“Beautiful”

While it may sound vain, despite being relatively confident, comfortable, and even sometimes feeling rather pretty, I don’t think I’ve ever felt fully represented as “beautiful”. It frustrates me that so much of my already fragile confidence could be tied to media, movies and t.v shows but it kind of is.

Part of me feels like the culture I grew up in does not believe me to be “beautiful”. I’m not western enough, in fact in personal experience when I see an East Asian in a show or movie, while my heart does glow, they are usually mixed race or distinctly more western looking than I or many other East Asians look, so in a way I guess I’m used to feeling sidelined for a more western standard. Which is probably why I’ve never felt that en masse the American.

I often wonder: have I have been conditioned from childhood to see myself as too East Asian to be considered en masse “beautiful”? I have this fear that there will always be that “for an Asian” tacked onto compliments about my appearance or just the “oh she’s Asian” exclamation. I’m not sure when this would/has befall/en me but it’s still become a very real insecurity.

Photo Credit: Martin Taylor Home Page

The older I’ve gotten the more I seem to notice that I’m not sure where I fit, there’s always a twinge when someone asks if I’m an exchange student or to translate something for them, that’s in Korean *cringe*, but hey perhaps understandable transgressions, but still, really?

I don’t see myself reflected back when I see “beautiful” people on the t.v or in books or in American pop culture. When people make lists East Asian are woefully lacking, the part of me that is fed off of pure media is constantly being told that people who look like me aren’t really that beautiful.

I’ve talked about white washing before, but this year I was hit with a whole new wave with the twitter #expressiveasians.

An unnamed casting director is cited in Nancy Wang Yuen’s book Reel Inequality: Hollywood Actors and Racism, as having said, “Asians are a challenge to cast because most casting directors feel as though they’re not very expressive.” As much as this statement kind of makes me want to laugh, because who even says sh*t like this? The more I sat and thought about it the more it shocked and … hurt.

Photo Credit: Twitter

I’ve always been slightly insecure about my smile, how small my eyes get when I laugh, I mean just my face in general, but this comment, despite the amazing retaliation from many proud Asians on the internet, just hit hard and not even where it was necessarily directed.

It hit me in a way that I can only liken to feeling like taking a photo with friends looking at it and going, “Oh god why do I look different, why do they all look good while I look so ugly?” It’s just the feeling of being the odd one out, in the case of Expressive Asians it’s being the perpetually non-expressive race.

It’s a kind of reminder that says even if you feel the same you definitely don’t look like it!

While I am in fact Chinese-American I’m not mixed race, I am full blooded Chinese, but I’ve grown up in America with Caucasian parents, in relative white privilege, so I’ve always been stuck between two worlds. I think and act like an American but I realize that people don’t see me as American until I open my mouth and even then sometimes they don’t. It leaves me to wonder about how I feel about myself, how does America as a culture feel about me?

Is it too much for me to want to see myself reflected back from the screen without the aid of cartooning? Is it too much for me to see someone like me be considered “beautiful” in American pop culture?

 

Sports vs. Education

With sports comes a tedious amount of dedication, which does not always correspond with school; because, despite the amount of dedication sports require, school requires a thousand times that amount.

Many kids who wish to pursue their sports throughout high school, college, and even the rest of their lives have to make a choice; they either have to give up part of school or part of their sport. Most parents would never let kids give up school, because normally parents’ motto is “school comes first.” But to some kids, their parents let them follow their dreams and chose sports over school. Some of my very close friends, who I developed through horseback riding, have parents that permit them to chose their sport first by allowing them to home-school and dedicate their life to the show circuit.

Even though I still continue on the show circuit with my friends, it sets me back in school with the amount of days I have to miss to attend some of the shows. For example, coming up in November, I have nationals in Las Vegas and if I am to attend, it will make me miss a week of school at least, meaning mounds and mounds of homework, tests, and in class assignments to make up. After missing just three days of school last week, it still was a major setback.

As the years continue the amount of homework I will have to make up after missing just three days of school will only increase. Thinking about this only makes me more stressed out and worried about my future with my sport. I would like to think I would never allow myself to quit because I have devoted over ten years of my life to this sport; but many kids, have to give up their sports in high school in order to maintain their grades and prep for college. I hope I don’t have to become one of those kids, but sometimes I just wonder if it would make it all easier.

From: amazonaws.com
Sports vs. Education: From amazonaws.com

 

A Valuable Education

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the first definition of the word education is “The process of receiving or giving systematic instruction, especially at a school or university.” If you asked high school students what the point of going to school is, I have a hunch that the majority of answers would be “to get good grades.” Why is our immediate response that school is not about learning, but about grades?

The purpose of children and young adults going to school is to receive an education that betters our knowledge and helps us become well-rounded individuals. As time has passed and classes have become more rigorous and competitive, the value behind school/education has been lost. The purpose of attending class is no longer to learn new information, but to memorize facts and then spit them back out on a test.

Education has become a competition. With advanced placement and honors courses, students are so focused on earning good grades and getting into universities that they often feel like the purpose of it all is not to learn about world history, calculus, chemistry, etc, but to pass world history, calculus, chemistry, etc.

The grading system was put in place as a way to force students to learn and understand material. I realize the significance of this, but I feel like there is a better way to convey information that will still make a lasting impression and will create a less stressful, more beneficial environment for learning – one that makes students want to learn instead of feeling like they are being forced to learn.

Although the first definition of education mentions “systematic instruction,” the second definition, in my opinion, is far better. Simply put, education is “an enlightening experience.” Now, this might just be my teenage angst speaking, but usually when I come home from school I hardly feel enlightened.

Image via IllustrationSource.com

Personally, I feel like there comes a time when we learn as much as is necessary and beneficial in terms of academics (unless someone’s passion involves a subject that they would then go on to pursue, like a career in science or something of the sort) and the only intelligence that can be further gained is through life experience.

I believe that there is great value in traveling the world and seeing other cultures. I hope to travel all over the world within my life, but not just to the most most desirable places. I want to go to Mumbai, India, where millions of people live in an extremely compact area, or to rural Africa or South America where people live without electricity or running water. Seeing how people live all around the planet, experiencing their cultures and understanding how different peoples’ lives compare to one another: these are the things that help shape a person’s intelligence, skills, morals, and opinions.

I am extremely thankful and privileged to receive the education that I have and I would never want to compromise that. I’m not saying that I’m extremely intelligent (I’m not) and I’ve already learned everything I need to know (I haven’t), but I’ve come to a point where I feel like the best way for me to grow as an individual is to experience all that the world has to offer. But seeing as I am only just beginning my second year of high school, I guess I’ll have to keep up with the classes and grades for a little while longer.

 

Grief After Tragedy

On Sunday night, a lone gunman killed 58 people and injured 515 more, during the Route 91 Harvest Music Festival. I woke up Monday morning, checked my Snapchat stories, and saw the news of this story on every major website. In English class, we talked about the shooting, as it related to our weekend reading of Shirley Jackson’s The Lottery.

A husband and wife were enjoying the country music festival, when they heard gunshots from up above. The husband got shot in the back while protecting his wife, as they ran out of the concert. His life’s work as a nurse culminates, as he saves one more life: his wife’s.

That story isn’t made up, a fabrication put in this post to add even more tragedy to the United States’ deadliest shooting to date. That is the story of Sonny Melton, a West Tennessean. His wife, Doctor Heather Melton, has spoken out about her husband’s final moments in a heartbreaking testimony.

“He saved my life,” she told WSMV, a CNN affiliate. “I want everyone to know what a kindhearted, loving man he was, but at this point, I can barely breathe.”

This breathlessness can be felt in every victim’s family as they find out about the massacre from articles, workplace conversations, or a lack of a call back. Just like how one finds out about their dad’s car crash from the police knocking at their door at 3 am. Just like I found out about my mother’s death when I woke up on Labor Day six years ago from my uncle, who had to brave a face of me, even though he just found out his sister died.

Whenever a massacre happens, I feel that initial stab in the heart for the 58 families who won’t get to celebrate another birthday, will never get another phone call, or will never see their loved one again. I feel for the 58 funerals filled with tearful eulogies and scratchy black dresses.

I feel for the daughter who has to finish her math homework with dry eyes, as she’s told to “move on with her life.” I feel for the wife who has to go to work, while she budgets for how her husband can have an open casket with a bullet hole through his left eye. I feel for the weeks of articles pinning this shooting on ISIS or a bad father, when all the families want is to bury their loved ones in peace.

Whenever we talk about death, we ignore grief and sadness. As a society, we focus on moving on and waiting for the next tragedy. I hope that those in Las Vegas take the time to mourn and that this time it sparks conversation about gun control or mental health. I hope that no more people have to die to learn how to fix our mistakes, but until then, I hope whoever reads this knows that it is okay to feel bad, to mourn.

Brother Bear

The last time I thought about you was a few weeks ago.

It was because some friends and I were discussing the best animated Disney movies. As we went through the list, the title Brother Bear popped into my head, and I immediately began expressing my love for the film, declaring it my personal favorite.

Now that I think about it, I don’t even really remember what happens in the movie. I vaguely recall a plot about two brothers who turn into bears, then turn back into humans, then decide to turn back into bears – or maybe something sort of like that.

I didn’t realize that I miss you until tonight, and I think part of the reason why it started to hurt so much is simply because I wasn’t even aware I missed you.

The last time you called was to wish me happy birthday, and that was four months ago. I can’t remember the last time I saw you.

Ever since you moved out, we’ve gradually lost touch. Now when you come to visit I feel a sort of distance between us. Maybe it’s because you’re over a decade older than I am, but even still, when I was in kindergarten and you were in high school I remember you used to laugh at my jokes, or at least pretend to laugh at them.

Now it feels like we don’t have anything in common. When you do come home to visit you’d rather sit with Dad in the kitchen than come play video games with us. It didn’t used to be like that. But even if you do choose to spend time with your siblings, it would probably mean throwing around a ball in the yard with our brother, and I would either sit and watch you both or just stay inside.

Image Credit: Disney,com

I remember you babysitting while our parents weren’t home, how you used to sit us on your bed and then flop onto it beside us to see how high we would bounce.

I remember the countless hours we spent in the pool. I would cling onto your back like a leech, and even though it annoyed you you let me stay there. I remember the first time I went down the slide I sat on your lap because I was too little to go by myself. Or when you would throw me up in the air and how it felt like I was flying, how time stopped and I was weightless, until I finally splashed back into the water.

I used to think of you as a superhero, and in some ways I guess I still do. I believed everything you told me and never questioned it, not just because you were so much older and wiser, but simply because you were my big brother.

I always took our time together for granted. It’s been some five years since you graduated college, and even when you were still in school you barely lived at home. I know you’re still looking around for what you want to do, and I know you might be unsure even though you wouldn’t admit it. I just hope you’re happy.

You’re always busy. It’s either work or a softball tournament or plans with friends. You never come on vacation with us anymore. I don’t blame you one bit, that’s just life. But sometimes I wish you would try a little bit harder to make time for me.

I like to imagine that you’d live closer to me if it weren’t for your girlfriend. Don’t get me wrong, I think she is very good to you and very lovely, but sometimes I can’t help thinking that maybe if you weren’t with her I would get to see you more often.

It’s hard for me to believe that you’re grown up now. I don’t want to believe it.

Looking back to that movie conversation with friends, the reason why I vied for Brother Bear so intently was because it reminded me of you. Maybe you remember the nights when I wanted to sleepover in your room. When I did, that’s what we always watched –  because it was your favorite movie.

Even though you’ll never see this and I’ll never tell you, know that I love you very much, and I miss you.

 

 

 

OVS Confessionals #1

Before I begin, let me say how much I love this school. OVS has provided me with a home away from home and friends that I will cherish for the rest of my life.

That being said, this school isn’t without its flaws. So, that’s what I’m here to talk about today.

Every Monday, the dormers have to dress to the nines and sit at the usual cafeteria plastic tables, but set with tablecloths and flowers in vases. Boys dress in their nice shoes and suits, while the girls step into their heels and flowy dresses. The dining hall’s aura is changed into that of a nice restaurant, instead of its usual casual conversations and colorful plates.

But, before any girl can make it across the hill, she has to go through dress check. Basically, she is required to check her outfit with a dorm parent. While this isn’t my main point, I must say that this process is, in its root, sexist. We have to make sure that our bra straps are concealed, our dresses aren’t “too short,” and that we look like “nice, young ladies.” Girls have to follow a strict set of rules and to what avail?

We all know that we can’t show our underwear and shouldn’t be wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I apologize severely if throughout my meal my bra strap distracts a boy or teacher from finishing their mashed potatoes. I’m sorry if the skirt of my dress shows my upper thigh when I first sit down or stand up.

Photo Credit: momomod.com

I’m not saying that I want to wear a cocktail dress to dinner. I just don’t get why a low back is so offensive if we are sitting down for the entirety of the meal?

Back to my main grievance for the day, a new rule has been put in place. During dress check, if our dress doesn’t meet any certain guideline, we will be given a dress to wear. Not just any dress, though. No. We’ll have a choice from one of the many new thrift shop garments hanging up in the lounge.

The dresses aren’t simply to meet the guidelines of the meal, but to embarrass those who don’t make it through dress check the first time around. Shouldn’t the whole purpose of dress check be to make sure our dresses are appropriate? If we are showing too much skin or our bra, we are expected to change. This system is in place to make sure that doesn’t happen. Why are we now being penalized for following the rules?

We are checking to make sure we can wear our outfits to dinner. That’s the whole point of that exercise. However, this check will become a test. If our dress doesn’t fit the needs of the school, we’ll have to put on an oversized piece of obnoxious floral cloth or an outdated two piece set.

Well, I guess I’ll have to make sure not to corrupt the young minds of the boys around me! And, hey, thrifted clothes are so in!

The Summertime Blues

The summertime blues whisper to me,

they caress and seduce,

they ask

Am I going to regret that?

Photo Credit: Chicago Blues Bar

 

Not taking them up on that offer.

Am I going to regret what I’m doing to myself?

Am I doing it to myself?

Is there something wrong with me?

Why am I no good at conversation?

why are you boring?

Why do I feel that when I open my mouth everyone is just waiting for me to shut it?

Why do I think a helping hand is offered in pity, forced on by “good will”?

because it is.

I tag along on other people’s words.

Photo Credit: Forensic Medicine for Medical Students

how annoying can she get?

I can’t meet people’s eyes.

what if they actually see me.

no, I want them too see me.

do I?

so, eyes flit away.

Do my hands shake or do I imagine that?

Why does it seem easier to go it alone than to give people the chance to push me out?

Why does it feel like everybody stares?

Photo Credit: Harvard Business Review

All eyes on me.

no eyes on me.

no eyes on me.

delusion to assume you took center stage, the spotlight’s not on you it’s on the person next to you, Narcissus. 

No words left.

Their eyes and hearts and minds wait, full of pity.

But what if I didn’t give them the chance?

But what if I didn’t give them the chance?

Snowflakes

Photo Credit: shuttershock.com

I’m not a very good writer. I don’t have a lot of fancy words to use, I don’t have perfect grammar, not even my handwriting is very nice. Yet, I can put my heart into my writing. I can spend hours and hours with a pen and some paper, writing about memories and fears and moments of joy and sadness and nightmares and daydreams. Whether on long flights, dull car rides, lonesome nights spent sitting against my wall in a room that is barely illuminated with string lights and desk lamps (for the aesthetic, I guess), I will fill pages with ink and soul. Again, that doesn’t mean that it is good writing. Usually, I get carried away, in a manner that reminds me of snowflakes jumping around in the wind, eventually finding their way to the ground after a dance one could almost find to appear indecisive and childish.

My point is, I don’t really have a point. I usually never do, to be honest. I can’t put pretty words in a pretty book to make a pretty story. I wish I could. I can only write to give my emotions a shape, as clumpy and ugly as it may be. Oh well, this is good enough. This is going to be posts of clumpy and ugly memories and nightmares and daydreams.

Suggestions for Personal Growth

A letter to my current and future self.

Recently I have been doing some self-reflection. I’ve found a few things that I want to work on, so maybe writing them out will help me incorporate them into my daily life. To my dear self, a few suggestions for personal growth:

1. Be present: Simply put: memories are better stored in your head than they are on Snapchat. Enjoy what is happening right in front of you.

2. Listen: Really listen to what people around you are actually saying. Don’t just nod along and then reply with, “Hey, do these jeans look better cuffed?” My hope is that this will help you to be a better friend and communicator.

3. Appreciate and enjoy: Don’t dwell on sadness. Sometimes life can be frustrating or boring and that’s okay. Make the most out of every day, appreciate even the smallest things. Don’t make excuses for why you can’t have fun today, just go out and find it.

4. Take care: You only have one body, one mind, one planet. Do your best to care of them.

5. Think before you speak: Mom is especially fond of this one. As much as I wish it weren’t true, how you say something impacts what you are saying.

6. Relax, no one cares: A while ago I didn’t order a drink I wanted because it was called “The Shangri-La,” and I was afraid of mispronouncing it and sounding stupid. The point is, don’t skip out on opportunities for fear of embarrassment. Most of the time, nobody is going to care, let alone notice, if you say something incorrectly. And even if you do mess up, just laugh it off – it’s what you do best.

7. Be yourself: Now I know this one is quite a cliché, but I think it’s important to remember. One aspect of this comes from my experiences with random strangers. Sometimes I find myself putting up a shy front when in public or talking with people I don’t know (E.g.  the barista who could have made “The Shangri-La”). You are a social, people-person! Don’t be afraid to be friendly! You should be proud of that. This point is particularly important to keep in mind as you move through your teenage years, where so much pressure is placed on everything involving your personality, appearance, etc. No one ever got anywhere by being the same as everyone else. If certain people don’t like you for exactly who you are, you don’t need those people in your life. You will attract everyone you need for a supportive and fulfilling life by simply being you.

For now, this is all I have. Surely with time this list will continue to grow and improve – and hopefully I will, too.

 

Photo Credit: Pinterest

summer loving

Photo Credit: tumblr.com

Summer, I’m going to miss you.

More than the ocean misses the shore.

I’m going to miss

Your eternally messed up sandy hair

Falling on your imperfect face.

The way your eyes remind me of waves,

Dark, deep blue and full of life.

The way your tan, calloused hand fits mine,

While we stroll on the beach,

Getting the insides of our feet scratched up

By the sand.

Our long bike rides on the PCH,

Filled with me falling over and getting scratched up.

Our midnight conversations

Of love, loss, and tacos,

Hidden in fluffy pillows and blanket forts.

The eternal battle of cuddling

Or not sweating for the rest of the night.

The polaroid sessions that will soon

Become only pictures on my wall,

Instead of hours of laughter and music.

The hours of reading poetry by your side,

Breathing in the rhymes and feeling.

The car rides to Safeway and Trader Joe’s

To pick up sunscreen and cheap wine.

The bonfires on the beach, in the backyard,

And by the stove.

The books filled with stories

Just like ours,

But they just don’t capture

The way we loved.

The Netflix movies that

Showed a coffee lover falling for tea drinker

Or a bunch of rebellious teenagers

Falling in love for the first time,

Just like us.

The mornings filled with iced coffee,

But don’t forget the creamer, love.

The study sessions featuring

Paper, paper, and more paper

Waiting to be filled with endless scrawls of notes.

But, most of all, summer,

I’m going to miss the way you made me feel,

The way I was your season of fun,

When we loved like

The ocean loves the shore.