The little things: feeling free.

The littles things: Quarters

This afternoon, my mother and I went grocery shopping. One produce store and the other Aldi. For those of you who don't know (assuming people read this), Aldi is an super discount "supermarket." At Aldi's, you need to put a quarter into the shopping cart to use it. When you are done shopping, you get that quarter back.

After we finished up at Aldi's, we were loading up the car and this woman came by and asked my mother for the quarter from our cart. My mother did not say anything and just looked at her. I said, just let her have it. The woman said thank you, God bless, happy new years, etc.

Then me and my mom spent 5 minutes talking about that quarter. She was not pleased that I gave up the quarter.

T: Are you really gonna miss that quarter? MY quarter?

M: How do you think you make dollars? By quarters! Yes, I will miss it when I am a quarter short of a dollar.

T: Mom. Really? We have a bunch of quarters at home.

M: Money is money. During these times, every little bit counts.

Normally, I would not give that quarter a second thought. Though I'm not the most fortunate, I know how fortunate I am. Even during this freezing time of the year as my family rations gas and depend on thermal blankets and space heaters, I know that there are many people out there that don't even have that option.

But my mother had a different mentality: the survival mentality. I know a lot of it comes from how she was brought up during the Cultural Revolution in China where every little bit does count. Times were hard. And times are hard for us now since she is now unemployed.

I just strongly believe in karma. I believe that the little things that you put out in the universe will come back to you. That quarter that I gave away will come back to me in a different form. That quarter may not change that woman's life. But that quarter may be what she needed to make that dollar she needed. Or maybe not. Maybe she'll still end up losing it, spending it elsewhere, etc. And I will be okay with that. How that energy is used is not up to me. I fully believe that the things I can control, like giving off positive energy, will eventually come back to me no matter how that energy is initially used. This is my faith, my religion, my belief in humanity. I have to trust that the universe will do its part as long as I do mine.

And maybe my initial thought was that that quarter was insignificant. But after my mother's reaction to something that comes natural to me, I saw that that quarter was just as significant to me as it was to my mother.

The little things: December in Chicago.

I stepped out of Charles' house last night around midnight. As he was locking the front door, I looked out into the street covered in white with a subzero breeze in the air. Most people freak, shudder, complain. I smiled. It was a "awww" moment.

That subzero feeling on a dimly lit street on the south side of Chicago brought me back to all of our memories as teenagers. The night time was the only time I got to see Charles as we both snuck out of our houses to see each other. I remember the Titanic-like foggy car windows, the crisp of snow beneath our feet, the burst of warm air coming from the car vents.

I remember him going in the alleyway to piss in the snow, the trip to Dominick's at 2 in the morning, the blanket we kept in the backseat of his car, the words exchanged through our vaporized breath.

Our teenage love affair. Last night, in the midst of snowy winter in December in the city of Chicago, I was reminded what love feels like.

Laziness?

It is entirely too easy for me to stop writing. I have no reason to write--so I think. I watched Julie and Julia. (Julia and Julie?) And it is concluded. My writing is not purposeful. There is not goal.

Yet there feels to be so much going on in my life. Family, boyfriend, friends, school, extracurriculars...

Well... let's see. Let's try to actually write about something.

I've been given the task/honor/privilege/challenge of making a speech for MLK Day for the MLK Scholar Celebration Breakfast. After the shock and flattery effects, I chuckled at my automatic desire to use that time as a soap box moment. Like how I hate we romanticize the man, how he is seen as a messiah, how he see him as perfect, how we strive to be him, how we define him based on one out of his many speeches.

Don't get me wrong. The man was a hero. He braced against the obstacles. He marched. He was the most visible activist during that time. But he wasn't the only. Far from it.

I adore the man because he symbolizes what ordinary people can do. He symbolizes the fact that one individual can gather millions. His accomplishments were remarkable. But even he realized his work for equality was left undone. After the Watts riot which happened after the March on Washington, he saw that even in places where there is no segregation, something was wrong. The problem wasn't as simple as dealing with "separate but equal." This was just scratching the surface of social, economic, and political issues dealing with poverty that has racial implications. He said it himself in a later speech, "My dream is shattered."

So I plan to examine the man behind the name for my speech.

We all like the sound of rainbows and butterflies. To me, it just looks like a way to cover the ugliness of what's really going on--what's really going on for millions of people everyday, all day.

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See? This is what spills out of my fingers. I hate sounding like that. It's me, undoubtedly, uncensored. At the same time, I wish this space was where I can relax, where I'm not on a soap box.

I wish this was a place where I'm sinking in a couch with a mug in hand, glasses and smile attached to my face. I want to talk about the little things in life.

Yes. The little things in life. We'll start there.

Testimony

"I still smell his sweat."

"How could God allow it to happen?"

"We put her away instead of trying to help her...I watched her die."

"There are strong women in my life."

"My mother is my idol."

The voices of my peers. The people who have taught me so much tonight. I cannot wait to see them grow and for them to help me grow.

Canvas

Ok, my new secret obsession: the bib necklace. Secret because I could probably never afford to attempt to pull it off. Plus, it'll probably draw just more unneeded attention to my chest.

A little de la Renta with a black tee/dress.

But hold on. Wait. Wait for it. Felt bib necklaces??????

Yes please.

Solidarity | Sasaki

I've been thinking about wishes lately. I went through a moment like this last year.

Being in the Cross Cultural Center makes me think about my identity and passions. More often than not, I am met with anger, bitterness, and shame.

I have to remind myself that social justice and action can only happen when there is optimism. With hopeful thoughts and eyes, I wish for:

• empathy
• rebellion
• solidarity

"The world is the way it is." "Life is unfair." "Nothing we can do."

Yeah, so I've been told. But I call bullshit. I'll call it like I see it: lazy motherfuckers with a quick fix attitude.

Sasaki never finished her 1000 cranes. It took her death for others to help her fold her cranes. I think all we need is more people folding some cranes.

So in the meantime, I'll be folding some cranes, listening to the unheard, and ruffling some feathers.

Shamrock.

A lot of time and effort has been spent these last two months in the recruiting and networking process. I've had to constantly remind myself of my motivation and my ambitions. I've been exhausted.

Though this weekend flew by, I'm glad I used that chance to breathe, sit, and enjoy myself.

I really hope I got these internships. I've done the best I could. Though I'm not the best out there, I've worked hard so I deserve it. But as we all know, that is not always enough in this world.

So now I leave it to luck.

She say she 22.

Reflecting on my 22nd birthday. I cannot believe I'm 22.

When I first met Charles, I was 16 years old. It has been six years filled with memories and lessons learned and unlearned.

We've grown--during the three years we were apart and also together these last couple of years. All and all, exploring our connection: the strength of its foundation and its fragile pillars.

t: "Where do you see yourself in 5 years?"

c: "With you."

He's been there. Through all the perfect, bad, and ugly.

So in five years... I hope he's still here, with me. He is now on the list. The list consists of people who I love so dearly that if anything were to happen to them, my life will change forever. And because they are on the list, I am consistently paranoid that something will happen, and I take every chance to show my heart to them.

So?

So there was this girl.

She lived in a house that smelled of steamed fish and ginger

Laundry hung from ceilings and lines

Sounds of house shoes flopping against the floors

And her life was so-so.

She found on the other side of her door was a world

Filled with sirens, lights, and laughter

A place called Food and Liquor, and other places called Food and Liquor

And flaming hots, and flaming hots with cheese

And all of the sudden, her life seemed better than so-so.

Then there was a pivot, a pivot so wide, lives changed

And it began with a voice and a boombox.

Common Sense resonated about how he used to love H.E.R

And I wanted to love H.E.R.

I heard H.E.R voice...hip hop...

So this became her sound, her voice.

But her new voice was not welcomed on her side of the door

Gum cho ga! as her mother scowled at her

So? She thought loudly back in the new tongue she adopted

Mixtapes lived in her room, record buttons worn out

Without realizing her native tongue was being forgotten

So she embraced this new home and this new sound outside her so-so life.

Then a boy spoke to her, spoke to her in ways she learned to love

And they drove around a Chi-City, vibrating with sounds

Sounds that made these two sides look at each other

They looked at each other and this boy

He got her sosososososo...

Her mother scowled at her because those two sides

Did not belong because my sound was not his sound

My reflection was not his reflection and

He was only a so-so boy with nothing for her but a so-so life

This girl was knocked down... and she felt like nothing more than a so-so girl

As life walked by, and while the frames changed

The boy continued to wait for his girl

Who became a strong woman with a sound that still called out to him

Even though the world couldn't see their melody

This man was all this woman needed to see she was more than just so-so.

Suppression.

It turns out I cannot hide who I am.

Every morning, I spend at least one hour every morning trying to figure out what I want to wear today, what my hair should look like, how I should apply my makeup...

Today, I stepped out of my apartment. Walked ten steps all while looking at my shoes, stopped, turned around, and said, no, fuck, shit. I went inside to change my shoes because my pansy purple flats did not please me. I now had 10 minutes to make it to class.

Some people may call it vain; but for the sake of my pride, we'll say it's not. I know I'm going down the road of trying to "find myself." I hate how cliche that sounds. I'm trying to discover parts of myself, who the inner me is most comfortable being. So I try on different outfits in the morning. So I change my hair every week. So I need variety in my life. So I can choose.

I was told once I was too sensitive. And today, talking about social issues, I found myself tearing up, feeling bitter and angry. I started to cry in front of my boss. I realized when I went to Hong Kong, I put on another outfit, an outfit which caused me to not say how I feel for the safety and ignorance of my conservative family.

Being in St. Louis has been wonderful in the sense that I meet people who will challenge my viewpoints. If I had went to any other school I was considering, I would be in classrooms with the majority of the people thinking the same way and asking the same questions as me. I've definitely grown and learned more than I ever could because I'm in Missouri.

At the same time, I have never felt so stifled as I do right now. I feel like I censor myself more, suppress my thoughts and questions more. So I need to change my outfit. I found myself frustrated and furious last night screaming at Charles about the people's lack of passion and harmony. How people hold their pride close to their chest, afraid that if they venture out, that maybe they will lose something.

So this outfit isn't working for me. It's making me cry and scream. My boss said that I clearly needed an outlet. And that only made me want to cry more. It's funny...I spent my entire life wondering what it was I was passionate about. When I finally found it, I was convinced by other people that it as useless. It's time for me to pick it up again.

Move

1.) I miss dancing.
2.) I feel like I can't dance anymore.
3.) I think I'll start dancing again.
4.) I'm starting to do too much again.
5.) I miss Asia. I miss being there. I really miss eating there.
6.) I want to travel some more. Right now. At this moment. Be somewhere new.

I have a good memory from the Philippines. After wading in the waterfall source/spring, we sat on a bench to dry off. A fabulous transgender caught a fish and made lunch right there in front of me. She grabbed leaves to wrap the fish and flipped it with sticks. What the fuck kind of amazing. It smelled like orgasm when she unwrapped it. She did this while rocking booty denim shorts and a skimpy tank.

I will come back to you soon, Asia.

Switch

I spent the last hour revamping my blog.

I busied myself all weekend so I wouldn't reach for the phone to call my former best friend/ former significant other.

I came back from Asia feeling different. Though I expected that to happen, the result was peculiar. I broke up with my boyfriend, I stopped shopping, I stopped eating my favorite fatty foods, and I ignored phone calls from people I never really wanted to talk to but always was polite to.

I wound up playing the delete game a lot. I deleted about 50 contacts from my phone, instant messaging applications I never use, my MySpace, and over 100 Facebook friends. It felt so good. There are so many people I no longer talk to just because it just kinda happens over time. And then there were a few people who I knew I didn't need in my life.

So over the Labor Day weekend as I was viciously chomping through my GMAT review book, people were out socializing and at parties. [I know this because the garbage can outside my apartment is regurgitating beer cans.] And a teeny weeny part wish I was doing the same. I started to say to myself: "You know that's not you. You're not one to go to parties or drink senselessly. You have fun in your own way."

But then I realized something. It may or may not be who I am, but this is who I've become. In the last three years of being at SLU, I was in two serious relationships. And though I was, for the most part, not forced to stay at home or anything like that, I wanted to or in some ways, felt obligated to. I didn't go to parties. People didn't see me out. Now it's my senior year, and that's all I have: associates. People I can casually say hi to or joke with.

It's frustrating, but I'm going to figure this being single thing out.