my extra-long, complicated a+h way. After about 1 hour of this frustrated madness, it was time to leave – which for me, means time to go to the bathroom, because I have a rather small bladder.

I was in the bathroom, merrily doing my business, when SUDDENLY the door creaked open and I heard the water running, which meant that this person, whoever she was (let’s hope it really was a she), was fulfilling her sanitary desires (aka washing her hands). I was just about finishing when this mysterious stranger decided to conserve energy and turn off the light on her way out the door. In the midst of stupidly trying to decide whether I should say “Wait!” or “Dude, there’s someone IN HERE” (that’s more my style), this person, of course, left, leaving me alone in my helpless state of darkness.

I decided there was nothing else I could do except try to turn on the light. So here I was, groping my way through the darkness, struggling to open the stall, and then stumbling my way over to the paper towels, where I knew the light switch would be. I desperately ran my hands along the wall for a few seconds, but to no avail. I then decided that the next best alternative was to actually open the door so light could flood through and I would be able to see where the light switch actually was. Praying that no one was actually outside to see me in this most embarrassing state, I tentatively opened the door enough for me to see the light switch, flicked it back on, and then shut the door as quickly as possible.

Moral of the story? As soon as the light turns off, just make a sound, any sound – even if it’s an incomprehensible one. And make sure that sound is as loud as possible – like a little Redwall badger Eulaliaaaa cry. Or, like my dad said, when anyone enters the bathroom, just clear your throat so they are aware that there is something alive in the bathroom, something that is more important than conserving energy.

It’s now too late for this, but I originally had an entry planned about Heath Ledger’s death. It was going to be entitled, “A Knight’s Tale: The Impact of Heath Ledger’s Death on an All-Girls’ School.” Except the timing is no longer right. Because everyone who’s anyone has heard everything there is to know about Heath Ledger’s death. Though I will say this: I mourned along with the rest of the 700 or so girls at my school when I heard the news by saying tearfully and pathetically shouting, “Noooo he can’t be dead” while waiting around for some girl to check online if it was true. And yes, I almost did cry. And I think I might almost-cry again when I see the Joker this summer. Because if Heath Ledger was still around, he could have gotten an Oscar for it. Obviously I haven’t seen his performance, but from watching the trailer multiple times he looks absolutely brilliant.

As I am now officially done with the SAT I forever (though unfortunately not done with other tests bearing that trademark), I thought I’d share some of the richest moments (I recently learned about the use of the word “rich” from my dear old brother) of my SAT escapades. so here we go.

I took the SAT twice, and luckily for me, both times provided amusing experiences.

The SAT Episode I: The Phantom Test

It was the first of October – a bright, sunny yet strangely discomforting morning, as it seemed to carry an aura of dread and failure (well, for me, anyway). I walked into that slightly familiar usually-filled-with-only-boys school that was now, for one of those few times, filled with various people of different genders (or at least they seemed to be). I walked steadily up to the List, the one that would determine which room I was destined to take the one test that would determine my life.

Alright, I’ll cut the crap.

Not surprisingly, my room was filled with Asians, and the proctor had to call out each name one by one. It took us quite a long time through get through all the Lee’s. When we were all settled, the proctor was just about to begin reading the instructions when the door burst open and this Chinese girl dashed in, highly out of breath and panting like there was no tomorrow.

Girl: “I’m SO sorry, *pant* but I got lost for like 45 minutes *pant* – I’ve never been here before. Is there ANY *pant* way I can still take the test?” (looks so desperate by this point that she’s going to cry. I’m wondering how exactly she got lost for 45 minutes)

Proctor: “Sure, we’re just about to get started. What’s your name? *Girl says her name* Alright, well just take a seat.”

Girl: THANK YOU SOO MUCH!!!

needless to say, everyone was highly amused.

The SAT Episode II: Attack of the Ignorant Asian Parents and Girls with Attitude

I was more nervous than last time, because I really did not study this time around, and it had been two months since I had last taken the SAT. I frantically prayed to God during breakfast and as I drove to the school that I would not fail and even, perhaps, get a 2400 (dare I dream?). As I once again examined the List, I noticed that there were even more Asians than the last time, and I vaguely wondered how this was possible. I settled into my room, and noticed that besides 3 Caucasians, 3 Hispanics/Mexicans, the rest were Asian, and most likely they were Chinese. And to make matters worse, there was a little boy right behind me who couldn’t be older than a sophomore. Before entering the classroom, I had noticed his parents hovering over him and asking questions to make sure their genius boy was ready to take the SAT and compete with people who were at least a year older than him (possibly even 3 years older, if this kid was sick enough to be a freshman).

I impatiently waited until the clock struck eight. Our proctor, a nice but seemingly inexperienced college student, began to read the instructions when in burst another person. I was glad to see that he was Caucasian, because our room was in dire need of diversity. The proctor decided to wait another 5 minutes in case another lucky fellow would arrive late. Just when she was about to start again, a black girl and her large mother burst in. Excellent, I thought to myself. We were getting more diverse by the minute. The crisis? The girl had forgotten her calculator, and she looked pissed beyond belief, as though the SAT was the spawn of Satan (which would be actually a very helpful fact to recognize). The following scene unfolded before everyone’s eyes.

Mother: “Excuse me, but she’s forgotten her calculator. Can she still take the test?”

Proctor: “Well, it’s advisable to use a calculator, but you CAN take the test without one, so a calculator isn’t absolutely necessary.” (We all knew she was lying, because no one was going to take the SAT without a calculator. Every single person in the room had one lying on their desk, and many had even brought a spare, or at least extra batteries.)

Mother: “Well, maybe I could get her one and bring it back. *looks to daughter* What do you think? Do you need one?” *daughter glares and does not answer*

Proctor: “You might not want to do that because the first section could be a math one.” (I was wondering if the Proctor had had any experience by this point, because everyone knows the first section is an essay that is 25 minutes long.)

Mother: “Alright, well…*looks at daughter again* Do you want one? I can get one for you. Do you need one?”

Daughter: *long pause* Then, “NO!”

Mother gives Daughter a “You’re behavior is unacceptable and we’re going to discuss this at home” Look and then left the room in a huff. The daughter remained in a seat she had sat down in temporarily.

Proctor: *to Daughter* “Sorry, but I’m going to have to move you to your seat. Is that okay?”

Daughter: *in an extremely pissed and irritated tone* “mmmhmmm”

The proctor semi-glared at the girl and then guided her to her seat, where she sat down angrily and glared at everyone in the room. I was tempted to give her a huge, cheery smile, but then decided against it.

When I finished at about 12:45, I left the room and was on my way to the parking lot when I noticed the parents of the little Chinese dude who had sat behind me during the test were back. They had their arms around him and were bombarding him with questions about how he thought the test was. As they were about to leave, I heard them greet another woman with an arm around HER little son who was probably also a sophomore.

Mom #1: *in Mandarin* “Hey, I think we took the wrong test! We should have taken the PSAT, huh?”

Mom #2: *also in Mandarin, which was awesome because I could understand them* “That’s right! No wonder the test was so long – 4 hours! I think the PSAT is only 2 hours long.”

So not only were their little boys geniuses, but these moms had also mistaken the SAT for the PSAT. They should probably get these things straight before they sign up to take the test.

And now for the New Year updates:

Unfortunately, I didn’t finish this entry in time to make it dated Jan. 1, 2008 – it would have made this entry extra-significant, as it is my first entry on this blog. But you can’t win them all.

I started out my new year with an Indiana Jones Marathon with my brother’s friends. Quite delicious, though I really didn’t have anyone to talk to. The last movie is without a doubt the best so far – I’m ready to see Indiana Jones 4 top the third. I haven’t made any New Year’s resolutions yet (they always end up not being fulfilled for me), but I guess this is what I want to accomplish this year:

1. Develop a better relationship with God

2. Better time management

3. Improve in debate and dancing

4. Be nicer to the people who annoy me because when people annoy me, my annoyed-ness is extremely apparent.

and that’s the end of my lameness for the time-being. Welcome to 2008.