Halfway into the secret shade

And here I am, back in prodigal Florida. So of course this means yet another soporific, gratuitously sentimental yarn that I must spin for the annals of this blog. Hey, it's what I do. If you don't like it, read something else.

But first, a lighter note! On my drive down from Atlanta, I noticed that my car was vibrating about half an hour outside of the city. It was vibrating so much that my seat felt like a massage chair. I pulled into the rest stop just before the I-475 bypass and checked out the exterior of the car. I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary (for my untrained eye, at least). Yet, I could still sense that something was wrong, because I knew my car wasn't supposed to be so friendly with my manly bits. Lo and behold, by the time I cleared Macon, the vibrations had gotten so bad that I had to slow down to a pedestrian 60MPH. Just as I was preparing to pull onto the shoulder, I heard a bang and the smell of searing rubber. My back right tire had exploded.

Honestly, I am damn proud of myself for not freaking out. And yes, I now realize that the vibrations were a sign that the alignment of my wheels were off. I have already recorded that tidbit as the lesson of the day. But I am [i]seriously[/i] kicking myself in the ass right now for not taking [b]ANY PICTURES AT ALL[/b]. The tire entrails were pretty rad to behold. If not for the gruesome rubber stains it left on the side of my car (while flapping in the wind like a rag), I would have thought it beautiful.

In any event, this was not my first flat tire. However, this was my first successful tire change! And I did it all by myself! I realize this is an accomplishment that doesn't exactly qualify me for a merit badge, but I'm still proud of it. I made it 12 miles down I-75 to a Walmart SuperCenter where I promptly got the tire changed for a nominal fee. My only gripe: THIS WALMART HAD NO BOOKS. Not a single novel to be bought or furtively flipped through in the entire establishment. All they had were tawdry magazines and Hallmark cards. I was disgusted. But if I could have something to read as I waited, I could at least get my softcore porn. Oh yes. I picked up a copy of the [i]GQ[/i] with the naked Sacha Baron Cohen on it.

I digress. NO PICTURES. Otherwise, they would be spilling forth from this blog like a cornucopia of twisted rubber and pavement.


I'm not sure how to process the information I'm met with when I come home nowadays. It seems like there's death lurking around every corner. Since the beginning of this year, we've lost two family friends, three neighbors, and two teachers. I'm appreciative of the fact that my parents choose not to tell me until they can do so in person, but at the same time, I'm taken aback. "Welcome home! This person died since the last time you were here." It's hard not to feel you've been punched in the gut, even if the death in question frankly doesn't mean much to you personally. I know that sounds cold, but some of these people I'd never even spoken with.

And now... it appears as if one of our cats is next. When I first saw her today, the most striking detail about her that I noticed was that it looked like she shrank. I mentioned this to my mom.

"She just lost a lot of weight. Her teeth aren't so great anymore, so she's having trouble eating."
"No, I mean she looks like her bone structure is smaller."
"Well, she's getting old. People shrink when they get older too."

It hit me like a ton of bricks. Mimi is approaching 15 years of age, a hefty 76 in cat years. I still remember the day my dad brought her home. She was a kitten of only a couple weeks of age, from a litter left abandoned and found by a jogger. At least this was the story my parents told me. I always suspected the orphan kittens held a more sinister story, but I was 8 years old at the time and in no position to hear such things. She was so small and shy she kept disappearing into corners and under furniture. I find myself struggling to remember more specific details about her: how fluffy she was, what kind of kitten habits she had, what her face looked like. And now that I'm faced with her imminent mortality, it's all I can think about.

I feel awful for saying this, but I hope I'm not here when it's time to put her down. I'm just not prepared to deal with that, and I don't think I ever will be.

A glance across the fence

I wish I had the problems of everyone else I know.

And I'm not saying that in a bitchy, "you-think-YOUR-life-sucks?!" kind of way. And I'm not going for dramatic histrionics either.

But damn... I really do wish I had your problems.

Identity: the vacuous void

Yesterday, brunch with mom consisted of the following dialogue (and inner dialogue):

Me: Right now I'm just hoping it doesn't snow in St. Louis. I don't think my car can handle those kinds of driving conditions.
Mom: Oh. (in Chinese) That's right. (in English) Although, I heard it was actually already snowing really hard up in Minnesota.
Me: Umm...
Super ego: That dumb skank. Is she serious?
Ego: Well, to be fair, I doubt we could place any of the Chinese provinces, much less name them.
Super ego: ... fine.
Me: Sure.
Id: Bitch sure makes a good pancake though.

And then that night, lubricated by vodka and Merlot respectively, Bo and I got into a bit of a debate regarding the issue of parents. In spite of everything (that I know of at least), she has a loving and healthy relationship with her parents. As I reread that, I find it striking that I felt the need to include "in spite of everything" just because we're both from immigrant Chinese families. Anyway, our experiences with our parents were very, very similar, at least from my analysis. And yet, our relationships with them are quite different now.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I find it nigh impossible to regard my parents as friends. I will respect them, I will honor them... but friends?

Throughout my entire childhood, my parents weren't 'bad parents' by any standard. Were they 'good parents'? That one is up for debate. They have always been steadfast providers, but in hindsight, that's all they might have ever been to me. Driving around town this past week, I passed our old neighborhood and was suddenly overcome with some uncomfortable memories. For example, I remember wandering out to the front of our neighborhood and waiting until 8, 9, or even 10PM at age 10 to wait for my father to return home from work; my mother was in California finishing up her degree at the time, her progress having been halting by our abrupt transplant to the east coast. This went on for weeks. Summers were spent away from home in camps or boarding school styled programs. During the academic year, I was relinquished to my own devices on the condition that I bring home a perfect report card. To this day, when I think back on that decade of my life, I remember nothing but playing with friends outside, watching TV, or playing video games. No, that's a lie. I remember going to the parties that the Chinese families in our social circle held every Saturday. And even though the parents and the children were eternally segregated, and I grew to love those nights. And then one day (for reasons that escape me) I remember my parents shrieked at me "Get your own friends!"

Ouch.

I stopped going to those parties. Saturday nights, when not spent with other similarly solitary kids a la Teeny from Now and Then, were lonesome adventures in channel surfing. And then when we moved even further out of town into a new subdivision and away from kids my age, my family finally entered the late 90s and plugged into the internet: a whole new diversion to babysit me. And thus the remainder of my teens became captive to those three things. In essence, I was raised by television, pop culture, and the internet. How's that for a cliche, huh?

Dad: So I hear people are saying good things about Tech's new football coach.
Me: Hm.
Inner Me: When have I ever, ever, ever indicated an interest in football?
*awkward silence*

Looking back, it was at some point toward the end of my 17th year that my parents started to come around and focus on being more amicable. The emphasis on grades, on SAT scores, on measuring up to the other Chinese children, it all but disappeared. Hell, they even let me drop the damn piano finally. Suddenly they wanted to spend time with me, and all that other silly stuff that normally begins when a child is, well, born. And it's been that way ever since. And while I can't blame them for what they both did, it's nevertheless striking in how it cascaded into the present.

It's a difficult situation. In some ways, I feel like I resent them for a lot of things, but also feel guilty about feeling resentful. And then sometimes I'm convinced I'm absolutely stoic about it all. I'm sure that my childhood experiences as a whole are not unique, and that other people who have gone through the same things as me have good, healthy relationships with their parents. Still, for now I cannot fathom that any sort of friendly rapport with my parents will ever develop. As much as I understand them, and as much as they try to understand me, I don't think we'll ever come to an understanding and accord. Bo's convinced that everyone's parents love them unconditionally, but I reject that. But in spite of that, I suspect that it will only be a matter of time before my hardened heart softens, and I can only wonder how far into the future that is. I don't know how anyone gets closure from a lifetime like this.

Yes, I know. I talk about this too much. So much that it borders on the self-indulgent. But you know what? Sometimes, when you need cathartic release, you need cathartic release.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me...

Quantum of Solace: a lesson in the perils of film editing. Honestly, the movie would have been better off being 3 hours long and more cohesive/coherent as a result. But hey, people got their fill of Daniel Craig skin (this just in, he is as delish as they say).

I will be in St. Louis over New Year's Eve/Day.

Gainesville for Thanksgiving and the rest of the winter holidays. This year will feel decidedly more different than before... no excuses now, we're all adults, in spite of all our equivocation. I suppose it's nothing to cry about, but I think I'll angst about it some more anyway.


In more general news, I need to stop getting upset so easily. More specifically: stop taking things so personally all the time.

More than a whim

Thomas had his 23rd birthday today. Appropriate hell was raised. I have pictures, but for some reason I can't upload them. Maybe later!

In other news, I eavesdropped (unwittingly and unintentionally) on some conversations and have decided that I am not fit to run for any MC positions in AIESEC US. Did I not mention that? I was seriously considering giving it a shot for the next year. But it's not to be. I'm not even going to get into the details, because there are too many. I'm just not ready or as qualified as I thought I was.

But on the bright side? Those individuals already exist within the country, not to mention the potential applicant pool from abroad. So even if my personal ambitions have been foiled, it's good to know that the MC will be fine anyway.

This came out a lot more emo than I intended. Oh well.

Vexing sense of futility

Watching someone for whom you care suffer is difficult.

But knowing that there is nothing you can do to ease their pain is agony beyond comprehension.


Postscript: Wow, talk about a premonition. Seven hours after the original posting, it actually happened. Before careful what you wish for, especially when the collateral damage extends beyond yourself.