That Monday, my morning was the same as always. I wake up at 8:30 in the morning to the sound of my alarm and lay in bed for about fifteen minutes. Even though it's the winter break, I have made it a habit to wake up early. It fools me into thinking I'm more productive when I start the day earlier.
Creeping out of bed, I try not to wake up my sleeping cousin, who is crashing at our place for the holidays. I shower in the master bathroom and proceed with the rest of my morning routine in the bathroom adjacent to my brother's bedroom. There's a system for everything in our house. Shower in this bathroom, brush your teeth and blow-dry your hair in that one. Efficiency is the ultimate goal.
Whether nature or nurture, I live by this creed as well, as a frequent multi-tasker. I catch up on my favorite blogs with my laptop on the bathroom counter, one hand scrolling down the page, the other blasting the blow-dryer at my head. On one of the sites, I find a review for a new YA book titled "Legend." I'd heard about it before but it hadn't quite caught my eye, despite its overwhelmingly positive reviews. I've never been much of a dystopian fan.
I had noticed before that the author had an Asian name, but for some reason, something clicked in me that morning that hadn't before. Marie Lu. That name was remarkably familiar. I looked up mree, an artist on Deviantart whose work I had admired as a pre-teen just starting middle school. My hunch was correct. The artist I'd admired as a child was now a published author.
If that weren't unusual enough, something else happened that night.
As if high school were repeating itself, I was forced to skip another friend's birthday dinner due to family obligations. In the past, I would have written another emo blog post about sacrificing my social life. At this point in my life, I've learned to treasure my time with my family while I can.
We originally planned to go to a Korean restaurant after my brother's tennis restaurant, but it turned out that the restaurant was closed. We went instead to my father's favorite noodle restaurant nearby. By chance, I chose the seat that faced the glass door. The restaurant was built in a way that half of the walls were made of glass, with a frosted stripe running across the middle that gave the customers some privacy from onlookers outside the restaurant.
We ate our dishes, talking about school and work and life, when I looked up and saw his face behind the glass, outside. It felt as if my heart had leaped up and rammed into my throat.
The moment lasted probably less than second, but I will never forget that moment. I knew from Facebook how he looks now, ten years older, but I still would have recognized that short spiky hair and eye-smile anywhere. He was walking with his family, presumably after dinner. He just happened to look into the restaurant as he walked by. He didn't see me. But even if he did, it wouldn't have mattered. Our paths had crossed once, nearly ten years ago when I was still the girl with the Hello Kitty hair tie who made a point of being cold to the boys she had a crush on. He would never remember me. Nobody recognized me anymore anyways. I'd grown my hair long, I'd cut my bangs blunt, I'd lost my tan. Every time I come home from break, people tell me I've gotten prettier or more beautiful, but all that confirms to me is that I am no longer that girl in tennis clothes with the crooked teeth and browned skin. Did they all think I was ugly back then?
If my life were produced by Hollywood, I would have run outside... and said what? There was nothing to be said. The ultimate truth is that we do not leave equal impacts on each other's lives. I might be a pebble grazing the surface, and you might be the asteroid who leaves me with a crater. Ten years later, the pebble is a grain of sand, but the crater is still there. A memento.
December 30, 2011
November 10, 2011
mirror and fog
I haven't given up on the challenge.
But in my defense, I am taking a creative writing class this semester, and I have had to write more for this class than I have for any of my English classes thus far. I think my first piece was pretty good, so I might post that in the future.
The strangest thing happened to me this morning. You may already know that I am an early bird. Per usual, I woke up at 7:30 AM and climbed out of bed to take a shower. Part of my morning routine is taking a hot shower -- it helps me wake up and it relaxes me for the day. Though it's allegedly bad for your skin, I usually turn the water on pretty hot, to the point that when I turn off the water and step out of the shower, the room is essentially filled with steam.
I had an exam today. I stood in the shower for a longer time than usual, letting the hot water wash away the stress and anxiety. When I finally turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, it was the strangest thing.
The mirror, normally completely clouded from the steam, was crystal clear.
I am not a superstitious person in the slightest. But it was so out of the ordinary that I had a gut feeling that something was going to happen. I just wasn't sure what.
At around 2 pm, my friend called and asked if she could come over. I said yes.
When she came in, she put her head on the kitchen table and started crying. I asked her some questions, but all she kept saying over and over was, "How do I say this?"
Suddenly, I knew. The realization flickered into my mind, but I didn't say it. I was hoping I was wrong. I was hoping I was over-imaginative again.
Finally, she blew her nose into a tissue and said it.
"I'm pregnant."
But in my defense, I am taking a creative writing class this semester, and I have had to write more for this class than I have for any of my English classes thus far. I think my first piece was pretty good, so I might post that in the future.
The strangest thing happened to me this morning. You may already know that I am an early bird. Per usual, I woke up at 7:30 AM and climbed out of bed to take a shower. Part of my morning routine is taking a hot shower -- it helps me wake up and it relaxes me for the day. Though it's allegedly bad for your skin, I usually turn the water on pretty hot, to the point that when I turn off the water and step out of the shower, the room is essentially filled with steam.
I had an exam today. I stood in the shower for a longer time than usual, letting the hot water wash away the stress and anxiety. When I finally turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, it was the strangest thing.
The mirror, normally completely clouded from the steam, was crystal clear.
I am not a superstitious person in the slightest. But it was so out of the ordinary that I had a gut feeling that something was going to happen. I just wasn't sure what.
At around 2 pm, my friend called and asked if she could come over. I said yes.
When she came in, she put her head on the kitchen table and started crying. I asked her some questions, but all she kept saying over and over was, "How do I say this?"
Suddenly, I knew. The realization flickered into my mind, but I didn't say it. I was hoping I was wrong. I was hoping I was over-imaginative again.
Finally, she blew her nose into a tissue and said it.
"I'm pregnant."
October 8, 2011
The Lost Answers: Found
As proof of my utter flakiness and inability to keep my vows, I am writing a post that has nothing to do with the 30 Day Challenge. But this is one of those posts that I have to write, because it won't leave me alone, and I need to somehow entangle it all from my head and into coherent words.
Do you remember this post?
I found the answers this afternoon.
Gov. J, C, and I met up in Boston this weekend and were reminiscing outside by Gov.J's dorm this afternoon. We had been reliving the good ol' days back in middle and high school, when I brought up the questions I had never found the answers to. C thought it was okay to tell me now, since it has been almost six years since then.
It turns out that he was at the root of both incidents. When that rumor went around in sixth grade that he wanted to "propose" to me -- it was because he was planning to ask me out. When that rumor went around in ninth grade that someone was going to ask me to Homecoming -- he was the one.
I couldn't believe it. I nearly spit out my pink grapefruit juice. HIM? He had called me ugly, manly, and all sorts of things that had made me cry when nobody was watching. In retrospect, I suppose he was the equivalent of the boy at the neighborhood playground who harasses the girl he likes in order to get her attention. Unfortunately for him, I never even had the slightest suspicion that he didn't actually think I was an ugly she-man.
C told me that she and many others had convinced him against approaching me in both instances. They were convinced that I would reject him without a second thought. And who knows -- I might have. I was certainly heartless enough back in my adolescence. But the thing is, I can't accurately judge how I would have reacted back then. I had convinced myself that I hated his guts -- but thinking back to those times, I'm not even sure how genuine the extent of my hatred was.
He's been dating the same girl for almost two years now, so don't mistake me for being suddenly interested in him. Because I'm not. But when I really start analyzing this, I am just plain stupefied. In between sixth grade and ninth grade, if my memory serves me correctly, he dated at least two girls. I can understand if he had conked his head real hard in sixth grade in regards to me -- I have had plenty of those "what-were-you-thinking?!" crushes in my lifetime. What I don't understand is why on earth I popped back into his consciousness in ninth grade, especially since at that time, I could have sworn that he had been chasing after Rose.
And I can't help but speculate the what-ifs. What if he hadn't been dissuaded? What if he hadn't chickened out? What if I had actually said yes? He was pretty fucked up after sophomore year. When the drama between him and J started heating up, he was already considered the "bad boy" to J's "good girl." It's pointless to speculate now, but I can't help it. All I can think of is just how drastically different my high school life could have been if any of these things had happened.
Blows my mind.
Do you remember this post?
I found the answers this afternoon.
Gov. J, C, and I met up in Boston this weekend and were reminiscing outside by Gov.J's dorm this afternoon. We had been reliving the good ol' days back in middle and high school, when I brought up the questions I had never found the answers to. C thought it was okay to tell me now, since it has been almost six years since then.
It turns out that he was at the root of both incidents. When that rumor went around in sixth grade that he wanted to "propose" to me -- it was because he was planning to ask me out. When that rumor went around in ninth grade that someone was going to ask me to Homecoming -- he was the one.
I couldn't believe it. I nearly spit out my pink grapefruit juice. HIM? He had called me ugly, manly, and all sorts of things that had made me cry when nobody was watching. In retrospect, I suppose he was the equivalent of the boy at the neighborhood playground who harasses the girl he likes in order to get her attention. Unfortunately for him, I never even had the slightest suspicion that he didn't actually think I was an ugly she-man.
C told me that she and many others had convinced him against approaching me in both instances. They were convinced that I would reject him without a second thought. And who knows -- I might have. I was certainly heartless enough back in my adolescence. But the thing is, I can't accurately judge how I would have reacted back then. I had convinced myself that I hated his guts -- but thinking back to those times, I'm not even sure how genuine the extent of my hatred was.
He's been dating the same girl for almost two years now, so don't mistake me for being suddenly interested in him. Because I'm not. But when I really start analyzing this, I am just plain stupefied. In between sixth grade and ninth grade, if my memory serves me correctly, he dated at least two girls. I can understand if he had conked his head real hard in sixth grade in regards to me -- I have had plenty of those "what-were-you-thinking?!" crushes in my lifetime. What I don't understand is why on earth I popped back into his consciousness in ninth grade, especially since at that time, I could have sworn that he had been chasing after Rose.
And I can't help but speculate the what-ifs. What if he hadn't been dissuaded? What if he hadn't chickened out? What if I had actually said yes? He was pretty fucked up after sophomore year. When the drama between him and J started heating up, he was already considered the "bad boy" to J's "good girl." It's pointless to speculate now, but I can't help it. All I can think of is just how drastically different my high school life could have been if any of these things had happened.
Blows my mind.
August 21, 2011
30 Day Challenge
I've lost something. They refer to it as "touch," though I don't know what it is that I'm supposed to be touching. Whatever it is, I can't write as Sophelia. Maybe it's because I am uninspired, but then again the alter ego is too damn cautious to throw herself into the hurricane of life. My life is not even a blank canvas -- (today, even an expanse of white can be interpreted into some schmaltzy commentary on our modern society). It's just a piece of nothingness, if that even makes sense.
I haven't given up on EP. Not at all. Rory, Charlotte, Rhys -- they are all well and alive in my mind. But whenever I cast out the line, fishing for the beautiful words that once came to me so naturally, the hook comes back with tattered cliches or nothing at all.
I return to school on Monday, but I'm going to impose a new challenge for myself. I found it while tumblr surfing and while I am undoubtedly going to pale in comparison to the girl genius who came up with the challenge, I figure it will be a good exercise for me to find whatever it is that I've lost and hopefully coax it back. I don't intend to finish in 30 days, but I have decided I am not going to post anything else until I finish the rounds. DISCIPLINE!
Here's how it works:
Heard of the 30 Day Song Challenge? The girl that I was tumblr-stalking (ha-ha) made it even more difficult. Using a random word generator to cycle through Very Common and Common nouns, adjectives, transitive verbs, and interjections, a word is assigned to each of the 30 days. She decided that for each day of June, she would post a song and at least 200 words of fictional prose based on that generated word. Well, I'm going to tweak it for my own purposes. I am not setting a deadline for myself, other than that I cannot post anything else other than these challenges until I finish. So here are my rules:
THE LIST (to be hyperlinked as entries are made):
Let the games begin.
I haven't given up on EP. Not at all. Rory, Charlotte, Rhys -- they are all well and alive in my mind. But whenever I cast out the line, fishing for the beautiful words that once came to me so naturally, the hook comes back with tattered cliches or nothing at all.
I return to school on Monday, but I'm going to impose a new challenge for myself. I found it while tumblr surfing and while I am undoubtedly going to pale in comparison to the girl genius who came up with the challenge, I figure it will be a good exercise for me to find whatever it is that I've lost and hopefully coax it back. I don't intend to finish in 30 days, but I have decided I am not going to post anything else until I finish the rounds. DISCIPLINE!
Here's how it works:
Heard of the 30 Day Song Challenge? The girl that I was tumblr-stalking (ha-ha) made it even more difficult. Using a random word generator to cycle through Very Common and Common nouns, adjectives, transitive verbs, and interjections, a word is assigned to each of the 30 days. She decided that for each day of June, she would post a song and at least 200 words of fictional prose based on that generated word. Well, I'm going to tweak it for my own purposes. I am not setting a deadline for myself, other than that I cannot post anything else other than these challenges until I finish. So here are my rules:
- Each post will have the selected song embedded to the entry, whether via youtube or some other resource I find.
- The prose that I write will not have a word count.
- The writing must be inspired by the generated word for that entry.
- A fragment (or more) of the lyrics must be used at some point in the entry, whether as an epigraph to the text or as part of the prose itself.
- Regarding the song portion of the challenge, I may not use any songs that I have already previously written vignettes for on this blog. (Ex. "Yellow" by Coldplay, "Bloodstream" by Stateless, "Airplanes" by B.o.B., etc.)
- The prose need not necessarily be fictional (since the existence of Sophelia blurs the line between fact and fiction anyway).
- I must never allude to You in any of these posts.
THE LIST (to be hyperlinked as entries are made):
- Classification
- Implicit
- Analyze
- Fancy
- Vast
- Leather
- Interior
- Remark
- Sorry
- Lamp
- Overnight
- Miss
- Goodness
- Rationale
- Libel
- Invisible
- Touch
- Ratio
- Cellular
- Compliment
- Whoops
- Ancient
- Coupled
- Shell
- Break
- Recursion
- Mock
- Swap
- Hell
- Man
Let the games begin.
August 16, 2011
Space Bound
"I'm a space bound rocket ship and your heart's the moon
And I'm aiming right at you"
And I'm aiming right at you"
The only reason I thought of you recently is not because I wonder what you are doing anymore. You no longer pepper my daily thoughts, adding the artificial spice to a mundane life. No, the only reason you slipped into my consciousness like ghostly curls of smoke is that I still don't really know the answer. All I know is that eventually, your presence eroded away from me.
I regarded her obsession with Twilight with patient tolerance and mild amusement. I held my tongue. I used to be like her, you know. I believed that among the 7 billion people in this world, I was meant to find the one. When we had our debate that night, I couldn't help but feel I was arguing with my younger self.
I don't know when or why I became so cold. Perhaps my silence all those years chained to you had caused me to freeze.
"I burn in degrees Kelvin for you," I once wrote. Maybe I wasn't the star. I was the rocket ship, and your heart was the moon. My aim never wavered all those years, but it didn't matter. Once the flame sputtered out, I was trapped in the coldness of space. Somewhere between you and the girl I had once been.
I regarded her obsession with Twilight with patient tolerance and mild amusement. I held my tongue. I used to be like her, you know. I believed that among the 7 billion people in this world, I was meant to find the one. When we had our debate that night, I couldn't help but feel I was arguing with my younger self.
"Nobody knows me I'm cold
Walk down this road all alone
It's no one's fault but my own
It's the path I've chosen to go
Frozen as snow I show no emotion whatsoever so"
Walk down this road all alone
It's no one's fault but my own
It's the path I've chosen to go
Frozen as snow I show no emotion whatsoever so"
I don't know when or why I became so cold. Perhaps my silence all those years chained to you had caused me to freeze.
"I burn in degrees Kelvin for you," I once wrote. Maybe I wasn't the star. I was the rocket ship, and your heart was the moon. My aim never wavered all those years, but it didn't matter. Once the flame sputtered out, I was trapped in the coldness of space. Somewhere between you and the girl I had once been.
-- "Space Bound" by Eminem
July 23, 2011
In case you were wondering...
I'm currently in Vietnam on a two-month trip sponsored by my university. Hence the lack of updates. Bye bye!
June 9, 2011
Date Night
Taeyang: Yo man, why do you get the Diamond Badge of Badassery and I don't?T.O.P.: Patience, young grasshopper. Thou must first master The Photoshoot Pose of Badassery.
Figured it's been a while since my last post about the Badass One and his Extraordinary League of Kickassery.
I don't know if I'm bucking the trend or not, but I greatly enjoy reading translated magazines interviews with Big Bang. Why? These interviews actually reveal a lot of things about the members that you wouldn't necessarily catch otherwise.
For instance, just today I was reading the English translation of a Japanese TV Weekly magazine interview of Big Bang, aka our revered Extraordinary League of Kickassery. In one section of the interview, the interviewers posed three "Date Night" themed questions to each of the members, one of which was:
"The greatest memories you have had at night?"
I don't know about you, but off the top of my head, my greatest memory is curling up on my bed at home on a summer night and drifting off to sleep with the sound of music playing. Oh wait, I've been doing this for the last three weeks. HA-HA!
I'm sure if I had some chick flick worthy story about meeting Prince Charming at a party, then maybe I'll have some juicier memory to share, but I think it's been mentioned several times on here that my life plays to the tune of snore.
But never mind about me. Let's see what the cohorts of Kickassery have to say:
Seungri: In the past, I have watched the sky which was wholly covered with stars. I felt so touched since I had witnessed the beauty of the universe.
Goodness. The maknae is so Romantic. (Capital R for romanticism, but I guess romantic could work too.) Now that I think about it, I definitely have seen a starry night. In fact, my father even woke me up in the wee hours of the night once so that I could see a meteor shower. Yes, it was pretty magnificent. But apparently not touching enough for me to remember off the top of my head....
Taeyang: The episode at night... I don't know... hmm...
Oh sunshine, I understand you completely. It's a well-known fact that you have never had a girl -- you even wrote a song broadcasting your need for a female companion. You and I, we ain't got no vespertine episodes worthy of the title of Greatest Night of All Time.
Daesung: The night that I can go on a tour.
I'm not sure how accurate the translation is for this one. Tour as in a performance tour, or tour as in a travel tour? Probably the first, but what does that even mean? So cryptic. But Daesung -- in light of your recent turmoil, I won't attempt to pry any further.
Okay, so we've got the three singers. (Yah yah, I know GD sings too, but he also raps and composes and writes lyrics and does just about everything. He's like the freaking wild card in Uno.) We've got the lyrically romantic, the truthfully snoozeworthy, and the what-the-heck-does-that-mean. Now let's see what our two rappers have to say...
...
G-Dragon: No comment! (laugh)
T.O.P.: Hahaha...
o______________O
blink blink.
Eeeeeenteresting...
And it gets even better. The other date related question that was asked was: "What is your ideal date at night?" Not too surprisingly, you get pretty similar, harmless answers from most of the members. GD wants to take his girl out for a drive. Daesung wants to see the nightview. Taeyang says, Screw you both -- I'll take her out for a drive AND see the nightview. Seungri, meanwhile, just wants a normal date like any other civilian.
Oh, but what about the Badass One?
T.O.P.: Hahaha...
Ho ho ho. Someone's mind is clearly wandering near the gutter...
June 6, 2011
ZOMG GUYZ!!
I didn't even realize the MTV Movie Awards happened yesterday until I checked my homepage and saw a bunch of hooplah about Kristen Stewart's safety pin dress (Sophelia-approved) and the fact that JT and Mila Kunis platonically groped each other on stage (not Sophelia-approved. Call me what you want, but that's not really not my type of humor, and I don't think it gets rid of any of those JTxMK hook-up rumors at all. But I'll concede that it was a great publicity stunt because I've just spent like two sentences talking about them, so OKAY I'M DONE.)
But besides the usual fashion round-up and tidbits of odd news, here's something exciting for us to chew on...
OMFG!!!!!11111
Wait. I did not do the trailer proper justice in conveying just how exciting this is. I'm going to have to enlist the help of Tangled's Flynn Rider.
YAY!!!!!!
You know what this means, guys? Only two more movies left, and the circus is over!! I'm not even going to try to pretend I'm going to be sad due to the void of Twilight jokes that will imminently arise, because (1) the jokes were getting old anyways and (2) OMG IT'S ALMOST OVER!!!
So whatchu waiting for? Press play!
-------------------
0:00-0:24 - Oh I forgot to mention... I've never actually read the fourth book. So why does the Volturi dude get an invitation? Didn't they try to kill our young (well, one relatively so) lovers? Was that in the second book? And why would he be so happy to get one anyway? He doesn't strike me as the type who'd keep cut-outs of bridal magazines and be all, "ZOMG GUYS, I LOVE WEDDINGS!"
0:26-0:28 - Bella's dad doesn't look too thrilled about his teenage daughter's impending nuptials.
0: 29-0:33 - Okay, am I the only one weirded out by the mother's reaction? The way she waves that invitation around in the air, it's like she got the golden ticket to Willy Wonka's factory. Speaking of which, this whole hullabaloo about the wedding invitation is pretty reminiscent of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
0:35-0:42 - LOLLL HAHAHAHAHAHA sorry Jacob aka Taylor Lautner, but if every guy reacted in rage by ripping off his shirt and running outside, I think this world might just be a better place.
0:51 - Here we go guys -- this generation's version of the Golden Ticket.
0:56-1:02 - Okay, this is when my creative analyst kicks in and I start wondering why they chose this epic-choir music for this trailer. Really now, this is the kind of epic music you use for heart-pounding, adrenaline-rushing Star Wars lightsaber duels and Lord of the Rings battles that determine the fate of Middle-earth, yeah? Yet from I can tell from this trailer so far, let's see... oh lookie here, we've got a wedding. I dunno, can't some romantic strumming of the guitar or a couple of violins do the trick?
Oh wait. Maybe it's for the impending heart-pounding, adrenaline-rushing wedding night scene where Bella and Edward engage in some rough and violent vampire kinkiness. Ah ouais, je comprends.
1:04 - "The event THAT WILL CHANGE EVERYTHING..." dun dun dun!!
1:07-1:10 - Aw, K-Stew looks gorgeous!!
1:16 - Creative Analyst is back. Okay, what is up with that statue? Was that in the book? A statue of Jesus Christ hovering over the love shack where Bella and Edward are heating things up? Is that supposed to symbolize divine judgment? I am so confused.
1:18-1:20 - HOLY SHIT WAS THAT EDWARD? Or was that Jacob in rage mode again? 'Cause if that were Edward, now I totally understand the need for epic music. He freaking crushed that windowsill like a grape.
1:21 - That should actually read, in dramatic ALL CAPS red letters and a background choir -- "CAN BELLA SURVIVE HER WEDDING NIGHT?"
1:24-1:25 - Oh look, kids -- waterfall sex!!
1:30-1:31 - Once again, this is probably another case of Sophelia-didn't-read-Breaking-Dawn-and-therefore-has-no-idea-what's-going-on, but... Jacob, why are you popping up here? Did you follow them to their secret honeymoon location? Were you secretly lurking behind that waterfall?
1:32-1:35 - R-Patz: YO MAN, WHY YOU CRASHING MY SEXYTIMES?? *megapunchhhhh*
1:37-1:45 - "That's impossible."
What's impossible? That you got pregnant? Bella honey, do you really want me to start getting all pseudoscientific about this?
1:46-1:59 - All together now: YAYYYYYYY!!!!!
But besides the usual fashion round-up and tidbits of odd news, here's something exciting for us to chew on...
OMFG!!!!!11111
Wait. I did not do the trailer proper justice in conveying just how exciting this is. I'm going to have to enlist the help of Tangled's Flynn Rider.
YAY!!!!!!You know what this means, guys? Only two more movies left, and the circus is over!! I'm not even going to try to pretend I'm going to be sad due to the void of Twilight jokes that will imminently arise, because (1) the jokes were getting old anyways and (2) OMG IT'S ALMOST OVER!!!
So whatchu waiting for? Press play!
-------------------
0:00-0:24 - Oh I forgot to mention... I've never actually read the fourth book. So why does the Volturi dude get an invitation? Didn't they try to kill our young (well, one relatively so) lovers? Was that in the second book? And why would he be so happy to get one anyway? He doesn't strike me as the type who'd keep cut-outs of bridal magazines and be all, "ZOMG GUYS, I LOVE WEDDINGS!"
0:26-0:28 - Bella's dad doesn't look too thrilled about his teenage daughter's impending nuptials.
0: 29-0:33 - Okay, am I the only one weirded out by the mother's reaction? The way she waves that invitation around in the air, it's like she got the golden ticket to Willy Wonka's factory. Speaking of which, this whole hullabaloo about the wedding invitation is pretty reminiscent of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
0:35-0:42 - LOLLL HAHAHAHAHAHA sorry Jacob aka Taylor Lautner, but if every guy reacted in rage by ripping off his shirt and running outside, I think this world might just be a better place.
0:51 - Here we go guys -- this generation's version of the Golden Ticket.
0:56-1:02 - Okay, this is when my creative analyst kicks in and I start wondering why they chose this epic-choir music for this trailer. Really now, this is the kind of epic music you use for heart-pounding, adrenaline-rushing Star Wars lightsaber duels and Lord of the Rings battles that determine the fate of Middle-earth, yeah? Yet from I can tell from this trailer so far, let's see... oh lookie here, we've got a wedding. I dunno, can't some romantic strumming of the guitar or a couple of violins do the trick?
Oh wait. Maybe it's for the impending heart-pounding, adrenaline-rushing wedding night scene where Bella and Edward engage in some rough and violent vampire kinkiness. Ah ouais, je comprends.
1:04 - "The event THAT WILL CHANGE EVERYTHING..." dun dun dun!!
1:07-1:10 - Aw, K-Stew looks gorgeous!!
1:16 - Creative Analyst is back. Okay, what is up with that statue? Was that in the book? A statue of Jesus Christ hovering over the love shack where Bella and Edward are heating things up? Is that supposed to symbolize divine judgment? I am so confused.
1:18-1:20 - HOLY SHIT WAS THAT EDWARD? Or was that Jacob in rage mode again? 'Cause if that were Edward, now I totally understand the need for epic music. He freaking crushed that windowsill like a grape.
1:21 - That should actually read, in dramatic ALL CAPS red letters and a background choir -- "CAN BELLA SURVIVE HER WEDDING NIGHT?"
1:24-1:25 - Oh look, kids -- waterfall sex!!
1:30-1:31 - Once again, this is probably another case of Sophelia-didn't-read-Breaking-Dawn-and-therefore-has-no-idea-what's-going-on, but... Jacob, why are you popping up here? Did you follow them to their secret honeymoon location? Were you secretly lurking behind that waterfall?
1:32-1:35 - R-Patz: YO MAN, WHY YOU CRASHING MY SEXYTIMES?? *megapunchhhhh*
1:37-1:45 - "That's impossible."
What's impossible? That you got pregnant? Bella honey, do you really want me to start getting all pseudoscientific about this?
1:46-1:59 - All together now: YAYYYYYYY!!!!!
June 5, 2011
Reincarnation
I asked my mother about the neighbor. She wasn't too surprised I didn't remember him. He lives about four houses down the street.
I think I may have previously mentioned my mother's Buddhist beliefs, back when I was exploring Christianity during my freshman year while my mother became more invested with Buddhism. Though I only went to temple when I visited relatives in Taiwan (averaging to about once every five years), I've grown up with frequent exposure to the idea of reincarnation. Whenever I see a dead animal, I automatically say the prayer that was taught to me when I was young.
My mother thinks it was fate. The neighbor who came this morning is a Buddhist who volunteers with a group that cares for cancer patients nearing the end of life. We hadn't been expecting him -- in fact, until today he hadn't dropped by our house in about ten years. Moreover, he came exactly at the moment when we had started digging the grave. While I was inside the house, he gave the prayer for Leonardo that they usually say to send off the dead. That coincidence, combined with the fact that we found Leonardo at a location so close to our front door -- which was so atypical of him to do -- strengthens my mother's belief that this was fate.
My mother says that Leonardo "served his time" as a turtle. That's how she likes to think of it. Life as a turtle is difficult, she says. She prays that he will be reincarnated into a better life.
I think I may have previously mentioned my mother's Buddhist beliefs, back when I was exploring Christianity during my freshman year while my mother became more invested with Buddhism. Though I only went to temple when I visited relatives in Taiwan (averaging to about once every five years), I've grown up with frequent exposure to the idea of reincarnation. Whenever I see a dead animal, I automatically say the prayer that was taught to me when I was young.
My mother thinks it was fate. The neighbor who came this morning is a Buddhist who volunteers with a group that cares for cancer patients nearing the end of life. We hadn't been expecting him -- in fact, until today he hadn't dropped by our house in about ten years. Moreover, he came exactly at the moment when we had started digging the grave. While I was inside the house, he gave the prayer for Leonardo that they usually say to send off the dead. That coincidence, combined with the fact that we found Leonardo at a location so close to our front door -- which was so atypical of him to do -- strengthens my mother's belief that this was fate.
My mother says that Leonardo "served his time" as a turtle. That's how she likes to think of it. Life as a turtle is difficult, she says. She prays that he will be reincarnated into a better life.
Leonardo
About seven years ago, my brother and I finished tennis practice and went to the parking lot to find our mother. When she greeted us at the car, she told us she had a surprise. In a box, there were two tiny turtles -- a brother and a sister, each about the size of my palm. One with a red mark on his head, and one without. This red mark became his defining feature -- it was how we could tell them apart.My mom had been hoping that the two turtles would be enough to dissuade the collective begging from my brother, my father, and me asking for a puppy. Unfortunately, the novelty in having a legitimate pet died away when it soon became clear that the turtles did very little but eat, sleep, and sunbathe. Within less than a year, Matisse came into our lives and promptly peed on our kitchen floor.
At the time, the turtles lived in a clear plastic box next to the dishwasher by the bay window. My mother would let them wander around the kitchen counter while she cleaned out their box, refilling it with clean water. As the years passed, they grew bigger and bigger. The plastic log/cave we'd bought from the pet store became too small, and we had to buy bigger and bigger logs until there were no more sizes left that could top the others. In the end, only one turtle could hide under the log or sunbathe on the top at a time. This would become important later.
For years, they had no name. We referred to them as "boy" and "girl" for the longest time, until one day, I arbitrarily decided to give them names. We still usually referred to them as "boy" and "girl", but officially their names were Leonardo and Mona Lisa. Nevertheless, the turtles drifted readily out of my consciousness -- they didn't do much, and it was typically my mother's job to change their water and feed them. Many times, I forgot they even existed.
Leonardo was always the more adventurous one. Whenever my mother let him out to explore, he would immediately scurry off across the kitchen counter, as far away from the box as he could get. We'd find him burrowed behind a vase near the toaster or beneath a stack of envelopes by the telephone. A couple of times, he even fell off the counter, to the great surprise of our dog. Mona Lisa, on the other hand, was much less aggressive. She tended to stay near the bay window and never wandered too far. Whereas Leonardo would aggressively fight his way for a bite of turtle food, she tended to get knocked aside.
Eventually, the clear box by the bay window was too small for the two of them. My mother bought one of those plastic tubs Chinese newborns are usually bathed in and placed the two turtles outside. At the time, the walls of the tub were high enough to keep them inside. They would take turns sunbathing on the log and sleeping underneath it. Then one day, my mother noticed that there were strange scars on Mona Lisa's skin. Thinking maybe it was too cold to leave them outside overnight, my mother would hoist the tub in and out of the house each night and morning.
The answer to the mystery of Mona Lisa's scars finally came months later. After my father bought her a new camcorder, my mother had the brief hobby of videotaping everything -- including what was going on in the backyard. By chance, she was filming the two turtles one morning -- Mona Lisa was sunbathing on the top of the log, when Leonardo suddenly popped his head out of the water, yanked her by the leg and threw her off of the log, and then situated himself where she had once been lounging. Yes, there was a case of domestic abuse happening right under our noses. From then on, the two siblings were kept in separate tubs outside, isolated from each other.
During November of last year, I called my mother while I was at school. We talked for a little bit about who-knows-what, and at some point she relayed to me that Leonardo had escaped. He had gotten big enough that at some point, he managed to climb out of the tub and had scurried off somewhere in the backyard. We were upset, but not distraught -- we hoped for the best, thinking that perhaps he'd be able to survive on his own. I discussed the news with my brother on Facebook, and my cousin cracked a light-hearted joke about Leonardo running off to join the Ninja Turtles.
As fate would have it, Leonardo appeared in our lives again. About two months ago, my mother was washing the dishes when she noticed something moving on the patio near the bushes. Leonardo had survived the winter and was alive. My mother recorded a short video and uploaded it on Facebook, and then she decided that, since he had managed to take care of himself for five months in our backyard, she would let him enjoy his freedom.
Then this morning happens.
We just finished watching the final of the French Open, when my father goes outside to get the Sunday newspaper. When he comes back in, he yells out, "Hey, it's the turtle!" Sure enough, we see Leonardo burrowed by the camellia plant right next to the black metal gate that leads to our house.
We are happy to see him. But the rejoicing begins to dissipate when my brother asks, "Is he dead?" My mother puts on a pair of rubber gloves and pokes him a little. He doesn't move. She picks him up. He does not squirm like he once did. We put him in one of the water-filled tubs my mom left out for him, in case he ever decided to come back. He floats.
My brother goes back into the house. My mother asks my father to get a shovel. My mother picks a spot behind the bushes where she saw him walk past just two months ago. At the same time, I walk over to the red tub where Leonardo floats and crouch down to look at him. I am still holding the camera my mom handed to me -- back when we treated the discovery like a family reunion. Whatever doubts I have about my mother's judgment that Leonardo is dead vanish when I see the way his closed eyes are sunken in.
I barely listen as I hear my mom say something out loud. She says something like, "Well, that's life." Then I hear these gasping noises, and for a second I think she's laughing but then I realize that my mother is crying.
By then, I can't even see anymore. The steam has fogged up my eyes, and I sense the way my body automatically shuts down to prevent my emotions from spilling over whenever I find myself getting emotional. It's how I have managed to almost never cry when I watch or read tragedies. Except this time, I let myself go.
One of our neighbors opens the gate. I don't know why he's here. I don't even know his name. My father and mother say some words to him. My head is locked in place. I can't see, it's all a blur, and yet I can't keep my eyes off of Leonardo. I vaguely sense my mother and the neighbor standing behind me. I don't turn around to look at them. I don't want them to see my telltale face. When the neighbor offers to say a prayer, I move out of the way for him and, ashamed of my tears, I run back into the house. I pass by my brother, who sits emotionlessly at the kitchen table.
Later my mother calls out that they are about to bury him. The four of us stand around the grave. My mother places him inside. We take turns filling the grave with the shovel. My mother pats the dirt and places a large stone next to it -- a marker of his grave. This time, my brother starts crying.
A melancholy permeates our house. The lingering question remains suspended in the air -- should we have captured him again when we saw him two months ago? Leonardo might still be alive if we had. But is that what he would have wanted? Or were those last seven months of freedom the most blissful months of his life?
Seeing him floating in that red tub made things so clear to me. I hardly cared about him when he was alive. Maybe when he was still a baby, and he would eagerly eat all the food I threw into the box. After Matisse entered our lives, the two turtles were mainly forgotten. They don't beg for attention like a dog. They cower inside their shells when you come close and startle them.
Leonardo won't be the last. From time to time, I am haunted by dreams of when Matisse's time will come. Mona Lisa's life expectancy is between 25-50 years, but look what happened to Leonardo. My parents are getting older too. My father has had more health problems in the last year than I can remember.
Someday, my time will come too.
My mother thinks Leonardo purposely chose to rest so conspicuously by the front gate, where anybody could see him. She thinks he knew.
June 4, 2011
Revisiting the Relics
Nine.
That's the number of journals I managed to fill up during those pre-teen to early-teen years when I wrote my daily musings by hand. It's a little under six years' worth of material.
Let me tell you, they are oh so painful to read through. I've read through about four of them since Wednesday, when I had the idea of rereading my old journals to see what kind of entries I'd written about my fights with my mother. (We'd gotten into another argument this week that led to a prolonged silent treatment, but that's another matter.) But nevertheless, I am eternally thankful to my younger self for documenting my life so methodically. For one thing, I don't think I would have been nearly as good at writing if I hadn't been constantly writing over the course of those six years.
It shows. I started off with the very first one, which I received the winter of the fourth grade as a Christmas present from my first piano teacher. Diction and syntax were unbearable, but hey -- I was only nine years old. I don't remember much about that time, but from reading that first journal, I can tell you:
But anyways. The reason these were so painful to read is because I was sooooo obsessed with the Prince. Literally. It's sort of fascinating, in the same grotesque way that I would be fascinated if I could cut myself open and poke around inside a little. If any shred of conversation occurred between me and the Prince, or even if I overheard somebody else having a conversation about the Prince, BAM -- there it goes in the journal, where I'd analyze the silly thing for pages. If I could take my lecture notes with such detail, I'd probably raise my GPA.
Oh, and while the Prince infatuation was happening, I would also entertain myself with "side-dishes" I'd keep my eye on. So shameless, Sophelia. I'd nearly forgotten about the one in eighth grade, and now that I think back it is entirely laughable, in that WHAT-WERE-YOU-THINKING?? sort of way.
Rereading has also made me very much aware of my selective memory. Apparently, my brain had conveniently forgotten all of the lecherous things teenage boys do/say, in particular a certain character who popped back into my consciousness like a ghost two years ago.
On a serious note, revisiting those old journals really made me see just how much I internalized everything. Thinking back, I probably didn't know who to trust. Middle school was around the time when social circles started changing -- SL, who had been one of my best friends in elementary school, drifted away while new friends entered my life. With such chaotic middle school drama, it's no wonder I didn't really find my place.
I don't think I internalize so much anymore. Though my friendships with my high school friends have decayed to an extent (we barely talk during most of the year), I can think of three very good friends I have at school whom I share a lot of my problems with. I'm still a very private person, but I think I've become much better at opening up now.
That's the number of journals I managed to fill up during those pre-teen to early-teen years when I wrote my daily musings by hand. It's a little under six years' worth of material.
Let me tell you, they are oh so painful to read through. I've read through about four of them since Wednesday, when I had the idea of rereading my old journals to see what kind of entries I'd written about my fights with my mother. (We'd gotten into another argument this week that led to a prolonged silent treatment, but that's another matter.) But nevertheless, I am eternally thankful to my younger self for documenting my life so methodically. For one thing, I don't think I would have been nearly as good at writing if I hadn't been constantly writing over the course of those six years.
It shows. I started off with the very first one, which I received the winter of the fourth grade as a Christmas present from my first piano teacher. Diction and syntax were unbearable, but hey -- I was only nine years old. I don't remember much about that time, but from reading that first journal, I can tell you:
- I was Pokemon and Cardcaptors-obsessed
- The things I cared most about were grades and tennis. (In one entry, I moaned on and on about how I'd just had the worst day of my life. Reason? I'd gotten a B+ on a test.)
- I was disgusted (though probably harbored a crush on, considering how many entries were dedicated to him) by a certain boy in my class, who will remain nameless because I'm quite ashamed of this memory, actually. (By the way, I decided to look him up on Facebook afterwards because I realized I haven't thought about this person in years. Turns out he has a girlfriend now!)
But anyways. The reason these were so painful to read is because I was sooooo obsessed with the Prince. Literally. It's sort of fascinating, in the same grotesque way that I would be fascinated if I could cut myself open and poke around inside a little. If any shred of conversation occurred between me and the Prince, or even if I overheard somebody else having a conversation about the Prince, BAM -- there it goes in the journal, where I'd analyze the silly thing for pages. If I could take my lecture notes with such detail, I'd probably raise my GPA.
Oh, and while the Prince infatuation was happening, I would also entertain myself with "side-dishes" I'd keep my eye on. So shameless, Sophelia. I'd nearly forgotten about the one in eighth grade, and now that I think back it is entirely laughable, in that WHAT-WERE-YOU-THINKING?? sort of way.
Rereading has also made me very much aware of my selective memory. Apparently, my brain had conveniently forgotten all of the lecherous things teenage boys do/say, in particular a certain character who popped back into my consciousness like a ghost two years ago.
On a serious note, revisiting those old journals really made me see just how much I internalized everything. Thinking back, I probably didn't know who to trust. Middle school was around the time when social circles started changing -- SL, who had been one of my best friends in elementary school, drifted away while new friends entered my life. With such chaotic middle school drama, it's no wonder I didn't really find my place.
I don't think I internalize so much anymore. Though my friendships with my high school friends have decayed to an extent (we barely talk during most of the year), I can think of three very good friends I have at school whom I share a lot of my problems with. I'm still a very private person, but I think I've become much better at opening up now.
May 29, 2011
Scherzo No. 1
It surprises and saddens me that I used to be able to play this piece, fully polished and memorized.
May 27, 2011
Joplin
http://www.cnn.com/2011/US/05/26/severe.weather.child.dead/index.html?hpt=C2
I didn't think twice about the Joplin tornadoes. Until I read some of the stories. The boy with the popular Youtube channel is still missing. There's the grieving woman whose husband sacrificed himself to save her -- "You know, people kept saying he wouldn't have wanted it any other way, but if I could have taken twice as much damage just to have him alive, I would have." And when I saw that video, the one with the father who lost both of his boys...
Once you put faces on a tragedy, that's when it hits you in the gut.
I didn't think twice about the Joplin tornadoes. Until I read some of the stories. The boy with the popular Youtube channel is still missing. There's the grieving woman whose husband sacrificed himself to save her -- "You know, people kept saying he wouldn't have wanted it any other way, but if I could have taken twice as much damage just to have him alive, I would have." And when I saw that video, the one with the father who lost both of his boys...
Once you put faces on a tragedy, that's when it hits you in the gut.
The Lost Answers
Jay Chou's CD is on replay in the kitchen boombox. My mom, in an attempt to teach me Chinese, made me read over a bunch of the Chinese lyrics with her. When she made me read the lyrics for "Orange Jasmine (Qi Li Xiang)", it triggered a flashback to middle school.
I just remembered.
Was it sixth grade when it happened? When word got around to me that you were planning to ask me to marry you? On one knee and all that jazz?
What I still want to know is -- why? Was that your idea of a good joke? I barely talked to you. Hell, I might have even hated your guts at the time, though I'm not entirely sure anymore. I still remember you made the mistake earlier that year of telling someone that I was ugly -- she happened to be my friend, you know. And weren't you in love with that other girl at the time, anyways? Why on earth would you waste your time with me, shoving me under the same spotlight that followed you wherever you went?
I don't really remember what happened that day. I'm pretty sure I probably ran away and hid as soon as I found out.
That's probably the closest I ever got to being the center of gossip.
Here's another unsolved mystery -- who was planning to ask me to Homecoming freshman year? I never found out. I had run into Honeybee one day -- we didn't talk often, but we were pretty good friends back in middle school. She was the one who told me. She wasn't in my inner circle of friends at the time though, which means either everybody knew by that point, or that it was someone she was close to -- which by default would have meant I didn't know him very well.
In truth, maybe it's a good thing whoever it was chickened out. I was still so enamored of the Prince then.
Oh my god, all the memories are flooding back now.
The Prince. I wonder if he knows that I had a crush on him for almost three years. I was so stinking obvious too. The way I kept IMing him all the time. I remember how I was flipping through the Michael's catalog and found "a sign" -- his name and mine on the sample picture for some wedding placecard. How often does my name appear on ANYTHING? I look at those personalized magnets and keychain souvenirs only to laugh and see if they've gotten my name. (It's only happened once.) It had to be a sign. I cut out that little picture and pasted it in my diary. "Prince and Sophelia." Excuse me while I go throw up.
What about when I was in, what, first grade? Magenta and I were such good friends back then -- strange to think of that now, isn't it? Her little brother wanted to marry me. He was still in pre-school. I got tricked into going to their house. When I walked in, their piano, which could be programmed to play by itself, started playing the wedding march. Magenta went down the living room throwing flower petals. Her brother held a ring and wanted to put it on my finger. I hid my face behind my stuffed cat Boots and wanted to cry.
And yes, my thoughts turn to you, too. I've changed, you know. Steel knives, ice shards. I've gotten colder and harder, this diamond that was once a lump of coal, burning all that time just for you. It was the only way I could move on.
I think back to all those lost answers. We'll never know the truth, will we? You're never going to know what I thought of you all those years, and I'm never going to know why you initiated that contact between us and started it all. Maybe if you had never bothered, I wouldn't have hardened like this.
But no. If none of it had never happened, this blog would never have existed.
I just remembered.
Was it sixth grade when it happened? When word got around to me that you were planning to ask me to marry you? On one knee and all that jazz?
What I still want to know is -- why? Was that your idea of a good joke? I barely talked to you. Hell, I might have even hated your guts at the time, though I'm not entirely sure anymore. I still remember you made the mistake earlier that year of telling someone that I was ugly -- she happened to be my friend, you know. And weren't you in love with that other girl at the time, anyways? Why on earth would you waste your time with me, shoving me under the same spotlight that followed you wherever you went?
I don't really remember what happened that day. I'm pretty sure I probably ran away and hid as soon as I found out.
That's probably the closest I ever got to being the center of gossip.
Here's another unsolved mystery -- who was planning to ask me to Homecoming freshman year? I never found out. I had run into Honeybee one day -- we didn't talk often, but we were pretty good friends back in middle school. She was the one who told me. She wasn't in my inner circle of friends at the time though, which means either everybody knew by that point, or that it was someone she was close to -- which by default would have meant I didn't know him very well.
In truth, maybe it's a good thing whoever it was chickened out. I was still so enamored of the Prince then.
Oh my god, all the memories are flooding back now.
The Prince. I wonder if he knows that I had a crush on him for almost three years. I was so stinking obvious too. The way I kept IMing him all the time. I remember how I was flipping through the Michael's catalog and found "a sign" -- his name and mine on the sample picture for some wedding placecard. How often does my name appear on ANYTHING? I look at those personalized magnets and keychain souvenirs only to laugh and see if they've gotten my name. (It's only happened once.) It had to be a sign. I cut out that little picture and pasted it in my diary. "Prince and Sophelia." Excuse me while I go throw up.
What about when I was in, what, first grade? Magenta and I were such good friends back then -- strange to think of that now, isn't it? Her little brother wanted to marry me. He was still in pre-school. I got tricked into going to their house. When I walked in, their piano, which could be programmed to play by itself, started playing the wedding march. Magenta went down the living room throwing flower petals. Her brother held a ring and wanted to put it on my finger. I hid my face behind my stuffed cat Boots and wanted to cry.
And yes, my thoughts turn to you, too. I've changed, you know. Steel knives, ice shards. I've gotten colder and harder, this diamond that was once a lump of coal, burning all that time just for you. It was the only way I could move on.
I think back to all those lost answers. We'll never know the truth, will we? You're never going to know what I thought of you all those years, and I'm never going to know why you initiated that contact between us and started it all. Maybe if you had never bothered, I wouldn't have hardened like this.
But no. If none of it had never happened, this blog would never have existed.
May 21, 2011
Film Review: Pirates 4
Call me cray-cray, but I was never a huge fan of the Pirates of the Caribbean series. Yes, I thought the first movie was pretty awesome, but the series pretty much lost me with the second and third movies. If C hadn't wanted to watch the fourth movie this afternoon, I don't think I would have bothered. Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow is brilliant and all, but once you've already seen him in three movies, there isn't much new to report on. I'll grant that I was assez curieuse about how Penelope Cruz would fare as a replacement for Keira Knightley and Orlando Bloom, but I wasn't exactly eager to shell out $10.50 for a movie ticket.
But now that I have watched the movie, I can tell you exactly what is the best part about the latest installment of Pirates of the Caribbean...
It's been merely three hours since I watched the movie, and honestly, the only part that is still stuck to me the way a song gets stuck in your head is the mermaids. More specifically, the romance between Phillip Swift, the clergyman, and Syrena, the mermaid -- though I have to say, the major scene with the mermaids was pretty cool.
Awww, aren't they cute?
Since the movie came out just days ago, I suppose it would be improper of me to give away any spoilers. I'll just say this -- after Gov. J, C, and I walked out of the movie theater, literally all we kept talking about were Syrena and Phillip. The way the film ends their storyline is slightly ambiguous (happy or tragic? bittersweet?), except after C and I did some major web-surfing in an attempt to decipher what happened, the consensus among the three of us was that it was a happy ending.
What's sad is that the ambiguity probably stems from the fact that the three of us only understood about 75 percent of the "pirate talk," and thus, none of us heard a key piece of information spoken during the mermaid battle scene that would have cleared up the ambiguity. (Subtitles, anyone?? "Pirate" is a language setting on Facebook, after all...) Though if you google "What happened to Syrena and Phillip?", you'll find that many other people had this same problem.
The other major question the three of us had after the film...
Picture this scene: The glass coffin filled with water slips out of grasp and breaks on the jungle ground, causing the mermaid to tumble out along with the water. As she catches for breath, you realize that her mermaid tail is gone, replaced by legs, and that she is stark naked and shivering. The clergyman, seeing her discomfort, strips off his shirt and wraps it around her to keep her warm...
The rest of us: HOLY POMELO, HOW DID A CLERGYMAN GET SO JACKED??
But now that I have watched the movie, I can tell you exactly what is the best part about the latest installment of Pirates of the Caribbean...
MERMAIDS.
It's been merely three hours since I watched the movie, and honestly, the only part that is still stuck to me the way a song gets stuck in your head is the mermaids. More specifically, the romance between Phillip Swift, the clergyman, and Syrena, the mermaid -- though I have to say, the major scene with the mermaids was pretty cool.
Awww, aren't they cute?Since the movie came out just days ago, I suppose it would be improper of me to give away any spoilers. I'll just say this -- after Gov. J, C, and I walked out of the movie theater, literally all we kept talking about were Syrena and Phillip. The way the film ends their storyline is slightly ambiguous (happy or tragic? bittersweet?), except after C and I did some major web-surfing in an attempt to decipher what happened, the consensus among the three of us was that it was a happy ending.
What's sad is that the ambiguity probably stems from the fact that the three of us only understood about 75 percent of the "pirate talk," and thus, none of us heard a key piece of information spoken during the mermaid battle scene that would have cleared up the ambiguity. (Subtitles, anyone?? "Pirate" is a language setting on Facebook, after all...) Though if you google "What happened to Syrena and Phillip?", you'll find that many other people had this same problem.
The other major question the three of us had after the film...
Picture this scene: The glass coffin filled with water slips out of grasp and breaks on the jungle ground, causing the mermaid to tumble out along with the water. As she catches for breath, you realize that her mermaid tail is gone, replaced by legs, and that she is stark naked and shivering. The clergyman, seeing her discomfort, strips off his shirt and wraps it around her to keep her warm...
The rest of us: HOLY POMELO, HOW DID A CLERGYMAN GET SO JACKED??
May 18, 2011
Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother
The first book at the top of my lengthy summer reading list was the notorious Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua.
And oh boy, let me tell you -- reading that book was like reliving my childhood all over again. In the sort of way where you look back and laugh nostalgically, "Oh ho ho ho, those were the days."
The part where Jed confronts Sophia about the teeth marks on the piano keys? Reminded my family of the time I got in trouble for carving "Sophelia Rules!" on the piano lid with an angry face etched next to my declaration.
The part where Lulu is pissed as hell at the Austrian violin teacher? Definitely recalled some high tension incidences with my second piano teacher, Mr. C, where we would both get so mad at each other that I would end up crying after class.
The part with the excerpt from Sophia's essay, "Conquering Juliet"? I played that Prokofiev piece just a few years ago and still remember the hours I spent trying to polish Juliet's voice in that piece.
While I think the book possessed a entertaining and quite readable narrative arc (I can't even imagine how I would write such a funny book about my childhood... or maybe it's only funny to me because I basically lived through it), I wasn't quite sold with the way the book wrapped up. News sources have already hurrahed how the eldest daughter Sophia (who I could relate to fairly well) is headed for Harvard this fall. I suspect Lulu might not reach the same level of success as Sophia, but time will tell.
In the end, I believe I turned out fine. Though I do think that the Chinese style is not for everyone, it worked for me.
May 17, 2011
The Tortoise and the Hare
In my dream, I held the two pieces of plastic in my hands. In one hand lay the white rabbit. In the other lay the emerald tortoise.
I glanced up to ask him the meaning of this, but he was already gone.
--
I sat on one of the couches pushed aside to clear space for the beer pong tables, checking my e-mail on my phone for the millionth time since I had entered the room. The smell of cheap beer permeated the claustrophobic apartment, punctuated by the clattering of pong balls atop the linoleum floor.
She told me afterwards that I had looked as pissed as hell at the mixer. As BB spoke to me over Skype, I imagined my mother lecturing for me the umpteenth time about body language, how my instinctual habit of crossing my arms made myself intimidating, unapproachable and uninviting.
But I wasn't pissed. I was just tired. It was the same routine -- the girls and boys would compete in throwing little plastic balls into opposing plastic cups, drinking until they flashed in and out of consciousness. There I'd be again, the clear-headed guardian angel who'd swat away the predatory boys, walk the inebriated girls back to the dormitories, clean up their regurgitated messes, and lay them in recovery position before turning off their bedroom lights and trudging back to my own room.
I'd done this so many times that there was nothing to be angry about. It was just the routine.
--
"I don't remember having this conversation with you at all," I said.
Apparently I had told her about "my type." Don't get me wrong. I have never been drunk in my life. This lapse of memory could be simply attributed to old age (having just hit the two-decade mark) or pure absentmindedness.
Supposedly, I had told J that I preferred somebody who did not drink very much. As she told me this, S responded, "Yeah, I can see that."
Oh really?
I am surprised to hear that I had ever said such a thing. After all, S herself is the one I end up taking care of every time we go out. So many of my friends have reached that point of no return that it would seem strange that I would single that out as the characteristic I would look for.
They don't say this to my face, but I know what they're thinking. I'm a frigid prude, a sober fun-sucker. I know my tolerance is not too shabby, but I don't know my limit -- I have never had the desire to find out. The shot of Bacardi tasted disgusting. The two shots of Malibu did nothing for me. Amongst the toxic haze of college Bacchanalian revelry, my mind is as clear as the summer sky.
How many of my friends have lost their first kisses in the smog? It happened to S just a week ago. She'd been pushed into the arms of a guy at a nightclub by the beach. They'd started dancing, both just a little drunk. The first kiss was a surprise, but chaste. The second involved tongue. He held her hand for the rest of the night. I could tell, when she had returned to campus and recounted the story to me, that she had hopes for this new acquaintance.
That was until Y told us that this was the same guy in her hall during sophomore year who would bang his screeching girlfriend every day between 2-4 pm without fail. Nobody talked about him again after that.
--
Everyone knows the story of the tortoise and the hare. Slow and steady wins the race.
But does it really? We are running in this race, but I don't know where the finish line lies. "If you don't hurry up, all the good ones will be taken." "Don't forget, your biological clock is ticking." What am I racing against? All the other members of my sex? Is it better to be the hare -- sprinting out from the gate, running headlong into the fray and coming against obstacle after obstacle, risking heartbreak after heartbreak? Or is it better to be the tortoise -- ambling along the path cleared by the others before her, at the risk of reaching the finish line in last place?
Here's the thing about the tortoise. The tortoise has seen everything that has happened to the hare. The tortoise has seen the sleepless nights, the loss of appetite, the avoidance of gazes, the disintegration of a love that had once pledged to be eternal. But the tortoise has also seen the exchanged looks that speak in unwritten poetry, the tint of rose on a blushing cheek, the crescent of a smile that could move the tides.
And so the tortoise marches on.
May 16, 2011
California King Bed
I just realized I've been posting a lot of Youtube videos recently...
This song surprised me pleasantly. I am a sucker for a good power ballad with a nice guitar riff, and I never thought Rihanna would sing in one. The cinematography is awesome in this video, and HOLY SMOKES HOW ON EARTH CAN SOMEBODY BE SO FLIPPING GORGEOUS.
Forget about "California Gurls" -- this is MY California song for the 21st century thus far. CALI PRIDE YO.
Reblogged
Source: http://themonicabird.com/post/3273155431/date-a-girl-who-reads-date-a-girl-who-spends-her
"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
--------------------------
I feel like some of the above is purely fanciful, but you know what? Whoever wrote that is totally right about the presents part. I don't understand why people say I'm so hard to shop for -- just buy me some books!!
"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
--------------------------
I feel like some of the above is purely fanciful, but you know what? Whoever wrote that is totally right about the presents part. I don't understand why people say I'm so hard to shop for -- just buy me some books!!
May 2, 2011
Serenade
Guys, if you ever meet a girl who won't look your way...
... pick up an acoustic guitar and learn this song.
If I had to pick any love song, it would be this one.
It's understated.
You don't need to say the L-word to make someone feel it.
April 29, 2011
Le Petit Ami
I really do believe books can change people.I reread parts of Nana for the first time in maybe two years last night. A part of it was mainly spurred on by the fact that my roommate and I have a running joke about how she is the air-headed Hachi and I am the cooler-than-thou Nana O. But mainly, I wanted to reread the key scenes with Nana and Ren.
There seems to be so much pressure on me to date now -- every time I talk to my mother on the phone, it seems like the conversation always turns to, "So Sophelia? Find anyone interesting?" In fact, when I talked to her the day after my 20th birthday, she brought it up again -- except this time, she went through a whole spiel about how I was too proud and independent for my own good, and how I need to learn when to pull the "damsel-in-distress" card on a guy. Not only that, it seems to be a frequent topic of conversation among my friends. My friends here at Duke like to hypothesize what type of person I would ever date. Whenever they ask if there's anyone here I'm interested here, I am being entirely honest when I say no. In fact, it's pretty much universally agreed upon that I will be the last amongst my friends to date -- partly because I show hardly any interest in that sort of business in the first place.
Reading Nana yesterday put a lot of things in perspective. For one, it brought me back into my high-school-sophomore-year mindset from four years ago. I saw just how much Nana had influenced the person I have become. The pride and independence that I admired so much in Nana subconsciously took hold in myself.
But that I already discovered earlier last year. What really struck me last night was just how much I idealized the all-consuming relationship between Ren and Nana. In regards to the whole boyfriend issue, I had consciously forgotten what I was looking for -- until rediscovering Ren made me realize I'd still been subconsciously looking for it this whole time.
For those unfamiliar with Ren and Nana, their love is controversial. For the guys out there -- would you be weirded out if your girlfriend locked a chain and padlock around your neck a la Sid and Nancy and kept the key? Or would you think that was really hot/romantic? Their relationship is plagued with possessiveness and pride, but on the other hand, the term "soulmates" seems to fit Ren and Nana more than any other couple in the series.
And that's the thing. I wanted a Ren. I never wanted to be like Hachi, who flitted from Shoji to Yasu to Takumi to Nobu. And to an extent, I still want a Ren even now.
It would make sense, right? The girl who can harbor the same crush for two years does not easily flit from love to love. She becomes consumed in her own addiction. I once wrote a post about the Badass One -- he once said in a magazine interview, "When I fall in love, I will be so into it... to the point of losing my reason." At the time, I questioned the idea. I found it a scary. For the girl obsessed with self-control, to the point that she refuses to get drunk -- the idea of losing yourself in love is terrifying.
But I'm beginning to think the potential lies within me.
April 26, 2011
Rolling in the Deep
Currently addicted to: "Rolling in the Deep" by Adele
This is, like, THE heartbreak song.
April 22, 2011
The Last Day of a Teenager
The clock has been ticking away, but you don't realize it until you suddenly notice that your toes are curled over the edge, your muscles flexed to make the leap. Do you remember what thoughts you had when you were peering over the other side nearly seven years ago? The seven-year stretch that loomed ahead seemed so promising. You'd seen them in all those books and movies -- those modern-day Cinderellas and Eliza Doolittles, those scrawny girls in itchy school uniforms hunched over with Jansport backpacks who grew up into those young ladies in skin-tight jeans clasping designer handbags.Sure, maybe that secret wish of yours never happened, but...
Did you think you'd ever come this far?
Sure, my teenage dream turned out to be nothing like that which Katy Perry sang of. No passionate first loves. No motel escapades. No seaside revelry. But I wouldn't trade those seven years for anything.
April 19, 2011
my weakness
Here's something rare: a glimpse at Sophelia's bedroom at homeAiyah, I don't know why I'm putting up so many random posts today. Clearly, I'm trying to put off writing my paper...
When it comes to crying, I'm an angry crier but not a sad crier. That is, I usually end up crying when I'm really mad, but I almost never cry when it comes to sadness. Or to be more precise, I rarely ever cry when it comes to sad/tragic films. I can feel the catharsis in my gut but I don't find myself holding back tears.
The only exception is when it comes to my dog. He's probably my only true weakness. My roommate showed me this picture and I had to will myself not to cry.
Sigh.
April 17, 2011
refresh
As you might have been able to tell from my absence, I've been swamped with stuff in the past month. So what's new? I survived what was probably the most difficult week of my life -- and finally crossed. So yep, Sophelia here is now a member of a sorority. Cue the horrified gasps.
It's funny though, because I can already see how much I've changed. Being involved with the process has already forced me to become a more sociable person. As tedious and pointless as some aspects of the process might have seemed to me at the time, I cannot deny that I have changed as a person -- and I think it's been for the better. Though it might not be the case for a lot of girls who go through the same process, I think I've become even more grounded than I ever was before.
Having said that, I seemed to hit another writing dry spell in the last two weeks. I had been trying to write a short story inspired by the lyrics to the song Cafe by Big Bang. I had the general theme and key scenes all figured out, but I just couldn't put it into words on a screen. In the end, I think it might have been the lack of spark. I think back to when I used to churn out vignette after vignette for weeks -- this blog acted as a conduit for my own emotional turbulence. Now, I actually feel rather empty of emotion. I remember how I used to be constantly plagued by warring emotions of love and hatred, but that kind of struggle doesn't exist within me anymore. Nowadays, I might harbor drifting interests in certain figures who pass into my life, but there isn't that one person who consumes me the way you did all those years ago.
The lack of writing scared me. Before, my absence was a matter of not having enough time and energy to sit down on Blogger. I was sleep deprived and emotionally drained. But the week after I crossed, I was still unable to find any words to say. I would recall my dream and wonder at just how far away I now seemed from it. This became especially clear to me when Kat Zhang, a blogger at Letthewordsflow.com, announced last week that her trilogy, HYBRID, had been sold in a major three-book deal to Harper's Children. What struck me was just how similar Kat and I are -- we are both nearly-twenty-year-old pre-med students working towards an English major. I had always given myself the excuse that as a pre-med at Duke working towards a double major in Biology and English, I had no choice but to defer my dream. Yet here we are -- I find out that somebody in my boat had actually gone ahead and achieved what had always been a pipe dream to me. You have no idea how much respect I have for her -- it's almost unfathomable to me how Kat managed to do it.
Yesterday, I heard the words I needed to hear. I attended TAASCON yesterday, at which Yul Kwon, who has been somewhat of a hometown hero to me, spoke to the attendees at the closing ceremony. I am sure he's given the same speech to countless numbers of college students around the country, but his advice I probably already knew deep down -- I just needed to hear them from somebody who had gotten so far with those same words. You would never have guessed from the way he spoke that as a child, he was terrified of public speaking. At some point, he had made up his mind that whenever there was something he dreaded to do, he would force himself to do it. Little by little, that was how he overcame his problems. It reminded me of myself, and how far I've come since I was like Charlotte -- crippled by self-hate at my own weaknesses.
Yul Kwon told us, if you are serious about making a difference, find your passion and think outside of the box. Don't become a doctor or lawyer or engineer just because it's the path of least resistance. Our community needs more musicians, directors, politicians, public service figures, actors, and writers. We need people who can give our community a voice.
Part of me actually does believe that I can leave a bigger impact on the world as a writer than I can as a doctor. If anything, I think the path to becoming a writer powerful enough to change the landscape of Asian-Americanism (think what Yul Kwon, Wong Fu, Far East Movement, Youtube stars Ryan Higa and Kevin Wu have done) is actually much more difficult than going through the prescribed path of taking MCATs, applying to medical school, and going through medical school and residency to become a doctor. That path is well-worn and paved. To be a trail-blazer quite literally means that you're setting the path for others following behind you. If anything, going to medical school might even be taking the easy way out, as crazy as that sounds.
It's funny though, because I can already see how much I've changed. Being involved with the process has already forced me to become a more sociable person. As tedious and pointless as some aspects of the process might have seemed to me at the time, I cannot deny that I have changed as a person -- and I think it's been for the better. Though it might not be the case for a lot of girls who go through the same process, I think I've become even more grounded than I ever was before.
Having said that, I seemed to hit another writing dry spell in the last two weeks. I had been trying to write a short story inspired by the lyrics to the song Cafe by Big Bang. I had the general theme and key scenes all figured out, but I just couldn't put it into words on a screen. In the end, I think it might have been the lack of spark. I think back to when I used to churn out vignette after vignette for weeks -- this blog acted as a conduit for my own emotional turbulence. Now, I actually feel rather empty of emotion. I remember how I used to be constantly plagued by warring emotions of love and hatred, but that kind of struggle doesn't exist within me anymore. Nowadays, I might harbor drifting interests in certain figures who pass into my life, but there isn't that one person who consumes me the way you did all those years ago.
The lack of writing scared me. Before, my absence was a matter of not having enough time and energy to sit down on Blogger. I was sleep deprived and emotionally drained. But the week after I crossed, I was still unable to find any words to say. I would recall my dream and wonder at just how far away I now seemed from it. This became especially clear to me when Kat Zhang, a blogger at Letthewordsflow.com, announced last week that her trilogy, HYBRID, had been sold in a major three-book deal to Harper's Children. What struck me was just how similar Kat and I are -- we are both nearly-twenty-year-old pre-med students working towards an English major. I had always given myself the excuse that as a pre-med at Duke working towards a double major in Biology and English, I had no choice but to defer my dream. Yet here we are -- I find out that somebody in my boat had actually gone ahead and achieved what had always been a pipe dream to me. You have no idea how much respect I have for her -- it's almost unfathomable to me how Kat managed to do it.
Yesterday, I heard the words I needed to hear. I attended TAASCON yesterday, at which Yul Kwon, who has been somewhat of a hometown hero to me, spoke to the attendees at the closing ceremony. I am sure he's given the same speech to countless numbers of college students around the country, but his advice I probably already knew deep down -- I just needed to hear them from somebody who had gotten so far with those same words. You would never have guessed from the way he spoke that as a child, he was terrified of public speaking. At some point, he had made up his mind that whenever there was something he dreaded to do, he would force himself to do it. Little by little, that was how he overcame his problems. It reminded me of myself, and how far I've come since I was like Charlotte -- crippled by self-hate at my own weaknesses.
Yul Kwon told us, if you are serious about making a difference, find your passion and think outside of the box. Don't become a doctor or lawyer or engineer just because it's the path of least resistance. Our community needs more musicians, directors, politicians, public service figures, actors, and writers. We need people who can give our community a voice.
Part of me actually does believe that I can leave a bigger impact on the world as a writer than I can as a doctor. If anything, I think the path to becoming a writer powerful enough to change the landscape of Asian-Americanism (think what Yul Kwon, Wong Fu, Far East Movement, Youtube stars Ryan Higa and Kevin Wu have done) is actually much more difficult than going through the prescribed path of taking MCATs, applying to medical school, and going through medical school and residency to become a doctor. That path is well-worn and paved. To be a trail-blazer quite literally means that you're setting the path for others following behind you. If anything, going to medical school might even be taking the easy way out, as crazy as that sounds.
March 17, 2011
Pain
I have never appreciated modern medicine so much until today.
I have a bacterial infection in my lower jaw right now. It's a recurring infection that has happened to me twice in my life -- the first when I was 12, the second after my braces were removed. I was a teary mess last night, and I could not sleep without waking up every thirty minutes in throbbing pain. I saw a local dentist today who prescribed antibiotics and an even stronger pain-killer (I told him that Advil was having no effect anymore). So although the pain is not so severe as last night, my chin is now swollen like a baseball. I can barely even talk properly at this point.
If the antibiotics work as intended by Monday, the dentist says I may need to get two root canals.
As someone who has never broken a bone or been deathly ill, there is nothing I dread more than dental problems. All of my worst memories of physical pain have been dental-related. Sleepless nights, throbbing pain, Vicodin withdrawal, loss of appetite -- it's all there. I realized today though, that if it weren't for today's modern dentistry -- without the antibiotics and dental x-rays -- if I was living centuries earlier with this same bacterial infection, I could very well go insane from the pain -- and perhaps lose those teeth or even die from the infection.
In fact, the pain I was going through this morning would have been enough to make me consider taking self-destructive action, if I hadn't had the consolation that I would be seeing a dentist in a few hours.
I have a bacterial infection in my lower jaw right now. It's a recurring infection that has happened to me twice in my life -- the first when I was 12, the second after my braces were removed. I was a teary mess last night, and I could not sleep without waking up every thirty minutes in throbbing pain. I saw a local dentist today who prescribed antibiotics and an even stronger pain-killer (I told him that Advil was having no effect anymore). So although the pain is not so severe as last night, my chin is now swollen like a baseball. I can barely even talk properly at this point.
If the antibiotics work as intended by Monday, the dentist says I may need to get two root canals.
As someone who has never broken a bone or been deathly ill, there is nothing I dread more than dental problems. All of my worst memories of physical pain have been dental-related. Sleepless nights, throbbing pain, Vicodin withdrawal, loss of appetite -- it's all there. I realized today though, that if it weren't for today's modern dentistry -- without the antibiotics and dental x-rays -- if I was living centuries earlier with this same bacterial infection, I could very well go insane from the pain -- and perhaps lose those teeth or even die from the infection.
In fact, the pain I was going through this morning would have been enough to make me consider taking self-destructive action, if I hadn't had the consolation that I would be seeing a dentist in a few hours.
March 13, 2011
It is terrifying to think that over 10,000 lives have been estimated to have been lost already, and we still have the danger of nuclear meltdown as a looming threat. When I saw the videos of the water creeping over the land, engulfing houses and cars, it reminded me of the polluted river spirit from Spirited Away -- except the worst thing is that this all real. 10,000 people -- have I even met that many people in my life? I cannot even comprehend that number.
I didn't realize how much of a connection I have with Japan until this happened. Ashamedly, the previous earthquakes at Haiti and Chile felt so distant from me. This time, I found myself wondering if OLIVIA and Ai Yazawa were okay. With my facebook deactivated, I had to hunt down OLIVIA's twitter -- she and her family are fine. With Ai Yazawa, I have no idea.
Over the break, I had been complaining about how much money I spent making the stupid paddle. So naive. I went ahead and donated money this morning -- it feels like that's all I can do, as a college student on the other side of the country with no real skills and hardly any money.
March 10, 2011
Bare Snow
Many of my friends have jumped on the tumblr wagon, but after experimenting with it for about a month last year, I decided it wasn't cup of tea. Nevertheless, I keep up with my friends' tumblr accounts almost daily. Considering my facebook has been deactivated, it's become my temporary newsfeed for my friends' lives.
I have always wrestled between the desire for privacy and publicity. In the end, privacy has always won out -- this blog, in all its incarnations, has never been made publicly available to all my friends and acquaintances. The thing is, I am a walking paradox. I don't care about what people say about me, but I do. The only time my writing feels like it has any worth is when it is raw and bare -- but in exchange, I am afraid of being judged once I strip the exterior away.
Two of my good friends have struck a compromise on tumblr -- they have a public tumblr that is publicly linked to their facebook accounts while maintaining a password-protected tumblr that only a handful of close friends have access to.
I was reading both private tumblrs earlier this afternoon -- by chance, both girls reminisced of the painful break-ups they went through last autumn. They both spoke of a pain unimaginable and incomprehensible to me.
January opened my eyes to just how much of a child I still am. Swathed in the cocoon silk of fairy tales and promises of the ever after, I am virgin snow, unsoiled, untrampled, untouched. But this me exists by choice. True, I have no former admirers or suitors to speak of. To my knowledge, I was never an object of desire. But the reality is, no one ever had the chance. I never opened myself up to anyone. I had vowed to be heartless before I had ever gotten hurt. I was steel and knives before anyone had managed to worm themselves past my defenses.
I still hate the cruelest month of April. I think back to the high school girl who went stag to her prom. Twice. Isn't that sad? I must have been guttsier when I was young, because I don't know if I would ever do that again. The message I wanted to send then was that I didn't give a fuck about the guys; I was there to have my own good time. Who knows if it worked? Perhaps I looked desperate more than anything. My disillusionment was still raw. Thinking back on it now, the naive high school girl had no idea that sex was already on their minds. In the end, I cannot help but wonder how many of the high school couples I knew had already set sail before I even realized that we had reached the shore.
My friends sometimes say they envy the empty canvas I call my life. No drama, no pain. But do you know why the canvas is so bare? This girl, who spins her own fictional worlds and lives vicariously through her creations' picturesque lives, cannot bear the thought of settling for anything less than perfect. Yes, she is probably your modern-day female version of a delusional Peter Pan. But if she has to be heartless to make the fantasy a reality, then so be it.
March 9, 2011
Book Report: The Hunger Games
You know, I used to be so on top of it all. Reading books, I mean. There was a time when I would be at the public library every week and devour two or three books per week -- when you add up the numbers, I'd probably read at least a hundred books a year. I also believe there is a correlation between how many books you read and how much you write, because these days, I clearly haven't been doing much of either.
So unlike the Twilight series, which I had actually read before the movie hooplah over R. Patz and K. Stew became such a circus, I shamefully did not get started on the first book of this latest hot hot series until last Monday.
I know, right? Sophelia, ya need to get back in yo game! This book has been out since 2008! Unfortunately, it's not like the Duke libraries keep young adult books in stock (or do they? I confess I have never actually checked), and it would have been fruitless for me to reserve a library copy at home -- and I usually don't buy books unless I love the book enough that I want my own hard copy (exception: second-hand books at dollar book sales). But luckily for me, there was a copy sitting on the Teen Bestseller's section in the public library, and considering how fast of a speed-reader I am, I easily finished the entire book by Tuesday morning.
So here's the thing -- one of the blogs I read from time to time, foreveryoungadult.com, is madly obsessed with the series. If you look at the tag cloud on the right side of their blog, "hunger games" is easily the biggest fish in the pond. As a result, I've read all sorts of stuff about the great love triangle between Katniss, Peeta, and Gale without an inkling of what is going on -- other than the fact that it seems like Peeta and Gale have a little more to offer than the battle between Edward and Jacob. (Basically, the Hunger Games love triangle boils down to meat and croissants. Just sayin.)
But before I get to the whole love triangle business, let's talk about the book.
And today's game show is called... YAY OR NAY?? Our first contestant is...
1. An American Spin on Battle Royale
Chiyaki!! Another member of the pantheon of badassery!
So I don't know about you guys, but I have some deep memories associated with the Japanese cult classic. And when I mean deep, I mean I was a middle schooler stuck at an obligatory dinner party on Halloween night where all the kids my age at the party were boys glued to their PC games, and so I picked out Battle Royale from the host family's DVD collection and started watching the film myself. That is, until the older-boy-I-had-a-crush-on-at-the-time came downstairs and decided to watch it with me. Quite romantic, actually. A middle schooler and a high schooler sitting side by side on the couch watching Japanese schoolkids slashing each other to bits.
So naturally, I get a little twitchy when I hear about any kind of Western attempt to mess around with the Japanese original. In fact, I flipped out the time I heard there was an American adaptation in the works (the project died after the Virginia Tech incident). And in the case of The Hunger Games, the premise was initially a little too close for my liking.
But now that I have read the first book, I can say that there are some significant differences to consider -- and that in the end, I don't think it's fair to compare the two side by side.
Firstly, keep the target audiences in mind. The Hunger Games is a young adult book with a target audience of teenagers. I don't know what the rating for Battle Royale is, but considering all the gore in that movie, I will bet anything that teenagers are not the target audience. Having said that, I am curious to see how they are going to film The Hunger Games to cater to a PG-13 audience -- because all in all, it IS a book about murder, plain and simple.
Suzanne Collins' writing was very fast-paced and action-packed, but in retrospect I have to say that I didn't get the visceral reaction that I got from watching Battle Royale -- which makes complete sense. Compare reading the words, "She got her skull bashed in by a rock," versus if I put up a video clip of that same action -- which is going to make you run to the bathroom to vomit? Don't get me wrong -- I love "smart" books with strategy, which The Hunger Games is -- but the book made me feel rather detached from the bloodbath.
The other key difference between the two is that Katniss and Peeta are fighting against people they have never met. In contrast, the kids of Battle Royale are competing against their own classmates -- many of whom they have known for years. Even if you have not watched Battle Royale, you can probably imagine the potential trickiness to work with in terms of intepersonal relationships. How do you kill that classmate you've known since you were in kindergarten? The tragedy of Battle Royale is not all the countless deaths that total up -- it's watching all those relationships break down as a result of the fight-or-die environment they find themselves in.
But again, we have to keep in mind: 1) Suzanne Collins is writing for young adults, 2) the publishers want to earn money from these books, 3) American parents are very sensitive about their children's exposure to violence. Thus, we get a cleaner, less messy (both physically and emotionally) tale of dystopian child gladiators. And I am not being sarcastic about this at all -- considering the target audience, I think Suzanne Collins did an excellent job of writing this kind of story for the appropriate demographic.
Verdict: YAY
2. Katniss Everdeen
Malese Jow
Yeah yeah, I know there are casting rumors abound about how Jennifer Lawrence and Hailee Steinfeld are among the frontrunners for playing Katniss. Yeah yeah, I know with all the skills of make-up artists these days, you can easily get any of those girls to have "straight black hair, olive skin [and]... gray eyes." But whatever, this picture of Malese Jow (Vampire Diaries ftw!) is closest to how I imagined Katniss, and Malese totally looks like she'll shoot an arrow through your neck if you mess with her. Besides, I think it'd be neat to have a girl with mixed Chinese and Cherokee ancestry to play one of the hottest upcoming roles. Even Malese herself said in an interview, "I think the years the "Hunger Games" takes place, everyone is going be ethnically ambiguous. Everyone is going to have some exotic flavor to them."
But if not Malese, I want a newcomer who looks "ethnically ambiguous", because the Katniss I imagined as I was reading definitely had an exotic, futuristic vibe. Admittedly, Jennifer Lawrence and Hailee Steinfeld aren't quite doing it for me.
But anyways, back to Katniss herself.
I think I'm going to have to start a formal Pantheon of Badassery soon, with the King himself presiding, because Katniss would make the Badass One himself flush with pride. Katniss, where were you in my youth?? She is pretty much the embodiment of all the qualities of the heroine I aspired to be -- I'm having flashbacks of me at age 8 trying to make my own bow and arrow in the backyard (always wanted to be an Artemis-like archer), me at age 10 trying to climb every single tree I came across, me at age 13 wishing I had long straight hair instead of the poofy, naturally wavy kind that frizzes up. Not only that, Katniss and I are already pretty similar. We are not particularly beautiful (unless someone actually forces us to put on a dress and make-up) and we know it (and don't quite care), we are not particularly charming and don't really care about trying to win the hearts of the masses (unless it becomes a life or death situation), and we are both VERY CLUELESS about guys.
There's just one thing that bugs me.
You see, when you've got a heroine who is so close to my (desired) likeness, I can't help but put myself in her shoes. And the thing is, I cannot understand how she can magically become such a crowd-pleaser and convincing romantic -- even if the situation is life or death. I actually would have liked it if Collins wrestled with Katniss' inner thoughts about Peeta and the whole idea of pandering to an audience a little more. You see, I would absolutely DREAD trying to act mushy with a guy I had no interest in -- that's why a big chunk of my enjoyment at club parties is moot because of all the drunk guys who try to grind up on you -- but if it's someone I was actually attracted to, then it becomes much more bearable. And yeah, I'm not in a life or death situation -- but I still feel like Katniss would at least have some initial apprehensions about planting so many kisses on Peeta. Either that, or at least recognize that maybe she's been doling out so many kisses is because, deep down, she really kinda likes the guy.
But that's just a minor quibble.
Verdict: YAY
3. The Love Triangle of Bread and Meat
William Moseley
It's too late -- having read all the Peeta vs. Gale debates on foreveryoungadult.com, I was imaging William Moseley as Peeta the whole time I was reading the book. So there's no point in trying to get me on the Alex Pettyfer wagon.
I'm not going to dive into whole Team Croissant versus Team Bacon debate, because there's already an excellent debate at foreveryoungadult.com, and unlike Hollywood, I have no intention of messing with perfection by trying to come up with a remake. So go look it up there if you're bored and looking for some entertaining literary debates.
Honestly, you don't see Gale much in this first book, so I can't really say much about the love triangle. I'm going to withhold final judgment if/until I get around to reading the other two books. But my impression so far is that while Gale is ultimately the type of fictional guy I go for, Peeta is the better match for Katniss. His emotionality seems to balance out with her physicality.
Which poses some interesting questions for me. Because, if I identify with Katniss so much, does that mean I am better suited with someone like Peeta? And if that's the case, why do I go for the ones that are more like Gale?
But back to the book. The thing is, I have only read the first book, so I would say it's premature to make judgments, but I think the love triangle is pretty thinly drawn so far. Let's make the dreaded comparison to Twilight -- you've got Edward/Peeta, the dashing romantic who's been watching the heroine from afar. Then in the other corner you've got Jacob/Gale -- the longtime dark-haired and more physically fit friend. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to see that Katniss is going to end up with Peeta. The romantic wins again.
Do most love triangles follow this formula? Admittedly, my own pet project has a love triangle as well -- but it involves a dead girl, so I would say my case is exempt. Hmm... will have to ponder about this a little longer.
Verdict: withheld for now.
Overall: The first book of the series, The Hunger Games, is definitely a fast-paced and entertaining read. The heroine is a kickass mofo. However, don't expect to be brooding about the implications for future society or the darkness of human nature. This book is not meant to be a philosophical thought experiment.
So unlike the Twilight series, which I had actually read before the movie hooplah over R. Patz and K. Stew became such a circus, I shamefully did not get started on the first book of this latest hot hot series until last Monday.
I know, right? Sophelia, ya need to get back in yo game! This book has been out since 2008! Unfortunately, it's not like the Duke libraries keep young adult books in stock (or do they? I confess I have never actually checked), and it would have been fruitless for me to reserve a library copy at home -- and I usually don't buy books unless I love the book enough that I want my own hard copy (exception: second-hand books at dollar book sales). But luckily for me, there was a copy sitting on the Teen Bestseller's section in the public library, and considering how fast of a speed-reader I am, I easily finished the entire book by Tuesday morning.So here's the thing -- one of the blogs I read from time to time, foreveryoungadult.com, is madly obsessed with the series. If you look at the tag cloud on the right side of their blog, "hunger games" is easily the biggest fish in the pond. As a result, I've read all sorts of stuff about the great love triangle between Katniss, Peeta, and Gale without an inkling of what is going on -- other than the fact that it seems like Peeta and Gale have a little more to offer than the battle between Edward and Jacob. (Basically, the Hunger Games love triangle boils down to meat and croissants. Just sayin.)
But before I get to the whole love triangle business, let's talk about the book.
And today's game show is called... YAY OR NAY?? Our first contestant is...
1. An American Spin on Battle Royale
Chiyaki!! Another member of the pantheon of badassery!So naturally, I get a little twitchy when I hear about any kind of Western attempt to mess around with the Japanese original. In fact, I flipped out the time I heard there was an American adaptation in the works (the project died after the Virginia Tech incident). And in the case of The Hunger Games, the premise was initially a little too close for my liking.
But now that I have read the first book, I can say that there are some significant differences to consider -- and that in the end, I don't think it's fair to compare the two side by side.
Firstly, keep the target audiences in mind. The Hunger Games is a young adult book with a target audience of teenagers. I don't know what the rating for Battle Royale is, but considering all the gore in that movie, I will bet anything that teenagers are not the target audience. Having said that, I am curious to see how they are going to film The Hunger Games to cater to a PG-13 audience -- because all in all, it IS a book about murder, plain and simple.
Suzanne Collins' writing was very fast-paced and action-packed, but in retrospect I have to say that I didn't get the visceral reaction that I got from watching Battle Royale -- which makes complete sense. Compare reading the words, "She got her skull bashed in by a rock," versus if I put up a video clip of that same action -- which is going to make you run to the bathroom to vomit? Don't get me wrong -- I love "smart" books with strategy, which The Hunger Games is -- but the book made me feel rather detached from the bloodbath.
The other key difference between the two is that Katniss and Peeta are fighting against people they have never met. In contrast, the kids of Battle Royale are competing against their own classmates -- many of whom they have known for years. Even if you have not watched Battle Royale, you can probably imagine the potential trickiness to work with in terms of intepersonal relationships. How do you kill that classmate you've known since you were in kindergarten? The tragedy of Battle Royale is not all the countless deaths that total up -- it's watching all those relationships break down as a result of the fight-or-die environment they find themselves in.
But again, we have to keep in mind: 1) Suzanne Collins is writing for young adults, 2) the publishers want to earn money from these books, 3) American parents are very sensitive about their children's exposure to violence. Thus, we get a cleaner, less messy (both physically and emotionally) tale of dystopian child gladiators. And I am not being sarcastic about this at all -- considering the target audience, I think Suzanne Collins did an excellent job of writing this kind of story for the appropriate demographic.
Verdict: YAY
2. Katniss Everdeen
Malese JowYeah yeah, I know there are casting rumors abound about how Jennifer Lawrence and Hailee Steinfeld are among the frontrunners for playing Katniss. Yeah yeah, I know with all the skills of make-up artists these days, you can easily get any of those girls to have "straight black hair, olive skin [and]... gray eyes." But whatever, this picture of Malese Jow (Vampire Diaries ftw!) is closest to how I imagined Katniss, and Malese totally looks like she'll shoot an arrow through your neck if you mess with her. Besides, I think it'd be neat to have a girl with mixed Chinese and Cherokee ancestry to play one of the hottest upcoming roles. Even Malese herself said in an interview, "I think the years the "Hunger Games" takes place, everyone is going be ethnically ambiguous. Everyone is going to have some exotic flavor to them."
But if not Malese, I want a newcomer who looks "ethnically ambiguous", because the Katniss I imagined as I was reading definitely had an exotic, futuristic vibe. Admittedly, Jennifer Lawrence and Hailee Steinfeld aren't quite doing it for me.
But anyways, back to Katniss herself.
I think I'm going to have to start a formal Pantheon of Badassery soon, with the King himself presiding, because Katniss would make the Badass One himself flush with pride. Katniss, where were you in my youth?? She is pretty much the embodiment of all the qualities of the heroine I aspired to be -- I'm having flashbacks of me at age 8 trying to make my own bow and arrow in the backyard (always wanted to be an Artemis-like archer), me at age 10 trying to climb every single tree I came across, me at age 13 wishing I had long straight hair instead of the poofy, naturally wavy kind that frizzes up. Not only that, Katniss and I are already pretty similar. We are not particularly beautiful (unless someone actually forces us to put on a dress and make-up) and we know it (and don't quite care), we are not particularly charming and don't really care about trying to win the hearts of the masses (unless it becomes a life or death situation), and we are both VERY CLUELESS about guys.
There's just one thing that bugs me.
You see, when you've got a heroine who is so close to my (desired) likeness, I can't help but put myself in her shoes. And the thing is, I cannot understand how she can magically become such a crowd-pleaser and convincing romantic -- even if the situation is life or death. I actually would have liked it if Collins wrestled with Katniss' inner thoughts about Peeta and the whole idea of pandering to an audience a little more. You see, I would absolutely DREAD trying to act mushy with a guy I had no interest in -- that's why a big chunk of my enjoyment at club parties is moot because of all the drunk guys who try to grind up on you -- but if it's someone I was actually attracted to, then it becomes much more bearable. And yeah, I'm not in a life or death situation -- but I still feel like Katniss would at least have some initial apprehensions about planting so many kisses on Peeta. Either that, or at least recognize that maybe she's been doling out so many kisses is because, deep down, she really kinda likes the guy.
But that's just a minor quibble.
Verdict: YAY
3. The Love Triangle of Bread and Meat
William MoseleyIt's too late -- having read all the Peeta vs. Gale debates on foreveryoungadult.com, I was imaging William Moseley as Peeta the whole time I was reading the book. So there's no point in trying to get me on the Alex Pettyfer wagon.
I'm not going to dive into whole Team Croissant versus Team Bacon debate, because there's already an excellent debate at foreveryoungadult.com, and unlike Hollywood, I have no intention of messing with perfection by trying to come up with a remake. So go look it up there if you're bored and looking for some entertaining literary debates.
Honestly, you don't see Gale much in this first book, so I can't really say much about the love triangle. I'm going to withhold final judgment if/until I get around to reading the other two books. But my impression so far is that while Gale is ultimately the type of fictional guy I go for, Peeta is the better match for Katniss. His emotionality seems to balance out with her physicality.
Which poses some interesting questions for me. Because, if I identify with Katniss so much, does that mean I am better suited with someone like Peeta? And if that's the case, why do I go for the ones that are more like Gale?
But back to the book. The thing is, I have only read the first book, so I would say it's premature to make judgments, but I think the love triangle is pretty thinly drawn so far. Let's make the dreaded comparison to Twilight -- you've got Edward/Peeta, the dashing romantic who's been watching the heroine from afar. Then in the other corner you've got Jacob/Gale -- the longtime dark-haired and more physically fit friend. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to see that Katniss is going to end up with Peeta. The romantic wins again.
Do most love triangles follow this formula? Admittedly, my own pet project has a love triangle as well -- but it involves a dead girl, so I would say my case is exempt. Hmm... will have to ponder about this a little longer.
Verdict: withheld for now.
Overall: The first book of the series, The Hunger Games, is definitely a fast-paced and entertaining read. The heroine is a kickass mofo. However, don't expect to be brooding about the implications for future society or the darkness of human nature. This book is not meant to be a philosophical thought experiment.
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