How absurd it is to have adults criticize you on your life choices. What college are you going to? What are you majoring in? How dare you not be a doctor/lawyer/engineer/triple threat?
What's worst is being criticized by people you have never met until today. Seriously people, if I wanted such professions I might as well crawl into a cave and evade civilization for 837459234 years. It's just not me.
Sometimes, I wonder who it is who creates the "Asian" stereotype. It is highly plausible that the major contributors are the older generations of the same ethnicities. How depressing it must be to be constrained under such expectations.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
What Walt Whitman said.
I am large, I contain multitudes.
How strange it is to discover a side of yourself unknown until recently! It's absolutely fascinating to live such long lives, and still retrieve hidden secrets and desires.
Last Saturday, I went to Georgetown for the first time in about a month or so. The streets were still as crowded as ever and stylish shoppers swarmed the blocks, even though there was a rapture brewing. However, it was the season for change. There were new store layouts, new restaurants (such as Serendipity 3- coming soon!), and a new mussel dish at my favorite haunt (though I do not believe mussels with pomme frites should ever substitute for a deep cauldron of the stuff).
These minor changes left me wondering about the major changes that will occur to me in just a few months. I'll off to Montreal to further my french for three weeks in the summertime without my family, I'll finally enjoy a summer without the stresses of extracurricular, test preparations, work, etc, and, most notably, I'll be heading to college in the fall.
Will all these changes in turn change me and my limited scope of the world? It would be a tragedy if I returned from the journey as a carbon-copy of myself presently. The frightening aspect of change is its convoluted state. I'll never be sure which way the tide sways, how the change in my environs affect my reactions to certain situations, how my passion towards certain subjects will be collectively morphed and transitioned onto virgin territory.
Am I afraid of change? The question perfumes and lingers in my air. Part of me wants to say no, to dictate my emotions and remind my mind that change occurs in each millisecond we exist in our universe. Change can occur from the smallest particles in our atmosphere: a single rose, a manner of speech, a prick on the finger.
Yet is it plausible to surmise that change has no magnitude? That BIG changes have the same genetic makeup as minute shifts? Part of me disagrees. Major transitions test our limits and our character. To be off away from home will be, to put it dramatically, a crumbling of my preexisting world. No swings in the front yard, no leisurely Saturday mornings with my favorite cereal, no echo of dad's baritone over the newspaper or mom's syrupy voice beckoning me to dinner.
How will I simply survive?
Scientifically, a majority of species have undergo evolution. Homo sapiens would not exist had it not been for their ability to adapt. And in modern society, this sort of Darwinism still exists. I hope there is another element in me that diffuses any dramatic side-effects to such changes.
How strange it is to discover a side of yourself unknown until recently! It's absolutely fascinating to live such long lives, and still retrieve hidden secrets and desires.
Last Saturday, I went to Georgetown for the first time in about a month or so. The streets were still as crowded as ever and stylish shoppers swarmed the blocks, even though there was a rapture brewing. However, it was the season for change. There were new store layouts, new restaurants (such as Serendipity 3- coming soon!), and a new mussel dish at my favorite haunt (though I do not believe mussels with pomme frites should ever substitute for a deep cauldron of the stuff).
These minor changes left me wondering about the major changes that will occur to me in just a few months. I'll off to Montreal to further my french for three weeks in the summertime without my family, I'll finally enjoy a summer without the stresses of extracurricular, test preparations, work, etc, and, most notably, I'll be heading to college in the fall.
Will all these changes in turn change me and my limited scope of the world? It would be a tragedy if I returned from the journey as a carbon-copy of myself presently. The frightening aspect of change is its convoluted state. I'll never be sure which way the tide sways, how the change in my environs affect my reactions to certain situations, how my passion towards certain subjects will be collectively morphed and transitioned onto virgin territory.
Am I afraid of change? The question perfumes and lingers in my air. Part of me wants to say no, to dictate my emotions and remind my mind that change occurs in each millisecond we exist in our universe. Change can occur from the smallest particles in our atmosphere: a single rose, a manner of speech, a prick on the finger.
Yet is it plausible to surmise that change has no magnitude? That BIG changes have the same genetic makeup as minute shifts? Part of me disagrees. Major transitions test our limits and our character. To be off away from home will be, to put it dramatically, a crumbling of my preexisting world. No swings in the front yard, no leisurely Saturday mornings with my favorite cereal, no echo of dad's baritone over the newspaper or mom's syrupy voice beckoning me to dinner.
How will I simply survive?
Scientifically, a majority of species have undergo evolution. Homo sapiens would not exist had it not been for their ability to adapt. And in modern society, this sort of Darwinism still exists. I hope there is another element in me that diffuses any dramatic side-effects to such changes.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Sunday, May 15, 2011
A slow news day.
Today, I tried my best to avoid studying for Calculus. The idea of mastery quizzes and final exams repulses me. I'd feel much better watching movies and eating and writing and painting my nails awesome colors. I'm beginning to dislike my calculator and the manner in which my Hello Kitty stickers fade on its shell. I dislike the clasp on my backpack and the way lipstick bleeds and my hair.
That is all that will ever be for a Sunday.
That is all that will ever be for a Sunday.
How utterly sweet to be the wore pages of a good book !
In hindsight, no matter how dramatic the high school setting may have been, I believe it has encapsulated the essence and power which lies inherent in pieces of literature.
My experience as a underclassman consisted of a strange transitional phase between elementary material and heavy, buttery universal texts containing multifarious cultivations of aphorisms. I didn't learn to appreciate works such as Les Miserables, I didn't understand the empowerment of revolution, I didn't understand why my teacher wore tie-dye every other day. These abstractions hung in the air, but I was still too indignant, too immature to inhale.
I do not believe pride (in moderation) is a completely implausible thought. Therefore, I state own my pride breaking through the cycle to nowhere and letting myself explore into the depths of a beyond, an obscured sea of thoughts and emotions that could have otherwise been shadowed by the nothingness of flamboyant yet shallow mating rituals. I have criticized and praised myself, and our world.
Often, it's difficult to visualize anyone else who has the same feelings or contrasting feelings or some feeling towards specific subjects I discuss here. I am positive all my readers have, as all human beings have, a vast sea of emotions and innovative ideas and thoughts and insecurities and aspirations. Surely I am not the only one psychotic enough to dictate such an belief.
Yet there are so many others around the world who do not have the opportunity to express personal beliefs without the risk of punishment for their freedom of expression.
I'm going to begin innocuously enough, with a reference to George Orwell's chef d'oeurve 1984 for it is applicable in every facet of society, but I believe the work to be more distinct in modern authoritarian regimes. Orwell creates a world with an alabaster facade complimented by constant internal struggles between factual, dry data and invisible yet persistent strands of human awareness and emotional existence.
All members of this supposed utopia seem utterly flat and monotonous with the exception of the protagonist, who dared to cross the red line, and initiate a warfare of new concepts, thus holding within him the possibility to grow exponentially as an individual and cause friction and heat.
Comparative government bridged the gap between the world of words and the world of worlds; Orwell's 1984 thoroughly illustrates the struggles of the repressive Communist "Big Brother" system.
In my numerous trips to China, the streets were perfectly mundane, scattered with citizens who seemed to walk the streets at the perfect pace, carrying plastic groceries bags or heavy bookbags, the air perfumed with the scent of slightly burned dumplings and soy sauce. With the exception of the low cloud of translucent smog that blanketed the sky, it looked like an alternate America.
But I soon discovered that the appearance was merely a fallacy.
My parents sheltered me from the violence of June 4th and Tiananmen Square as long as they could. They never told me they protested; they never told me they spent hours persuading military troops to back down from their city; they never told me of the interrogations which took place by the federal government; they never told me just how graphic smell of bloodshed permeated the air of that night. They've never told me any of this until recently.
This revolt is Winston Smith's realization of an imperfect world. How brave for citizens to confront their fears, to realize that they could have been exposed to so much more education and beliefs and worlds of knowledge that existed before the Cultural Revolution, before Mao! They organized any way they could and at the first sign of hope, all strength was snatched away and the silent dust of dawn set in the morning after.
Hopelessness is most desolate and consuming. I don't blame the Chinese citizens for not organizing another such powerful organization ever since. Partially it is because the Chinese government censors any mention of June the 4th in the media, yet partially it is because the Chinese people could not fathom the bleakness of the future that stood in front of them. To be so close yet so distant was deteriorating to their spirits.
Soon though, I think the realization sunk in and the next generation of individuals were born into a restored world of oppression.
I came to America at the age of six. Before my arrival, I had spent two months in my local elementary school in China. According to Confucius, it is of the utmost importance to respect one's parents. Therefore, though I believe it is most dehumanizing and horrific action, I can comprehend the physical abuse performed by Chinese parents on their children as a display of authority. Although my parents have never abused me in such a manner, it goes without saying that in the Chinese public school system, paddles and slaps were frequent.
I've never discussed the physical abuse conducted by my teacher to my parents before because I know that they know that I wouldn't want to discuss it. And I wouldn't want to discuss it in civilized conservation with anyone. But I think this blog acts as a middleman and dilutes the intensity of the topic. I will not go into great detail, but the abuse included more than just a few degrading comments and pushes and slaps, and not for disobedience, but simply the questioning of a theory or talking with other classmates or scratching an ear. More than a decade later, I am still tarnished by such vile and violent actions; it is unfair for a child to witness such evil at a such precocious age. It is unfair for the child to see the glazed expressions of their teachers or principals as they recount their skewed beliefs on the world as they have been brainwashed in the periods after the Cultural Revolution, and learned from textbooks that are dry and lacked the vividness of the real world.
Learning the system of government in China brought back that open wound, that memory that persists and will continue to do so throughout my lifetime.
But angry is the last emotion on my mind. I feel remorseful for all Chinese educators who were thrived under such a suppressive system of belief. I feel remorseful for those Winstons in Chinese society who can fathom no light or end to this malady. I feel remorseful for all individuals who remain starry-eyed and blind towards the government because its theories have been instilled in them since childhood and I feel remorseful for all the revolutionists and naysayers like Ai Wei Wei, Liu Xiao Bo and my parents who have done everything in their power to paint a better world only to be thwarted and harassed by their beliefs of a healthier future. I am an advocate for varying beliefs, including different definitions of governments, but I refuse to support a belief that suppresses alternative beliefs in the path to gain power. A socialist democracy is euphemism for suppressive political legitimacy.
My experience as a underclassman consisted of a strange transitional phase between elementary material and heavy, buttery universal texts containing multifarious cultivations of aphorisms. I didn't learn to appreciate works such as Les Miserables, I didn't understand the empowerment of revolution, I didn't understand why my teacher wore tie-dye every other day. These abstractions hung in the air, but I was still too indignant, too immature to inhale.
I do not believe pride (in moderation) is a completely implausible thought. Therefore, I state own my pride breaking through the cycle to nowhere and letting myself explore into the depths of a beyond, an obscured sea of thoughts and emotions that could have otherwise been shadowed by the nothingness of flamboyant yet shallow mating rituals. I have criticized and praised myself, and our world.
Often, it's difficult to visualize anyone else who has the same feelings or contrasting feelings or some feeling towards specific subjects I discuss here. I am positive all my readers have, as all human beings have, a vast sea of emotions and innovative ideas and thoughts and insecurities and aspirations. Surely I am not the only one psychotic enough to dictate such an belief.
Yet there are so many others around the world who do not have the opportunity to express personal beliefs without the risk of punishment for their freedom of expression.
I'm going to begin innocuously enough, with a reference to George Orwell's chef d'oeurve 1984 for it is applicable in every facet of society, but I believe the work to be more distinct in modern authoritarian regimes. Orwell creates a world with an alabaster facade complimented by constant internal struggles between factual, dry data and invisible yet persistent strands of human awareness and emotional existence.
All members of this supposed utopia seem utterly flat and monotonous with the exception of the protagonist, who dared to cross the red line, and initiate a warfare of new concepts, thus holding within him the possibility to grow exponentially as an individual and cause friction and heat.
Comparative government bridged the gap between the world of words and the world of worlds; Orwell's 1984 thoroughly illustrates the struggles of the repressive Communist "Big Brother" system.
In my numerous trips to China, the streets were perfectly mundane, scattered with citizens who seemed to walk the streets at the perfect pace, carrying plastic groceries bags or heavy bookbags, the air perfumed with the scent of slightly burned dumplings and soy sauce. With the exception of the low cloud of translucent smog that blanketed the sky, it looked like an alternate America.
But I soon discovered that the appearance was merely a fallacy.
My parents sheltered me from the violence of June 4th and Tiananmen Square as long as they could. They never told me they protested; they never told me they spent hours persuading military troops to back down from their city; they never told me of the interrogations which took place by the federal government; they never told me just how graphic smell of bloodshed permeated the air of that night. They've never told me any of this until recently.
This revolt is Winston Smith's realization of an imperfect world. How brave for citizens to confront their fears, to realize that they could have been exposed to so much more education and beliefs and worlds of knowledge that existed before the Cultural Revolution, before Mao! They organized any way they could and at the first sign of hope, all strength was snatched away and the silent dust of dawn set in the morning after.
Hopelessness is most desolate and consuming. I don't blame the Chinese citizens for not organizing another such powerful organization ever since. Partially it is because the Chinese government censors any mention of June the 4th in the media, yet partially it is because the Chinese people could not fathom the bleakness of the future that stood in front of them. To be so close yet so distant was deteriorating to their spirits.
Soon though, I think the realization sunk in and the next generation of individuals were born into a restored world of oppression.
I came to America at the age of six. Before my arrival, I had spent two months in my local elementary school in China. According to Confucius, it is of the utmost importance to respect one's parents. Therefore, though I believe it is most dehumanizing and horrific action, I can comprehend the physical abuse performed by Chinese parents on their children as a display of authority. Although my parents have never abused me in such a manner, it goes without saying that in the Chinese public school system, paddles and slaps were frequent.
I've never discussed the physical abuse conducted by my teacher to my parents before because I know that they know that I wouldn't want to discuss it. And I wouldn't want to discuss it in civilized conservation with anyone. But I think this blog acts as a middleman and dilutes the intensity of the topic. I will not go into great detail, but the abuse included more than just a few degrading comments and pushes and slaps, and not for disobedience, but simply the questioning of a theory or talking with other classmates or scratching an ear. More than a decade later, I am still tarnished by such vile and violent actions; it is unfair for a child to witness such evil at a such precocious age. It is unfair for the child to see the glazed expressions of their teachers or principals as they recount their skewed beliefs on the world as they have been brainwashed in the periods after the Cultural Revolution, and learned from textbooks that are dry and lacked the vividness of the real world.
Learning the system of government in China brought back that open wound, that memory that persists and will continue to do so throughout my lifetime.
But angry is the last emotion on my mind. I feel remorseful for all Chinese educators who were thrived under such a suppressive system of belief. I feel remorseful for those Winstons in Chinese society who can fathom no light or end to this malady. I feel remorseful for all individuals who remain starry-eyed and blind towards the government because its theories have been instilled in them since childhood and I feel remorseful for all the revolutionists and naysayers like Ai Wei Wei, Liu Xiao Bo and my parents who have done everything in their power to paint a better world only to be thwarted and harassed by their beliefs of a healthier future. I am an advocate for varying beliefs, including different definitions of governments, but I refuse to support a belief that suppresses alternative beliefs in the path to gain power. A socialist democracy is euphemism for suppressive political legitimacy.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
For Tuesday
(source)
My darlings, are you prepared for the AP Comparative Government Exam on Tuesday? (I'll tell you a secret...I'm not.) Yes, what a shocker that I haven't even cracked open the comparative book for review, yet! Maybe I'll study tonight...or maybe not; it just depends on my mood. But isn't everything dependant on mood? But I'll tell you another secret; the US Government exam is such a joke.
Happy Sunday!
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
For Future References:
I have this whole new outlook on college now. The idea of living in my own world excites me. Perhaps I should stalk thrift stores and flea markets some more, just so I can pick up some trinkets for inspiration when the cold blankets in. I also have the sudden urge to tie-dye something...maybe it's just my sculpture project rubbing off...
Either way, I'm definitely more excited about decor than anything else. But at least I'm excited about something, right?
I'm going to drink some tea now. And think about the complexities of the universe some more and gain buckets of wisdom before my AP Literature exam tomorrow.
Either way, I'm definitely more excited about decor than anything else. But at least I'm excited about something, right?
I'm going to drink some tea now. And think about the complexities of the universe some more and gain buckets of wisdom before my AP Literature exam tomorrow.
Monday, May 2, 2011
The Decline of American Education
If you expected an lugubrious rant, please click on another link.
This is just a simple observation.
I love how Yahoo! conducts their business when dealing with breaking news (such as the death of Osama Bin Laden). It's like they changed their entire text size format because they don't believe Americans can read fine lines.
This is just a simple observation.
I love how Yahoo! conducts their business when dealing with breaking news (such as the death of Osama Bin Laden). It's like they changed their entire text size format because they don't believe Americans can read fine lines.
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