2010

Here's a motivational way to bring in the new year: commencement speech by Steve Jobs (CEO of Apple & Pixar) at Stanford University...





Cheers to a new year!

Reunions

Had a really fun night with some old friends... and realized that so much has changed, yet the personality of our relationships have stayed the same. It's a really good feeling, knowing that there are some things that you could steadily depend on.

I am, for the most part, a terrible friend. I'm too lazy to text people about how they've been, forget birthdays, am unsentimental about gifts (both giving and receiving), cannot for the life of me remember to call people up to meet up when they're home, and just an all-around sucky person at maintaining friendships, especially long-distance ones.

Which is why I've been so blessed with people that would do all those things for me. That know, despite the fact that I'm an airhead and forget things and am too unthoughtful to call them up, that I really do in fact still care for them and want to know how they're doing. And, best of all, they're the kind of people that wouldn't hold it against me because they just take it for who I am. Although I see them a couple times a year, they probably will know me better than most of the people I see every day.

Cheers to this little ragtag gang of dorky kids from suburban New Jersey.

All I want for xmas

are these two naked McDulls. <3

Merry Xmas!

http://www.holidayjoys.com/christmas/funny_pictures/christmas_funny_picture_11.jpg

Why is it that I'm the hungriest...

when I'm at home?! currently starving and operating under an unusual time table. I wish I'd brought some of that italian-sausage-and-garlic pasta home. I'm really starting to get a handle for this cooking thing... I need to start collecting healthy recipes for next semester! Or else, I'll be living off hotdog/sunnysideup eggs on ramen. Not exactly the ideal weight loss plan.

To my future self: if I ever feel like this world is not worth the shittiness, remember this vid. If nothing else, it'll make your heart melt just a little. For about a second.

http://www.wimp.com/surprisedkitty/

Merry Xmas Eve! Maybe it'll actually feel like the holidays when I wake up.

I'm in great need

of a haircut. and a new dye job.

The great classics of our time

...sadly, will not be in books or passed through word of mouth. The great classics that will define our generation, the stories that will touch and move us and our kids, and will be dissected in language arts classes or whatever is the equivalent in the future, are in the movies that we watch, that are more similar to traditional literature than we think.

Literature, I think, is supposed to embody some timeless theme, have the ability to change people's perspectives or at least think twice about humanity, and do so artfully, with careful and deliberate direction. And what's more, it must be popular. It must be commonly accessible and interesting enough to the public to make a definitive impact.

Avatar, in my opinion, is one of those pieces of rare literature. It's a love story embedded in war, a satirical criticism of human sin and society not unlike G. Orwell.

Even if you don't believe that movies could be literature, I would highly encourage anyone to watch this movie. At the very least, it is nothing if not entertaining.

差不多4点。。。

还没睡。。。

~~~~~

Its almost xmas-time, and I still have yet to complete ANY of my shopping. Wondering if there's going to be any chrimbo cheer in the Lee household this year, or if things will escalate again. Missing my paternal extended family... The quirky uncles and the clever conversations with my cousins. It's weird, how one side of my family might as well be white, while the other can barely process English.

I'm thinking of the Christmases back in Hong Kong, when the buildings that line up squished against each other in Central show off their perennial displays, hundreds of feet of lights depicting snowflakes or reindeer or candy canes (in a city, mind you, that neither receives any snow nor sells candy canes to my knowledge - I used to wonder why people revered walking sticks so much) that seem to stretch endlessly into the hazy grey night sky as I used to crane my neck to stare at them out the car window driving through the district. My mom would dress me and the sis up in matching ugly green velvet holiday dresses with equally ugly velvet hairbands that itched, and poinsettias flooded the lobbies of every apartment highrise and commercial building and mall entrance. Pacific Mall, with its gigantic signature flowerpots I used to imagine emptying and hiding in if there ever was an invasion of any sort (I had an overactive imagination and a neurotic fear of everything as a kid) would house perfectly triangular christmas trees, the only evergreens I'd ever seen until I was 5 and moved to the States. Everyone wore huge parkas and down-filled jackets as though it were below freezing, although in tropical Hong Kong the weather never really typically dipped below 40; my mom wore her signature furs on visits to the family. The harbour glimmered with the extra million watts of light that made the city shine. My dad would hustle everyone (grandparents, nannies, brother, sister, mom, and himself) into our brown van that could proudly house six squished adults and three preschool children, and we'd drive to the far end of the fishing port on the far side of the island famous for its gigantic shrimp, and we'd eat pure seafood for christmas dinner.

That was 16 years ago.

I wonder what christmases in other households are like. Are they glazed with frost and holiday sweaters and christmas lights, like in the commercials? Do they use the dining room and dust out their crystal glasses and silverware? Do their cousins wreak havoc on the dog and family really gather around to sing christmas songs? It doesn't sound like much fun, but it must be nice to have family traditions, cheeseball ones and all.

One day I'll create my own traditions, but I haven't got much creativity for them now. I'll wait for my future self to figure it out.

Written in my Sr year of HS

Originally written on Thursday, March 1, 2007 at 4:10pm

"Life is a series of pulls back and forth. You want to do one thing, but you are bound to do something else. Something hurts you, yet you know it shouldn't. You take certain things for granted, even when you know you should never take anything for granted.
A tension of opposites, like a pull on a rubber band. And most of us live somewhere in the middle."

So which side wins, I ask?

He smiles at me, the crinkled eyes, the crooked teeth.

"Love wins. Love always wins."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, I believe goodness prevails. Life leads you through certain trials, purposefully, for the sole intention of learning; learning the act of trusting, of letting go, of weeding out the insincerities and ignorance and lack of faith; of knowing who are the people that are really worth your time. Learning that, if anyone ever truly meant something to you and vice versa, any mistrial and miscommunication would have been resolved already, regardless of pride. Anyone who didn't feel that making this effort at amends is not worth your while. And, finally, that although many people are willing to accept the rumors and stereotypes and assumptions rather than taking the time to find the truth, there are many more that will. Life is full of strangers and hypocrites, and friends and family and people who are closer to you than you'd ever imagine.

Life is a tension of opposites, it's true. But just because the allure of the materialistic and the easy and the indulgent calls to us in our ever-tempted teenage years doesn't mean we should give in. We are pulled, never more taut and extended, to our limits every day.

But that is no excuse to indulge in material escapes, to take out one's frustration on the weaknesses of others, to criticize and to back-stab and play petty games with the hurt minds and hearts of others. The little cuts you deliver to people cuts deeper than you think, and one day you will turn around and see in the mirror the scars that you unwittingly delivered to yourself. Life is beautiful, and short.

I intend to escape unscathed.

The things I wish I could say... Insomnia, Nov. 09 Edition

1. You've known me longer and better than anyone on this earth, but I wish we didn't fight so much. why is it so hard to get along with you, even though you've been there all along? What is it about us that makes us constantly abuse and neglect each other, knowing that we'll still be there despite it all? Even though its true, its taking a toll on us. And I hate it.

2. In a million years, I never imagined that our friendship would be reduced to this. All the petty things I saw you do to everyone else, never would I have thought you would end up doing to me. I suppose its not worth my pride to pursue or salvage what's left of it, but still, it makes me sad to think of what was, and what is.

3. We lose touch of each other time and time again, but we've always had one of those timeless friendships that bring us back to exactly where we left off, and I'm so thankful that there's one thing that remains undeterred, despite the changes we've taken on and have been in effect around us. Thanks for being the source of laughter and support, despite our incessant neglect for each other.

4. You seem so nice on the surface, but I can't help but feel like it's just all a fake front. And I can't figure out for the life of me whether its just me, or if you're really wearing a mask. It makes me nervous around you.

5. Please stop making me worry about you. Making all of us worry about you. It hurts when you disappear like that; I want to know not because I think I can fix it (whatever IT is), but because we have a right as people who care about you to know what the heck's going on. It's not fair.

6. Sometimes I wonder if I'm worthy of you. You're so... good. You're good and straight and sweet and smart and sympathetic and I could never stand it if I ever let you down. I'm constantly trying to think of ways to be a better person for you, but I always get that desperate feeling that no matter what I do I'll let you down if you really knew the truth. So I keep trying.

7. I know you're not doing everything you can. I know you're smarter than that. I've always looked up to you, but that's worn off over the past couple years, and now I don't know what to make of you anymore. Try a little harder; I still have faith in you!

8. Seriously, I can't stand your excuses. You're such a disappointment, especially when I'd placed such high hopes on you. Seeing you push your responsibility away and the resentment in everyone else's faces makes me feel guilty for making excuses for you all along. Prove us wrong. Prove me wrong.

9. I feel like you have one of those magnetic personalities that attract everyone around you to you. Except for me. Why don't I feel that way about you? Am I just not worth the effort for you to try to befriend? It's like there's a circle of exclusivity that surrounds you and the people that adore you and bide for your affection, one that I'm not in. It makes me feel worthless for a moment, but then I get over it.

10. You show up to stuff late, make tireless excuses for yourself, don't pull your own weight, and get away with it all because you're pretty and charming. I'm pretty envious, and don't blame you for a second - if I had those powers of persuasion and could get away guilt-free (mostly from my own conscience), I'd probably do it too. I envy people like you that can take things so lightly; it probably makes life alot easier.

Chicago

Its not often that I write about my everyday affairs, but this was one particular weekend that still stands so unforgettable I don't ever want to risk the chance of forgetting.

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It's our first trip together, but it's been one we've been lusting after ever since the semester started. When school and orgs and everything in between got to be too much, we'd daydream about escaping away to his beach house or, in his grander plan, to Chicago. His descriptions of the city and the mere idea of flying away to a place far away from events and programs and long pledging nights and papers got me excited as well. We'd never really thought it was possible until his father called the week of his birthday to offer him flights and a place to stay in his shiny new pad right in the heart of Chicago.

And so we bummed a ride off of his big the friday of his birthday and checked ourselves in; I don't think the realization that we were finally living out our fantasy had hit us quite yet. We bought a sandwich and a smoothie, and I sat reading my borrowed AACC library book while the boy spaced out listening to his ipod, waiting for our delayed flight. It wasn't until we had boarded and the flight took off that I started to get excited, squeezing his thighs or tugging on his arm to reassure myself that this wasn't just one long dream.

We get into Chicago late at night, and hop in a cab that whisks us away straight through michigan ave and to the doorstep of his father's apartment. It's a gorgeous shiny new building, with a roundabout in the front for taxis, futuristic lighting, high ceilings, glass walls and embedded speakers that pump out jazz. A cozy bar that blasts 80s music is across the street, and we drop off our things at our (yes, ours - his father rented out a separate apartment for us for the weekend!) apartment and met his parents there for a late supper and beers. I'm suddenly self-aware and nervous; I don't want to sound like an idiot in front of his parents, both of which were intelligent and had rather discriminating tastes (no doubt for their son as well). They eat (I was too nervous to ingest anything save my own saliva) and drink (I'm the only one not of-age), and we head back to our apartment to explore the rooms some more. We fall asleep in our undies, a privilege not often celebrated due to my roommates, exhausted from the plane ride and excitement.

We head out mid-afternoon the next day to explore the city and its culinary offerings - it turns out the Dunns' were food people, my favorite kind. The boy's father is charismatic and opinionated, but easy to talk to, and the boy's stepmom was warm and bubbly and classy, and I relaxed a little in their company. The weather is gorgeous and clear, unusual for Chicago. We hit up an Italian bistro, and I try palenta for the first time. There's a gentle breeze that blows in from Lake Michigan, but the sun is strong and makes the reflections of the architecture off the Chicago River glitter. There's bridal parties and photographers everywhere, taking advantage of the clear, warm day.

Chicago's a romantic city, with old-world architecture and streetlamps and bridges standing shoulder to shoulder with shiny new high-rises. The new steel-and-glass giant Trump Tower stands in sharp contrast across Michigan Ave from the classy Chicago Tribune building, and everywhere we look there is a roman column, an archway, a glossy skyscraper. We take the tourist ferry around the city and out into the lake, where the temperature drops and we shift closer for warmth and munch on the leftover panini from lunch.

After the tour, we bum around the city, and I drag the boy into every store we pass. He's a good sport for the most part, and I reward him with an early return back to the apartment to nap and mess around and prep for dinner.

Dinner is at a high-end, modern-y restaurant called Graham Elliot that blasts rock and serves basil/truffle oil popcorn and overpriced but delicious entrees. We head over to an old-school Sinatra-esque piano bar with his parents afterwards, where we find ourselves surrounded by a much older set. We are easily and far-and-away the youngest people there, but I don't mind. The boy and his dad buy a drink, and I watch a 50-something lady in a turquoise sequined top drunkenly dance with every semi-available 40-to-60 something man in the piano bar. Her drunken debauchery makes me smile, and the music is just my type. Eventually the boy and I get bored, and we decide to walk back the 10 blocks back to the apartment. It's a brisk autumn night, but the walk was just long enough, and we paused only to check out the Lamborghini dealership (the boy is a car fiend, but even I appreciated the bright red convertible sitting in the corner window). We pause to snog and snuggle under a colossal metal column two blocks away from the apartment, and the sad reality that our trip was soon ending sets in. Not prepared quite yet to end the night, we stop by the same bar we ate at the first night, but it's not quite the same, and we fight off yawns as we sat fireside before we finally called it a night and crawled into bed sans clothes.

We wake up early next morning to hazy skies; it seemed like the weather reflected our lack of enthusiasm for returning home. The boy dumps his baggage into the boot of his dad's car and runs around the front to gape at his dad's new ride while the dad, ever the gentleman, helps me with mine and opens the car door for me. I'm amused at the stark contrast of demeanor, and tease him later about it. We hop in the car and whiz to the airport and say our goodbyes. We're melancholy as we wait for our flight, and when we get on board we don't say much but I nestle into his neck and his arm finds my waist. I don't think I realized going to back to reality was part of the agenda until it was time to do so. And before long we were back in Newark and I was checking my email again and he was texting people back and returning phone calls.

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I think ever since that trip I've been yearning to get back to Chicago, back to the city where I could envision myself one day living and working and going back to the boy and our apartment at night, grabbing dinner next to the river or on the pier. I've been itching to be finished with Rutgers and everything along with it already, to go on pursuing my next goals in life, inspired all the more by this fulfillment of a daydream with the boy, with MY boy. I was happier than I could remember in that one weekend than I have been in a very, very long time.