Another first day of school (I’m back!)

I’m not sure why I was so overwhelmed by the idea of going to class last night. Everyone knows the first week is for syllabi reading and other such formalities. It’s really the second and third weeks that we should start worrying about.

Nevertheless, the year seems to be off to a good start. My morning (yes, I had one!) began with a very productive bout of unpacking that enabled me to stow away an entire suitcase under my bed. But my proudest moment was in my first class, “Education, Childhood, and Society.” After course introductions, the professor wanted everyone to introduce themselves and share how we think our childhoods were/are different from anyone else’s. Somehow, I managed to raise my hand before Madonna — that’s her name — cackled, “Ahh, now we come to the shy ones…I know who you are.” Which means I am no longer among the ranks of shy students as I was last semester! The thought was so encouraging that I had to courage to say “Nice to see you again” as I headed out the door.

Walking around campus, cautious about coming across reminders of the skeletons in my closet (namely, certain members of society I no longer interact with as much as I used to or sometimes even wish I did), I wondered how long this feeling of mastery and control would last. So in addition to scoring extroversion points, some goals for the semester include:

1. Unpacking in a timely manner: By the time Labor Day is over, I will have gradually and neatly folded all my clothes and figure out just where to line up my big bin of shoes. I’ll also pack away old books and notebooks that’ll only serve as clutter, then figure out how to set-up a makeshift book area thanks to the lack of bookshelves in this dorm.

2. Purplefying my dorm: I’m already one step there, with my purple comforter. Next up is getting those purple sheets from Target, and deciding whether a new set of pink lamps would be overkill. I think I’ve almost successfully convinced myself a new lamp wouldn’t be an excess purchase, since I can use my old one to illuminate my door-less closet. But more details on the less-than-satisfactory bedrooms later. Or maybe I’ll lend it to Joe, so his mom can stop whining about the lighting in his studio and instead think about what a lovely girl I am.

3. Staying organized: Syllabi and other handouts will not be folded in half and scattered like confetti on various surfaces. The same goes for…really anything else that I own.

4. Not procrastinating: For starters, a bit of Labor Day weekend will be dedicated to ploughing through the first 123 pages of “Ulysses,” all 644 pages of which I am expected to finish in the next two and a half weeks. More plans of similar nature should be made — and followed — by the master of making then ditching plans as time goes by.

5. Finding time to cook: Because food is so very important and so very, very delicious! Armed with a rice cooker in a full-sized kitchen right in the suite, there is no excuse to not create something yummy on a regular basis. For cheap, too.

6. Staying positive: I almost came back to blog about my new dorm room with biting, witty remarks, then realized maybe I should also make a list of things I actually like. Real optimists don’t whine about anything and everything, do they? Not that optimists should tolerate some frat boy loudly advertising a party and possession of beer outside their windows in the wee hours of the morning.

7. Keep blogging! So I don’t disappoint my few loyal fans

Meow

After yesterday / this morning’s shameful round of self pity, I was all determined to turn over a new leaf. But of course, like always, life has stepped in to interfere. In the next six days, I have:

- 2 phone interviews and 1 trip to Danshuei, yet to be scheduled
- 2 articles for the two interviews, due in 36 hours
- an exclusive interview with Buteo Huang and a tour of his workplace, of what kind I’m not sure, because the Chinese description wasn’t all that descriptive at all (I’m actually pretty excited about this, but it’s also an hour + away from my house)
- a third and fourth piece on buteo and his kites, respectively
- copy editing until Friday
- a haircut, time and place TBD
- shoes to buy at Shilin, somehow
- friends to meet up with
- a family dinner
- a ladies’ night to take advantage of while I can
- guo tiao noodles and Mosburger hotdog + B Combo Meal (with Japanese Vinaigrette salad and ice tea) to eat
- gifts to buy for Portland residents I’m slightly nervous about meeting
- clothes to tailor
- contacts to buy and a pair of glasses to fix

So for now, I’ll just share how one of my colleagues either has a rather acquired taste when it comes to dinner, or no respect at all for public property. Because today, I found an open, purple can of Whiskas in the fridge at work tonight.

Another insomniac night

It’s almost five in the morning, and although I need to wake up early tomorrow so I can make the most of my seven remaining days in Taipei, here I am. I wished I could say it was inspiration, or the great writer in me, that is the reason why I’m posting on my blog at this hour. Unfortunately, that reason more closely resembles a late night slash early morning bout of self doubt more than anything else.

These days, I think about what meager entries I’ve posted since arriving in Taipei and wish there could be more. I compare what I’ve written in the past month to the stories I spun while sitting at Faces in the Loop in June and wonder what’s changed. Excuses start coming to mind. I’m tired. I lack sleep. I’m working overtime when I run around on assignments. I don’t have much time here. I’m busy.

That’s okay. My internship is ending in five days. I can make it up. I can find time to sit down, to really think, to devote a whole 45 minutes just to writing. Or can I?

I really admire those I think of as true bloggers – the ones who don’t go more than two days without something witty or fascinating to say. The ones who are up posting at three in the morning because they can’t sleep without their daily dose of writing. They ones who are determined and passionate and seem sure they’re going to make it. Can I be like that? Do I have the energy, the skill, the endless source of creativity and unwavering command of beautiful language?

About half an hour ago, these questions weren’t really bothering me. I was simply online, passing time until the minute I would start feeling sleepy again. So I checked my mail, half-heartedly browsed through internship applications, and read other blogs. I wished my blog looked like some of those blogs. Then I actually came to my own blog. For some unexplanable reason, or for no reason at all, I clicked on the “about” page. And then I started feeling like somewhat of a small failure: if haven’t been up to introducing my self to the world, I could’ve at least deleted the WordPress explanation of what that page is for. But I didn’t. So what if I’ve written good pieces before? So what if some of those pieces have been funny, a word I never associate with myself? That doesn’t seem to matter so much if I can’t keep it up. Or if I can’t even manage such a simple thing like my about page.

Maybe the problem is that, deep down, there will always be a small part of me that’s a pretty big coward. Not that I approach life with great fear, always paranoid that the worst will come. I even experience moments of pride, of some sort of snobbery — like when the newest issue of OneWorld comes out or my editor compliments my articles and photos. I can look back on my layout and keep thinking how pretty everything looks. But once in awhile, I get that overwhelming rush of panic in the wee hours of the morning. The dramatic, embellisher of a writer in me wants to say that would also be the darkest hours of all 24, just before night turns into day. But anyway.

I mean, think about why this blog is even here. It began when I started reading the blogs of people I knew, which made me super impressed — to the point of intimidation. I started feeling like if I ever wanted to succeed as a writer, I needed evidence that I could do so. Because, really, what proof did I have? I’m supposed to be “good” at writing — but why? What about my writing is so particularly great? What special strengths do I have that no one else does? And if I can’t answer that, how do I know I’m actually a good writer?

I don’t know. And questions like that ending with answers like that are exactly what brings on the panic.

Fear. I never really liked that word. Partly because it’s not a pleasant feeling, obviously, and partly because I’m not always sure how it relates to me. I don’t consider myself a timid person. I’ll make choices that scare me — like declaring my English and Education majors knowing I’m committing myself to life in a cardboard box. Or deciding to strike conversation with a non-dangerous stranger (seriously, awkward with new people). But that’s not the same kind of fear as being timid, which is the kind that makes you shrink away to become a doctor or lawyer instead. But then there are those questions, and depressing posts like this one. Those aren’t exactly the mark of a brave person either.

The Windows sidebar on my laptop desktop could possibly pass for one of a writer. On a post-it widget (I have separate ones for each organization I’m involved with, this blog, and lists of to-dos) I’ve listed topics that I want to address. That seems writerly, doesn’t it? Jotting down ideas to make sure I get to them, as if brilliant ideas come to me so often that I would forget. Although my memory is poor enough that even if the ideas totalled a mere five, I probably wouldn’t remember after a while…but that’s beside the point.

I think if I weren’t so afraid that I need a certain amount of energy and concentration to write as good as I possibly can, I wouldn’t be always putting off posts for later. A confident writer, a true writer, would just force herself to sit down every day and share the kind of thoughts that lets the world know she’s a living, seeing, thinking human. She doesn’t need to find the perfect chunk of time to write the perfect story, because she’ll know it’ll be great anyway. (And it’ll probably come very naturally to her.)

Luckily, and strangely, I think I also have an amazingly unreasonable amount of faith that things will always be okay. My pre-orientation leader said to us (how cliche is this??), “Don’t be afraid to let things just happen.” For reason, I do think that things will eventually just happen. It’s just a question of how much you also have to do for yourself in order for those things to happen.

So maybe I’ll figure it out one day. I can find a way to make myself sit down every day. In time, I’ll be a real blogger. Maybe?

I just wish the longest post on this blog to date weren’t this super gloomy one. Like the way I’m not a timid person, neither am I a gloomy one… !

It’s a second post in two days! And I must, must, must whine about work.

Today, I was abandoned. I’m not exaggerating, I’m not being a drama queen. I am an intern, who was left alone to handle the copy desk for an entire four hours at one of Taiwan’s major English newspapers. Which means all that stood between the printer and lines and lines of typos, non-AP formatting, and bad grammar was this teeny little girl who doesn’t even reach five feet. A teeny little girl who started working there two and a half weeks ago, unpaid, and almost had a new heart attack with each slug, caption, or page print-out piled at her desk.

Waiting till 10:30pm to eat because Joe has finally decided to get off his ass and cook – and I say that with much love and appreciation – is okay. Waiting till 10:30pm to eat because I had to do a job best meant for three is not.

Deep breath.

But while we’re at it, let’s also discuss rude people at work who don’t make nerve-wracking days any easier. There’s this designer who began coming in recently, who’s really slow and really old, since we’re being bitter. Anyways, she’s the kind of person who can’t work efficiently, then yells that she doesn’t have enough time when you want to go over headlines and captions with her. Which you absolutely must do, because her English is horrible and she has trouble typing words you spell out for her, letter by letter. She’s the kind of person who speaks in this snarly, super frustrated tone, never letting a single “thank you” escape from her mouth. She’ll also shove papers at you, simply continuing to walk away if they slip off the desk. I would be a little more sympathetic if her co-workers shared even one of these heartbreaking problems she has to endure.

Honestly, what makes it so hard to not be rude? I’m not even asking for politeness. But even if I were, what harm would that bring at all?

And now I’ve tried ending a message with a rhetorical question, a tactic only lazy writers use. What a bad day indeed.

Not to be a statistic

The China Post EIC offered me a copy editing position post-graduation today. All I can say is: so much for preparing to live in a cardboard box after college! I’d really be living in a cardboard box in Asia. Getting paid just above the minimum wage.

I apologize for the fact that all the posts — like how I say that like there are many of them? — are related to work. It just comes to show how much it’s taking over my life. There are other subjects I’d like to get around to sharing though, like the amazing dinner I had last night at Paris 1940. All that needs to happen is for me to get enough sleep and muster up enough energy to upload photos of the gazillion courses we enjoyed. But it will happen.

Since this is already all about work, anyway, I might as well share some of the things I read that make work bearable. Such are examples of what comes through the copy desk from our lovely local writers:

“The study urged parents not to pressurize their children so much when it come to their studies.”

“The proposal foes into line with the promises made during Ma’s presidential campaign.”

Other times it’s not so nerdy and innocent. But then again, my co-workers and I probably never realize whatever double entendres we unknowingly let slip in Chinese either.

“The new tunnel smoothly penetrated the old tunnel. Workers spread champagne all over each other in celebration.”

Of pumas frolicking in natural habitat, caption, “Pumas gone wild”

“She spoke of her passions and love for the country, sharing funny anecdotes of her very first time five years ago in Taiwan.”

On a more serious note, though, I think work has been bringing out the worst snacking habits in me. In the past hour that I’ve been home, I’ve had two slices of French bread with fancy imported butter from the French dinner, a smoked egg, and a deliciously MSG-laden bowl of instant noodles.

I need to start running again — except it’s too hot during the day and I work at night. Oh dear.