As the youngest of three children and the only girl, I was raised on the idea of “anything you can do I can do better.” Or to put it more bluntly, if I used my brains I can compete with the boys. Even though I was the youngest, my father, a perpetual entrepreneur, trained me to be savvy in business etiquette and protocol. Growing up I never relied on being pretty to get things done, rather I believed my brain would shine through. Often times throughout high school and university my test scores would set the curve or a paper I wrote was used as an example, but it wasn’t until I started to work in a professional sphere did I learn the lesson that being attractive had its advantages.
Let me start this paragraph by saying that I never considered myself attractive, in high school I was mostly ignored, college was spent in a long term relationship, and it wasn’t until I started my professional career that I realized men found me attractive. Even with this new uncomfortable knowledge, I was lucky to work with female managers who encouraged me to utilize my skills over my physical attributes, but even still, there were moments when I started to realize the way I looked gave me advantages.
The first big wake up call happened when I left San Francisco to try my hand at living in Shanghai. Within weeks after moving to Shanghai I was able to secure a job. At first I thought it had more to do with my tenacity, but as I spent time with my boss and our clients, I quickly learned I secured my position due to the way I looked. Let me just say here that I have never considered myself to be excessively attractive, I feel average at best, but from traveling around, I’ve learned the world loves an Asian face, especially if there’s English coming out of those lips.
Even after I left my position in Shanghai, I quickly learned that being found attractive has it’s benefits. Traveling around the world alone quickly brought smiles and help from strangers, meals were made on the house and high level business men made it a point to spend the day with me.
Of course there are the downsides. Tired of working “pretty” industries, I started to apply for analyst positions that I was more than qualified for. In one particular instance I went through multiple phone interviews with one company going over my experience working with data, but when I met the CEO in person after two hours of interviews, he spent a few obligitory minutes orally going over my resume with me then informed me that they had just filled the analyst position but they would love to have my on their sales team where they felt I could better use my assets. Of course I turned it down.
Like I said, I have never been comfortable with the idea of being attractive, so instead of realizing the huge benefits that come with being pretty, it has caused me to shun that aspect of who I am and instead wish for a separation of mind and body so that I could finally be appreciated for the skills I have acquired as a rational human, but I’ve started to realize, perhaps there is a reason and a place when it comes to being thought of as attractive. I’ve been taught that we, women especially, should utilize all of our assets regardless of what they are to get ahead. The days of downplaying our natural assets are over. So perhaps it does pay to be pretty, as long as there is a brain to back up the aesthetically pleasing parts of of who we are, but still, I wish there was that separation of mind and body where my mind outshined the implicit pleasures of my body.
Since I’ve been badgered into posting a blog entry before I finish with my site redesign, I’ll go ahead and post since the redesign is taking longer than expected (ie, I just haven’t had the time).
Have you ever thought about the stories your parents tell about you as a kid? Or the memories that you have of seemingly less than exciting moments that just stay deep in your memory anyway. Ever since I can remember, and even to this day, my mom loves to mention how creative I was as a child, her example was always of how one day, when I was really tiny (4 maybe?) I crafted out of paper something that looked so perfectly like a pair of underwear. She always mentions how she regrets not having kept it. I don’t remember crafting this amazingly accurate reproduction, but I do remember spending time in my parents’ room playing with crayons and a light bulb. I’d have so much fun melting the crayon and mushing together the colors of warm wax between my curious fingers. Sometimes a drop of hot wax would burn my impatient hands, but it never stopped me from going back for more.
My mom taught me how to paint my nails when I was probably 5 years old. She doesn’t remember teaching me, but I still recall the first time I tried to paint my short nails with red varnish. Stroke by messy stroke left my fingers looking like the tips had suffered through an accident leaving nothing more than red stubs (I later tried to convince my brothers that I had cut my shins by painting streams of what I thought looked like blood with the same nail polish). My mom stopped me and taught me to paint my nails with uniform vertical strokes instead of the horizontal lines I attempted. She’d perm my hair and buy me my first pair of heels to match the red ones on her feet. Even on days I would go out and climb trees with my brothers, which was most days, she still dressed me in distinctly girly ensembles, earning me a moniker that I’ve kept alive ever since, “tomboy in a skirt.”
My Dad was my original chauffeur in a world before gps and map applications ever existed. Anytime I wanted to go anywhere new he would pull out a map and we would pour over it together, finding the street name in the back and flipping over to the front to find where “G” converged with “4″ to a square where our destination resided. Then we would go in reverse, tracing our fingers back to our home and map out our on turn by turn directions. There were other times when my dad would go off on a business trip to China and when he returned he always saved the airline care package for me. Mini toothbrushes and plastic combs expertly wrapped between dark blue satin eye masks replaced Barbie dolls and pastel colored ponies. I dreamed about the day I would go off on my own flights and even today I still dream about the flight experience of my childhood, during a time when security didn’t see a threat in a razor or a bottle of water.
I remember, with the help of my oldest brother, carving windows and doors into the oversized boxes our restaurant supplies would be delivered in. Hours were spent playing make-believe in the castoffs of the adult world. And with my brothers we would make into an adventure the exploration of an abandoned junkyard, flatten pennies on the train tracks and design wooden toy that our father would help fashion into reality. Out of salt I’d grow a crystal garden hidden in the dark corners of our family basement. We’d ride our bikes and spend hours in the library when my parents had no other options to entertain us while they went to work at their restaurant. A few quarters for a phone call home when we were ready to be picked up were intrusted with my oldest brother, but my love for the mint candies sold in the name of the Lion’s Club would find us more often than not fifty cents short. My oldest brother was also the one to teach me how to ride a bike. Once my wheels stopped wobbling, my brother encouraged me to ride a little faster, which I took to mean go as fast as you can, and so I did, and so I crashed. Impatience and a need for excitement really does start young.
My brother, the middle child, he was the social one. He made friends easily, while my oldest brother was more prone to independence. I was the follower, I went where they went, but if I didn’t get my way I’d wander away. We also saw him as the smart one, the early adaptor. Sometimes I think of him as the kid in the 80′s movie, “The Wizard.” We’d watch for hours as he deftly moved through the early Mario Brothers games, on our stomachs or propped up against the sofa, we’d watch as Mario entered secret giant worlds and clouds filled with gold coins.
I started out writing about these memories to talk about how even at an early age it was ingrained in me to be an explorer, a traveler, a lover of maps, but as the nature of writing, my stories took on a life of their own and pointed me in a different direction. People always make mention of how close I am with my family, and lately I’ve been finding myself say that “we used to be closer.” Somewhere along the lines we stopped being the type of close I that I have in my memories, be it because of age, different interests, change in roles, or even just the effects of time. But even with these shifts, if anyone ever wonders why I still cling closely to my family even as we find less in common, a lifetime of memories that have built me into who I am right now follow me in every decision I make in my life.
Everyone has a breaking point, a moment that makes each individual come face to face with any issues that they have left festering.I had such a moment this past weekend, and without getting into details, it has made me realize I’ve been working on outdated ideas of who I am and what are my priorities in life.
I’ll be completely honest, I felt stuck today, I didn’t know what direction to turn.At one moment I felt like bursting into tears, but just as quickly I pulled myself together before letting any tears fall out.I chatted with a few friends, and for the second time in the span of a week someone said to me that they were not used to seeing me as anything but happy and optimistic.It’s true that I try to be optimistic, and that I will encourage the people in my life to no end, but being always the cheerleader is my own way of drawing attention away from my lack of belief in myself.My college sweetheart used to tell me that all the time, that I never gave myself the credit that I deserve, so while I believe wholeheartedly in the capabilities of the people around me, sometimes attributing greater ability than might exist, I always doubt what I am capable of.
As a result, I’ve started playing the joyful pretty girl role.Don’t get me wrong, I do think we should all find the joy in life, but I’ve neglected my other abilities because at some point I started putting too much pressure on myself to be encouraging and pretty. I mean I spent my whole adult professional life in “pretty” professional roles and even when I tried to make the switch to something more analytical I was told that my attributes would fit better with sales, a pretty profession. I don’t know why I have struggled so much with the idea that I am considered attractive. For a while it used to make me cry when strangers would hit on me in the streets, or it made me feel sick that men who barely talked to me for a minute were interested in going out with me even though I felt like we never found a connection to persue in the minute we spoke. It is something that truly bothers me, but on the other hand, I also can appreciate what it has gotten me in life as well. Strangers react to me kinder, I’ve sometimes received preferential treatment, and as much as I complain about being noticed, it sucks just as much to be ignored. I wonder how the truly physically stunning people feel about this.
Today it was made clear to me how much I need to re-evaluate my priorities.I went to an Global Town Hall regarding the topic of government’s role in the economy.I thought just because I travel a lot and spend time trying to understand people meant that I could understanding different topics, but I was proven how little input I had for some topics such as economics.Yes, I was able to keep up, but I failed to have anything worth sharing.It was a wake up call to me regarding how ignorant I am about this topic and anytime it is blatant to me that I don’t know something, it made me feel like I haven’t been doing my part in educating myself.
So once again, as I mentioned at the start of this entry, I’ve reached a point where I realized my lifestyle no longer makes sense to me.It’s overwhelming to think I am going through so many changes at the same time, a new job, new apartment, new way of seeing my place in the world, new sources of education, new venues of fun, etc… And that is where my source of feeling overwhelmed today has stemmed from, but if I keep reminding myself we all have to start from scratch when we start something new, I know I will be alright.Yes, at the moment I am at a disadvantage to the international relations students of San Francisco in terms of being aware of global topics, but I can either let that scare me away or continue to learn and pursue that knowledge so that 6 months down the road I might be a little more educated than I am now.
There’s something about writing that really helps me put this into perspective and makes me feel better.I will be completely honest when I say for the majority of today I felt this sense of hopelessness, but despite feeling undereducated in terms of the topic of economics, it made me feel so much better to leave my problems for a moment and focus on the discussion that unfolded in front of me.Kudos.
I forgot how much I actually enjoy when people ask me where I’m from. Whenever I travel I always say, “American,” though I know they are asking my ethnicity more so than what country I live in, which always leads to their second question, “where are you from originally?” I know a lot of Asian Americans get annoyed with that line of questioning, but I just figure it’s the questioner’s way of asking what ethinicity I am with then English vocabulary that they have. I think it’s rather short sighted to assume that questioners from other countries don’t realize that it’s possible for someone of Asian ethnic origin to have always been originally been from America through many generations, and also the way different cultures look at origins differs from each other. For instance, while I lived in China all the Chinese there told me that I will always be Chinese regardless of where I identify as my home, and it’s nice to be thought of in that way, regardless of how lost I feel at times regarding where I belong, there will always be a “home” to me regardless of if I grew up there or not. In a way I can see why the idea of Zionism was, and is, so appealing to many of the Jewish faith, but just because I understand does not mean I necessarily agree with the way Israel was claimed, but that’s another topic.
Living in San Francisco I almost never get asked the question of where my family’s origins are from. People become too worried about being policitally correct, which takes the fun out of life at times. Read the rest of this entry »
I like to write. I carry a notebook with me at all times as a place where my thoughts go uncensored. When I travel I tend to utilize my notebooks more often than when I am home, but my home is a collection of notebooks in every corner of my apartment, some half written in, others maybe a page with a scribbled thought, others still, a mixer where my thoughts and notes mingle on a paper dance floor. I start out with the intent to dedicate an individual notebook for my sketches, another for notes from reading, and yet another for lines for writing that come to me while I go about my day, but in the end I grab the one closest to me to let my thoughts escape and become concrete on a page. I’ve even tried to organize my various outlets into a divider filled binder, but the mind knows what the mind likes and more often than not my hand passes over that binder and grabs my notebook ala mode.
The notebook of the moment is one I guard with as much safety as I do my other sacred possession, my passport. No two things explain me, or where I’ve been, better than these two items and because of that they sit together in a space guarded closely in my handbag. I know others believe in using travel pouches strapped closely to their bodies, but travel isn’t about standing out and nothing says tourist quicker than the over reliance on precautions that the traveler perceives as safety. Life is all about perception, the traveler’s perception of their environment and the local’s perception of the traveler. As I enjoy my late afternoon lunch sheltered from the famous Tarifa winds, I pull out my notebook and out of habit, pull out my passport as well to reflect upon where I’ve been, because sometimes I feel like the things I’ve seen or done in my life were nothing but a dream. When that thought crosses my mind I sometimes panic, my lungs refuse to work as nature intended and I find myself struggling with reconciling whether or not what I remember is reality.
After running my hands across the familiar stamps that make real the life I have lived, I quickly return my passport to its place and start to write in my notebook to avoid the awkwardness that comes with dining alone. As with every opportunity that I’ve taken to write, regardless of whether or not I am aware of having thoughts that want to be recorded, I soon find my thoughts flow out and onto the page. I imagine my words tumbling out of me in one large swell, crashing onto the page too quickly for me to put them into any sort of comprehensible order. Read the rest of this entry »
I think I’ve been going on girl dates lately. No, my lack of interest in dating men at the moment does not mean I’ve decided to become a lesbian, rather I think I’ve been meeting women who have been courting me for new friendships, which I’m completely happy about. I’ve been looking to add more friendships with people who I can do things with, not just drink. I’ve also been spending time with old friends doing different things than we normally do and I’m really enjoying it. I know I’ve said this before, but 2010 has really become a turning point in my life.
I’m not saying that I’m against meeting some awesome man, but I feel no urge to be dating. As much as my parents want me to settle down with a nice man, I’ve seen what dating outside of San Francisco is like and I can’t imagine settling for anything less than great. It’s been speculated that perhaps women in San Francisco have too high of expectations when it comes to men and that the women in San Francisco are too ambitious when it comes to their careers, when all is said and done, I know there are awesome men out there who know how to treat a woman right. I’ve dated them, befriended them, and have conversations with them that capture my mind, heart, and spirit, and knowing that they exist (and there are plenty of them) makes it hard for me to get excited about men who are lacking or who are intimidated by women who know more than they do.
But the point of this post isn’t about the men of San Francisco, it’s about the women. I’ve been having a lot of fun on my girl dates. I find myself able to talk about smart topics and also fall into silly conversations all while having the person I’m talking to keep up with the different subject matters. Too often on regular dates men try too hard to impress so the conversation becomes a bit dull for me, yet for some reason they think those dates were awesome and want to go on second dates, go figure. Even better, women don’t think just because I laugh a lot, ask a lot questions, or just engage myself in the conversation topics means that I want to go out with them or sleep with them. That was my biggest complaint traveling alone, I would have some of the most interesting conversations, but my friendliness was often equated with sexual interest. An Italian boy once explained to me why that is, but I’m not about ready to change my ways just because men take a smile to mean, “jam your tongue down my throat.” Women are also a lot of fun to hang out with in general. I guess I’m a little late to figure this out since in the past I used to have mostly guy friends, but it’s great to be able to sign up for a gym class with a friend, go for a hike, meet up for dinner, grab a glass of wine after a long day, etc… Another thing I’ve noticed, because of the communicative nature of women, women are natural networkers and are more than willing to share contacts with other women, be it a great hair stylists, an awesome French teacher, a cool international organization, or someone “really cool that you have to meet and you’d really get along with.”
I think because lately I have not been really interested in dating, I’ve become more open to meeting new people in general. When women see another woman not vying for the attention of the men in the room, they let their guards down and are more receptive. The fact that I’ve been noticing more frequently cute dogs and babies (not because I want one now, but because I adore children) and not noticing cute men has really put me in a new mindframe that’s making me happier and more focused on getting my life in order.
So to my lovely girl dates, past, present, and future, here’s my post to all of you. May we continue to have fun and laughter in our lives!
Thank you Pandora for reminding me of this song, Johnny & June by Heidi Newfield. I remember driving on I-5 back from Los Angeles maybe a year ago and as I flipped through the mostly country music stations this song caught my attention and I fell in love ith it. Even as I get older and more realistic in life, I still will always believe there is a love like this.
We moved our hips and waved our arms in the multicolor lights native to the universal world of dance clubs.First red then yellow, my hand changes color in less than a blink of an eye, and just as quickly it flashes into darkness and back again.I grab a mug of beer from the Chinese bartender and watch as our friend, Reggie, melts away from the world of self consciousness and moves himself in rhythm with the throbbing beats of the music.A DJ of the same genre, he finds himself more at home with his eyes closed dance than his every day lanky hunched over stance.Abe and I watch him a little longer, commenting on the fluidity of his jerky movements.
4 Live, a name only the Chinese could come up with, gets crowded, the smell of spilled beer mingles with the distinct dry ice scent of the fog machine.I excuse myself for a moment to catch my breath.Past the sweat covered in bodies, for a reflexive second I marvel at the multitude of individuals who dance for no one but themselves, an idea foreign to many of the dance clubs in my San Francisco.The underground scene in Shanghai was just getting started, and because of the newness of it all, the early adaptors come for the right reasons, for the music and not the scene.
Inside the overly elaborate red and black bathroom I wash my hands and spend a moment to talk to the ayi working her shift.In Mandarin I ask her how her day is going and with a sigh to match the weariness on her face, she says she still has a long night ahead of her.I ask her when she’s done with work and she says, “when all of you go home.”It’s not uncommon for clubs to stay open well past 4 a.m. and just as common is the sight of ayis in their uniforms with brooms made out of branches tied together sweeping their way around the drinking bodies until the wee hours of the night.I sympathized with the ayi in the bathroom and she said to me the work is hard but jobs are even harder to come by.For a moment she lets her guard down and tells me about moving to Shanghai from the poorer countryside hoping to find work and a better life, but because she is from the countryside, her wages are low, making as little as 500 yuan a month.I didn’t even need to do the quick conversion in my head to understand how low that salary is.My cousin, a Shanghainese college graduate earns 1,500 yuan a month compared to my 15,000 yuan a month as a foreigner who found a job once in Shanghai.For the foreigners recruited from their overseas offices to live and work in Shanghai, their salaries reach insane numbers that let them live like kings in their foreigner compounds that make living in China just like being in the suburbs of their own respective countries.We chat a little bit more, long enough to let the ayi air her grievances, and long enough for me to go back into the night with yet another crack in the façade of China’s “modernized” life.
Today is my 27th birthday and I feel really good about it. I went for a drive along the California Pacific Highway and really just took the time to enjoy the view and to enjoy the thrill I get from having my own mortality in my hands. On that note, my mom always told me my favorite phrase growing up was the Chinese phrase for “myself,” how typical Aries of me. But that’s how I’ve lived my life, even today I was thinking 27 is the age I stop waiting around for people and just do things myself, but then I realized, that’s always been my take on life. Some of the best things that have happened to me happened because I didn’t believe in waiting around. So for my 27th year I will continue just being myself!
So i decided to start a tradition. For every birthday I will wear red and have a photo of myself taken by the ocean or any body of water. That’s my favorite contrast, a blue background with a red foreground, so I figure, let’s see how I age through the rest of my years utilizing a look I love. So excited about this project!!!
