sigh

Caring for bums is terribly inconvenient. I don't recommend it for anyone.

I wish I was back in high school, before my empathy glands had developed and these were the kind of people I hung out with all the time.

another little lol

me: the shiny derriere is muy importante
me: look at that, one sentence, three languages
me: too good, right?
Nic: mm
Nic: very impressive
Nic: can you go for 4?
Nic: or 5?
me: well I could
me: but it might sound unnatural, cuz you wouldn't know
Nic: mya
me: I could try to incorporate the words that are widely known in english from the languages I know
me: this is a challenge
me: "I'm tres sad that there are no kosher blintzes here" -- that's 4
Nic: *vibrate*
me: mama mia, I am tres sad that there are no kosher blintzes here -- there, that's 5
me: lol
Nic: hee
Nic: i am pleased

Coffee Snob

I'm taking a break from my musings on my life in America to laugh at myself.

I'm in Chicago for 6 days. There is no snow outside and I feel gypped (sorry, I know this is secretly a racial slur, but "cheated" doesn't have the same ring to it). The first thing I do: park my ass at an "artisan coffee roaster," pop open my laptop and write yelp reviews and blog. That with no snow, and I'm wondering why I bothered to leave Cali in the first place.

(this event has also been blogged by Ian: lol)

My journey to the west, Chapter 2 (College Pt. 1)

I got into most of the private universities I applied to, regardless of my lack of commitment to the SAT II's. How I wanted to attend a high-brow institution with some high-brow people! I wanted that challenge again. However, I ended up making a rather surprising choice: San Jose State University. This choice was made with cold, hard logic. I came to SJSU to learn the practical arts of animation and illustration and to save on student loans. It made so much sense at the time.

But boy did it make me unhappy. All the years preceding this, I'd been told that I needed to go to a big-name school. I needed that validation of my classmates asking me "oh, and what did you get on your SATs?" And "what other schools did you consider?" I needed the reminder that I was trekking on the right path in life. The one that America had drilled into my head for those past four or five years: this is how you do LIFE.

No one ever asked me these questions at SJSU. These days, I don't even remember what scores I got on the SATs. I met so many amazing people. People who'd gotten their degrees in engineering, only to find out they hated it and to come back for their art degrees. People who'd had kids in a traditional family setting and decided to make a life for themselves doing what they wanted, after 20 years. People who'd transfered from community colleges. All kinds of people. Here they were, doing life, and doing it on their own terms and schedules.

It was a little cathartic realizing that the life dictated to me in high school wasn't the only one worth living. I considered writing a screenplay about this revelation, but ended up working on a different project. Eh, maybe next one?

My journey to the west, Chapter 1 (Primary Education)

I remember my first days at school, learning English and Hebrew, breezing through the remedial math of this American fourth grade. "Can you draw a tree?" was the only question the other students asked me on my first day of school that I understood every word of. I was so used to not understanding, I said "What?" but then caught myself and jumped in "yes, yes I can." And I drew one and blew everyone out of the water. I think I even drew a little girl reading beneath it.

Those were my shaky first steps on the "lavish shag carpet" of American culture. It didn't take me long to get my footing. Two months to learn English. Less time to make friends.

Middle school was middle school. Most everyone goes through the motions of middle school while fighting off the stifling drama of pubescent hormonal rage. Interesting though, in the eighth grade, before I ever had my first boyfriend, I was already starting to feel the pressure to take the right classes, go to the right high school, pick a career, get into college.

In high school, I took all advanced classes. I took all the AP tests, took and retook the SATs and the ACTs. I searched out private colleges that offered good programs in art and design. I sent in my applications.

I'm skipping a lot here, obviously. Somewhere at the end of 8th grade, for instance, I entered into a religious crisis and emerged very cynical. It took me sometime to overcome that and become the cheerful bird I am today. I had boyfriends in high school and family drama. Just as puberty should go out here in California, right?
Somehow that stuff doesn't feel that relevant, though. At least not yet.

I want to pause here and reflect on why I followed that academic path in high school.

There were advisers and directions and talks... I think there was some woman that made a living of telling kids and parents how to maximize their UC attending opportunities. And in a sea of Asian parents, I sat, listening.

And yet, I never took the SAT IIs and never made any effort to apply to any UCs. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I didn't take the AP classes because I wanted to get into college. I took the AP classes simply because I wanted to take them. I was bored by the material, the presentation, and the people in the regular ("college prep") classes.

It seems so simple, but I just took the advanced classes because I wanted to... learn? I wanted to be challenged. I got angry when I wasn't challenged, when I felt like I was being talked down to. The other thing is, I don't think I could really imagine any other way of being, than taking the most advanced classes. So I took them.

My journey to the west, Intro

Thirteen years ago, almost to the day, we arrived crankily in SFO. Confused, disoriented, we sank into the shaggy carpet of our new apartment set up for us by our relatives. Shaky on this new lavish ground, we set ourselves up, found jobs, schools, and set out on a new life.

It's thirteen years later, and some relatives gather around a Thanksgiving table. Thanksgiving, the second most American holiday there is. Heh. We raise our glasses and toast how thankful we are for America...

But two days later, when I remind my mother that it's our thirteen year anniversary of coming here, she crinkles her nose... she hates it here, doesn't she? I look her in the eyes and I don't know what to tell her. I don't know how I feel.

What the hell is America? Everyone has their answer, I suppose. I have my thoughts as well. But that's not what I'm writing about, I don't think... What I think this is about, is how America has shaped me as a person, how I've fought against it all my life, and whether or not I was successful.