Hello, 2010

Only four hours left of this year.

It's been a monumental year for me, I suppose. I finally cured myself of my long-term illness, so to speak. I emerged from my first semester of college bloodied and wounded confident-wise, but still standing. I finally sparked some personal interest back to my beloved story, which had its first taste of near-death during its 11-month drought. I sang in front of an audience for the first time (and never intend to do so again). I experienced the best summer of my life -- truly getting to know my cultural roots and my extended family and meeting some of the most amazing people I'll be keeping in touch with for a long time. And of course, there have been a lot of good memories with my childhood friends and my immediate family. 2009 was insane but it was an exciting end to the decade and to my childhood.

I don't think I ever actually wrote down my goals/resolutions for 2009 -- and I don't remember them anymore anyways. But I figure it'll be good to write some down so I can check up on myself as the year goes on:

1. Lose weight. Although I didn't gain as much weight as I expected, pounds are still pounds. I need to stop eating so much junk food when I'm stressed. And play more tennis.
   
2. Be nicer. I have a horrible tendency to be snarky or just plain antisocial -- perhaps not intentionally, but still not very friendly nevertheless -- something I didn't really become conscious of until I went to college. I will be a friendlier person -- for example, wave to people when I run into them instead of casting my eyes down or admiring a distant tree and pretending I don't see them. On a similar note...
3. Be better at keeping in touch. Not that I'm going to start signing online and using Skype or AIM more often, since I can never get anything done that way. But at least keep some semblance of a friendship intact.
   
4. Improve GPA. Ideally, I've learned from my mistakes this semester and won't make the same mistakes again. I'll start getting good scores right from the very first midterm instead of scrambling to top my scores and playing catch-up for the rest of the semester.
5. Finish EP. I know some of you are cracking up. But I'm giving myself the goal of finishing the entire damn thing by the end of 2010. Though I haven't been updating, recently I've been spending every single day revising the storyline. I've got a long way to go, but the fire is back and the writer's block is gone.
6. Chill. The lyrics of "Street Spirit" by Radiohead are dark and despairing. But the song ends with the repeated line, "Immerse your soul in love." If I go through another quarter-life crisis, this time I'll know who to talk to and who's there for me.
   

And now, like everyone else who is making these top-ten lists at the end of the year, I think I'll make a list of Sophelia's 2009 Top Ten Posts ranked in order of which posts I like the best (rather than number of comments, since there are plenty of posts I am fond of that nobody commented on). Yeah, I know -- I'm egotistical. And they are:

10. Anatomy of a Train Wreck. Okay, so maybe "Your Classmate" had a point about me talking about my roommate on my blog. But I ended up placing this one at No. 10 because, to be honest, writing about Marlowe (who I get along with perfectly fine, to set the record straight) taught me two things: 1) The characters in my writing are dead nothingness compared to someone as colorfully alive as Marlowe, and 2) If I want my characters to be real, they need to be as detailed right down to the idiosyncrasies as when I write about Marlowe. Everything is a learning experience!

9. Revisited. It's not my best. But I felt like I had to pick this one because it really felt like a return to the old style my blog used to have, when everything was ambiguously symbolic.

8. Disney Princes. I feel I'm almost obligated to pick this one on the list somewhere. Why? Apparently my blog shows up when you try searching for Disney Princes on Google Images. I might disable my site meter for my own sanity, but it's been useful in relaying to me that apparently, this is probably my most popular post in terms of hits. I, however, don't think it's my best piece of work -- hence why it's at No. 8.

7. Alternate Ending. Another short, artsy piece. Yeah, I have a thing for Greek mythology.

6. The Pane of Glass. I didn't win the caption contest that I Wrote This For You held -- I have a feeling my morbid tendencies don't exactly complement the uplifting poetic lines on that beautiful blog. But I still like what I managed to come up with. Even if it is pessimistic.

5. The Countdown. I have a tendency to write in third person. This was one of those moments. It's a pretty accurate snapshot of my last few days of summer before heading off to college.

4. έρωτα και τον θάνατο. Yes, I had to use Google Translator for that. It's Greek for "Love and Death." One of the more artistic pieces in my repertoire, and certainly one with an idea I've thought about a lot. Seems to be my theme. Haha.

3. Letter from an Upset Swine. The unusual thing about this post is that I wrote it frantically last minute during print date when we realized that there was an empty space on one of the opinions pages. I picked this one just because I'm impressed with how I manged to churn out something remotely funny under pressure with so little time.

2. And They Lived Happily Ever After. It's a personal thing, I suppose. But I'm fond of the rhythm of this one.

1. The Case Against Snow White. In terms of my cynicism and sarcasm, I don't think any other post on this blog can top this. Not to mention, this is one of the few posts that actually made me laugh aloud as I was writing it. (Yeah, I was very pleased about my Edward Cullen/Evil Witch jab... cough. I'm not that narcissistic, I promise.)

And now, I have finally finished writing the post: it is 1:20 AM PST and I should be going to sleep. No -- I was not writing this for five hours. I finally ventured out of my cave (aka my room) and hung out at J's house with my closest high school friends. Now I really regret not hanging out with them more while I've been home. I already miss them like hell. But on the bright side, I get to see my "sisters" tomorrow. Tonight was the blue moon -- I can't say anything out of the ordinary happened. But I feel hopeful... that this year's gonna be a good year.

*hums the Black-Eyed Peas song*

Avatar

It's interesting coming home and seeing what has changed since you've been gone.

Of course, some things never change. My dog still plays cute to every human lady, equating those who cook to those who can feed him. My father still spends hours on the computer looking at online shopping bargains on slickdeals or woot, resulting in a modern-day version of the Twelve Days of Christmas. (lalala...on the fourth day of Christmas, my father bought for me... four DVDs, three vinyl bags, two ceramic mugs, and a Movado watch -- apparently it's luxuryyyyyy!!)

But it's a little jarring to realize that time has continued moving once you've left. For instance, I grew up with Long's Drug Store nestled squarely in the neighborhood plaza a block away from my middle school. Now? I still can't get used to the bright red "CVS/pharmacy" sign. The Chinese restaurant next door to it? I don't even know the new name; I still call it by the name it's had since I was in kindergarten.

Then there's my tennis coach, who dropped a bombshell (or make that an asteroid capable of wiping out the dinosaurs -- might be a more apt description) on us when we went out to eat lunch with him and SC and her mother. Somehow, in the past few months -- even before I had left for Taiwan, even with all the private lessons my brother has had with him since I've been at Duke -- he had neglected to mention the fact that not only does he have a girlfriend, but that said girlfriend is six months pregnant. You imagine the scene -- my coach shows up at BJ's an hour late (somehow, he thought we were meeting at Benihana's and waited there for more than a half an hour). When he finally appears with the mysterious girlfriend he'd mentioned he was bringing, we see a beautiful five-foot-eight blonde visibly pregnant and wearing high-heeled boots (how she managed THAT is beyond me). My mother couldn't stop staring at her pregnant belly; I couldn't stop staring at her hands to see if there was a ring.

What else has changed? In the past, I almost never watched movies while they were in theaters. My ever-frugal parents would always say, "What? Three stars out of four? Wait until the DVD comes out and borrow it from the library! Save money!" And now, two weeks since I've been home, I've watched in THE ACTUAL MOVIE THEATER (gasp!) The Princess and the Frog, Up in the Air, and Avatar -- and more than likely, I'll be watching Sherlock Holmes and Nine at some point before I head back to college. Of course, my parents take me and my brother out to watch these movies early in the morning when the tickets are the cheapest -- but hey, a movie is a movie.

While we're on the topic of change, let's talk about Avatar, which is supposed to change the world of filmmaking as we know it.

This was actually one of those movies I felt obligated to see, not because I was dying to see it. It felt like everybody I knew had already watched it or had planned to watch it but couldn't because tickets were sold out for the next two days. Or at least, that's what my coach said. I'm guessing he didn't bother trying to watch a morning show.

In certain ways, I have to say that the film lived up to its hype. I'm not sure if James Cameron came up with the story all by himself, but I am very impressed by the depth to which the Na'vi culture was developed in the movie. The whole funky hair connection with animals and plants? The psychedelic flora and fauna? (Pokemon can dream all they want -- they're never going to evolve into creatures as badass as those in Avatar)

The actual storyline, on the other hand? Somehow, I feel like most of the two-and-a-half hours was dedicated to showing us the culture of the Na'vi, which is fascinating and all but left me feeling dizzy (probably due to hunger) by the time we got to the second hour, which was already past my usual lunchtime. I could probably spoil it for those of you who haven't seen it, but I won't -- not that it matters, anyway. I already knew it was going to end somewhere along the lines of Tarzan -- forbidden love across species/social strata/whatnot would be cleanly resolved with one lover assimilating into the other's culture, the bad guys who resort to gunpowder and violence would die, and Mother Nature would live to endure the onslaught of civilization another day. Whoops, did I just give the story away? My bad.

Tarzan and Jane... in blue?

Neverthless, I have to say that it really is one of those movies you're obligated to see. Otherwise, when the one you've been crushing on stalkerishly for months (and who is totally aware of it -- the crush part, not the stalker part) finally has the balls to go up to you and say with romantically tinged poignancy, "I see you," and you go home weeping about how lamely invisible you are that someone has to announce triumphantly you that he "sees" you, and then months later when you finally get around to watching Avatar because your local library finally processed the DVD, you realize he was trying to proclaim a starcrossed love for you akin to that of Jake and Neytiri and that you completely bludgeoned your chance since your only response had been to look at him dumbfoundedly with horrified despair...

... don't come crying to me.

Disturbia

I've been having recurring dreams. Ones that are more violent than usual.

The dreams keep taking place at the same place -- at a steampunk version of my high school, with stone walls covered in nets of ivy. Some students travel to and from school in horse-drawn coaches, and yet there is still a parking lot packed with cars -- perhaps it's at a point in time when gasoline has become a rare, expensive commodity.

I keep seeing death in these dreams. Every morning, there are cries that more bodies are hanging in the courtyard. Something about how the stress at school got to them, that's why the rumors say. I don't know.

The first night, I dreamt I had to complete an obstacle course akin to the dungeon puzzles in the Zelda video games. I was working alongside S, who was completely decked out in steampunk attire -- top hat, vest, watch-chain, coat. I don't even remember what we were trying to achieve. At one point, we had to climb a flight of stairs inside a stone tower, and at the top we had to shoot arrows at a silver eye switch to unlock a door. As much as I can remember, I woke up before we managed to reach whatever goal we had been striving for.

The second night, I remember the bodies more clearly. I still remember recognizing who was hanging there. It scared the shit out of me. I quickly left the courtyard and headed towards the parking lot with Gov. J. There was a black Mercedes with tinted windows lurking in circles inside the parking lot. It reminded me of a shark. I darted in and out of the rows of cars, trying not to stay within its view. Gov. J didn't do the same. In one quick instant, the car suddenly turned and purposely slammed into her. I couldn't see the driver's face; the headlights were too blinding. I could hear bones breaking. I remember trying to scream but nothing came out.

For now, I will just assume that these dreams are the effect of having watched too many violent films recently. I'd much rather not analyze this too deeply, because otherwise, you'd probably come to the conclusion that there is something very wrong with me. Then again, according to the dream dictionary that G gave me last year, seeing others being hanged is a sign that money is going to be tight for awhile -- which really is no surprise at all.

... yeah. Maybe I should just watch chick flicks from now on.

Lost and Found

On a whim, I dug up the old Hello Kitty bag sitting on my shelf containing relics from my childhood.

I found a postcard from an old kindergarten friend who currently attends the same university. We don't talk anymore.

I found a pocket phonebook containing five phone numbers -- the five friends I was inseparable from back in kindergarten, only one of whom I still talk to today.

I found four memo books, all only half-filled with short stories that had been my attempts to pin down my dreams onto paper.

It was like looking at a collection of decomposing butterflies.

Revisited

She's careful not to tread over the cobwebs as the leaves crunch under her feet like insect carcasses. The obsidian shells of former winged menaces disintegrate and intermingle with the dust of her past.

Her past is not a glamorous one. The wooden foundations creak as she treads across the surface, groaning in danger of inevitable collapse. As she looks at the portraits on the dilapidated walls, she sees the glimmering naivete of the girl that had been phased out of her body, the girl who once crafted poetic declarations and perfected the art of writing stillborn love letters. The girl who no longer exists in this world.

With an idle finger, she brushes off the dust on one particular portrait on the wall. The photograph has been damaged, eaten away by bookworms and ravenous moths, by time. She cannot remember the face anymore.

Certain words have already reached her ears, words that neither shock nor disgust -- they merely confirm what she had already learned too long ago. She holds the frame in her hand, studying the holes riddled in the picture, obscuring the memory of the something that had once been everything.

With a smile, she gently places the frame back onto its spot on the wall. Smoothing out her skirt, she walks out of the house, sparing one last glance at the words of longing carved into the stripping wall-papered walls. She takes one last look at the monument to her former tormented passions. Then, with the flick of a wrist, she casts the match aside and watches the flames engulf her greatest shame.

The Princess and the Frog

You know you've grown up when you start thinking Disney princes are hot.

I suppose I'm what you would consider a late bloomer. Back when my friends in first grade were fighting over which of the Backstreet Boys they would marry, I was watching Sailor Moon wishing I could vanquish enemies with Moon Tiara Magic. With the Disney movies that were released during my childhood -- Pocahontas, Mulan, Tarzan -- my favorite characters were always the heroines. Think Pocahontas, Mulan, and Jane. The Disney heroes did nothing for me. Shang's topknot reminded me too much of the Chinese soap operas my parents would watch on TV where the characters would bow around bellowing at each other in loud archaic Mandarin before slashing each other to pieces. I was always too distracted by my mind's wandering thoughts about Tarzan's hygiene to be smitten by his gloriously exhibited muscles. (Then again, an elementary schoolgirl typically has no interest in that kind of thing... but I digress.)

In fact, now that I think about it, I can't think of any Disney princes I particular liked in my childhood. The only animated male character I recall being fond of was Dimitri from Anastasia -- and I feel like much of it had to do with his hair.

And then, as we all know, Disney went through a drought of animated princess films, conveniently during my adolescent teenage years. Pixar was charming but not at all a replacement for the emotional porn Disney romance movies offered -- toys, monsters, fish, superheroes, cars... mmm, where's the happily ever-after kiss in the sunset? I wouldn't say I'm a particularly girly girl, nor am I a needy girl desperate for a boyfriend -- but there's something about fairytales that make me happy in a sheepish, embarrassed sort of way.

So, now we have Sophelia at 18 years of age -- watching her first newly released Disney animated feature film as a legal adult. The Princess and the Frog isn't my favorite Disney film -- I'd still say some of the classics take the top spots -- but it still pretty damn good.

To set the record straight, I do like Tiana a lot. She's hardworking and ambitious -- not all ditzy or bimbo-headed. I've shredded Snow White to pieces in the past, and I'm happy to say Tiana is much more multi-dimensioned than the woman-child who always seemed to be singing about waiting for her prince to come. IN fact, it's quite refreshing to have a Disney princess who, on the contrary, actually has a GOAL in life other than marrying a prince.

Having said that, Naveen stole the show for me and has claimed the title for Sophelia's Favorite Disney Prince. (Maybe I should make him a certificate or something to make it all official.)

So why him, of all the dashing princes lined up on Disney's mantel of heroes? Well...

1. Two things -- hair and voice. With animated characters, that's what makes or breaks whether or not I like them. Hair is usually the deal breaker. Dimitri from Anastasia? Bingo. Haku from Spirited Away? When I mistake you for a blue-haired lady the first time I see you, you're off to a bad start. But voice can easily compensate for a less-than-swoon-worthy hairstyle -- though the only real instance I can think of is Howl of Howl's Moving Castle and his husky Christian-Bale-voice. (Christian Bale could probably make a pig-headed minotaur sound dashing.) I wouldn't say I'm particularly fond of Prince Naveen's accent (though it's charming to an extent)... but his curly hair? Bingo. Not to mention, the gorgeously ethnic look is a pretty nice departure from all the boring white Prince Charmings.

2. I know I've whined in a lengthy post about Disney's cardboard princes who don't have anything better to do than to marry poor persecuted girls. Naveen starts off as a hedonistic playboy who wants nothing more than to live the good life and hang out with pretty girls. By the end, he's done some growing up that would make any parents proud. I'm starting to think I have a thing for those stories where the flawed hero is transformed for the better by the story's end. Beauty and the Beast is an obvious one. Dimitri, who I have to keep reminding myself is not a Disney character, has a change of heart about money. Naveen? The arrogant playboy learns a lot from the stick-in-the-mud Tiana. It's the classic fictionpress cliche, and in this case -- it works.

3. My goodness, who doesn't like a character who seems to be just so happy all the time? From the very beginning, he's jamming around with the New Orleans jazz musicians, strumming on his little ukulele and dancing around with anybody. He and his froggie smile seemed pretty sleazy the first time around (to be honest, I didn't think I would like him at all when I first watched the trailer), but that wide smile certainly becomes Naveen's trademark feature. He just seems like the kind of guy you'd love to meet in person.

So basically... I've spent far too much time writing about the wonders of an animated character. In other ways, maybe I haven't grown up at all. Not that I have a problem with it at all.

Sigh

How disappointing.

I'm Yours

This is the best thing that's happened to me today.

:]

Above the Clouds

She lives in a fairy tale
Somewhere too far for us to find
Forgotten the taste and smell
Of the world that she's left behind
It's all about the exposure the lens I told her
The angels were all wrong now
She's ripping wings off of butterflies
...
Her prince finally came to save her
And the rest you can figure out
But it was a trick
And the clock struck 12
Well make sure to build your house brick by boring brick
or the wolves gonna blow it down

-- "Brick by Boring Brick" by Paramore

Perhaps the best (or worst) thing about being buried alive is that the last thing on your mind is whether or not you're going to die an old maid.

I'm in my room sitting in a daze like a natural disaster survivor. I was planning to write something witty or cool but I can't shake off the nagging voice in my head telling me I should start writing my final paper and chemistry had such a pleasant morning sipping my brain juices like a zombified Edward Cullen and so my work ethic has completely gone kaput.

Adieu, adieu.

la lumière au bout du tunnel

The past three nights, I kept having the same dream.

My problems with my psychology grade were plaguing me even in my sleep. I'd dream of meeting my elusive professor, whether in the EMT classroom where I waited to take my TSOPS exams or on the sidewalk on East Campus. I'd dream that we'd come to a negotiation -- and interestingly, I always dreamed that things would turn in my favor.

I noticed other recurring trends. During these dreams, I was conscious that I was dreaming. I knew that I would wake up in a few minutes or hours and be sorely disappointed by the fact that it was only a dream. And yet I would keep dreaming anyway. Because I didn't want to wake up.

Today, it finally happened. It scares me how easily this could have ended differently. The professor hadn't responded to either of the e-mails I had sent. Gradyl's sister had helped me out by calling my professor's office and leaving a message under my name, since I was too afraid to call. There were no office hours listed on the syllabus. I was returning to the library after returning my bike keys to the Outpost -- and I literally had one foot headed in the direction of the library entrance before I swiveled back onto the path and headed towards the Psychology building.

I was already one step from walking away. I could have easily walked back to the library and none of it would have happened.

I walked up all the countless stairs. I didn't expect anything, and yet I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know what to do when, to my surprise, the door to his office was open. I had to stand in the hall for minutes, thinking about what I was going to do.

I won't discuss what exactly occurred during our conversation -- much of it was me being very timid and him giving me sagely advice about how to approach professors and how to negotiate with them in the future. All I will tell you (since none of my readers are Duke students, I'm at liberty to disclose this information) is that I was able to negotiate raising my B to an A-.

A part of me is wondering what other directions this conversation could have gone. For much of the conversation, we were talking as if I was trying to bring my grade up from a B to an A -- and he kept asking me what I would propose to do as an exchange to raise my grade. We weren't getting anywhere -- I suppose I should have thought it out beforehand -- until I told him that I would be satisfied getting full credit on the second discussion and thus raising my grade to an A-. I acknowledged that I had made a mistake and it would not be unfair if I received some punishment for not following the directions that 75 percent of the class had managed to do.

And so, my final grade for the class is an A-. I do not have to take the final exam tomorrow (which I unfortunately spent most of my morning studying for) because five points won't bring my grade from an A- to an A. I wonder if I could have effectively negotiated my way to an A. But a part of me thinks the result is fair. Some people do not have this conscience, but while I would be happy that my grade has been completely salvaged, I would also probably feel guilty if I walked away from the mistake with an A.

And that's how the story ends. For Psychology 11, at least.

On another note, I am having my own new thoughts about religion. I have not been involved in IV very much these days. Part of it has been the fact that I've placed other commitments before it. But here is the other thing.

When I cried on the phone to my mother on Wednesday night, she kept telling me how to say this one Buddhist prayer. She made sure I knew how to pronounce all the words and told me to use it as a way to meditate and calm myself down. After our call ended, she phoned my maternal grandmother and told her to pray for me. My mother, who has not been entirely religious at home, prayed for me the whole night. She sent me two e-mails in the span of a day, telling me not to give up and to have confidence in myself.

I don't know if I believe in prayers. But what I do know is that I passed my EMT exams and my psychology crisis has been resolved.

I didn't go to Large Group that Friday. My excuse to my IV friends was that after talking to my mother on the phone, I had decided I would devote the evening to studying. The only person I confided the truth to was E, that with my grandmother and mother praying for me to Buddha, there was no way I could go to a Christian worship without feeling despicable.

I really don't know.

I see the light at the end of tunnel. I want to go home so badly. I miss you all.

Labyrinth

Hiatus

I'm noticing that my resolve to write non-personal issues on this blog has completely dissolved. But I don't care.

I HATE THIS WEEK. AND I'M GOING TO HATE NEXT WEEK EVEN MORE.

This has been a horrifically terrible week, and it doesn't look like things are going to get better anytime soon.

On hiatus for the next two weeks unless I'm ranting and venting again. Good-bye.