New year, new resolutions

It's been almost exactly one year since I last updated, most of my posts having been on my main website instead of my personal journal. 2009 was a great year to wrap up and start a new leaf in my book. I graduated from college and entered my top choice for grad school. I finally know where my academic calling lies, at least enough to pursue a 5-year research career on it. I made new friends and generally grew more confident of who I am.

Last month, I was reminded of what true friendship really means. First, I had a conversation with one of my new friends who showed me a different definition of friendship than what I was used to. G invests her whole self in her closest friends, and has the expectation that friendship means that you will reciprocate this selfless giving. I am probably butchering her definition, and didn't actually think about it until I visited a dear high school friend last week. S and her family were excellent hosts and she took me on all sorts of adventures around her town. We had a great time, and I was humbled at how much giving there was that I felt bad I took so much, not knowing how to give back except to invite S to my city and offering to show her around. I can only hope to be as good as a host as she was.

We had a conversation about our other high school friends, and it occurred to me that I never saw friendship as something I have to work for. I always thought it was okay that people came and went in your life, that "life got in the way" is an excuse for not keeping in touch. I'm ashamed to say that I have become lazy in the upkeep of my own friendships, especially ones that I claimed to cherish so much from high school. It's not enough to just keep in touch electronically; I need to consciously invest in face-to-face interactions as well. It's easy to post on someone's Wall or write them an email, but how much more would it mean to them and to your friendship if you showed that you mean what you say by following up in person? Now of course, a lot of my friends are currently hundreds and thousands of miles away, so the best that I can do with these friendships is to keep in touch by writing and hope that we will meet again someday.

So one of my resolutions for the new year is to be a better friend. Keep in touch with old friends, and make an effort to continue growing these relationships. Visit friends whenever I can, especially when I am home. My life is considerably less full of love without them, and it's time to show them how much they mean to me.

On materialism and some kind of nostalgia

It is the weekend after spending a month with my sweetheart and before going back to college, a time in my life that always seems to be some sort of delicious purgatory spent at home. I mean this word in the best possible sense; I love my parents dearly and don't appreciate their company enough, and my mom's cooking is enough to make any distance worth traveling. But there is something that tugs strongly at my soul, enough to create feelings of unease, loneliness, and melancholy in this house.

First, I find myself not wanting to do anything. Understandably so -- it is hard whenever we go back to being a long-distance relationship after being comfortably warm and familiar with each other's presence. Reading seemed like a great escape for a while, until my parents came in and roused my fragile state. I couldn't help it. Talking about things we could do together as a family made me want to curl up in my mom's arms and cry. I missed N, but at the same time missed spending lots of time with my family. One weekend, especially a purgatory one, is not enough.

Let me explain what exactly I mean by "purgatory" in this sense. Home has become a sort of transient place between college and breaks, somewhere I go to rest and eat and spend time with family before moving off somewhere else for vacation. A waystation. My productivity shoots way down because I feel that a couple of days is not enough to build up momentum for work. As a result, the entire next week that I have planned out for school looks and feels like ashes and dust. Not only that, but the few days before and after I see N can be some of the hardest days, especially if I don't keep myself busy. It feels like a little bit of my soul is shaded. I am also feeling a greater urge to be independent from my parents, yet at the same time I still feel like a child. What I have then are moments at home that I no longer consider one of my prime natural environments, somewhere I can come to rest, but not feel alive, somewhere I long for, but cannot stay forever. I miss being home even though I am home.

When unproductive, the next logical thing to try was to pack. Organizing things always makes me feel better. I have always been vaguely aware of how much stuff this house holds from my younger years. Today, it astounded me and caused me to stress out a little. There were a lot of things that could be sold at school; old clothes and games can easily find better homes, but the more I think about it, the more I know I won't make the time to put these items up for sale. We can also donate, recycle, or reuse some as gifts.

The sheer materialism from my middle and high school years was overwhelming. It forced me to consider what trinkets I was spending my money on these days, and what I could do to clean out the old stuff. I think the best plan, although it may irk me now, is to wait until the summer before going to grad school to sort it out. There were so many pretty and shiny things that made me happy, but years, even just months, down the road, they are forgotten, only useful as a reminder of how wasteful I was and how to better spend my money.

Despite all of this, I can't help but feel optimistic. I strongly believe that I am exactly where I should be and there will be a time and place for everything. I also know that these slumps never last long, and I always emerge from them more appreciative of the more permanent things in my life.

Love

Too often do I have some tiny epiphany which I mull around in my head, planning how I would write it down and remember it. Too often do I write it late, which results in something like watery eggs, or not at all, which is a disappointment when it happens (or rather, doesn't happen).  But this one may actually be something significant.

I've noticed today that I tend to hit rock bottom before bouncing back up. In these dark couple of hours, my mind clouds up and I become stubborn, with no sense of what's fair, what's right, what's myself.  I feel chaotic, helpless, weak.  Unworthy.  It usually lasts no more than a day, this wallowing in confusion and vulnerability.  I become so sensitive to anything that happens, that I feel like I'd fling a lizard if someone even looks at me.  Today, I isolated myself in a corner of the house.  I despised what I was doing to myself, this cycle of helplessness and disgust.  I didn't know why I did it to myself, only that I was left feeling guilty afterwards, wondering what had come over me.

But something was different.  Somehow, out of all days, today I asked myself, Why do you do this to yourself?  It's like you don't even respect yourself or realize your worth.  It's almost like...like you don't even love yourself.

I must provide some context for these thoughts.  I had just finished reading the fourth Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants book today, and loving yourself was something that had come up a few times.  Also, my wonderful boyfriend told me today just how amazing he thought I was, something that I rarely agree with, if ever, and usually attribute to his being in love with me.  I didn't realize until now that he knew me first.

Anyway, that question struck pretty close to home.  I realized that all my life, I've been told that I was loved, and told others that I loved them, but never had anyone asked me if I loved myself, at least not quite so urgently.  It's really not that obvious.  I've suffered low self-esteem since when I was a kid because I have never considered that question and its importance.  And as a Christian, I am constantly told and believe that God loves me, but somehow, that wasn't enough, because how could I believe I deserved all this good love if I didn't love myself?  This whole time through high school and college I've been trying to find my self worth and separate that from grades and expectations and how many people liked me.  This whole time I've looked enviously at models in magazines or catalogues, wishing that I were their size.  This whole time I've coveted other people's talents because mine never seemed impressive enough.  What happened was that I started feeling like I didn't deserve some things, like I was just an average person with nothing special to offer others.  I doubted myself, was hard on myself, put myself down.

I almost panicked, frantically hoping that I'm not usually like this.  When was the last time I did love myself?  My thoughts didn't have to go back too far.  Last summer, at Virginia Tech.  I could clearly tell, and so could the others.  It has probably never manifested so brightly and clearly.  I was carefree, bouncy, always with a smile, social, had no worries, had no doubts about what I deserved, but most importantly, I gave it my all and let others see me for who I could be.  I did not have to think twice about what I was doing.  In the midst of it all, I managed to catch my boyfriend's eye and made some really good friends that I still talk to today.  I must have done something right.

I need to learn to love myself, and then I'll be able to love others I want to.  I wish there was more to say, like a witty ending to this whole ordeal, but reality is that I just got started, and I'm feeling pretty good about it so far.

Who am I?

I feel quite lost, like a little girl being pulled in two different directions in a forest, both paths independent of each other. I wanted to spend the summer at home (while still doing professional stuff) so that I could spend time with my family, catch up on life, and update them on how I was doing. I wanted them to know me and accept me, see what college and friends have molded me into. I was quite proud of it, if anything at all. It was like buying someone a nice sweater, hoping they will like it and that it will keep them sufficiently warm throughout winter.

All I've managed to do so far was stare at the dinner table, pretending to be interested in something that I can't even focus on. All that I hear are seeped through my soul, accepted by my cultural upbringing, but rejected or challenged by my logical, rational side, which understands the values of Chinese culture, but fights for the side of free-thinking, open-minded views. I so desperately want to have a normal conversation, one that is not ridden by criticism, hasty assumptions, the past, or faulty jokes. But in trying to prepare to say something, the atmosphere is broken by spikes and shards that render it impossible for me to zone in, which results in me building glass walls around myself. I answer dully. Scathingly would be too strong of a word. Sometimes, I laugh authentically, but not nearly enough.

My culture isn't the only area that I feel divided. This doesn't get brought up often, but my hearing is another where I don't feel like I belong anywhere. To the normal-hearing, I am hearing-impaired, but to the hearing-impaired and deaf, I am normal. Where does that place me? It's not a big deal now; I've grown up with it my whole life and I'm used to it. I consider myself normal-hearing, for the most part, but it doesn't really matter. However, I am considered to be so "white" in Chinese culture that it's not even funny, but to everyone else, I look like just another Asian face with an Asian upbringing and Asian parents who push you to your limits. What does that make me? Chinese-American? But I wasn't born here. I almost refuse to be Chinese-American. Nevertheless, I am not yet an American citizen (not until next month, anyway). I've tried to put it off. I liked being Chinese. What did that mean? I know I wanted to hold on to that piece of my history and culture, but how can I feel like I deserve the title when I am being told left and right that I have been so Americanized that I cannot possibly understand or appreciate the complexities and hardships of a traditional Chinese upbringing? Why should my ethnicity be determined by how I act and what I believe and not where I was born? I feel like an alien being American. In many ways, I'd rather be a Chinese person with an American upbringing, but still stay Chinese and not American. Is that even possible? It doesn't mean that I dislike Americans, but there should be nothing wrong with wanting to stick to my roots, no matter how different I act culturally. I feel like the Chinese-American title is thrust upon me as the only explanation for my values and beliefs. In that sense, I feel thrown back and forth between the two - not quite Chinese, but not quite American. I also don't want my chosen ethnicity to solely reflect the color of my skin. I sympathize with my American friends when they say Asian parents can be harsh on their kids. I envy them when their parents let them do whatever they like or support ideas and beliefs they hold. I am able to comfort an Asian friend whose parents are too tough on her, but at the same time, I cannot stand it when a proud Asian parent smugly brags about their accomplished child.

I don't feel deserving of being Chinese. I feel like my parents are always sighing that it's too bad I don't do this or think that in Chinese. I know they are proud of me and of what I have become, but I always feel that a part of them are always saying "it's just too bad..." And it's not that I don't want to become an American citizen. When I swear in that oath, I will feel as if I have abandoned my Chinese identity, that I am now a mix of ethnicities called "American," which isn't quite exactly what I want to be. I shouldn't have to feel that the two are mutually exclusive. My American friends will probably never understand this dilemma that I am going through, and my Asian friends and family will always have some of those characteristic beliefs of Asians. I am somewhere in between, not able to reconcile with myself. I suppose I will have the rest of my life to figure out what being Chinese-American, or I guess, more politically correct, what being just plain American means. It is easy for me to be married to an American, to live the American dream and think open-mindedly and be free in all that I do, but I know that every time I go home, I will be met with my cultural background, my roots, something that I am so proud of being, yet can never seem to quite rightfully own or live up to. Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe home will remind me that I am human, what I am worth, what I am capable of being, what my potentials are. Maybe becoming an American citizen from an immigrant is all about finding the strengths of who I am, my original identity, and use that to create a whole new "me" that I never thought would be possible had I stayed in my home country. Perhaps, it's about using precisely that to set yourself apart from other Americans, and then collectively working together to create a better place to live, and to bring into this world something to live for. That's what I hope, and that's what I will strive for. As for one day saying that I am proud to be an American? Well, that might take a bit of work and more soul-searching to do, but who's waiting?

Florida sun: Day 2

So this is the whamming October conference that I had so excitedly been waiting for, that I had gladly toiled through 6 hours of lab and endured an early test just so I could make it to here. Sitting around a table enjoying a gourmet 4-course meal and applauding all the award recipients who graciously sweep the stage and offer us "20 words of advice." At some point of the evening, my mind wanders, and I thought I would much rather be doing... and then it occurred to me that this is not where I belonged.  I would much rather be home.

Home is being in LWC413 every Thursday night, leading worship team and singing praise songs while playing my guitar until my fingers hurt.  I look at my watch, and it is ironically 8:45pm, around the time when we start packing up to go back to our dorms.  I would much rather be there, praising God and being with my IV sisters, whom I love dearly.

Home is making memories with my love, wherever we may be, lying in his arms and looking into each other's eyes and being amazed by each other and the circumstances that brought us together.

Home is with my parents at my house, chatting after dinner, the 3 of us united as a Family once more.

These are the three most important things in my life, in no order.

Don't get me wrong. I think this conference is a wonderful thing for women, a great way to figure out what you might want to do for your career, especially if you are one of the few undergraduates amongst all the other Ph.D. candidates in the room (Not to mention I get to meet employees from my list of top companies to work for, namely Google, Microsoft, and others). But that's the problem. I already figured out I probably wouldn't want to be a PhD. I don't think I could find something that specific that I can be passionate about and devote 7-8 of my life working on. I realized recently that I want to dig into different areas of CS, to try this and that, work on a few projects, and continually be challenged, learn new things, explore, and discover new areas that I can be passionate about. Why limit myself like that? I am too bouncy for this. I need to be fulfilled emotionally, logically, spiritually, and creatively. And I don't think that going for a PhD can provide me that kind of contentment in life.

Another issue. I was at the Amazon booth, and after telling them I was looking for internships, the representative just started asking me questions about hash maps, queues, and (java) interfaces, questions that I couldn't answer confidently even though I had listed "Data Structures" as a course I had taken. Not only did that make me feel utterly cruddy, incapable, and foolish, but after putting me through that, she realized that I was actually more interested in usability than programming. It made me feel better after talking to Cat and realizing that she had gone through the same uncomfortable questioning session. It took a while for me to realize that I felt uncomfortable not just because I couldn't answer those questions, but because what she was looking for wasn't someone I could be; it wasn't something that I could be genuine with her about. I don't want to be a person who memorizes terms and can explain them to impress others just so that I can land an offer. It was uncomfortable because at the moment, I was forced to be someone that I am not.

Right now, my life plans are scattered before me like newly-shoveled snow. It would be nice if I could work for Google, Microsoft, Yahoo!, or one of these big technology companies on web/graphic design or something related. It would be nice if I could get to do some more programming for personal projects with no expectations except my own. The career part, I'm not so worried about; it will come with time. But there are some things that I must do, passions that will not be forgotten. I want to be able to continue writing songs and poems. I want to continue playing guitar and piano, and to sing. Ideally, I would have a chair like the one I'm sitting in right now, an office swively chair that will allow me to prop my feet up, lean back, and pour out my heart in writing. I want to be able to explore and go places that mean something to me, whether it's going on a hike, or visiting England or Mauritius again. I want to come home every night to someone I love and someone I can kiss good night.

So...what does it all amount to? I realize that I don't want to be famous, I don't want to win some prestigious prize for something that I've done. I don't want this kind of recognition. Maybe I've been inside for too long, but this kind of atmosphere just stifles me and deadens a part of me. And quite honestly, I don't care who this year's uber scholarship recipients are. Good for them, but I would rather not spend Thursday night listening to their names and their accomplishments when I could be defining (not to mention living) my own version of success. No, I do not need them to be my role models. I have never really been inspired by the grand things that others have done (maybe with the exception of Princess Diana when I was 9), only by my community, my loved ones, life, and faith. I want to do something where I can not only make a small difference in the world, but impact and build community around me.

So I am multi-faceted and need to be engaged in many different ways. So I don't feel like getting a PhD anymore. It's okay, it's okay that I'm here, missing out on home. It only brings me closer to it knowing that my heart is leading me to where I want to be, and my soul is slowly blooming into what I was made for.