My sister has been sleeping over for the past couple days, while my mom stays in a hotel a few blocks away (they both came to visit me in Boston!). Every night, my sister hogs the internet to Skype with her various guy friends (cute for the first 5 minutes, but now it's just annoying), and sometimes my mom pops on Skype from her hotel room to bother us.
[12/16/2010 11:14:24 PM] Sefen.Hsu: HELLO!!
[12/16/2010 11:14:42 PM] Sefen.Hsu: DID YOU BRUSH YOUR TEETH??
[12/16/2010 11:14:46 PM] Julianne Wey: .....uh hi mom
[12/16/2010 11:14:49 PM] Julianne Wey: YEAH.
[12/16/2010 11:14:59 PM] Julianne Wey: DID YOU??
[12/16/2010 11:15:20 PM] Sefen.Hsu: NOT YET, EATING BLUEBERRIES
[12/16/2010 11:15:31 PM] Sefen.Hsu: CHECKING EMAILS
[12/16/2010 11:15:40 PM] Sefen.Hsu: DID YOU CHECK YOU EMAIL
[12/16/2010 11:15:44 PM] Julianne Wey: uh no?
[12/16/2010 11:15:45 PM] Julianne Wey: LOL
[12/16/2010 11:16:24 PM] Sefen.Hsu: ok
[12/16/2010 11:16:29 PM] Sefen.Hsu: do stay up
[12/16/2010 11:16:33 PM] Julianne Wey: do stay up?
[12/16/2010 11:16:41 PM] Sefen.Hsu: don't
[12/16/2010 11:16:45 PM] Julianne Wey: right ok!
[12/16/2010 11:16:47 PM] Julianne Wey: hahaha
[12/16/2010 11:17:17 PM] Sefen.Hsu: i am tired, going shower and sleep
[12/16/2010 11:17:27 PM] Sefen.Hsu: you make your bed
[12/16/2010 11:17:42 PM] Sefen.Hsu: and DON'T STAY UP TOO LATE!!!
[12/16/2010 11:18:25 PM] Sefen.Hsu: bye :)
Parents and online chatting = one of my favorite combinations
So much has been happening in the past week, and the craze is still in full swing, so more later...just had to post that, because it's too hilarious.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
If You're a (Good) Pianist
Top 3 pieces for solo piano that will win a girl (or at least this particular girl)'s heart:
1) Liszt Un Sospiro
2) Schubert Op. 90 No. 3
And of course,
3) Brahms Intermezzo Op. 118 No. 2
Close Runner-up:
Chopin Nocturne Op. 9 No. 3
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Thanksgiving in Pictures
First store we visit. :)
At what's got to be the largest Toys 'R Us in the world...yes, they have a ferris wheel. There was an hour-long wait to ride it.
Thanksgiving dinner, courtesy of Trader Joe's and H's cooking skills! Not pictured: pumpkin pie and beautiful omelets that were devoured so quickly by some very intensely ravenous people that I was unable to get my camera in time.
Opening wine by grinding the cork into bits with a spoon--revolutionary!
Black Friday shopping at the world's largest Macy's. Most crowded store I've ever been in, but Victoria's Secret was a close second. What were all the men doing in there? As S proclaimed loudly, "All these husbands and boyfriends just need to go away so we can shop."
Mary Poppins on Broadway. Very cheesy, and the movie is way better, but it was fun.
Cosi Fan Tutte by Mozart, at the Met. Seriously, only opera and opera alone can manage to be so ridiculously funny and incredibly beautiful all at once.
Monday, November 29, 2010
An Ode to Second Homes
The floor of the bathroom at Sara's place is, for some reason, about 1 1/2 inches higher than the rest of the apartment. Once upon a time, I used to trip and stub my toe on that stupid elevation every time, but this past week staying at her house, it didn't bother me at all. I didn't even notice it until someone who came over pointed it out, and I thought, "Wow, I've really grown into this place." It's like the moment you start thinking in a new language you've been trying to learn, or the moment you're able to drive to a previously unfamiliar location without thinking. There's the little click of a light bulb in your head that tells you, "Hey, you know this!"
We were calculating, and I believe it's seven times that I've stayed at Sara's place...around twice a year since we met in 2006. A little less when we were in high school, and a little more when we entered college. I love everything about her apartment, from the Charmin' toilet paper and Puffs tissues that always feel so good, to the fluffy purple blankets and row of stuffed animals on the bed, to the box of Maple Syrup Quaker's oatmeal Sara always has waiting in the pantry for me to eat. There's the blue sofa with the footrest that I always sit on, and the leather brown swivel chair that Sara always sits on when we watch TV. There's the closet where I hang my coat, the teddy bear I hug when we sleep, and the bluish-purple bath towel I use after showers. I've learned to close the toilet seat cover after using the bathroom, I know which exact drawer the nail clipper I constantly have to borrow is in, and I've finally figured out the complicated 3-lock routine on the door.
To be honest, I feel more comfortable at Sara's apartment than at my own in Boston. Maybe it's because of the hardwood floors (which I really appreciate and prefer over carpet), the big queen-sized bed (I LOVE big beds), or the TV and microwave (which I tell myself I don't need, but...I really do miss them). Maybe it's because I've known her place longer, and because it's in the PERFECT location--a newly-opened Trader Joe's, Ann Taylor Loft, Gray's Papaya, subway station, and Westside Diner all within a block away, and the Met/Carnegie Hall just five minutes away. Or maybe it's because of that dumb centipede that keeps popping up and scaring the living daylights out of me in Boston.
But I know that mostly, it's because of Sara. Like the fact that we can either stay up past 3am talking our heads off and laughing hysterically, or go straight to bed at 11pm and pass out without saying more than, "Shall we sleep?" "Yes. Good night!" When we're eating, we can stare at the TV and not talk at all, or we can discuss something really important/meaningful, and either way is fine. We'll take turns doing the dishes, cleaning up when there are guests, and she can always tell when I'm hungry and want to eat something in particular...she prepares food for me and listens to me practice, and despite her adamant insistences that she does not want kids or a husband, I just know she'd make a great mom.
I love my California home most of all, but as for second homes, I am so lucky as to have one of the best. :)
*** When we were getting in bed-
Sara: (looking for her stuffed animals) Where is everybody?
While I was practicing in the bedroom, which is adjacent to the bathroom-
Sara: Sorry, I have to poop.
Me: Oh okay, do you want me to move to the other room?
Sara: No, you can stay here. Geez Jennifer, it's not going to be that intense.
HAHAHA You see how awesome she is??
We were calculating, and I believe it's seven times that I've stayed at Sara's place...around twice a year since we met in 2006. A little less when we were in high school, and a little more when we entered college. I love everything about her apartment, from the Charmin' toilet paper and Puffs tissues that always feel so good, to the fluffy purple blankets and row of stuffed animals on the bed, to the box of Maple Syrup Quaker's oatmeal Sara always has waiting in the pantry for me to eat. There's the blue sofa with the footrest that I always sit on, and the leather brown swivel chair that Sara always sits on when we watch TV. There's the closet where I hang my coat, the teddy bear I hug when we sleep, and the bluish-purple bath towel I use after showers. I've learned to close the toilet seat cover after using the bathroom, I know which exact drawer the nail clipper I constantly have to borrow is in, and I've finally figured out the complicated 3-lock routine on the door.
To be honest, I feel more comfortable at Sara's apartment than at my own in Boston. Maybe it's because of the hardwood floors (which I really appreciate and prefer over carpet), the big queen-sized bed (I LOVE big beds), or the TV and microwave (which I tell myself I don't need, but...I really do miss them). Maybe it's because I've known her place longer, and because it's in the PERFECT location--a newly-opened Trader Joe's, Ann Taylor Loft, Gray's Papaya, subway station, and Westside Diner all within a block away, and the Met/Carnegie Hall just five minutes away. Or maybe it's because of that dumb centipede that keeps popping up and scaring the living daylights out of me in Boston.
But I know that mostly, it's because of Sara. Like the fact that we can either stay up past 3am talking our heads off and laughing hysterically, or go straight to bed at 11pm and pass out without saying more than, "Shall we sleep?" "Yes. Good night!" When we're eating, we can stare at the TV and not talk at all, or we can discuss something really important/meaningful, and either way is fine. We'll take turns doing the dishes, cleaning up when there are guests, and she can always tell when I'm hungry and want to eat something in particular...she prepares food for me and listens to me practice, and despite her adamant insistences that she does not want kids or a husband, I just know she'd make a great mom.
I love my California home most of all, but as for second homes, I am so lucky as to have one of the best. :)
*** When we were getting in bed-
Sara: (looking for her stuffed animals)
While I was practicing in the bedroom, which is adjacent to the bathroom-
Sara:
Me: Oh okay, do you want me to move to the other room?
Sara: No, you can stay here. Geez Jennifer, it's not going to be that intense.
HAHAHA You see how awesome she is??
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Two Vows
After taking a 5-hour bus ride to New York and a 5 1/2-hour bus ride back to Boston this past week, I firmly vow the following 2 things for the rest of my life:
1) If I ever have to take a young child on public transportation lasting more than 30 minutes, I will spend at least a week in advance training him/her to be quiet instantly upon my command. This is not just for my own sanity, but for the sanity of THOSE AROUND ME.
2) No matter what the circumstance, I will never ever participate in full-frontal PDA in crowded areas, especially airport terminals or train stations. I mean, congratulations on your successful relationship and great enthusiasm/passion, but come on...kissing for multiple seconds? With tongue? While everyone around you is trying to navigate around you and get home? In the words of the little boy sitting in front of me at the Mary Poppins Broadway show when Mr. and Mrs. Banks are about to kiss: Ew.
Anyway, time for some sweet potato soup, and then off to catch up on practicing. More later.
1) If I ever have to take a young child on public transportation lasting more than 30 minutes, I will spend at least a week in advance training him/her to be quiet instantly upon my command. This is not just for my own sanity, but for the sanity of THOSE AROUND ME.
2) No matter what the circumstance, I will never ever participate in full-frontal PDA in crowded areas, especially airport terminals or train stations. I mean, congratulations on your successful relationship and great enthusiasm/passion, but come on...kissing for multiple seconds? With tongue? While everyone around you is trying to navigate around you and get home? In the words of the little boy sitting in front of me at the Mary Poppins Broadway show when Mr. and Mrs. Banks are about to kiss: Ew.
Anyway, time for some sweet potato soup, and then off to catch up on practicing. More later.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Friends
When A was visiting a few weeks ago, she looked through my Japan pictures from the past summer and told me, "You look so happy." Thinking back, I was a lot happier during the summer than I am now. I can barely remember what it feels like to be so carefree and live with almost no worries. Of course there were little concerns, like "I hope our concert goes well," or "We have to wake up by 7am tomorrow," but they didn't bother me much. And anxieties about the coming school year were WAY in the back of my mind. I miss that freedom...
Another thing I've been thinking about is, something happens when you have a select group of people that have been your closest friends for a long time. Especially if you're an introvert and have a very small number of people with whom you can legitimately open up...you start assigning roles to them. At least, I do. I go to Person A when I want to talk about what I did every day, like what I ate, where I went, something funny that happened in class, whatever. I go to Person B when I'm stressed about music, I go to Person C when I feel philosophical/intelligent (a rarity), Person D for family problems, Person E for relationship advice...etc. It became this way because when I have a conundrum, I need someone who a) is truly interested, b) won't judge me, and c) understands how I feel. A few weeks ago, I had a rough night and wanted/needed to talk it out. For the first time in my life, there was not one friend in whom I could confide. It's not that there was nobody trustworthy...that definitely wasn't the problem. It was that there was nobody who satisfied all three categories (interested, unbiased, and understanding). So I ended up calling two teachers, and then my parents, who are always always there for me.
I am SO lucky in that I can confidently name five people in this world who are not related to me but who will ALWAYS be willing to sit down, listen to whatever I have to say, and care about it. This is a huge blessing already. But sometimes, an attentive ear isn't enough...
Anyway, it's as if each person has their "assignment," and the question is, what happens when there is nothing to talk about within someone's realm of conversation? It's not like we COULDN'T talk about regular old things--these are first-tier friends I'm referring to. But the facts are: they are not in Boston, we're busy people, and our lives are sort of irrelevant...it's simply not practical to call someone just to tell them what I ate for lunch that day or something. On the one hand, it's wonderful to have people (who are not family) you can go to for specific problems/happenings. But when it comes down to plain old companionship, you can't reach out to your old friends who live thousands of miles away. You need people who are right here with you...and the thing about being an introvert is, it's rare/difficult enough to find people with whom you feel comfortable, whether or not their lives are in close conjunction with yours.
I feel like there are two general types of friends--indispensable and convenience friends. Indispensable friends are the ones you need...you see something in a store and just have to buy it for them, you go through a hard time and just have to hear their voice telling you it's okay. Convenience friends are always around, people you can go places with and have a good time. You might miss them as a group, but less often will you miss them as individuals. Both types of friends are great, but I know which I gravitate toward.
What's scary is when you start falling out of touch with indispensable friends. I've been feeling that lately, because my daily life is centered so exclusively around music these days. As D said, what do you talk about when the only meaningful thing you did all day was practice? Are people going to be interested in discussing that? Uh, no. As a result, it's been an abnormally long time since I've talked to certain people, non-musicians in particular. Our lives move in different directions...and this is the point at which seemingly indestructible friendships may start to fade.
Fortunately, there are some people where it doesn't matter how long it's been, how much you differ, how far apart you live...when you come back to each other, it's just like old times. Some things never change. Which brings me to one of my favorite beliefs--that love is irrelevant to time spent together. It doesn't matter how often you talk or see each other, how much you relate--the love increases regardless.
I guess the point I've reached after this whole drawn-out ramble is, no matter how you view and deal with your friendships, recognize the ones that are indispensable, give them what they deserve, and trust in them...if they're real, they will last.
Friday, November 19, 2010
CENTIPEDE
NOOOOO...ANOTHER CENTIPEDE SIGHTING.
I was pounding a bag of frozen spinach on the counter to split it into smaller chunks when a big brown centipede scurried hurriedly across the stove behind the refrigerator. I think it's still there...I'm borrowing bug spray from a friend tomorrow morning, but ugh, it's going to be a long night. At least, unlike the first centipede sighting, I managed not to burst into tears. Sigh. :( It's times like these where I really miss my crazy mom, who would have no problem squishing the bug with her bare hand.
[11/18/2010 11:27:26 PM] Sefen.Hsu: don't think about it, just keep some good thought when you go to sleep, it will be fine
[11/18/2010 11:29:11 PM] jenniferwey: :( :( ok
[11/18/2010 11:30:06 PM] Sefen.Hsu: remember the song, 'my favorite things' in sound of music... you can try that too
[11/18/2010 11:32:48 PM] jenniferwey: it moved so fast
[11/18/2010 11:33:08 PM] Sefen.Hsu: I think it is scared of you too
[11/18/2010 11:33:27 PM] jenniferwey: :( sigh
[11/18/2010 11:33:52 PM] Sefen.Hsu: it might run away
[11/18/2010 11:34:07 PM] Sefen.Hsu: out of your room!!
Please please...let it run away..........
I was pounding a bag of frozen spinach on the counter to split it into smaller chunks when a big brown centipede scurried hurriedly across the stove behind the refrigerator. I think it's still there...I'm borrowing bug spray from a friend tomorrow morning, but ugh, it's going to be a long night. At least, unlike the first centipede sighting, I managed not to burst into tears. Sigh. :( It's times like these where I really miss my crazy mom, who would have no problem squishing the bug with her bare hand.
[11/18/2010 11:27:26 PM] Sefen.Hsu: don't think about it, just keep some good thought when you go to sleep, it will be fine
[11/18/2010 11:29:11 PM] jenniferwey: :( :( ok
[11/18/2010 11:30:06 PM] Sefen.Hsu: remember the song, 'my favorite things' in sound of music... you can try that too
[11/18/2010 11:32:48 PM] jenniferwey: it moved so fast
[11/18/2010 11:33:08 PM] Sefen.Hsu: I think it is scared of you too
[11/18/2010 11:33:27 PM] jenniferwey: :( sigh
[11/18/2010 11:33:52 PM] Sefen.Hsu: it might run away
[11/18/2010 11:34:07 PM] Sefen.Hsu: out of your room!!
Please please...let it run away..........
Saturday, October 30, 2010
It's times like these...
...that I appreciate Facebook.
In middle school, there was this guy with whom I was good friends. We had a lot of classes together, and we basically spent a lot of time in each other's company, running around, devising pranks to play on our teachers, and keeping each other entertained during the long boring hours of class. I think at one point, we even walked home from school together. Then in ninth grade, he moved away, and I didn't talk to him since then. I don't know why...we probably started hanging around different people, and then he left and we lost touch. In essence, he completely disappeared from my life, and I didn't give much thought to him after that.
At one point, we became Facebook friends, although I'm not sure how that happened, because he doesn't friend people, and neither do I...but anyway, a couple days ago, I got a message from him. I remember seeing the notification email and thinking, "What the heck? Maybe it's a forward or chain message or something." I clicked on it, and it basically said that he and his roommates decided this week to reconnect with their middle school crushes, and I was his only one. So, if I wanted to Skype and catch up on the last seven years or so, that would be really great.
First, I laughed for about five minutes straight, because it was so random and amusing and, I don't know, completely unexpected. But then we got in touch via Skype, started talking, and tonight, we ended up having a four-hour video chat. As he said, we've barely even scratched the surface, and there is still so much to say.
It's surreal. On the one hand, it was as if I was meeting him for the first time. I didn't even know what school he went to, what major he was, what kind of person he's become. His hair looks different, his clothes are different, and he's definitely grown up. But on the other hand, this is the guy I sat next to in eighth grade English every day...his mannerisms, his personality, and his sense of humor are like second nature to me. Within minutes, I was blabbing on and on, talking endlessly with him like I would with a first-tier friend...it was as if our seven years of silence had not existed. I was surprised at how natural/comfortable it was to suddenly share so much of my life with him. What's more, it seems that we matured and changed in quite similar ways over these years--not by affecting each other, but by simply learning the same lessons. The image I envision is two travelers walking down parallel roads...they don't meet, but they're going in the same direction. Discussing books, movies, music, drugs, school, family, friendship, relationships, marriage, individuality...we held the same principles for so many of these topics, on so many levels.
When we were fourteen, we'd sit and talk about the school dance, the Jogathon, the To Kill A Mockingbird assignment, how to make stars with rubber bands...and now that we're in our twenties (crazy), we talk about what jobs we want, past relationships, what we think about The Fountainhead, what makes quality music, what we like/dislike about ourselves... It is reassuring that while the topics change, the comfort and openness and ease doesn't. It is reassuring that a middle school friendship is significant enough to reappear seven years later. Most of all, it is reassuring that there are still people who see the value of making an effort to keep in touch. We're all busy these days; it is so easy to find an excuse to NOT take the initiative, call someone up, and find out how they're doing...not out of obligation or convenience, but because you really care. We all go around saying, "Aw I miss so-and-so" or "I miss the old days"...but not many people act on it. Even fewer people voluntarily dig out an old candle of a friendship, dust it off, and relight it.
:)
In middle school, there was this guy with whom I was good friends. We had a lot of classes together, and we basically spent a lot of time in each other's company, running around, devising pranks to play on our teachers, and keeping each other entertained during the long boring hours of class. I think at one point, we even walked home from school together. Then in ninth grade, he moved away, and I didn't talk to him since then. I don't know why...we probably started hanging around different people, and then he left and we lost touch. In essence, he completely disappeared from my life, and I didn't give much thought to him after that.
At one point, we became Facebook friends, although I'm not sure how that happened, because he doesn't friend people, and neither do I...but anyway, a couple days ago, I got a message from him. I remember seeing the notification email and thinking, "What the heck? Maybe it's a forward or chain message or something." I clicked on it, and it basically said that he and his roommates decided this week to reconnect with their middle school crushes, and I was his only one. So, if I wanted to Skype and catch up on the last seven years or so, that would be really great.
First, I laughed for about five minutes straight, because it was so random and amusing and, I don't know, completely unexpected. But then we got in touch via Skype, started talking, and tonight, we ended up having a four-hour video chat. As he said, we've barely even scratched the surface, and there is still so much to say.
It's surreal. On the one hand, it was as if I was meeting him for the first time. I didn't even know what school he went to, what major he was, what kind of person he's become. His hair looks different, his clothes are different, and he's definitely grown up. But on the other hand, this is the guy I sat next to in eighth grade English every day...his mannerisms, his personality, and his sense of humor are like second nature to me. Within minutes, I was blabbing on and on, talking endlessly with him like I would with a first-tier friend...it was as if our seven years of silence had not existed. I was surprised at how natural/comfortable it was to suddenly share so much of my life with him. What's more, it seems that we matured and changed in quite similar ways over these years--not by affecting each other, but by simply learning the same lessons. The image I envision is two travelers walking down parallel roads...they don't meet, but they're going in the same direction. Discussing books, movies, music, drugs, school, family, friendship, relationships, marriage, individuality...we held the same principles for so many of these topics, on so many levels.
When we were fourteen, we'd sit and talk about the school dance, the Jogathon, the To Kill A Mockingbird assignment, how to make stars with rubber bands...and now that we're in our twenties (crazy), we talk about what jobs we want, past relationships, what we think about The Fountainhead, what makes quality music, what we like/dislike about ourselves... It is reassuring that while the topics change, the comfort and openness and ease doesn't. It is reassuring that a middle school friendship is significant enough to reappear seven years later. Most of all, it is reassuring that there are still people who see the value of making an effort to keep in touch. We're all busy these days; it is so easy to find an excuse to NOT take the initiative, call someone up, and find out how they're doing...not out of obligation or convenience, but because you really care. We all go around saying, "Aw I miss so-and-so" or "I miss the old days"...but not many people act on it. Even fewer people voluntarily dig out an old candle of a friendship, dust it off, and relight it.
:)
Friday, October 29, 2010
Middle School
The other day, I was recalling middle school memories with an old friend, and afterwards, I dug around my past online blogs and found some hilarious entries. Brought to you from the diary of 14-year-old Jennifer (but edited by present-day Jennifer, because 14-year-old Jennifer typed weirdly and had bad grammar):
MPU's=Mrs. Pierce's Ums. At first we thought it was so funny...I couldn't stop laughing every time we made a tally mark, but now it's just like a daily routine. "How many times did Pierce say 'um' today?" "245." "Cool."
The Tale of the Ice Cream: Once upon a time, a girl named Vera was extremely hungry and kept telling this to Jennifer in a line for a ride at Great America. Finally they finished the ride and went off in search for food. Vera found an ice cream store and got a huuuuuuge ice cream (it must have been about 8 inches long) and took about two licks before the whole thing slipped off the cone and fell to the ground. It was silent for awhile, and then both girls looked down. The ice cream slid slowly down the pavement.
No school today. I spent like a whole hour trying to get my Legolas poster to stick on the ceiling of my room. I had to keep jumping up and down on the bed. It was so hard...what a workout.
Today after break, we turned off all the lights and did the duck-and-cover to trick Pierce into thinking there was nobody in the classroom and she'd accidentally come to school on a Saturday. It didn't work, but when she finally got in, we all started singing Happy Birthday to her so she wouldn't get mad at us. I don't know whose crazy idea that was, but it was hilarious and ingenious all the same. You could tell she was confused...couldn't think of what to say, so she just smiled and walked to the front of the class like nothing had happened.
Good ol' eighth grade. In retrospect, possibly my favorite grade. :)
***More on with whom and why I was reminiscing in the next entry...it's a good story, so be excited.
MPU's=Mrs. Pierce's Ums. At first we thought it was so funny...I couldn't stop laughing every time we made a tally mark, but now it's just like a daily routine. "How many times did Pierce say 'um' today?" "245." "Cool."
The Tale of the Ice Cream: Once upon a time, a girl named Vera was extremely hungry and kept telling this to Jennifer in a line for a ride at Great America. Finally they finished the ride and went off in search for food. Vera found an ice cream store and got a huuuuuuge ice cream (it must have been about 8 inches long) and took about two licks before the whole thing slipped off the cone and fell to the ground. It was silent for awhile, and then both girls looked down. The ice cream slid slowly down the pavement.
No school today. I spent like a whole hour trying to get my Legolas poster to stick on the ceiling of my room. I had to keep jumping up and down on the bed. It was so hard...what a workout.
Today after break, we turned off all the lights and did the duck-and-cover to trick Pierce into thinking there was nobody in the classroom and she'd accidentally come to school on a Saturday. It didn't work, but when she finally got in, we all started singing Happy Birthday to her so she wouldn't get mad at us. I don't know whose crazy idea that was, but it was hilarious and ingenious all the same. You could tell she was confused...couldn't think of what to say, so she just smiled and walked to the front of the class like nothing had happened.
Good ol' eighth grade. In retrospect, possibly my favorite grade. :)
***More on with whom and why I was reminiscing in the next entry...it's a good story, so be excited.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Je suis bouffon.
"I can feel my brain beginning to atrophy already." -Calvin and Hobbes
Seriously, it's embarrassing.
Today in the middle of French, I realized I left the homework for Schenkerian Analysis (my next class) at the apartment. So during the 10 minutes between classes, I ran home to get it. Made it back on time, sat down, finished the homework in class, and concentrated every neuron in my brain to not doze off. We also listened to Fritz Wunderlich singing Schumann lieder, so I floated off into Jenniferland for a while. Then class ended, I left school, came home, and realized I forgot to turn in the homework.
A few days ago, I brought Chip (my violin) to French, because I had excerpt class later in the day. During passing, I went downstairs to print something, and I accidentally left Chip in the classroom. I didn't even realize something was missing until I came back upstairs and someone informed me that one of our classmates had my violin and was trying to find me. But I had to go to class first. Went in, sat down, and was in the middle of concentrating every neuron in my brain to not doze off, when that classmate walked in the room, handed me my violin case (of course I was sitting in the most inaccessible location, middle of the back row), and walked back out. The teacher sort of stared at me, went "...okay" and kept teaching.
A week or so ago, I was sitting in my apartment, eating lunch and staring out the window, not even doing anything. At 2pm, I realized I had completely forgotten to go to my 1pm class.
A few days before that, I was sharing a taxi with a girl, and the fare was $12. She had a twenty, and I had a bunch of ones. It took us so long to figure out how to split the fare that the taxi driver went outside for a smoke while we deliberated.
WHAT IS GOING ON???
Seriously, it's embarrassing.
Today in the middle of French, I realized I left the homework for Schenkerian Analysis (my next class) at the apartment. So during the 10 minutes between classes, I ran home to get it. Made it back on time, sat down, finished the homework in class, and concentrated every neuron in my brain to not doze off. We also listened to Fritz Wunderlich singing Schumann lieder, so I floated off into Jenniferland for a while. Then class ended, I left school, came home, and realized I forgot to turn in the homework.
A few days ago, I brought Chip (my violin) to French, because I had excerpt class later in the day. During passing, I went downstairs to print something, and I accidentally left Chip in the classroom. I didn't even realize something was missing until I came back upstairs and someone informed me that one of our classmates had my violin and was trying to find me. But I had to go to class first. Went in, sat down, and was in the middle of concentrating every neuron in my brain to not doze off, when that classmate walked in the room, handed me my violin case (of course I was sitting in the most inaccessible location, middle of the back row), and walked back out. The teacher sort of stared at me, went "...okay" and kept teaching.
A week or so ago, I was sitting in my apartment, eating lunch and staring out the window, not even doing anything. At 2pm, I realized I had completely forgotten to go to my 1pm class.
A few days before that, I was sharing a taxi with a girl, and the fare was $12. She had a twenty, and I had a bunch of ones. It took us so long to figure out how to split the fare that the taxi driver went outside for a smoke while we deliberated.
WHAT IS GOING ON???
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Connie
You know my prayer plant Chloe? Well, my mom liked her so much, she got a miniature prayer plant for herself in California, and named her Connie.
Hehe, so cute. :)
Anyway, she's been worrying that the climate isn't humid enough for Connie, and tonight when I asked about it on Skype~
[10:53:40 PM] Sefen.Hsu: my connie is kind of sad, I had to put her in shower after I'm done every day
Hahahahahaha I love my mom...
Anyway, she's been worrying that the climate isn't humid enough for Connie, and tonight when I asked about it on Skype~
[10:53:40 PM] Sefen.Hsu: my connie is kind of sad, I had to put her in shower after I'm done every day
Hahahahahaha I love my mom...
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
The Case for Christ
Just a note before I copy out my favorite quotes: A few months ago, I was talking to a trusted friend about religion and how hard it is to reach beyond the barrier it sometimes creates. We talked about the loneliness of being the only Christian among close friends, and the desire/wariness to share your faith. A while later, I got a lovely snail mail package from her that contained a book called The Case for Christ. I finished it in 2 days--the fastest I've read a book since those good ol' Harry Potter days. The author was an atheist (Chicago Tribune journalist from Yale) setting out to disprove Christianity through archaeological and biological evidence. After 21 months of research, he came to accept Jesus as a real man who not only changed lives, but who existed/exists as the son of God. I think this book addresses the skeptic in all of us, believer or non-believer...to some degree, everyone needs logic and proof behind their beliefs. It hurts and angers me when people turn away from Christianity without bothering to learn more about it. At the same time, I don't think it's right to latch onto a religion without knowing its history and reliability first. Faith is such a huge determining factor in your life, that none of us should claim to have it figured out until we know a whole lot more about it.
I don't write this entry or recommend this book to change someone's mind. I don't expect atheists to listen to me and say, "You're right! I'm convinced!" What I do hope is that people will take initiative and find the information for themselves before turning away.
Favorite Quotes:
There are religious symbols that are quite meaningful to people--the symbol of Jesus being divine, of the cross, of self-sacrificial love, of the Resurrection. Even though people don't really believe that those things actually happened, they nevertheless can inspire people to live a good life, to overcome existential angst, to realize new potentialities, to resurrect hope in the midst of despair--blah, blah, blah...So these liberals say historical research can't possibly discover the Jesus of faith, because the Jesus of faith is not rooted in history. He's merely a symbol...but listen: Jesus is not a symbol of anything unless he's rooted in history...The theological truth is based on historical truth. I don't want to base my life on a symbol. I want reality, and the Christian faith has always been rooted in reality.
It's like this: if you love a person, your love goes beyond the facts of that person, but it's rooted in the facts about that person. For example, you love your wife because she's gorgeous, she's nice, she's sweet, she's kind. All these things are facts about your wife, and therefore you love her. But your love goes beyond that. You can know all these things about your wife and not be in love with her or put your trust in her, but you do. So the decision go beyond the evidence, yet it is there also on the basis of the evidence. So it is with falling in love with Jesus. To have a relationship with Jesus Christ goes beyond just knowing the historical facts about him, yet it's rooted in the historical facts about him.
If you do something against me, I have the right to forgive you. However, if you do something against me and somebody else comes along and says, "I forgive you," what kind of cheek is that? The only person who can say that sort of thing meaningfully is God himself, because sin, even if it is against other people, is first and foremost a defiance of God.
I go through the books that people write to try to tear down what we believe. That's not fun to do, but I spend the time to look at each objection individually and then to research the context and the wording in the original language...And every single time, the prophecies have stood up and shown themselves to be true.
So here's my challenge to skeptics: don't accept my word for it, but don't accept your rabbi's either. Spend the time to research it yourself. Today nobody can say, "There's no information." There are plenty of books out there to help you.
Jesus intentionally walked into the arms of his betrayer, he didn't resist arrest, he didn't defend himself at his trial--it was clear that he was willingly subjecting himself to humiliating and agonizing torture...So when you ask what motivated him, well, I suppose the answer can be summed up in one word--and that would be love.
And this one is C. S. Lewis, another former skeptic:
I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: "I'm ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don't accept His claim to be God." That is the one thing we must not say....You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.
I don't write this entry or recommend this book to change someone's mind. I don't expect atheists to listen to me and say, "You're right! I'm convinced!" What I do hope is that people will take initiative and find the information for themselves before turning away.
Favorite Quotes:
There are religious symbols that are quite meaningful to people--the symbol of Jesus being divine, of the cross, of self-sacrificial love, of the Resurrection. Even though people don't really believe that those things actually happened, they nevertheless can inspire people to live a good life, to overcome existential angst, to realize new potentialities, to resurrect hope in the midst of despair--blah, blah, blah...So these liberals say historical research can't possibly discover the Jesus of faith, because the Jesus of faith is not rooted in history. He's merely a symbol...but listen: Jesus is not a symbol of anything unless he's rooted in history...The theological truth is based on historical truth. I don't want to base my life on a symbol. I want reality, and the Christian faith has always been rooted in reality.
It's like this: if you love a person, your love goes beyond the facts of that person, but it's rooted in the facts about that person. For example, you love your wife because she's gorgeous, she's nice, she's sweet, she's kind. All these things are facts about your wife, and therefore you love her. But your love goes beyond that. You can know all these things about your wife and not be in love with her or put your trust in her, but you do. So the decision go beyond the evidence, yet it is there also on the basis of the evidence. So it is with falling in love with Jesus. To have a relationship with Jesus Christ goes beyond just knowing the historical facts about him, yet it's rooted in the historical facts about him.
If you do something against me, I have the right to forgive you. However, if you do something against me and somebody else comes along and says, "I forgive you," what kind of cheek is that? The only person who can say that sort of thing meaningfully is God himself, because sin, even if it is against other people, is first and foremost a defiance of God.
I go through the books that people write to try to tear down what we believe. That's not fun to do, but I spend the time to look at each objection individually and then to research the context and the wording in the original language...And every single time, the prophecies have stood up and shown themselves to be true.
So here's my challenge to skeptics: don't accept my word for it, but don't accept your rabbi's either. Spend the time to research it yourself. Today nobody can say, "There's no information." There are plenty of books out there to help you.
Jesus intentionally walked into the arms of his betrayer, he didn't resist arrest, he didn't defend himself at his trial--it was clear that he was willingly subjecting himself to humiliating and agonizing torture...So when you ask what motivated him, well, I suppose the answer can be summed up in one word--and that would be love.
And this one is C. S. Lewis, another former skeptic:
I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: "I'm ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don't accept His claim to be God." That is the one thing we must not say....You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Mei
I've been meaning to write a happy birthday entry for my sister, but the week of September 30 was kind of a chaotic one for me. So here is a belated shout-out to my favorite girl in the world. :)
When Mei turned seven, I gave her a composition notebook that I hoped we could use as a shared journal, a place where we could spill secrets, ask nosy questions, and write about our days. The two of us planned to write an entry every night and place the notebook under the other person's pillow (our "secret hiding place"), where Mom and Dad wouldn't find/read it. It wasn't like we didn't see enough of each other that we had to exchange letters...it's just that, as anyone with siblings will know, there are certain things that just don't get said amidst brushing your teeth side by side, eating dinner with the family, or passing each other around the house. I also figured that since Mei was entering second grade, she might start liking boys or at least thinking about the "birds and the bees"...and I wanted to be the first to know, if/when this happened.
We've written each other regularly ever since, and when I left for college, we continued the journal online. This past summer, Mei and I decided to dig out that first composition notebook we shared and read through old entries. Here are my favorites:
We've written each other regularly ever since, and when I left for college, we continued the journal online. This past summer, Mei and I decided to dig out that first composition notebook we shared and read through old entries. Here are my favorites:
In case the photo isn't clear, it says: "Jennifer, this is a secret so don't tell anybody not even Dippindots. O.k. this is it. I like you more than anybody else? YOU KNOW WHAT?"
(Dippindots was my bunny.)
I love the random drawing of a boat in the middle, and how she crossed out =( and changed it to =/ after mentioning Cameron. I love my sister...
(Sorry, I don't know why it's sideways.)
Mei has a lot of unique qualities--complete randomness (as exhibited above), an unpredictable temper (the Water Gun Incident, in which she hit an annoying little boy on the head with a water gun, and also the time she bit her preschool teacher), effortless hilarity (her imitations of Dad are incredible), acquiring the strangest injuries (sitting on her own thumb and spraining it, being knocked out by the zip line at school, running into a pole etc.), not to mention her unparalleled skill of avoiding any form of work. But if I had to pick one trait that sets her apart from the masses, it's her sweetness.
When she was a baby, she sat in my room and watched me practice, then she would wobble over to her toy chest, take out two plastic sticks, and mime playing a violin with them. When I entered high school, she bragged to all her friends about her sister, the "refreshment" (she meant to say "freshman"). And now that she is the freshman in high school and I'm in college across the country, she still shares her life details with me...I know about her Group at school, who likes whom, what the homecoming themes are...If we don't have a chance to talk on the phone, she writes in our blog, and she reads what I write too.
Some people think in words, others think in images, sound bites, or feelings/sensations. When I think of people, I think in snapshots, and when Mei comes to mind, these are the snapshots that play out in my brain:
-her running downstairs to get my textbook for me from my room because I'm too lazy to walk there myself
-her bursting into tears whenever I mentioned leaving for college
-her always giving me the bigger half when we split food
-the pride in her eyes when she tells people about me
-her jumping to my defense when I argued with Mom and Dad (although she usually hindered more than helped)
-her sitting patiently on my bed at 2am as I sobbed over some heartbreak or another
-her laughing at my jokes/weirdness so hard that she can barely breathe
The amazing thing is, over the years and now that she's a teenager, she hasn't lost any of that sweetness.
A) She loves our parents and makes an effort to spend time with them, even if they annoy her. Like last Halloween, I asked, "So did you go trick-or-treating?" and she said, "Nah, my friends went, but Dad was too tired, so I stayed home with him."
B) When I'm home, she's still my personal servant...she follows me around the house and gets me water/food or whatever I want. Of course I ask for it politely and stuff, but still. Actually she's pretty much the family lapdog...Dad is always making her get ice cream and orange juice and stuff like that for him.
C) Every night, she tells my parents that she loves them. And she says it first...it's not like the typical teenager situation where the parent goes, "I love you," and the kid goes "Yeah yeah, love you too."
D) I'm still her best friend. I know we're sisters and it's not that big of a deal, but this seriously means the world to me. Remember that first photo above? Well, here is something she wrote in our blog about a week ago: "When Jonathan and I were doing this dialogue thing for classwork, he was like, 'so what's your favorite person's initals?" and i'm like, 'j w' because well JENNIFER WEY. and then he's like 'jonathan walters?' and i was like 'wowwww no. jennifer wey...' hahahaha who on earth would say something like that?? so ridiculous. Oh well. OKAY well i'm going to sleeepppp. GOOD NIGHTEO! <3"
Some things never change (I hope). I'm sure she doesn't realize it, but every time she writes to me, it makes me so happy...my whole day just lights up.
Having siblings is indispensable. I am lucky enough to have the greatest, sweetest, loveliest sister imaginable, and there is really nobody in my life quite like her.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
What Feels Good
If I made a Top-10 list of the things that make me feel good, somewhere near the top would be playing a good concert. Tonight was the first NEC concert of the year, and mm it felt good. First of all, Jordan Hall was literally full to the brim...I counted maybe five or six empty seats. Second of all, it was like a football stadium, with all the cheering and roaring, even before we played a note. But most of all, the energy generated in each piece was so tangible and present, like a ball of fire, coming from the players and being spread to every corner of the hall, and bouncing off the audience back to us. It's a kind of energy you only get from the "youth" orchestras...this sort of wide-eyed, passionate, sometimes even overzealous enthusiasm and eagerness to share the music. I like to look around when I'm playing in orchestra, and these are some of my favorite snapshot moments: a man in the front row with his eyes closed and a smile stretching across his face the entire time; the kid next to him with a huge afro nodding along to the music as if it were rap or heavy metal, staring up at the stage; a wave of string players with their faces and bodies moving to the whirlwind of sound; and little smiles between stand partners.
They say musicians make the best lovers; I'd flip it around and say lovers make the best musicians. You treat the music you're making like you would treat a lover...with tenderness, passion, spontaneity, patience, and commitment. If you're a person who is capable of loving with all your heart, it will shine through in the music you make.
Sometimes I have to stop and remind myself how amazing it is to be able to produce sound. I've been playing violin for so long, it's easy to take this luxury for granted, but just think--with your two hands, you can create a medium of expression that encapsulates ideas that have spanned centuries. Out of your instrument can come sounds that draw the darkest secrets and strongest feelings from deep within a listener's mind. And into your instrument can pour all the emotions and experiences that have been stored in your body after a lifetime of living...it's a miracle, really, if you think about it.
If, by divine will, I am able to do such a thing for the rest of my life...well, I pray I will never ever take it for granted.
They say musicians make the best lovers; I'd flip it around and say lovers make the best musicians. You treat the music you're making like you would treat a lover...with tenderness, passion, spontaneity, patience, and commitment. If you're a person who is capable of loving with all your heart, it will shine through in the music you make.
Sometimes I have to stop and remind myself how amazing it is to be able to produce sound. I've been playing violin for so long, it's easy to take this luxury for granted, but just think--with your two hands, you can create a medium of expression that encapsulates ideas that have spanned centuries. Out of your instrument can come sounds that draw the darkest secrets and strongest feelings from deep within a listener's mind. And into your instrument can pour all the emotions and experiences that have been stored in your body after a lifetime of living...it's a miracle, really, if you think about it.
If, by divine will, I am able to do such a thing for the rest of my life...well, I pray I will never ever take it for granted.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Oh my.
Two memorable lines from a phone talk with M.
Me: How was your weekend?
M: It was so horrible actually. We've been getting our roof fixed, and I was in my room watching TV when through my window, I saw one of the workers fall off our roof.
Me: How was your birthday??
M: It was okay. But actually, it was bad, because while I was gone, my cat ate my hamster.
Me: How was your weekend?
M: It was so horrible actually. We've been getting our roof fixed, and I was in my room watching TV when through my window, I saw one of the workers fall off our roof.
Me: How was your birthday??
M: It was okay. But actually, it was bad, because while I was gone, my cat ate my hamster.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
color me gray, with a silver lining
Maybe it's pathetic fallacy striking again through the dreary weather here in Boston, but it's been a gray few weeks back at school. On the one hand, I feel like a chicken running around with its head cut off, trying to handle all the things I've put on my plate and barely surviving. On the other hand, I feel almost bored. I have an old T-shirt that says, "Find inspiration everywhere," and I think I need to dig it out of my closet and start wearing it again, because that's what's missing these days--inspiration.
You can work your butt off and do everything right, but if you're putting all your effort in for the wrong reasons, ultimately you aren't going to feel 100% satisfied. If I'm practicing harder than usual and scheduling my time more efficiently these days, it's so that I can cross more things off my check list and feel some sense of accomplishment and self-worth. But to be honest, simple love for playing music has become less and less of a conscious factor behind my actions. Here are some realizations I've had that probably contribute to my decreasing motivation:
1) All humans are not created equal.
Some of us are just naturally more talented than others, and there is nothing anyone can do about it. There's always that group of people who are the first to catch on to something, the fastest learners, the most creative minds. They can revel in the luxury of intellectual superiority without having to lift a finger--they were born this way. Then, there are the people who actually have to work to get to the level of that first group. I've always considered myself somewhere in the middle; I know what it's like to be the first to figure something out and have to sort of wait for everyone else around me to understand it...it's a weird combination of triumph and embarrassment, smugness and self-consciousness. I also know what it's like to be with people who are waiting for ME to finally catch on...I can tell when I'm the "slow" one who has to work harder to try and keep up. It doesn't bother me too much when I'm in the latter group, because I can accept that I'm not the best. However, there are a few occasions when it really makes me second-guess the extent of my capabilities, and whether my hard work is worth it.
An example--Q and I have been playing in the same quartet for three years now. I think we work well together, we get along, and there have been lots of good laughs and good times...I mean, we must be doing something right, otherwise we wouldn't have stayed together for so long. He's always been sort of like my hero in terms of violin-playing, and while I consider myself his equal when we're working together, I am secretly in constant awe of his music-making. However, spending a lot of time with him also reminds me more than anything else that life is not fair. Here's what normally happens. Say we both take an audition for the same orchestra. I start practicing for it a few weeks in advance, I listen to recordings, drill passages with my metronome like a good girl etc. He prints out his music and looks over it the night before, and minutes before the actual audition, changes his mind about which concerto he'll play. We both take the audition and end up with pretty similar results, him a bit higher than me. Granted, there may be a lot of factors I'm leaving out...he's a lot older, more experienced, and spent a larger percentage of his childhood practicing than I did...but what it boils down to is natural talent, in my opinion.
The fact is, there are people out there who are just automatically better/smarter/faster/stronger...and while perseverance DOES make a difference, there is only SO much that it can do. This applies to everything, not just music. I go to a school where I constantly see examples of people who easily achieve a level of music-making I can only reach at my best moments. This should inspire me, but watching them, I actually find myself thinking, "What's the point?" And I settle back to my usual comfortable spot--somewhere in the middle, certainly not the worst and certainly not the best.
2) You can't control luck.
There are good years, and there are bad years. I try not to be too superstitious, but I really do think 2010 is somewhat of a "bad" year for me, in the context of my life. It started with me trying to make a celebration pound cake, which both exploded and imploded in the oven (yes, that's possible). Then, it moved on to several days of weeping sessions, losing eight pounds, and eating about five bites of food a day (YES, that's possible). With regards to music, I guess there were several instances where I really felt I tried the best I could, did the best job I could, and still didn't get what I want. Now, if this were a math test or a science project, it wouldn't bother me very much. I mean, I'm not trying to make a living as a mathematician or a biologist. But in music? When I do my best and don't make the cut, it bothers me. Well, really, it scares me. I don't let it affect my confidence or my belief that I deserved it. I just realize that no matter how hard I try, there's always the luck factor that I can't control. I mean, you can play like Heifetz, but if there is no dream job opening, you're not going to get your dream job. Once again, I find myself thinking, "What's the point?" And I settle back to my usual comfortable mode of living--chugging along, practicing my scales and learning my pieces, so that at the end of the day, I can check off all the items on my to-do list.
There are some professions where this sort of philosophy and work ethic will suffice, but music isn't one of them. If you make music for the ultimate goal of self-satisfaction and accomplishment, I don't think you will get very far. It doesn't work that way...there is something fundamental, something much deeper that exists at its core. Knowing this, feeling uninspired has made me very uneasy and stressed out lately. And on a drizzly cloudy Friday night as I packed up my things and trudged out of my practice room at midnight, after a long day of sectionals (zzz...), French (zzzz...), Schenkerian Analysis (ZZZZZ...), excerpt class (sigh), Pho with C (God always throws me a silver lining here and there :) ), and the gym, I felt like a shape in a child's coloring book waiting to be filled in with a gray crayon.
But then I pass by one of the practice rooms, and look through the window. There are five people inside, obviously students, sitting around in a circle listening to some piano quintet which is blasting through iPod speakers. They have music in their laps and smiles on their faces, as they nod and sway their heads to the music, eyes closed. Late on a Friday night.
Why do we play music? Oh yeah. Because we LOVE it.
Find inspiration everywhere. Amen. :)
You can work your butt off and do everything right, but if you're putting all your effort in for the wrong reasons, ultimately you aren't going to feel 100% satisfied. If I'm practicing harder than usual and scheduling my time more efficiently these days, it's so that I can cross more things off my check list and feel some sense of accomplishment and self-worth. But to be honest, simple love for playing music has become less and less of a conscious factor behind my actions. Here are some realizations I've had that probably contribute to my decreasing motivation:
1) All humans are not created equal.
Some of us are just naturally more talented than others, and there is nothing anyone can do about it. There's always that group of people who are the first to catch on to something, the fastest learners, the most creative minds. They can revel in the luxury of intellectual superiority without having to lift a finger--they were born this way. Then, there are the people who actually have to work to get to the level of that first group. I've always considered myself somewhere in the middle; I know what it's like to be the first to figure something out and have to sort of wait for everyone else around me to understand it...it's a weird combination of triumph and embarrassment, smugness and self-consciousness. I also know what it's like to be with people who are waiting for ME to finally catch on...I can tell when I'm the "slow" one who has to work harder to try and keep up. It doesn't bother me too much when I'm in the latter group, because I can accept that I'm not the best. However, there are a few occasions when it really makes me second-guess the extent of my capabilities, and whether my hard work is worth it.
An example--Q and I have been playing in the same quartet for three years now. I think we work well together, we get along, and there have been lots of good laughs and good times...I mean, we must be doing something right, otherwise we wouldn't have stayed together for so long. He's always been sort of like my hero in terms of violin-playing, and while I consider myself his equal when we're working together, I am secretly in constant awe of his music-making. However, spending a lot of time with him also reminds me more than anything else that life is not fair. Here's what normally happens. Say we both take an audition for the same orchestra. I start practicing for it a few weeks in advance, I listen to recordings, drill passages with my metronome like a good girl etc. He prints out his music and looks over it the night before, and minutes before the actual audition, changes his mind about which concerto he'll play. We both take the audition and end up with pretty similar results, him a bit higher than me. Granted, there may be a lot of factors I'm leaving out...he's a lot older, more experienced, and spent a larger percentage of his childhood practicing than I did...but what it boils down to is natural talent, in my opinion.
The fact is, there are people out there who are just automatically better/smarter/faster/stronger...and while perseverance DOES make a difference, there is only SO much that it can do. This applies to everything, not just music. I go to a school where I constantly see examples of people who easily achieve a level of music-making I can only reach at my best moments. This should inspire me, but watching them, I actually find myself thinking, "What's the point?" And I settle back to my usual comfortable spot--somewhere in the middle, certainly not the worst and certainly not the best.
2) You can't control luck.
There are good years, and there are bad years. I try not to be too superstitious, but I really do think 2010 is somewhat of a "bad" year for me, in the context of my life. It started with me trying to make a celebration pound cake, which both exploded and imploded in the oven (yes, that's possible). Then, it moved on to several days of weeping sessions, losing eight pounds, and eating about five bites of food a day (YES, that's possible). With regards to music, I guess there were several instances where I really felt I tried the best I could, did the best job I could, and still didn't get what I want. Now, if this were a math test or a science project, it wouldn't bother me very much. I mean, I'm not trying to make a living as a mathematician or a biologist. But in music? When I do my best and don't make the cut, it bothers me. Well, really, it scares me. I don't let it affect my confidence or my belief that I deserved it. I just realize that no matter how hard I try, there's always the luck factor that I can't control. I mean, you can play like Heifetz, but if there is no dream job opening, you're not going to get your dream job. Once again, I find myself thinking, "What's the point?" And I settle back to my usual comfortable mode of living--chugging along, practicing my scales and learning my pieces, so that at the end of the day, I can check off all the items on my to-do list.
There are some professions where this sort of philosophy and work ethic will suffice, but music isn't one of them. If you make music for the ultimate goal of self-satisfaction and accomplishment, I don't think you will get very far. It doesn't work that way...there is something fundamental, something much deeper that exists at its core. Knowing this, feeling uninspired has made me very uneasy and stressed out lately. And on a drizzly cloudy Friday night as I packed up my things and trudged out of my practice room at midnight, after a long day of sectionals (zzz...), French (zzzz...), Schenkerian Analysis (ZZZZZ...), excerpt class (sigh), Pho with C (God always throws me a silver lining here and there :) ), and the gym, I felt like a shape in a child's coloring book waiting to be filled in with a gray crayon.
But then I pass by one of the practice rooms, and look through the window. There are five people inside, obviously students, sitting around in a circle listening to some piano quintet which is blasting through iPod speakers. They have music in their laps and smiles on their faces, as they nod and sway their heads to the music, eyes closed. Late on a Friday night.
Why do we play music? Oh yeah. Because we LOVE it.
Find inspiration everywhere. Amen. :)
Monday, September 6, 2010
Chloe
While getting settled into my new studio, my mom and I decided to take advantage of my three windows and get a plant. At first, we were looking for rosemary, because apparently being around rosemary improves your memory, and God knows my memory needs improving. But the flower shop didn't have any; just as we were about to settle for a cactus or something else low-maintenance, I noticed a cool-looking plant, so I asked the storekeeper what it was. It turns out that this flower shop is the only place in Boston that sells prayer plants! Prayer plants originate in Africa, according to him, and are generally only found in Florida or very tropical areas. They are BEAUTIFUL--green with bright pink stripes on the front of the leaves, and a musky purple on the undersides. I think their life spans about a couple years. But the coolest thing about them is, they recognize time! Every night at 7pm, they close up their leaves, and every morning around 11am, they open the leaves again. My question is, what would happen if you brought a prayer plant overseas? Would it get jet lag?
Anyway, I brought my new plant to her new home, and I think she's pretty happy here so far. Doesn't she look like a Chloe? I only have to water her twice a week. Also, now that I'm living alone, it's nice to have someone/something to come home to every day. :)
Friday, September 3, 2010
Scattered Thoughts from a scattered mind
I think it's funny how Asian adults think the word "social" is a verb. "Why don't you go downstairs and social for a bit?" "My daughter is in a single, so she's worried she won't social as much." "Let the children social together." It's even funnier when they speak in Chinese and only use English for that one word.
If there's one productive thing Lady Gaga does, it's that she can instill a tempo firmly in your head. Just sing American teenagers' favorite syllables (rah rah ah ah ahh, roma roma maa, GAGA ooh lala etc.), and you've got yourself 125 beats per minute. VERY useful for musicians, especially in audition excerpts. :)
At least 90% of the stuff people worry and stress and pull out hairs over, don't even end up being relevant in our lives. I know this, and yet...I just keep worrying. In a way, it's a "waste" of time and energy...but it's sort of like whether you'd rather be over-prepared or under-prepared for a test. I'd rather cross a threshold in life thinking, "Hey, that was way easier than I expected," than...well, thinking nothing at all.
When old people hold hands, they walk far apart from each other, so that their arms are stretched out. It's cute, but they take up the whole sidewalk. Why do they do this?
I love my mom.
If there's one productive thing Lady Gaga does, it's that she can instill a tempo firmly in your head. Just sing American teenagers' favorite syllables (rah rah ah ah ahh, roma roma maa, GAGA ooh lala etc.), and you've got yourself 125 beats per minute. VERY useful for musicians, especially in audition excerpts. :)
Why would you get a blog if all you're going to do is copy-paste photos/videos/links and then write a one-sentence commentary? I understand that sometimes, the media says something better than you can, but isn't the point of a blog to WRITE? Like, with words...and with your own thoughts, and with multiple sentences that consist of more than 5 words?
At least 90% of the stuff people worry and stress and pull out hairs over, don't even end up being relevant in our lives. I know this, and yet...I just keep worrying. In a way, it's a "waste" of time and energy...but it's sort of like whether you'd rather be over-prepared or under-prepared for a test. I'd rather cross a threshold in life thinking, "Hey, that was way easier than I expected," than...well, thinking nothing at all.
When old people hold hands, they walk far apart from each other, so that their arms are stretched out. It's cute, but they take up the whole sidewalk. Why do they do this?
I love my mom.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Anonymous Act of Kindness
Dear Mr. David J. Studley,
You don't know me, but I'm the girl who was using the Bank of America ATM machine next to yours today around 5:45pm and singing Hide and Seek- Imogen Heap to herself under her breath. Sorry about that...it was playing on the radio in my car.
Anyway, you left your debit card in the ATM! I waited around for a while, but you never came back, and I didn't know what else to do. So, I wedged the card underneath the door of the bank, since it was closed. Hopefully one of the employees will see it on the floor Monday morning, find your contact information, and return your card safely to you. Meanwhile, I hope you're not too worried, and your wife/family/friends aren't giving you too hard of a time...everyone makes mistakes! At least I can definitely sympathize...although, you must have had a lot on your mind if you didn't hear the ATM machine beeping loudly and continuously when you neglected to retrieve your card at the end of your transaction.
Please be more careful next time!
Best,
Jennifer
You don't know me, but I'm the girl who was using the Bank of America ATM machine next to yours today around 5:45pm and singing Hide and Seek- Imogen Heap to herself under her breath. Sorry about that...it was playing on the radio in my car.
Anyway, you left your debit card in the ATM! I waited around for a while, but you never came back, and I didn't know what else to do. So, I wedged the card underneath the door of the bank, since it was closed. Hopefully one of the employees will see it on the floor Monday morning, find your contact information, and return your card safely to you. Meanwhile, I hope you're not too worried, and your wife/family/friends aren't giving you too hard of a time...everyone makes mistakes! At least I can definitely sympathize...although, you must have had a lot on your mind if you didn't hear the ATM machine beeping loudly and continuously when you neglected to retrieve your card at the end of your transaction.
Please be more careful next time!
Best,
Jennifer
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Cans and Can'ts
A has convinced me to start making lists on our blogs.
6 Things I Can't Do
1) I can't whistle. (Excuse: It's not for lack of trying...I've had so many whistling lessons that resulted in my poor exasperated instructors finally giving up, after I continuously blew gusts of silent wind into their faces for an hour.)
2) I can't twist my tongue into cool shapes. (Excuse: I think it's genetic.)
3) I can't sit still. (Excuse: I really have no excuse for this one...short attention span, I guess. There are just too many interesting things to look at to stay still!)
4) I can't watch "Dumbo" without crying. (Excuse: That part when Dumbo and his mom link trunks through the bars of his cage...it's just too sad. I cry every time, without fail.)
5) I can't tell directions; in other words, I'm a terrible driver. (Excuse: I always read in the car when my mom drove me places. I also have a hard time telling right from left...I have to make an L with my hands sometimes.)
6) I can't say good bye to people I love. (No excuse. I just have the hardest time doing it...it's my biggest weakness.)
6 Things I Can Do
1) I can roll my R's. (How: I don't think it's genetic...maybe my mom taught me when I was really little.)
2) I can say "I love you" in 10 different languages. (How: I learned from people.)
3) I can recite the 50 states alphabetically in one breath. (How: In Challenger elementary school, we sang the Fifty Nifty song every day, and I eventually memorized it and found out one day that I could sing it super fast in one breath. I thought everyone could do it, and I didn't realize this was a rare/special skill until I mentioned it on "From The Top," and they made me do it on national TV a million times.)
4) I can type 148 WPM. (How: I played Text Twist a lot.)
5) I can tell you what pitch almost any sound is; in other words, I have perfect pitch. (How: Learning music at a young age? I feel like perfect pitch is acquired, not inborn, even if it's acquired before you're old enough to realize it.)
6) I can make really nice homemade cards. (How: Well, anyone can do it...it just takes time. I don't think I've given someone a store-bought card in the last...5 or 6 years? Unless it's Christmas, and my mom is handing me a pile of Hallmark cards to address to 20 different relatives.)
6 Things I Can't Do
1) I can't whistle. (Excuse: It's not for lack of trying...I've had so many whistling lessons that resulted in my poor exasperated instructors finally giving up, after I continuously blew gusts of silent wind into their faces for an hour.)
2) I can't twist my tongue into cool shapes. (Excuse: I think it's genetic.)
3) I can't sit still. (Excuse: I really have no excuse for this one...short attention span, I guess. There are just too many interesting things to look at to stay still!)
4) I can't watch "Dumbo" without crying. (Excuse: That part when Dumbo and his mom link trunks through the bars of his cage...it's just too sad. I cry every time, without fail.)
5) I can't tell directions; in other words, I'm a terrible driver. (Excuse: I always read in the car when my mom drove me places. I also have a hard time telling right from left...I have to make an L with my hands sometimes.)
6) I can't say good bye to people I love. (No excuse. I just have the hardest time doing it...it's my biggest weakness.)
6 Things I Can Do
1) I can roll my R's. (How: I don't think it's genetic...maybe my mom taught me when I was really little.)
2) I can say "I love you" in 10 different languages. (How: I learned from people.)
3) I can recite the 50 states alphabetically in one breath. (How: In Challenger elementary school, we sang the Fifty Nifty song every day, and I eventually memorized it and found out one day that I could sing it super fast in one breath. I thought everyone could do it, and I didn't realize this was a rare/special skill until I mentioned it on "From The Top," and they made me do it on national TV a million times.)
4) I can type 148 WPM. (How: I played Text Twist a lot.)
5) I can tell you what pitch almost any sound is; in other words, I have perfect pitch. (How: Learning music at a young age? I feel like perfect pitch is acquired, not inborn, even if it's acquired before you're old enough to realize it.)
6) I can make really nice homemade cards. (How: Well, anyone can do it...it just takes time. I don't think I've given someone a store-bought card in the last...5 or 6 years? Unless it's Christmas, and my mom is handing me a pile of Hallmark cards to address to 20 different relatives.)
Lady Chatterley's Lover
Favorite Quotes:
Perhaps the human soul needs excursions, and must not be denied them. But the point of an excursion is that you come home again.
Logic might be unanswerable because it was so absolutely wrong.
Then one afternoon came Leslie Winter, Squire Winter, as everybody called him: lean, immaculate, and seventy: and every inch a gentleman. Every millimeter, indeed! And with his old-fashioned, rather haw-haw! manner of speaking, he seemed more out-of-date than bag-wigs. Time, in her flight, drops these fine old feathers.
His hand passed over the curves of her body, firmly, without desire, but with soft, intimate knowledge. As she ran back home in the twilight the world seemed a dream; the trees in the park seemed bulging and surging at anchor on a tide, and the heave of the slope to the house was alive.
"Once you've been really fond of a man, you can be affectionate to almost any man, if he needs you at all. But it's not the same thing. You don't really care. I doubt, once you've really cared, if you can ever really care again."
Perhaps the human soul needs excursions, and must not be denied them. But the point of an excursion is that you come home again.
Logic might be unanswerable because it was so absolutely wrong.
Then one afternoon came Leslie Winter, Squire Winter, as everybody called him: lean, immaculate, and seventy: and every inch a gentleman. Every millimeter, indeed! And with his old-fashioned, rather haw-haw! manner of speaking, he seemed more out-of-date than bag-wigs. Time, in her flight, drops these fine old feathers.
His hand passed over the curves of her body, firmly, without desire, but with soft, intimate knowledge. As she ran back home in the twilight the world seemed a dream; the trees in the park seemed bulging and surging at anchor on a tide, and the heave of the slope to the house was alive.
"Once you've been really fond of a man, you can be affectionate to almost any man, if he needs you at all. But it's not the same thing. You don't really care. I doubt, once you've really cared, if you can ever really care again."
Sunday, August 22, 2010
the Magic of Live Music
On the phone with M on her first day of college:
"There's a pianist here who had her Carnegie Hall debut when she was eight! I mean, geez! When I was eight, I was just sitting around, picking my nose!"
HAHAHAH.
I went to John Mayer's concert at Shoreline a few nights ago. In my humble opinion, I think a main difference between classical music and popular music these days is, experiencing a live performance for classical music (like going to a concert) is usually better than experiencing a recorded performance (listening to a CD or the radio). Whereas, in popular music, the artists sound better on recordings than in real life. In general. Owl City opened for John Mayer, and it was pretty disappointing...I usually like their songs, although they all sort of sound the same. But seeing them live was such a boring experience. I couldn't appreciate the lyrics (their strong point, for me), because it was so loud that the words were indistinguishable. They didn't have much of a presence, and the quality of music-making was kind of non-existent, since apparently most of it was pre-recorded (LAME).
Then, John Mayer bounded on stage, and my heart sighed a million sighs of relief. Real music at last. He is one of the few artists of the day I believe is infinitely better live than recorded. The spontaneous and incredible guitar solos, the sweat flying off his face, the IMPROV...there was one part when the saxophonist in his band (Bob Reynolds) was improvising a lead-in to their next song. It was the most tender and intimate sound, the notes fluttering out of his instrument soft and light and sensuous, like white butterflies or little neck kisses, one after another. Beautiful. After a while, John Mayer walked over and started improvising with him, each of them intertwining his own thread of notes with the other's, as it blossomed into this organic, round climax...until the recognizable tunes of the next song finally spilled out, like a heaving sigh of satisfaction.
His band is amazing, too. Especially the saxophonist. Pheww...be still, my heart!
"There's a pianist here who had her Carnegie Hall debut when she was eight! I mean, geez! When I was eight, I was just sitting around, picking my nose!"
HAHAHAH.
I went to John Mayer's concert at Shoreline a few nights ago. In my humble opinion, I think a main difference between classical music and popular music these days is, experiencing a live performance for classical music (like going to a concert) is usually better than experiencing a recorded performance (listening to a CD or the radio). Whereas, in popular music, the artists sound better on recordings than in real life. In general. Owl City opened for John Mayer, and it was pretty disappointing...I usually like their songs, although they all sort of sound the same. But seeing them live was such a boring experience. I couldn't appreciate the lyrics (their strong point, for me), because it was so loud that the words were indistinguishable. They didn't have much of a presence, and the quality of music-making was kind of non-existent, since apparently most of it was pre-recorded (LAME).
Then, John Mayer bounded on stage, and my heart sighed a million sighs of relief. Real music at last. He is one of the few artists of the day I believe is infinitely better live than recorded. The spontaneous and incredible guitar solos, the sweat flying off his face, the IMPROV...there was one part when the saxophonist in his band (Bob Reynolds) was improvising a lead-in to their next song. It was the most tender and intimate sound, the notes fluttering out of his instrument soft and light and sensuous, like white butterflies or little neck kisses, one after another. Beautiful. After a while, John Mayer walked over and started improvising with him, each of them intertwining his own thread of notes with the other's, as it blossomed into this organic, round climax...until the recognizable tunes of the next song finally spilled out, like a heaving sigh of satisfaction.
His band is amazing, too. Especially the saxophonist. Pheww...be still, my heart!
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Jude the Obscure
Favorite Quotes:
It was curious, he thought. What was he reserved for? He supposed he was not a sufficiently dignified person for suicide. Peaceful death abhorred him as a subject, and would not take him. What could he do of a lower kind than self-extermination; what was there less noble, more in keeping with his present degraded position? He could get drunk. Of course that was it; he had forgotten. Drinking was the regular stereotyped resource of the despairing worthless. He began to see now why some men boozed at inns.
Haha, ouch.
"The Gospel of Nicodemus is very nice," she went on, to keep him from his jealous thoughts, which she read clearly, as she always did. Indeed when they talked on an indifferent subject, as now, there was ever a second silent conversation passing between their emotions, so perfect was the reciprocity between them.
"I know that women are taught by other women that they must never admit the full truth to a man. But the highest form of affection is based on full sincerity on both sides. Not being men, these women don't know that in looking back on those he has had tender relations with, a man's heart returns closest to her who was the soul of truth in her conduct."
"It is a difficult question, my friends, for any young man--that question I had to grapple with, and which thousands are weighing at the present moment in these uprising times--whether to follow uncritically the track he finds himself in, without considering his aptness for it, or to consider what his aptness or bent may be, and re-shape his course accordingly. I tried to do the latter, and I failed. But I don't admit that my failure proved my view to be a wrong one, or that my success would have made it a right one; though that's how we appraise such attempts nowadays--I mean, not by their essential soundness, but by their accidental outcomes...it was my poverty and not my will that consented to be beaten."
"Your generous devotion to me is unparalleled, Jude! Your worldly failure, if you have failed, is to your credit rather than to your blame. Remember that the best and greatest among mankind are those who do themselves no worldly good. Every successful man is more or less a selfish man. The devoted fail...'Charity seeketh not her own.'"
It was curious, he thought. What was he reserved for? He supposed he was not a sufficiently dignified person for suicide. Peaceful death abhorred him as a subject, and would not take him. What could he do of a lower kind than self-extermination; what was there less noble, more in keeping with his present degraded position? He could get drunk. Of course that was it; he had forgotten. Drinking was the regular stereotyped resource of the despairing worthless. He began to see now why some men boozed at inns.
Haha, ouch.
"The Gospel of Nicodemus is very nice," she went on, to keep him from his jealous thoughts, which she read clearly, as she always did. Indeed when they talked on an indifferent subject, as now, there was ever a second silent conversation passing between their emotions, so perfect was the reciprocity between them.
"I know that women are taught by other women that they must never admit the full truth to a man. But the highest form of affection is based on full sincerity on both sides. Not being men, these women don't know that in looking back on those he has had tender relations with, a man's heart returns closest to her who was the soul of truth in her conduct."
"It is a difficult question, my friends, for any young man--that question I had to grapple with, and which thousands are weighing at the present moment in these uprising times--whether to follow uncritically the track he finds himself in, without considering his aptness for it, or to consider what his aptness or bent may be, and re-shape his course accordingly. I tried to do the latter, and I failed. But I don't admit that my failure proved my view to be a wrong one, or that my success would have made it a right one; though that's how we appraise such attempts nowadays--I mean, not by their essential soundness, but by their accidental outcomes...it was my poverty and not my will that consented to be beaten."
"Your generous devotion to me is unparalleled, Jude! Your worldly failure, if you have failed, is to your credit rather than to your blame. Remember that the best and greatest among mankind are those who do themselves no worldly good. Every successful man is more or less a selfish man. The devoted fail...'Charity seeketh not her own.'"
Happy Activities, for the simple and innocent :)
Saratoga isn't the most exciting place in the world, especially fresh from your first years of college. But here are some simple little things I've been doing at home that put a smile on my face:
1) Taking Walks
Not only are there beautiful views, but I've concluded that taking a walk is the best quality time you can spend with a friend. Think about it, if you eat a meal together, you're distracted by the food. If you're shopping, you're distracted by the stores. If you drink together, you're distracted by the alcohol. And how are you even supposed to have a decent conversation at a movie or concert? Walks are perfect...you exercise, you bond, you talk, you look around and make observations if there's nothing to talk about.2) Go to IKEA!
As M said, it's like going to Disneyland! There's organized parking, a guided tour map, a day care, shows, a lot of walking, and the food there is way better. Plus you can lie on all the foam mattress beds.
3) Practice cooking steak.
Well, I actually just ate the steak, but it seems like fun to make it! It'll also kill a lot of time.
4) Go to the Book-Go-Round.
The most amazing discovery I've made in Saratoga...this place is a 3-minute walk from my house, and all the books/CD's/DVD's are under $5. I bought the Sound of Music video tapes for 75 cents! It's cozy, the workers are friendly, and it smells like books. You don't have to keep uncomfortably quiet like at the library, and you can donate old books you have at home that sit around collecting dust.
5) Go to a drive-in movie theater.
Yes, these still exist! You pay a few dollars, park your car, turn to the correct radio station, and watch a movie from the comfort of your vehicle (wait, there's only one "C" in "vehicle"??). You can eat whatever you want, talk as much as you want, fall asleep and snore if you want.
6) Find a secluded corner of a road with a great view and decently comfortable ground, and go stargazing.
Yesterday night and today early morning was spent watching the Perseid meteor shower. I had no idea what I was looking at, but I saw at least 8 shooting stars, and when they got scarce, there were the beautiful city lights to admire. Also, we spotted at least 8 deer on the way there! 
They weren't scared of the car headlights at all, but they didn't like the flash from our cameras.
1) Taking Walks
Not only are there beautiful views, but I've concluded that taking a walk is the best quality time you can spend with a friend. Think about it, if you eat a meal together, you're distracted by the food. If you're shopping, you're distracted by the stores. If you drink together, you're distracted by the alcohol. And how are you even supposed to have a decent conversation at a movie or concert? Walks are perfect...you exercise, you bond, you talk, you look around and make observations if there's nothing to talk about. As M said, it's like going to Disneyland! There's organized parking, a guided tour map, a day care, shows, a lot of walking, and the food there is way better. Plus you can lie on all the foam mattress beds.3) Practice cooking steak.
Well, I actually just ate the steak, but it seems like fun to make it! It'll also kill a lot of time.4) Go to the Book-Go-Round.
The most amazing discovery I've made in Saratoga...this place is a 3-minute walk from my house, and all the books/CD's/DVD's are under $5. I bought the Sound of Music video tapes for 75 cents! It's cozy, the workers are friendly, and it smells like books. You don't have to keep uncomfortably quiet like at the library, and you can donate old books you have at home that sit around collecting dust.5) Go to a drive-in movie theater.
Yes, these still exist! You pay a few dollars, park your car, turn to the correct radio station, and watch a movie from the comfort of your vehicle (wait, there's only one "C" in "vehicle"??). You can eat whatever you want, talk as much as you want, fall asleep and snore if you want.6) Find a secluded corner of a road with a great view and decently comfortable ground, and go stargazing.
Yesterday night and today early morning was spent watching the Perseid meteor shower. I had no idea what I was looking at, but I saw at least 8 shooting stars, and when they got scarce, there were the beautiful city lights to admire. Also, we spotted at least 8 deer on the way there!
They weren't scared of the car headlights at all, but they didn't like the flash from our cameras.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Love
If you've known me for a while, you will know that I am my grandpa's girl. It's been this way as long as I can remember; probably since I was born, he's adored me and I adore him. Every Friday night at 11pm without fail, I call him and we talk, usually only for 5 to 10 minutes, because he's afraid of taking too much of my time. Our Friday night talks have been a tradition, also for as long as I can remember. At home, my dad is the one who makes the calls, and then he hands the phone to me when it's my "turn." When I went to college, those 15 digits that make up his phone number became ingrained in my memory as I punched them into my cell every week. We talk about the same things each time: we ask if the other is happy, whether the other is exercising (sometimes I have to lie), and he tells me to be careful and never accept food from strangers or make bad friends etc.
My grandpa has three things that he loves to talk about. First of all, he loves recalling the times he spent with me when I was a little girl and all the games we played together...how I made him watch Barney over and over, how I would "drive" him to San Francisco in my toy car and make him buckle his seatbelt, and most specifically this one time when he fell asleep and I crawled upstairs and put on a pair of giant sunglasses. He laughs so hard every single time he tells that story. The second thing is this story from when he was living in Japan as a teenager, and some girl asked him out on a date, but he declined. He said that she was very sad, and to this day, he feels so guilty for rejecting her and would like to apologize to her. Never mind that she's probably either been married for a bunch of years or might not still be alive...it bothers him, even to this very day! That's how detailed my grandpa's memory is, and how much he considers other people's feelings. Finally, he loves to call me Diamond Jennifer, and he loves to explain why. He says that I am like a diamond--an ordinary rock on the outside, and the more you rub it and uncover it, the more precious it becomes and the more it shines, and you realize how rare it is. He's possibly the only person who thinks this, but it's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me. He tells me this EVERY time we talk.
I hope that every person has someone out there who means the world to him/her, and vice versa. I am so blessed to be able to say quite confidently that I mean the world to my grandpa, and he means the world to me. Our lives are so different and moving in opposite directions. I feel like I'm reaching the end of my beginning, while he is reaching the beginning of his end...my life constantly becomes more complicated, while his becomes more uncluttered.
Love comes in many different shapes and sizes...the love between my grandpa and me is the simplest kind that I can think of. We aren't even very close in that there are many things about me that he doesn't know, and I am sure there are many things about him that I don't know. To be honest, I don't even understand 40% of the stuff he says to me. Chinese is neither of our best language, and we both have a pretty bad accent (his Japanese, mine English). We rarely see each other, and when we do, we are even more rarely alone, just the two of us. Usually we're surrounded by a vast chattering crowd of family (most of the chattering coming from my mom, of course) and a large amount of food. But no matter what, we somehow always gravitate toward each other, like two peas in a pod. I have so much admiration for and faith in my grandpa...I think we both pray for each other, in the same principle but for different goals. He prays for my success in the future, and I pray for his success in preserving the present. He is one of the healthiest people I know, never having gone to the doctor ever since he was a child, because he simply takes care of his body so well. When we hike, he's the first up the mountain with a spring in each step. I love the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and the way his hands are constantly making circular gestures when he talks. I love how he tells jokes that don't really make much sense and then laughs super hard afterwards, and I love how every once in a while he randomly turns to look at me, pats me on the shoulder, and goes "Oh! Jennifer! You are the best!" (in Chinese). If I could have one wish, it's that he'll be here when I get married. (Well, I suppose the wish that should come before that is that I will get married.) I don't know if there is anything in the world that could make me happier.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Having Siblings
There are pros and cons to every kind of family, but I think, somehow it is so essential and ideal to have siblings. Rivalry, disagreements, noogies and wedgies, jealousy...they all exist. But today, I watched my mother and her sister hold each other as my grandmother's body was put into an incinerator and cremated; and now, as the two of them sit side by side, writing and editing their last memoirs of their mother...I realize this significant importance of having a sibling figure in one's life.
Even if two siblings are not close, they must be there for each other during family suffering. When a death in the family occurs, a hole is created, like a missing piece in a puzzle. All your loved ones (spouse, children, relatives, best friends) are like other pieces that try to fill this hole...they want to fill it of course, because they love you. But today when my grandmother's body was placed into the incinerator, I saw my dad reach out an arm to support my mom, I felt both me and my sister start forward to help her, I sensed our whole family's energy center around the two women in the middle of the group, the ones that felt the most pain. And in the midst of all this love coming from all directions, the two sisters turned not to us, but to each other. I think that if there is any possibility of finding your missing piece after a death, you would find it in your sister or brother.
In the meantime, I know I planned to write in here at least every few days, but I've been busy and lazy--a bad combination. I will update on life in Japan, a short hiatus in Taiwan, and more life in Japan as soon as possible.
Even if two siblings are not close, they must be there for each other during family suffering. When a death in the family occurs, a hole is created, like a missing piece in a puzzle. All your loved ones (spouse, children, relatives, best friends) are like other pieces that try to fill this hole...they want to fill it of course, because they love you. But today when my grandmother's body was placed into the incinerator, I saw my dad reach out an arm to support my mom, I felt both me and my sister start forward to help her, I sensed our whole family's energy center around the two women in the middle of the group, the ones that felt the most pain. And in the midst of all this love coming from all directions, the two sisters turned not to us, but to each other. I think that if there is any possibility of finding your missing piece after a death, you would find it in your sister or brother.
In the meantime, I know I planned to write in here at least every few days, but I've been busy and lazy--a bad combination. I will update on life in Japan, a short hiatus in Taiwan, and more life in Japan as soon as possible.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Grandma Memoirs
My earliest memory related to Grandma is looking through her collection of cosmetics. She had rows of lipstick and eye shadow in every color of the rainbow. As a little girl, probably four or five years old, I admired my grandma and thought she was very cool and sophisticated for having so much makeup.
Grandma was really beautiful. Back when we were kids, she loved painting our nails, she had tons of fancy clothes that my cousin and I loved to try on, and she always wanted to look her best when she went out. I remember her caring especially about which shoes she would wear.
In 1996, my mom, Grandma, and I travelled to Europe. I think we were in France, crossing the street, when a bicycle collided with Grandma. Mom was really upset and yelled at the bicyclist, threatening to report the incident to the police. Grandma was very calm and didn't seem bothered at all. She kept telling my mom to cool down, and eventually we left and went back to the hotel.
From a journal entry I wrote in 2001 during a family trip to Japan: "The next day, I banged my foot on a door, and it bled and hurt when I walked. So I stayed home with my grandma while everyone else went to a museum. I spent the whole day watching TV, painting my nails with my grandma's pink nail polish, playing card games with my grandma, and resting with cream on my foot. At home, I'm not allowed to wear nail polish, but Mom wasn't here today, and my grandma says it's okay! Yey! I won a card game on the computer tonight. Grandma said it meant good luck and fun tomorrow. Hope she's right!"
I remember sitting at Grandma's kitchen table in Taiwan and watching in fascination as she sorted through her daily pills. She had one of those weekly pill boxes with a compartment for each day of the week, and she would let me hand her the correct pills every day after dinner.
I remember how Grandma would joke about her false teeth, and I remember how cute she looked when she took them out at the end of the day. I loved the times when she really laughed. Her eyes and face would scrunch up, and she had one of those silent laughs, where her whole body would shake with laughter.
I remember last summer, when she insisted on staying awake past midnight so she could say hi to me when I finally arrived at Taiwan. Everyone else who had been waiting for me (my aunt and cousins) had eventually gone to sleep. I went to her room where she was lying in bed with her eyes open and her face puckered up like a prune because her false teeth were out. Only after she saw me and gave me a hug did she go to sleep.
I remember how Grandma came to my Pacific Music Festival concert in Tokyo, and how she really liked our conductor Michael Tilson-Thomas.
I remember one time at a hotel in Japan when I walked into the room, and Grandma was asleep with this purple cat-shaped eye pillow I'd given her across her face, and she looked so hilarious and cute.
On my last day in Taiwan, Grandma unexpectedly asked me to play something for her. I played "Meditation" from Thais, which is a short violin arrangement from an opera by Massenet. I thought she would like it, because Grandma used to be a singer. She was an amazing musician...Mom told me that Grandma left high school early, because she was discovered and invited to attend a prestigious music school. I remember playing for her in the living room, with her sitting in a leather sofa across from me. I didn't see what kind of expression she had on her face while I played. After I finished, she just said "thank you" in her usual quiet, calm way.
My last memory of Grandma is saying good bye to her before leaving Taiwan, a year ago. We took a lot of pictures before I left, with Grandma, Mom, my sister, my cousin, my aunt, and Grandma's housekeeper at the time. I remember hugging Grandma a lot before I left. I'm glad we did that. Her hugs were really strong, even though her arms were thin and frail. I remember that she would wrap her arms all the way around me and squeeze me tight. And I remember crying a lot after getting in the car to the airport, and not knowing why I was so sad. I was practically sobbing, even right after I walked out of Grandma's apartment. At the time, I figured I was so sad because I didn't know when I would come back to Taiwan next, and I wished I could stay longer...but maybe it was also an instinct, some sort of subliminal message from God that this was the last time I'd see Grandma.
Rest in peace.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
An Analogy
"Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints on your heart."
I've been thinking about true friends, and the different ways they come in and out of your life. I'm going to try out an analogy and see if it works...
Let's say my life is a House, and I am the Owner.
I'd say that my family--mom, dad, and sister--are Architects. I build the House and have the final say in its making, but they are the ones who design it and choose what kind of house it will be...brick or stone, backyard or pool, how many stories, where to place the windows and doors etc. Next come my most prominent teachers and mentors, the ones who guide and inspire me. They're the Interior Designers. The changes they make to the House are less immediately or outwardly visible, and their contributions must accommodate decisions already put in place by my family. Ideally, they enhance and emphasize the Architects' achievements, while minimizing and concealing possible mistakes.
Then, there are companions...the ones that leave footprints on the heart, the ones that affect my views and passions. I hesitate to use the word "friend," because it seems at once too vague and too specific. By "companion," I mean anyone I'd view on equal ground as myself--like a peer, but more personal. Thus far in my life, I can think of four categories of "footprint companions," and four people to represent these categories. (For privacy's sake, I'll refer to them as if they are all male, even though they're not--sorry, the glass ceiling still exists in my writing...it's easier than saying "he/she," anyway.) So here they are.
The Mailman- The Mailman is constant and reliable. His job is indispensable, and his visits to the House make me excited and happy. (Who doesn't love getting mail?) The Mailman's presence is something I can always count on, and it's difficult to remember a day when his smiling face and cheerful voice weren't there for me when I needed them. Because of his reliability and seemingly simple nature, I sometimes take him for granted. I wait for him to come to my House, ring my doorbell, and deliver my mail; it is less common that I go to the post office to deliver things and pick things up myself. The Mailman never fails, rain or shine. Even in a storm, he can be seen trudging up my driveway with an umbrella, poncho, and his usual good spirits. Times with the Mailman are usually easygoing and casual. We discuss light-hearted stuff, joking and laughing. But because of the frequency of his visits, he has seen me at my best and worst. He's been there for every mistake, disappointment, failure, heartbreak...and though during those low points, I am too preoccupied to truly appreciate his presence, he is there...not for too long, not to discuss the nitty and gritty...but simply, to be there. He always has been, and always will be. A seemingly simple role he plays, most of the time, and yet...without him, I couldn't survive. Love you too, Mailman.
The Gardener- The Gardener didn't start coming to my House until it was developed enough to have a garden. Gardens take time, patience, and experience. They also depend on the seasons...they are a cycle of growth and decay, ripeness and rot, joy and sorrow. I met the Gardener when the first flowers in my yard started to bloom. He helped arrange the plants, find the correct tools and fertilizer and sunlight to make them grow as best as possible. The Gardener brought vibrant colors into my life and taught me how to appreciate beauty to its fullest. The nature of his profession means that I only see the Gardener during certain seasons. He comes at the beginning of spring, when blossoms are due to appear, and he helps them along, encouraging them and preparing them for their journey. Then he steps back and lets them flourish on their own. When winter rolls around, he returns to clean up dried-up petals, rake dead leaves, and clear away old roots. During periods when I don't see the Gardener--when my garden is either doing fine on its own or simply inactive--I keep him in mind, and the lessons he taught me are present in my everyday actions. When he does show up, his presence is significant and consequential...he can change the essence of my House in one visit. My Gardener shows me how to make the House beautiful, and taught me what it means to celebrate humanity.
The Stray- The Stray cat showed up unexpectedly at my doorstep one night. He was soft, fluffy, and very cute. He was also alone, seemingly helpless and in need of shelter. I let him in with caution; after all, you never know where a stray has been. He turned out to be a sweet creature--loving, endearing, and capricious. Everyone who saw my new favorite visitor of the House fell in love with his charm and perfection. I let him explore every room of the House, even ones I guarded with the utmost privacy. I couldn't say that the Stray belonged to me, but he visited so often, left his mark in so many nooks and crannies, that I believed he would stay forever. One day, without warning, the Stray was gone. There are many possible reasons for his departure--perhaps he found a bigger house with more food and better company. Maybe he grew tired of the House...the mess in the closet, the stain on the carpet I hid under a couch, the bathroom window that was stuck shut. But most likely, the Stray is simply that--a stray. He's never meant to belong to anyone, at least not yet, and I learned to accept this, as confusing and frustrating as I found it. Certainly I'm not the first to lose him, and I probably won't be the last. And as wonderful as he was at making my House that much of a better place in which to live, he is, above all else, a being unto himself, one who lives by himself and for himself. It is what it is.
The Roofer- A Roofer is needed at all times, but most importantly in the aftermath of bad weather. Sometimes, one or two lone tiles from the roof are blown off by a gust of wind. Other times, a hailstorm sweeps in, and I must call the Roofer in a panic, so he can fix the holes. The Roofer knows my House inside out. He knows its weaknesses and faults, where to step lightly and where it holds strong...and he fixes a situation as if it were the easiest thing in the world. The Roofer isn't my most frequent visitor, nor does he always come at the exact moment I wish him to. He has other appointments...or else, the storm is blowing too hard for him to do his job safely. Once, I asked him to check a few loose tiles on the side roof, and though a recent rain had rendered the rooftop precariously slippery, he eventually agreed. Halfway through, he lost his footing and fell to the ground, breaking a few bones. Though he didn't blame me, I could not forgive myself for causing him pain and damage. He told me it would be a while before he could walk again, and only if he took a break would his wounds heal. But he promised he would return. In his absence, the House suffered. When it rained, leaks in the roof opened up; the water seeping in were like giant tears that dampened the rooms. Nobody else could mend the damage. There is only one Roofer, and I knew it still was not safe for him to return. Finally one day, he showed up on my doorstep. His arm was in a sling, and a scar was visible on his cheek, but he was walking again. True to his promise, he came back. Gradually he returned to fixing things--cracks, holes, chipped tiles...but the past cannot be erased, and scars don't disappear...it will be a while before he can climb onto the roof again. There is a ladder I always leave propped up, though, waiting for when the time is right.
I've been thinking about true friends, and the different ways they come in and out of your life. I'm going to try out an analogy and see if it works...
Let's say my life is a House, and I am the Owner.
I'd say that my family--mom, dad, and sister--are Architects. I build the House and have the final say in its making, but they are the ones who design it and choose what kind of house it will be...brick or stone, backyard or pool, how many stories, where to place the windows and doors etc. Next come my most prominent teachers and mentors, the ones who guide and inspire me. They're the Interior Designers. The changes they make to the House are less immediately or outwardly visible, and their contributions must accommodate decisions already put in place by my family. Ideally, they enhance and emphasize the Architects' achievements, while minimizing and concealing possible mistakes.
Then, there are companions...the ones that leave footprints on the heart, the ones that affect my views and passions. I hesitate to use the word "friend," because it seems at once too vague and too specific. By "companion," I mean anyone I'd view on equal ground as myself--like a peer, but more personal. Thus far in my life, I can think of four categories of "footprint companions," and four people to represent these categories. (For privacy's sake, I'll refer to them as if they are all male, even though they're not--sorry, the glass ceiling still exists in my writing...it's easier than saying "he/she," anyway.) So here they are.
The Mailman- The Mailman is constant and reliable. His job is indispensable, and his visits to the House make me excited and happy. (Who doesn't love getting mail?) The Mailman's presence is something I can always count on, and it's difficult to remember a day when his smiling face and cheerful voice weren't there for me when I needed them. Because of his reliability and seemingly simple nature, I sometimes take him for granted. I wait for him to come to my House, ring my doorbell, and deliver my mail; it is less common that I go to the post office to deliver things and pick things up myself. The Mailman never fails, rain or shine. Even in a storm, he can be seen trudging up my driveway with an umbrella, poncho, and his usual good spirits. Times with the Mailman are usually easygoing and casual. We discuss light-hearted stuff, joking and laughing. But because of the frequency of his visits, he has seen me at my best and worst. He's been there for every mistake, disappointment, failure, heartbreak...and though during those low points, I am too preoccupied to truly appreciate his presence, he is there...not for too long, not to discuss the nitty and gritty...but simply, to be there. He always has been, and always will be. A seemingly simple role he plays, most of the time, and yet...without him, I couldn't survive. Love you too, Mailman.
The Gardener- The Gardener didn't start coming to my House until it was developed enough to have a garden. Gardens take time, patience, and experience. They also depend on the seasons...they are a cycle of growth and decay, ripeness and rot, joy and sorrow. I met the Gardener when the first flowers in my yard started to bloom. He helped arrange the plants, find the correct tools and fertilizer and sunlight to make them grow as best as possible. The Gardener brought vibrant colors into my life and taught me how to appreciate beauty to its fullest. The nature of his profession means that I only see the Gardener during certain seasons. He comes at the beginning of spring, when blossoms are due to appear, and he helps them along, encouraging them and preparing them for their journey. Then he steps back and lets them flourish on their own. When winter rolls around, he returns to clean up dried-up petals, rake dead leaves, and clear away old roots. During periods when I don't see the Gardener--when my garden is either doing fine on its own or simply inactive--I keep him in mind, and the lessons he taught me are present in my everyday actions. When he does show up, his presence is significant and consequential...he can change the essence of my House in one visit. My Gardener shows me how to make the House beautiful, and taught me what it means to celebrate humanity.
The Stray- The Stray cat showed up unexpectedly at my doorstep one night. He was soft, fluffy, and very cute. He was also alone, seemingly helpless and in need of shelter. I let him in with caution; after all, you never know where a stray has been. He turned out to be a sweet creature--loving, endearing, and capricious. Everyone who saw my new favorite visitor of the House fell in love with his charm and perfection. I let him explore every room of the House, even ones I guarded with the utmost privacy. I couldn't say that the Stray belonged to me, but he visited so often, left his mark in so many nooks and crannies, that I believed he would stay forever. One day, without warning, the Stray was gone. There are many possible reasons for his departure--perhaps he found a bigger house with more food and better company. Maybe he grew tired of the House...the mess in the closet, the stain on the carpet I hid under a couch, the bathroom window that was stuck shut. But most likely, the Stray is simply that--a stray. He's never meant to belong to anyone, at least not yet, and I learned to accept this, as confusing and frustrating as I found it. Certainly I'm not the first to lose him, and I probably won't be the last. And as wonderful as he was at making my House that much of a better place in which to live, he is, above all else, a being unto himself, one who lives by himself and for himself. It is what it is.
The Roofer- A Roofer is needed at all times, but most importantly in the aftermath of bad weather. Sometimes, one or two lone tiles from the roof are blown off by a gust of wind. Other times, a hailstorm sweeps in, and I must call the Roofer in a panic, so he can fix the holes. The Roofer knows my House inside out. He knows its weaknesses and faults, where to step lightly and where it holds strong...and he fixes a situation as if it were the easiest thing in the world. The Roofer isn't my most frequent visitor, nor does he always come at the exact moment I wish him to. He has other appointments...or else, the storm is blowing too hard for him to do his job safely. Once, I asked him to check a few loose tiles on the side roof, and though a recent rain had rendered the rooftop precariously slippery, he eventually agreed. Halfway through, he lost his footing and fell to the ground, breaking a few bones. Though he didn't blame me, I could not forgive myself for causing him pain and damage. He told me it would be a while before he could walk again, and only if he took a break would his wounds heal. But he promised he would return. In his absence, the House suffered. When it rained, leaks in the roof opened up; the water seeping in were like giant tears that dampened the rooms. Nobody else could mend the damage. There is only one Roofer, and I knew it still was not safe for him to return. Finally one day, he showed up on my doorstep. His arm was in a sling, and a scar was visible on his cheek, but he was walking again. True to his promise, he came back. Gradually he returned to fixing things--cracks, holes, chipped tiles...but the past cannot be erased, and scars don't disappear...it will be a while before he can climb onto the roof again. There is a ladder I always leave propped up, though, waiting for when the time is right.
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