I’m back. Again…

It’s a full two weeks since school has started, I know, a full two weeks since I claimed that I was back on wordpress. And I actually had planned to be, completely and wholeheartedly. But as it transpired, I woke up on August 31st and began a post that went like this: It’s one of those days when it hurts to breathe and looking at the sun makes you shrivel up and die inside.

Let’s just say I was in no condition to write a public post, and decided there needs to be a line between the online realm and certain parts of my personal life anyway. I’ve waited until I’m at the place where the sun is my friend again and it only hurts to breathe because I have a nasty cold to write again. So here I am, blogging, despite the constant freaking out I’ve been doing over the 300 pages of Ulysses I must complete in the next week.

Checking in with the goals for the semester I had set in the my last post, I’d have to say I’m pretty proud of myself. Accomplishing half of those is pretty decent work, after all, considering that resolutions are made to be broken. What I’ve managed to achieve in the midst of emotional and psychological trauma:

1. Purplefying my dorm: My new purple sheets and comforter look so pretty!! And they feel so, so, sooo soft. They have been my only comfort and joy since this damn cold, which has forced me to be chugging hot water or guzzling cough drops constantly. Unfortunately, all my winter clothes remains unpacked and my boxes have not yet been flattened, so the prettiness is more or less confined to my bed.
2. Staying organized: My handouts and syllabi have not found their way into separate folders yet, but they at least are crammed into one folder — that is to say, not lost!
3. Finding time to cook: Yay for my kitchen! The cafeteria near the upperclassmen dorms actually really stinks. The options are fewer, the lines longer, the prices higher. Ugh. I wish I’d gotten a different meal plan, because I’ve been dreading going to the cafeteria so much that I indeed end up cooking half the time. Most of the other half I’m eating leftovers, and rediscovering the on-campus Subway, so that I can still avoid the bad place.
4. Keep blogging: Okay, so I’ve dropped the ball on this one, but I’m hoping it’ll count if I keep writing from now on

So there you have it. Half my goals accomplished despite it all. Next time, I’ll stop being lazy — making lists always somewhat feels like I’m cheating. For now, it’s back to freaking out about all the reading and projects and desperately trying to get over this frightful cold. Tips, anyone?

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.

Yay!

There are sooooo many things I could whine about right now. But the list would probably end up so long that after reading it, people will want to stab themselves in the face. There’s already so much bloodshed in the world…must. control. self.

So instead, I’ll rejoice over the highlight of my day. And with the day I had, any highlight is great and to be capitalized upon. But anyways, the China Post arts editor told me today that I should be a novelist! I should’ve said, “If I write a book, will you promise to buy a copy?” That’d way I’d at least have one customer. In the end, I guess forcing myself to write posts here and there has been fruitful. (Although the other day, Brian got me a little paranoid when he told me that that he reads most blogs because he knows what subjects will be discussed. Mine, obviously, would not be one of those.)

He was also looking at my pictures from the Chamber Ballet Taipei press conference and sounded rather surprised when he asked, “Did you take all this? They’re quite good.” Which just comes to show you don’t need a fancy camera and extra-fancy lenses to be a good photographer. Unless you want to be a great photographer, in which case you absolutely must have that. Who thinks years and years of undelivered birthday and Christmas presents might just amount to $1000-$2000 dollars?

Cinderella

It was my first night out in Taipei this summer – and it only lasted till 1am. Cinderella, indeed. It’s okay. Once more people are back, we are going to do it the right way. The Asian way!

Reminder to self: times for the last MRT trains, because what else would I be running to catch?

Muzha to Zhongxiao Fuxing – 12:01
Zhongxiao Fuxing to Taipei Main Station – just after 12:10
Taipei Main to Beitou – before 12:20

This is so I avoid the three heart attacks I almost had upon arriving at each of the three stations tonight. Otherwise, it’s been a fun night! Except for the part where I called a friend to check there were still trains coming, and because I was all alone, rather red, and speaking English, everyone else on the MRT stared unabashedly. Probably because they thought I was too drunk to notice anyway, which I solemnly swear I was not. Stupid Asian glow. Seriously speaking though, unless I’m being recognized for my outstanding writing and design skills or my sparkling personality, I really hate being conspicuous.

Now that I’m home, I’m torn between sleeping, waiting for people to get online, or getting on those overdue articles…

Terrifying post-grad thoughts

Mary just reminded me that some of our friends are graduating in less than a year.

My exact words to her were: this is too much reality to deal with at 4:30 in the morning.

And now my computer is making funny noises. Why?!

MUCH TOO MUCH :’(

I apologize for this inadequate post after many days. I will try to be better…as soon as my overdue edits are sent to the Mochi gmail account. In my defense, though, I’ve been doing writing everyday for something else, and they’ve also started shoving interviews and press conferences and real writing assignments down my throat. In addition to the 6.5 hours of copy editing for six days a week. All that time in that backwards office has unfortunately been seeping into my life, too. At home on my laptop, I find finger reaching for the delete button instead of the backspace button.

Out and about in the streets of Taipei

Read: observations from inside my mother’s car. It’s way hot to be wandering around outside.

I’ve forgotten how fun people-watching can be in Asia, especially when you pay particular attention to people’s wardrobes. It goes beyond the baggy, flowery pants and loose shirts with half-dollar flip flops in bright blue or red. People have gotten so much more creative these days. As a result, I find myself so much more amused.

Take this couple I saw crossing the street, for example. Oftentimes, you’ll see a plainly dressed guy walking hand-in-hand with some scantily dressed girl, or a well-groomed fashionista hanging on to some slob. A gruesome twosome of a couple, then, is a rare treat. The female half of this blessed pair was wearing a micro-demin with ankle cowbow boots. Not only do a skanky combination short skirts and heels make, the boots were also of a putrid, toxic shade between tan and neon orange. So it was much to my surprise that her partner looked just as laughable. Generic tee, okay. Cargo shorts, fine. Boys will be boys. But paired with hefty, chunky boots of the Timberland variety – in the middle of the humid, sticky summer in Taiwan? He might as well be strutting down the street in his swimming trunks wearing a big, fat, furry bomber hat.

Speaking of skanky, the only thing worse than wearing short skirts and heels is wearing super short shorts and super tall stilettos. How I see many women donning such scandalous apparel, feigning modesty with a cute blouse, to show up at the office with briefcase in hand is truly beyond me. But at least they have that blouse. instead of, say, the hot pink off-the-shoulder number this motorcyclist was boasting with her pair of butt-shorts.

Male motorcyclists provide lots of great entertainment, too. I remember reading the back of this t-shirt with some cartoon guy dunking a basket: “I’m two kinds of a player. Your girlfriend knows both.” Looks like someone’s looking for a satisfying session of ass-kicking? Then just yesterday, someone wore a black tee with bold white letters proudly declaring, “I choose what I wear.” There wasn’t really anything intrinsically wrong with it, but it made me sad that when this guy finally grew up enough to pick his own clothes, he chooses to wear such unflattering, bland shapes. So if any guys are looking for reasons to learn their English, please point them towards my blog.

The upside of all this is that my self-esteem has skyrocketed since arriving in Taipei. According to my sister, I look Californian.