In a month, I'll be home on winter vacation, soaking up the California sun and catching up with LA friends.
Before I get there, I need to write 4 papers, take 2 final exams, and do 1 presentation. There are also plenty of social events already filling up the pages of my calendar. Needless to say, I've got a lot on my plate!
I can't believe my first semester at Yale is drawing to a close. Coming here was one of the best things I've done, and I'm ready for a break so that I can come back in 2015 with even more energy and enthusiasm!
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Even the Best Things in Life Bring Disappointment
I never thought that soccer would get me back at blogging, but it has, and here I am.
We lost a game today, and I find myself feeling strangely emotional about it. I keep replaying failed plays in my head, the kinds that make you hold your head in your hands and curse out loud. (yes, I do sometimes curse, usually when I'm not thinking and just reacting to what's happening before my eyes).
1-2, and one goal makes all the difference. Especially when, after your team has scored early in the game, the referee makes the call that your defender committed a foul (he totally didn't) and gives the other team a penalty kick, which then bounces off of two of our defenders, into our own goal.
Oh, we tried so hard to knock another goal in after that, but somehow we just couldn't make things happen. Instead, we let them score another one.
Soccer is the best sport in the universe, and when my team loses in a critical game (had we won today's game, we would have played in the championship match), I find that I feel very, very disappointed.
Today's emotions brought me back to the fourth grade, when my team made it all the way to state championships and lost by penalty kicks. I didn't cry like the rest of my teammates, but I was devastated. Today, I feel like that fourth grade girl, very sad inside--even pretty mad--but not showing the emotions on my face.
I don't usually consider myself a competitive person, and I owe that to 2 factors:
1) Growing up, I saw how competitive my mother and brother were, and I decided to not be that way
2) I'm a natural perfectionist, so the only way to not drive myself crazy is to not care too much.
Of course, neither perfectionism nor apathy is sustainable for too long, and I've lived most of my life somewhere in the middle. Life is about the pursuit of excellence with a grace-filled attitude. I expect good quality performance from myself and others, but when I fail to meet those standards, and when others do poorly, grace is there to acknowledge inability.
Today, though, I was feeling very competitive, and I so desperately wanted to win.
I think the pain in today's game lies in the fact that even the best things in life (soccer, teamwork, and the possibility of winning) bring severe disappointment. It's interesting how human a loss can make me feel. I am not invincible, and my team just got beat in semi-finals. It hurts, and it will take me a few days to get over it. But at least it's got me back on the blog again...
We lost a game today, and I find myself feeling strangely emotional about it. I keep replaying failed plays in my head, the kinds that make you hold your head in your hands and curse out loud. (yes, I do sometimes curse, usually when I'm not thinking and just reacting to what's happening before my eyes).
1-2, and one goal makes all the difference. Especially when, after your team has scored early in the game, the referee makes the call that your defender committed a foul (he totally didn't) and gives the other team a penalty kick, which then bounces off of two of our defenders, into our own goal.
Oh, we tried so hard to knock another goal in after that, but somehow we just couldn't make things happen. Instead, we let them score another one.
Soccer is the best sport in the universe, and when my team loses in a critical game (had we won today's game, we would have played in the championship match), I find that I feel very, very disappointed.
Today's emotions brought me back to the fourth grade, when my team made it all the way to state championships and lost by penalty kicks. I didn't cry like the rest of my teammates, but I was devastated. Today, I feel like that fourth grade girl, very sad inside--even pretty mad--but not showing the emotions on my face.
I don't usually consider myself a competitive person, and I owe that to 2 factors:
1) Growing up, I saw how competitive my mother and brother were, and I decided to not be that way
2) I'm a natural perfectionist, so the only way to not drive myself crazy is to not care too much.
Of course, neither perfectionism nor apathy is sustainable for too long, and I've lived most of my life somewhere in the middle. Life is about the pursuit of excellence with a grace-filled attitude. I expect good quality performance from myself and others, but when I fail to meet those standards, and when others do poorly, grace is there to acknowledge inability.
Today, though, I was feeling very competitive, and I so desperately wanted to win.
I think the pain in today's game lies in the fact that even the best things in life (soccer, teamwork, and the possibility of winning) bring severe disappointment. It's interesting how human a loss can make me feel. I am not invincible, and my team just got beat in semi-finals. It hurts, and it will take me a few days to get over it. But at least it's got me back on the blog again...
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Too Much for Words
My "I" is beginning to get uncomfortable with how public blogging is making my "F".
I write poetry every now and then--bad poetry that no mind should ever read
but poetry nonetheless because it expresses what I feel in less direct ways.
When blogging has turned to venting…
I think it's time to hibernate from cyberspace and start putting words on private paper.
I started a new poetry journal today, one where I can express the frustrations that don't have patience for proper words.
There is power in poetry, and poetry is powerful.
Rest awhile, little blog. You've made it to 55 posts, so go take a vacation!
I write poetry every now and then--bad poetry that no mind should ever read
but poetry nonetheless because it expresses what I feel in less direct ways.
When blogging has turned to venting…
I think it's time to hibernate from cyberspace and start putting words on private paper.
I started a new poetry journal today, one where I can express the frustrations that don't have patience for proper words.
There is power in poetry, and poetry is powerful.
Rest awhile, little blog. You've made it to 55 posts, so go take a vacation!
Sunday, October 19, 2014
A Taste of Eternity
Have you ever laughed so hard you cried?
I have. Many times.
But this past Friday, I experienced for the first time what it's like to laugh so hard and so much that your chest muscles are sore the next day.
On Friday, I took a midterm and welcomed my parents to New Haven. (They are visiting me for Fall Break!) On Friday evening, I was invited to 2 house parties, and I brought my parents along. Not only did friends make an effort to make them feel at home, but they also shared the wonderful gift of humor. By the end of the night, all of us were doubled over laughing, slapping our thighs, and nearly crying from the hilarity of it all.
Both parties were made up of a diverse and international mix of friends. Self-deprecating humor and affectionate jokes bring people closer, and that night, I felt like I was hanging out with my spiritual and intellectual family. Some of the things said were so funny that I almost choked with laughter. I now know that it is possible to die laughing, simply because you can't catch your breath!
Heaven will be composed of people from every tribe, tongue, and nation. Our world is so fragmented, and it truly weighs me down when I think of the oppressive racial and cultural barriers humanity has erected for itself. Thank goodness for tiny glimpses of what things will one day look like. Thank goodness for the taste of eternity I got on Friday.
I look forward to laughing all the day long when I reach the Other Side. And I'll know I'm there because my chest muscles will be used to it, and I won't be sore the next day.
I have. Many times.
But this past Friday, I experienced for the first time what it's like to laugh so hard and so much that your chest muscles are sore the next day.
On Friday, I took a midterm and welcomed my parents to New Haven. (They are visiting me for Fall Break!) On Friday evening, I was invited to 2 house parties, and I brought my parents along. Not only did friends make an effort to make them feel at home, but they also shared the wonderful gift of humor. By the end of the night, all of us were doubled over laughing, slapping our thighs, and nearly crying from the hilarity of it all.
Both parties were made up of a diverse and international mix of friends. Self-deprecating humor and affectionate jokes bring people closer, and that night, I felt like I was hanging out with my spiritual and intellectual family. Some of the things said were so funny that I almost choked with laughter. I now know that it is possible to die laughing, simply because you can't catch your breath!
Heaven will be composed of people from every tribe, tongue, and nation. Our world is so fragmented, and it truly weighs me down when I think of the oppressive racial and cultural barriers humanity has erected for itself. Thank goodness for tiny glimpses of what things will one day look like. Thank goodness for the taste of eternity I got on Friday.
I look forward to laughing all the day long when I reach the Other Side. And I'll know I'm there because my chest muscles will be used to it, and I won't be sore the next day.
Introvert Heaven
Coming from Los Angeles to New Haven can be likened to the ascent from purgatory into heaven.
Finally, I am surrounded by introverts who give me space!
Living in Los Angeles can be so draining for an introvert. Everyone is so friendly and loves hanging out at all hours. But when I'm there, I feel guilty for not being more social, and my defenses are often up.
"Hey, are you doing anything tonight?" a text reads.
Unless I'm feeling especially spontaneous or social, I will tend to reply: "Hmmm….I kind of made plans already...." (with myself--I have this wonderful book that I'd like to read tonight).
Generally, I'm still more accustomed to making advance plans, at least 24 hours before something happens.
Call me cold and heartless, but that's how I roll.
Imagine my relief when I found that people at Yale are courteous but not especially friendly (yes! people are finally giving me space! haha, in fact, a little too much space, perhaps?). The friends I have made are content to only text me very occasionally or chat with me only if they run into me on campus. (Have I ever mentioned how much I hate it when someone wants to have a full-on conversation with me over text? Talk to me in person, or send me a long email. It's super draining to have to keep texting you back!)
Perhaps because my defenses are finally down now that I'm in New Haven, I've become more susceptible to the few instances when people do intrude on my space. And I've become even more aware of how much of a proud introvert I am. (I know--that sentence can be construed in more than one way. Feel free to interpret it however you wish.) When someone like me approaches introvert heaven, the purgatory that took so long to escape appears all the more terrible. Cigarette smoke is more offensive in the Swiss Alps than in New York City, right?
I'm sorry. I sound so mean. Extroverts are wonderful people. And the world would not be the same without them. But right now, for the first time in my life, my modus operandus is the social norm, and I don't constantly have to worry about engaging with a social framework that rewards extroverts and pressures introverts to conform.
Divinity school is a season of my life when I can celebrate my introversion without being thought of as antisocial or strange. I'm sure gonna enjoy it, because it ain't gonna last forever!
Finally, I am surrounded by introverts who give me space!
Living in Los Angeles can be so draining for an introvert. Everyone is so friendly and loves hanging out at all hours. But when I'm there, I feel guilty for not being more social, and my defenses are often up.
"Hey, are you doing anything tonight?" a text reads.
Unless I'm feeling especially spontaneous or social, I will tend to reply: "Hmmm….I kind of made plans already...." (with myself--I have this wonderful book that I'd like to read tonight).
Generally, I'm still more accustomed to making advance plans, at least 24 hours before something happens.
Call me cold and heartless, but that's how I roll.
Imagine my relief when I found that people at Yale are courteous but not especially friendly (yes! people are finally giving me space! haha, in fact, a little too much space, perhaps?). The friends I have made are content to only text me very occasionally or chat with me only if they run into me on campus. (Have I ever mentioned how much I hate it when someone wants to have a full-on conversation with me over text? Talk to me in person, or send me a long email. It's super draining to have to keep texting you back!)
Perhaps because my defenses are finally down now that I'm in New Haven, I've become more susceptible to the few instances when people do intrude on my space. And I've become even more aware of how much of a proud introvert I am. (I know--that sentence can be construed in more than one way. Feel free to interpret it however you wish.) When someone like me approaches introvert heaven, the purgatory that took so long to escape appears all the more terrible. Cigarette smoke is more offensive in the Swiss Alps than in New York City, right?
I'm sorry. I sound so mean. Extroverts are wonderful people. And the world would not be the same without them. But right now, for the first time in my life, my modus operandus is the social norm, and I don't constantly have to worry about engaging with a social framework that rewards extroverts and pressures introverts to conform.
Divinity school is a season of my life when I can celebrate my introversion without being thought of as antisocial or strange. I'm sure gonna enjoy it, because it ain't gonna last forever!
Just Because I Look Like You...
…does not in any way mean that we think or act the same.
Welcome to Familiarity Breeds Contempt Part 2
Even though my hometown is notoriously Asian, I have always had friends who did not look like me. While several of my good friends are Asian-American, and while I find it important to identify with people in America who look like me, I also have some critiques.
Personal Space:
I'm an introvert. I'm an Americanized Asian. I value personal space. So don't text me every day, and don't invite yourself into my space without permission. And please don't touch my stuff without asking, especial if it's my violin! Thanks.
Courtesy:
Yes, I may speak your language. But when someone who doesn't speak Chinese is with us, please speak English. I find it rude when you exclude someone on the basis of language. (I so appreciate the German and Korean students here at Yale. They always try to speak English if I'm around. And if ever they start speaking among themselves in their native language, they always apologize).
Just because I look like you does not in any way mean that I automatically think or act the same as you might. Get to know me a little better before you become so familiar as to merit my contempt.
Welcome to Familiarity Breeds Contempt Part 2
Even though my hometown is notoriously Asian, I have always had friends who did not look like me. While several of my good friends are Asian-American, and while I find it important to identify with people in America who look like me, I also have some critiques.
Personal Space:
I'm an introvert. I'm an Americanized Asian. I value personal space. So don't text me every day, and don't invite yourself into my space without permission. And please don't touch my stuff without asking, especial if it's my violin! Thanks.
Courtesy:
Yes, I may speak your language. But when someone who doesn't speak Chinese is with us, please speak English. I find it rude when you exclude someone on the basis of language. (I so appreciate the German and Korean students here at Yale. They always try to speak English if I'm around. And if ever they start speaking among themselves in their native language, they always apologize).
Just because I look like you does not in any way mean that I automatically think or act the same as you might. Get to know me a little better before you become so familiar as to merit my contempt.
Familiarity Breeds Contempt
It's always the same scenario.
I walk into a Chinese church as a first-time visitor. I am able to read the words on the screen during worship, and I can understand the sermon. Thanks to my upbringing and the diligence of my mom, my Chinese is pretty fluent, despite being born in America.
At the end of the service, during introductions, I am greeted by adult members of the congregation. A few exchanges produces the same sort of reactions from them:
1. "Wow, your Chinese is so good for someone born here! It's much better than my son/daughter's…"
2. "I hope you are able to come help our church with your musical/bilingual/theological background!"
3. "You look so young! I can't believe you are already __ . Wow!"
I have many bones to pick with Chinese people. This includes people of Chinese heritage in America as well as people in Taiwan whose ancestors were Chinese (as differentiated from the native people of the island). So let me explain what bothers me about the above statements:
1. Thanks for the compliment, but please recognize that I can't take the credit for this. Credit goes to my mom, who insisted that I know the language and be able to communicate with her in Chinese. Even though her English is quite good. The fact that so many American Born Chinese speak broken Chinese is the fault of their parents, and I think that's a tragedy.
2. If you think that the biggest incentive for a visitor to come back to your church is so that she can serve your congregation, then you're wrong. Do I even need to explain why?
3. If you are surprised that I look younger than my age, keep it to yourself. Do you think I'm oblivious to the fact that I look young? If you're trying to compliment me, I'm not taking it as such, so just stop.
All right. Enough complaining against Chinese in America. Let's talk about people in Taiwan.
It's always the same when I go back to Taiwan:
1. "What, you play soccer? Aren't you afraid your thighs will get thick?"
2. "Don't get a Ph.D. You'll never find a husband if you do that."
3. "The last time your brother was here he said this, which was so interesting! And wow, he posts things on Facebook that shows he has opinions about things. That's great!"
Clearly, my conception of what a modern woman can be is a little different.
1. What's wrong with having some muscle? I'm sorry if my legs look thicker than Taiwanese standards of beauty, but I'd rather look healthy and strong than skinny and weak. At least I won't topple over if the wind blows!
2. Well, too bad then. I'll just do without the husband! (How happy are you married people, huh?)
3. I love my brother, and this point isn't an attack on him but rather an attack on what people's comments about him reveal about their views on men and women. I refuse to accept that my brother has more entitlement to opinions than I do simply because he is male. And if your entire conversation with me is going to be about him, then I'll show myself the door. It's a very sick society that believes a woman's job is to stay thin and look pretty and that it is only respectable for a man to have an opinion and voice it.
Believe me, there are things about American society that bother me too. But if I'm going to criticize, I'll start with my own people. Familiarity breeds contempt, after all.
I walk into a Chinese church as a first-time visitor. I am able to read the words on the screen during worship, and I can understand the sermon. Thanks to my upbringing and the diligence of my mom, my Chinese is pretty fluent, despite being born in America.
At the end of the service, during introductions, I am greeted by adult members of the congregation. A few exchanges produces the same sort of reactions from them:
1. "Wow, your Chinese is so good for someone born here! It's much better than my son/daughter's…"
2. "I hope you are able to come help our church with your musical/bilingual/theological background!"
3. "You look so young! I can't believe you are already __ . Wow!"
I have many bones to pick with Chinese people. This includes people of Chinese heritage in America as well as people in Taiwan whose ancestors were Chinese (as differentiated from the native people of the island). So let me explain what bothers me about the above statements:
1. Thanks for the compliment, but please recognize that I can't take the credit for this. Credit goes to my mom, who insisted that I know the language and be able to communicate with her in Chinese. Even though her English is quite good. The fact that so many American Born Chinese speak broken Chinese is the fault of their parents, and I think that's a tragedy.
2. If you think that the biggest incentive for a visitor to come back to your church is so that she can serve your congregation, then you're wrong. Do I even need to explain why?
3. If you are surprised that I look younger than my age, keep it to yourself. Do you think I'm oblivious to the fact that I look young? If you're trying to compliment me, I'm not taking it as such, so just stop.
All right. Enough complaining against Chinese in America. Let's talk about people in Taiwan.
It's always the same when I go back to Taiwan:
1. "What, you play soccer? Aren't you afraid your thighs will get thick?"
2. "Don't get a Ph.D. You'll never find a husband if you do that."
3. "The last time your brother was here he said this, which was so interesting! And wow, he posts things on Facebook that shows he has opinions about things. That's great!"
Clearly, my conception of what a modern woman can be is a little different.
1. What's wrong with having some muscle? I'm sorry if my legs look thicker than Taiwanese standards of beauty, but I'd rather look healthy and strong than skinny and weak. At least I won't topple over if the wind blows!
2. Well, too bad then. I'll just do without the husband! (How happy are you married people, huh?)
3. I love my brother, and this point isn't an attack on him but rather an attack on what people's comments about him reveal about their views on men and women. I refuse to accept that my brother has more entitlement to opinions than I do simply because he is male. And if your entire conversation with me is going to be about him, then I'll show myself the door. It's a very sick society that believes a woman's job is to stay thin and look pretty and that it is only respectable for a man to have an opinion and voice it.
Believe me, there are things about American society that bother me too. But if I'm going to criticize, I'll start with my own people. Familiarity breeds contempt, after all.
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