Mental Floss

Metric Dead Disco/ FInnish DIsco Instructor Mash-up

You know, overall, I'm pretty okay with the circumstances I've been born in. I wonder if future generations may think otherwise...

Future daughter: How did you even STAND going to school with a bunch of guys in skinny jeans who try to sag and end up looking like waddling grannies in bloomers??)
Me: Hmm. Good question.

... but whatever. I can still breathe good oxygen and drive a gasoline car.

Despite how lowly I regard our current president, I am glad I grew up in the United States. Obviously, I've had my own brushes with racism, but this is as good as it gets -- especially in this part of California. I am not forced to convert to Christianity by missionaries; I am not forced to work lower class jobs because of my ethnicity. I'll admit that sometimes I wish I wasn't Asian (the horror!) but it's usually a fleeting thought that passes by when people start talking about Affirmative Action for college.

This may sound incredibly blasphemous for a high school student slaving away in AP classes, but thank goodness for education.

Seriously. Thank goodness for the fact that I am living in a place that does not treat women as property, a place where girls have a future besides marriage, a place where we understand basic health procedures such as sterilization. As much as I'd like to conk my American Gov't teacher on the head every so often, the Senior Project we are required to do really opens our eyes to the world.

With project topics such as Middle Eastern Honor Killings and Female Genital Mutilation, I don't think I have ever been so grateful for who I am, where I am, and when I am. I whine about how I don't know what I want to do in the future -- I should just shut up and remind myself that I at least have a choice.

The other day I read an article on Telegraph.co.uk about Pakistani arranged marriages. I've noticed that some Fictionpress stories tend to romanticize to the concept of arranged marriages. Usually the guy is of noble breeding (with a bunch of middle names and a roman numeral at the end -- like Alexander Richard Samuel Edington III -- or ARSE III) and has a very arrogant attitude due to the fact that he does not dirty his silky creamy hands among the likes of commoners. (This may explain fan girls' fascination with Draco Malfoy...) But of course, he has to be exceedingly handsome, or you'd end with a story about a girl who runs away and is disowned by her family and dies a miserable death in a street gutter instead of a touching Pride and Prejudice-esque story.

Don't come after me with pitchforks -- I like a feel-good story as much as the next girl.

Unfortunately the link to the forced marriages article is dead, but here is another article about something similar:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/asia/pakistan/2660881/Pakistani-women-buried-alive-for-choosing-husbands.html

This one is about three Pakistani girls between the ages of 16 and 18 who were buried alive for wanting to choose their own husbands. Two older relatives who tried to intervene were buried as well.

I have to admit that I have wondered in the past, if arranging marriages was practiced in my community, what in the world would happen to me? Would I end up with someone my age -- and probably have at least two children by this age? Or would I be like Waris Dirie, arranged to marry a sixty-year-old man because he offered a good bargain on camels to my father? Chances are, the noble-bred Arse the Third is clearly out of the picture.

I know that in many cases, arranged marriages work. There have been people who say how it exciting to see what new things you learn about your spouse each day. But I think these are only in cases where the parents have their children's best interests in mind. I mean, a sixty-year-old man? For camels? Who's really getting the best bargain?

You know what I really want to say to all those freshmen, sophomores, and juniors who complain about how little sleep they get or how much work they have to do (really, APUSH is already ten times easier than it used to be)?

Dear Underclassmen,
Please refrain from complaining any longer. It's not called being overworked. It's called working smarter and stop being overachieving gits who confuse bragging with complaining.

Hello. Your external genitalia aren't removed when you are five years old. You don't wear necklaces that elongate your necks and enslave you to the will of your husbands. People around you aren't collapsing left and right from AIDS. You aren't kidnapped to work in brothels.

Yes, you're probably thinking, "You're one to talk. You write a bunch of posts about how you don't know what you're sacrificing for. Besides, aren't you all safe with a 4.0 GPA and 5's in four AP tests? Why don't you just shut the fuck up?"

Yeah. Which is why I don't bother telling you in person and instead pat you on the back and say, "You can do it." Because really, you're not going to get anywhere if all you focus on is the crap you have to get through. It's what Camus and Sartre -- the existentialists -- say. It's your rock. You are lucky you even get this rock. There are thousands of kids out there who are uneducated. How are they supposed to fight against those brainless traditions? It's up to the ones who are educated to teach the others.

So suck it up. What are you working for?

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[edit]

I found out my mom bought the music sheets from 1 Litre of Tears and so I started rewatching clips of the drama on Youtube.

Haruto is so funny. "I... with regards to you... I like you... maybe... probably."

Ahahahaha. Sigh. Love bittersweet stories.