Toy Story

Trying to explain to my dad why I was bawling after watching Toy Story 3 for the fourth time-

Me: Well, it's really sad because...well, first of all, the boy Andy--he's the owner of all the toys--is growing up.
Dad: Uh huh...
Me: Well, since he's growing up, he doesn't really play with his toys anymore, so they miss him.
Dad: Okay...
Me: Well, he's also going away to college...so he has to decide which toy to take with him and which toys to leave behind...
Dad: *blank look*
Me: I mean, wasn't it hard for you when you had to decide what stuff to bring to college? Or like when you moved to America?
Dad: I didn't play with toys.
Me: Okay, well weren't you sad when you left home??
Dad: I was sad, yes. But I didn't cry.

-_-    Never mind.

Evolution of Gift-Giving

First, there were the Santa days. To be honest, I believed in Santa for a VERY short amount of time...and during that short time, the idea of him scared me more than anything. One of my earliest memories is staying up on Christmas Eve--hearing a faint thumping from the family room, feeling sure it was Santa, creeping downstairs but then being too petrified to turn the corner and peek. (In retrospect, the thumping was probably my dad banging his leg on a table or something.) Once I entered elementary school, I secretly knew Santa didn't exist, but I pretended to believe in him anyway, so that I'd get an extra present from my parents. :) When my sister got to be a toddler, I took up the role of Santa, picking out special surprise presents, encouraging her to write a note to Santa and then writing a reply (complete with Rudolph's paw print), pretending to eat the cookies, knocking down a few things near the fireplace to add to the authenticity of Santa's visit, and so on. Being Santa was my favorite part of the holidays.
When my sister became a fifth grader, I figured she was too old to believe in Santa. It was for her own good, otherwise she might be teased at school. Besides, the previous year, I'd sort of messed things up...being way too excited about a new stereo we'd bought for her present from Santa, I made a mad dash for the living room while carrying the gigantic wrapped gift. It was so big that it obstructed my vision, and just as she glanced over from the next room, I accidentally ran into a wall and fell over. The next day she still acted surprised and overjoyed when she unwrapped the stereo...but I'm pretty sure she'd figured things out by then.
Then came the time of creative family gifts. I'm not sure how it started, but my sister and I started making a big deal out of our parents' birthdays. The first big surprise was probably when I gave my mom a giant birthday card one year. It was at least half her height and took me several days to make. For my dad's birthday, my sister had the idea of doing a puppet show. We made hand puppets out of paper bags, one puppet representing each member of the family, and we wrote a skit of daily scenes from our lives that highlighted my dad's idiosyncrasies and funny moments. Then we "performed" the puppet show for him on his birthday, from behind the couch of the living room. I don't know if my dad actually enjoyed it, but Mei and I had a LOT of fun doing it. Thus was born the tradition of performances on our parents' birthdays and Christmas. One year, we took a bunch of my dad's favorite songs, wrote a medley version for piano and guitar/violin, and changed the lyrics so that they were about him. Another year, my dad, sister, and I performed a skit about my mom--my dad played the roles of my sister and me, my sister played my dad, and I played my mom. My mom still says that skit is one of her all-time favorite memories.
But eventually, this got old. It was so much fun, but a) I ran out of ideas (the only thing left was to do a musical, and that was WAY too complicated...), b) I left for college and only came home a few days before Christmas, and c) I ended up being the only one who did most of the work...my sister lounged around and goofed off while I wracked my brain over various lyrics or lines or melodies. It started feeling like an obligation. So we stopped doing performances and just gave normal presents, but still made every effort to keep everything a secret. On Christmas morning we'd still be surprised by what we found under the tree, and in the days leading up to Christmas, we'd still be inwardly smiling, excited to see the looks on the others' faces when they saw what we'd gotten them.
Now, we have evolved to the most practical form of gift-giving. A couple weeks before Christmas, we make public announcements of the items we want. Then, we decide who will get what for whom. This year, my dad wants a baseball cap that he can fit in his pocket. My mom wants a coffee machine. I want a NY Times crossword calendar, and my sister wants the Harry Potter 7 DVD (Part 2). We decided that, since everyone only wants one thing, we'd each receive only one collective present from the family this year. I felt like this was too boring, so I said each person could opt for a "surprise" present if they wanted. Then, my mom piped up that actually, she already bought herself the coffee machine, so we don't need to get her anything at all.
On practical terms, until you're financially independent, you and your family basically share your money in one big pool, and getting your parents a gift is sort of the monetary equivalent of them buying themselves a gift. And, as Sheldon on the Big Bang Theory puts it, when you give someone a present, you are also giving an obligation. The receiver of the present then has to reciprocate with a present to you, and thus ensues a tiresome and stressful exchange until one party dies, leaving the other party one present richer. So, instead of this tiresome business of buying presents and keeping secrets, why don't we just each go out and get something we want for ourselves, for Christmas? Apparently, that is exactly what people in China do--they don't celebrate Christmas, probably don't even know what Christmas is really about, but they do have a holiday season, which they celebrate by shopping...not for one another, but for themselves.
I can't really say that this sort of practicality is greedy, nor can I say I'm sad that my family has become steadily less creative...from Rudolph paw prints to self-bought coffee machines, from home-made songs and skits to requested gifts we know we'll receive. I mean, I do miss the good old days, and I miss exercising my creative juices and seeing the surprised delight on my family's faces. But the good thing is, we evolved together; doing a puppet show or forging a note from Santa would just seem silly and forced for all of us, now. I imagine the great thing about being parents is being able to "grow up" all over again, with your kids. I think my parents had a great and giddy time doing all those fun things with my sister and me when we were young...and now we're all growing up, my sister and I for the first time, and my parents for a second time. Maybe we'll go through the cycle again when there's a new generation. Meanwhile, I'm eagerly awaiting a predictable but equally satisfying Christmas, and just as thankful as usual to be with my family for the holidays, celebrating the birth of Christ together. :)

Atlas Shrugged

It took me about 6 months, but I finally finished this 1069-page monster. Parts of it completely confused me, parts of it got me all riled up and angry at the world, parts of it made me grumpy and irritated at the author...but overall, I'm glad I read it. Even though this book is largely about industry, business, and self-promotion, I realized that most of my favorite quotes are the parts about love. Ayn Rand believes in valuing one's own mind and best interests above all else, and she uses these thousand-and-so pages to basically dismiss and spit on popular "morals," like sacrificing oneself for the greater good and spreading the wealth. I disagree with her on most things, but there's no doubt she put a LOT of thought and passion into her ethics, and I respect her for that. She also managed to create an interesting, even slightly touching plot to go with what essentially is a long-winded treatise of her philosophy (...more than I can say for Nietzsche). Anyway, here are my favorite parts:

"Are you saying," he asked slowly, "that I rose in your estimation when you found that I wanted you?"
"Of course."
"That's not the reaction of most people of being wanted."
"It isn't."
"Most people feel that they rise in their own eyes, if others want them."
"I feel that others live up to me, if they want me. And that is the way you feel, too, Hank, about yourself--whether you admit it or not."

"You still love me--even if there's one expression of it that you'll always feel and want, but will not give me any longer. I'm still what I was, and you'll always see it, and you'll always grant me the same response, even if there's a greater one that you grant to another man. No matter what you feel for him, it will not change what you feel for me, and it won't be treason to either, because it comes from the same root, it's the same payment in answer to the same values. No matter what happens in the future, we'll always be what we were to each other, you and I, because you'll always love me."

"People think that a liar gains a victory over his victim. What I've learned is that a lie is an act of self-abdication, because one surrenders one's reality to the person to whom one lies, making that person one's master, condemning oneself from then on to faking the sort of reality that person's view requires to be faked. And if one gains the immediate purpose of the lie--the price one pays is the destruction of that which the gain was intended to serve. The man who lies to the world, is the world's slave from then on."

If you don't know, the thing to do is not to get scared, but to learn...

Editing

The art of editing is observing someone's creation, whether it be an article or story or research paper, finding the essential grains of his ideas, and arranging the words around it so that these ideas can shine clearly and brightly.Your job isn't to create new ideas, but to mold existing ideas, to make them as presentable and appealing as possible.
I used to want to be an editor. In fact, I vividly remember coming home one day when I was in second grade and telling my mom that when I grow up, I wanted to be the head of a publishing company. This seems like a pretty random dream for a seven-year-old...I think what happened was that I opened one of my books to the page that has all the copyright information, found the "c" with a circle around it to be very impressive and official-looking, and decided that being an author might be too much work, but being the person who publishes the author's book sounded fun. My mom got all excited and found me a writing tutor (who incidentally became one of my closest adult friends to this day). The editor dream didn't pan out, but throughout high school, I edited friends' papers for school, practice essays for SAT's, and application essays for college. Even now as a music student, I help out various faithful friends with their med school or grad school applications. Doing a successful edit gives me a tingle and rush, the same feeling I get when playing a fifth on the violin in tune so it rings, or getting full scores on consecutive rounds of Text Twist.
I realized today that editing actually resembles the aspects of music that I love the most. If you know me well, you'll know that I LOVE playing second violin in quartets. I don't know when this began, but it certainly wasn't (and isn't) because the second violin part is "easier." It's because often times, the second violin's job is to make the first violin sound good. It's actually quite a difficult task, because you have to match the first violinist, whoever he/she is, whatever kind of a person he/she is, and whatever types of tendencies he/she has, regardless of your own tendencies and style. You have to be a chameleon, and you have to be more interested in everyone else's parts as a whole than in your own part. The worst second violinists are the ones that are always looking for spots where they can shine. (On the other hand, the second-worst second violinists are the ones that are scared of the spots they're supposed to shine.) You have to be a chameleon in that you are good at supporting the players around you, but when the time comes to step up and carry the melody, you do it effortlessly and with ample presence. Most of my favorite chamber music (and music in general) moments have been playing second violin. It's my niche, where I feel confident I can do a satisfactory job.
If you know me well, you'll also know that I love playing in orchestra, maybe more than any other musical activity...but I do NOT like being the leader. I either like being in the last stand or being in a secondary role, like second chair or principal second. Being concertmaster is okay, as long as there is a conductor. (Last year when I was in a conductor-less ensemble, I absolutely hated being concertmaster...it was like being conductor, and that is the last thing I want or could do.) Some musicians find being in an orchestra constraining, because very rarely do you get the license to express your own personal interpretation. Most of the time, you're expressing whatever ideas the conductor has. Your job is to make his/her vision come true, rather than your own. I can see how this may be frustrating for some, but usually, I love it. I love the task of interpreting someone else's idea and finding a way to communicate it effectively to an audience. In a way, playing second violin, playing in orchestra, and playing music in general is like editing. You take someone else's idea, whether it's a writer or a composer or a conductor or a fellow colleague, and you see the good in it...you see the brilliance and originality and reason behind it, and you understand/respect it. Then, you use your own resources and inject your own personality, not in making it your own, but in translating it to a broader audience. It's a tough job--if done well, you might not get the credit, and if done badly, you may often get the blame. But the world needs editors, messengers, liaisons, translators...because, as great as it is to have geniuses with revolutionary ideas, they can't do it on their own. Most of the time, ideas need a push in the right direction, molding by the right hands into something accessible and beautiful and admirable.
I'm not a creative person...I don't usually come up with great ideas, but I can happily make someone else's great ideas even greater. :)

Arts and Crafts 4

 

 

 

 

 
Coming soon: a real entry with words.......

Nice People

Nice Person #1: A couple days ago, I was in a bathroom at school, and realized too late that there was no toilet paper in my stall...so I fumbled around and debated my next course of action for a while. There was a person outside washing her hands, but I was too shy to ask a complete stranger to hand me toilet paper...I thought I'd just figure something out after she left. But all of a sudden, she asked me, "Hey, do you need some toilet paper?" She must have noticed earlier that my stall had no toilet paper, or maybe she heard me rummaging around. Either way, it was so nice of her! She could have easily just walked out and felt no guilt/awareness whatsoever.
Nice Person #2: Just now I was home alone, sitting in my room eating Wheat Thins and watching The Nanny when I heard a knock on the door. I was almost too lazy to go answer it, but finally I did, and it turned out to be a complete stranger, someone who lives in our building and whom I've seen on the bus now and then. She was knocking to tell me that I had left my keys stuck in the door knob. First of all, wow I'm stupid, but second of all, that was so nice!! Again, she could have easily walked by and ignored it or not noticed it at all. Instead, she chose to knock on my door and wait at least 30 seconds for me to answer the door, just to help someone she'd never met before.
I love nice people. :)

Lord of the Flies?

There is a MASSIVE FLY INVASION in my Houston apartment. Today while cooking, R opened the trash bin lid, and a swarm of at least twenty flies came BURSTING out. After we spent ten minutes chasing down the flies and killing them by hand/flyswatter, we decided to devise a fly-killing trap (http://www.wikihow.com/Make-a-Fly-Trap). This took a while, and then we turned off all the lights in the apartment except one lamp, which we shone on the trap. For good measure, R put a piece of her curry chicken in a small bowl and placed it in the little cone of light as well.

We sat for a while, staring and waiting. In my mind's eye I'd pictured dozens of flies unwittingly flying into the jar as if being sucked in by a vacuum. Then, after they drowned in the warm sugary water, we would pick them out one by one and torture them (even though they were already dead?) and punish them for the extreme irritation they had caused us (this morning while I was practicing, I swear a fly flew up my nose...I mean, come on). But in reality, not one fly appeared. Even the chicken failed to attract them! When 15 or so minutes had passed, we were forced to sadly surrender and throw our little inventions away. As soon as we turned on the light, the swarm of flies were back, buzzing inches away from our faces, tickling our necks, and invading our bedrooms. So we spent another episode blundering around the room, pouncing at flies on the wall, clapping our hands at flies in the air etc. All I can say is, it's a sad sad evening when two 22-year-olds are made to look like complete lunatics/fools by a bunch of flies.

Parents

[12:36:45 AM] Sefen.Hsu: Well, dad left to taiwan. Boy, I finally get to have a good sleep tonight.  He was so loud last night when I went to bed. I don't think I get to really sleep for more than 3 hours.

:) Snoring...something to at least consider when choosing your life partner, eh?

?

If you set out to accomplish anything requiring a lot of effort against slim chances, there are two main things to consider: 1) do you have a natural ability for this activity, and 2) do you know how to work smart and work hard (in a way, also a natural ability)?
When I was young, I believed I had a natural affinity for music. During those shamefully boring home videos of my Suzuki concerts, among the auditorium packed with a hundred kids playing their violins, I'm the shortest, youngest one in the front row, moving her bow in the right direction at the right times with an effortless, relaxed smile on her face. Teachers' comments were always that I was a fast-learner. I didn't have to learn to be musical, to be affected by this harmony or that rhythm...it just happened, through no actual achievement of my own. To me, this isn't bragging--innate abilities like perfect pitch and muscle memory are nothing to be proud of; however, they are something to be cognizant of, to help one figure out his/her most beneficial path in life.
I got older and went out into the real world. I experienced the usual small-fish-in-a-big-pond phenomenon, realizing that there are some people out there with more natural ability than me. Not just some, but MANY...so, so many. It took a while to become accustomed to this, but eventually I adjusted my identity to being not the "talented" one, but the "hard-working" one. My idea was, if I can't be the fastest learner or the most natural musician, I can be the most diligent, prepared one. Even if I start out with a less stunning skills set, I can compensate by putting in that much extra effort. I learned how to (barely) hang on to the high level of achievement my peers attained with such ease...if they worked for three hours, I worked for five. If they prepared a week in advance, I gave myself a month. When we came out with the same result, I learned to be proud instead of bitter, and to value my hard work along with their talent.
Now at a new school and in the midst of a new communal personality, I feel like I'm experiencing a second small-fish-big-pond reality check. Not only are there people with more natural ability than me, but there are also people who work harder than me...MANY people, who work WAY harder. I generally took pride in my practicing methods and specific routines. In my old school, I'm pretty sure I was one of a tiny minority that practiced to this degree of thoroughness, bordering on ridiculousness. (Music can become a perfect activity for the OCD-inflicted, in many ways.) But now, I'm surrounded by people who all have this kind of work ethic as well. So what's left for me to cling onto? How do I compensate? I feel like I've reached something of a dead end, or like I'm a hamster on his mobile wheel. I'm running and running, but can I really get anywhere? What's left, besides natural ability and hard work? Luck? Confidence?

English

Apparently, a reasonable case could be made for spelling the word "fish" as "ghoti." GH from enouGH, O from wOmen, and TI from naTIon. Oh, English...

"The English language is a rich verbal tapestry woven together from the tongues of the Greeks, the Latins, the Angles, the Klaxtons, the Celtics, and many more other ancient peoples, all of whom had severe drinking problems." -Dave Barry

Summer Love

(Inspired by one of my sister's essays from all her recent college application preparation.)

As with all matters of the heart, I could think of nothing else. On the plane ride home, his scent lingered on my clothes, and his deep green eyes seemed to stare at me from every window reflection...I kept glancing through the photos we'd taken together on my phone, feeling a tug of nostalgia as each memory reentered my mind. Good byes are never easy...
The beginning was tentative. I sought to protect myself from painful past experiences repeating themselves, and as he observed and evaluated me, I strove to maintain an aloof sort of apathy. When he brushed gently against my body as he walked by, I pretended not to notice. When he threw me sidelong glances, as if gazing deep into my soul, I hastily averted my eyes. Once or twice, I couldn't help myself...losing control, I submitted to my impatient desire and reached out to stroke his soft cheek, feeling tingles of satisfaction as his eyes closed with pleasure. These rare precious occasions turned into a daily routine, and soon, we were inseparable. We spent hours in the house alone, with only each other for company. He watched Olympics with me, listened to me practice, and sat at the table with me as I ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Though sweet, he was a complicated personality--he's the type that always wants to play a little hard-to-get. Snuggled up in my arms, just when I thought I'd won him over, he would pull himself out of my embrace and walk away, looking back at me as if to say, "You're great, but I've got better things to do." Usually I don't like to play such games...I like straight-up honesty, laying each other's emotional cards on the table. But with him, it was different. I was mesmerized--each time I earned his attention was a personal victory.
Before I knew it, our time together was over. Summer was coming to a close, and I had to go home...all good things must end. He was still sleeping when I left. I didn't want to wake him. I wanted my last image of him to be one of peace and pure happiness. Plus, farewells are a weakness of mine. Maybe it was best not to say good bye.
Often I think back to all our good times, the undeniable connection we shared...and though he never admitted it, I just know that deep down inside that complex soul of his, he loves me. Though we may be miles and oceans apart, Sirius will always be in my heart.

Hehe. Just kidding. :) But in all seriousness, I really do miss this cat. So surprised I wasn't allergic to him!

Van Gogh

(Finally making an extra effort to write more entries.)

I visited the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam yesterday, and just wanted to do a little show-and-tell of the paintings most memorable to me, because I think they're worth sharing. Lately, I've been motivated to understand more about art--not just to learn about it, but to form opinions about it on my own, without reading the little placards and background information. So, going to an actual museum and witnessing the paintings firsthand is usually quite the workout for my brain.

This is the only painting of Van Gogh's that makes me feel calm. I guess I could be technical and say, it has less of those vigorous little brushstroke lines and dots that he's so famous for, but I'd rather say it's an intangible overall feeling of peace that he exudes through his drawing. Then I read the placard and found out that he drew this to depict that the bedroom is a place of peace and rest.

I didn't like this painting from the first moment I saw it on posters in the gift shop, and I couldn't figure out why. Later I realized that it made me feel lonely. I think proportions are a big thing to notice in Van Gogh, and it's interesting how he (intentionally or unintentionally) uses unusual proportions to exude emotion. This painting strikes me as...so so so lonely. Looking at it immediately saddened me. Especially that little red patch all by itself in the bottom middle. (Is it a coincidence that Van Gogh was a redhead? Hm.)

Maybe my favorite painting I saw yesterday, not only because irises are my favorite flower, but also because Van Gogh said that he wanted to demonstrate the way opposite colors strengthen each other when they are combined. So simple and wise. :)

My sister's favorite. :) I love the unabashedly bold signature in red.

Just an example of what is "typical" of Van Gogh's paintings...there is so much going on, it almost makes my head hurt. A lot of paint piled and squeezed right onto the surface, so that it's almost like half-sculpture, half-painting. A lot of MOVEMENT, and overwhelming feeling. There's an inhuman, tumultuous amount of emotion he's trying to express all at once. I really don't think a sane man could have created something like this.

Anna Karenina

My favorite part:

"Wait," he said, sitting down at the table. "There's one thing I've long wanted to ask you."
He looked straight into her tender though frightened eyes.
"Please do."
"Here," he said, and wrote the initial letters: w, y, a, m: t, c, b, d, i, m, n, o, t? These letters meant: "When you answered me: 'that cannot be', did it mean never or then?" There was no likelihood that she would be able to understand this complex phrase, but he watched her with such a look as if his life depended on her understanding these words.
She glanced at him seriously, then leaned her knitted brow on her hand and began to read. Occasionally she glanced at him, asking with her glance: "Is this what I think?"
"I understand," she said, blushing.
"What is this word?" he said, pointing to the n that signified the word never.
"That means the word never," she said, "but it's not true!"
He quickly erased what was written, gave her the chalk and got up. She wrote: t, I, c, g, n, o, a.
...He suddenly beamed: he had understood. It meant: "Then I could give no other answer."
He glanced at her questioningly, timidly.
"Only then?"
"Yes," her smile replied.
"And n...And now?" he asked.
"Well, here, read this. I'll tell you what I would wish. Would wish very much!" She wrote the initial letters: t, y, c, f, a, f, w, h. It meant,: "that you could forgive and forget what happened."
He seized the chalk with his tense, trembling fingers and, breaking it, wrote the initial letters of the following: "I have nothing to forgive and forget, I have never stopped loving you."
She glanced at him, the smile staying on her lips.
"I understand," she said in a whisper.

Home Videos

I think everyone goes through two stages of puberty--the famous first being the teenage years of physical growth, emotional turmoil, and self-definition...and the less frequently mentioned but, in my opinion, just as significant, being these nebulous years between going off to college and becoming independently financially stable. Physically, you're in that weird transition between dealing with both pimples and wrinkles...wanting to celebrate your youth by pulling all-nighters, sky-diving, working out etc. but also feeling alarmingly sore after a simple airplane ride, getting creaky bones when it rains, forgetting basic things (like your dad's Chinese name, or your sister's age)... Socially, you're stuck between the Adult Table and Kiddie Table at family friend gatherings. Do you join the adults, who are talking about subjects with which you can keep up, but are unfortunately being discussed in Chinese? Or do you join the kids, exuding adolescence awkwardness brought on by high school stresses and middle school dramas? Financially, you're utterly confused. When you're at college, you make generally all decisions about where/how to spend your money--groceries, travel tickets, clothes--and finally with your own credit/debit card, you have the freedom to buy secret presents for your parents that really will be secret. At the same time, you can't fool anyone: it's still your parents' money, and will be for a while, until you've had a job long enough to fully support yourself. And until then, as much as you feel entitled to, you can't justifiably INSIST on anything from your parents...not really. And emotionally, it's just another ongoing stage of discovering that vaguely specific answer of who you want to be.
At least this is how I feel right now.
There's also a point that maybe everyone reaches at one time or another, when you're at home with your parents (maybe on a break from college), and you start thinking, this doesn't feel as "right" as it used to. Being nagged at about sleeping early enough, not talking on the phone for too long, and eating fruit just seems ridiculous at this age, especially after having survived out in the world (of college) on your own. I've started to experience little snatches of these moments, when I think I'd choose being on my own over being with my family. It's SO bizarre. At the same time, I also start feeling little snatches of moments where it's now my responsibility to take care of them, instead of the other way around. Roles are constantly being switched around, where one moment it's my mom or dad yelling at me to hurry up and take a shower before it's too late, and the next moment I'm lecturing them about keeping the kitchen area clean or whatever.
But then there are the days when things are back to normal. The last 2 days when I got home in the evening, my parents and sister were sitting in the family room around the TV, with miscellaneous snacks on the sofa, telling riddles, my dad trying to outsmart us with sadly unsuccessful trick questions, my mom in a hyper state of continual laughter, my sister propping her giant feet on the table and promptly knocking over 3 or 4 things. And though I had a bunch of things to do before I could relax for the night, all I wanted to do was plop down next to them and just...be with them.

I woke up at 3:50am today to take them to the airport. When I got home, I couldn't fall back asleep, so I dug out some old video tapes that my parents took from before I was born. It's amazing to watch my mom and dad before they had kids. There were also some scenes of my grandparents visiting when my parents got their house in San Jose. I think I got my habit of harboring and talking to a multitude of stuffed animal from my grandma. And I think I got my persistence and silent/constant interest in food from my grandpa.
So, so happy that we have these videos. I'm such a firm believer in keeping a record of everything, whether it's through words or pictures, audio or visual. Happy happy happy. :)

Wisdom

Middlemarch Quote #6: A true love for a good woman is a great thing...it shapes many a rough fellow.


Middlemarch Quote #7: ...after a little pause, she said, more gravely, bending her face before her father's, "If you are contented with Fred?"
Caleb screwed up his mouth and turned his head aside wisely.
"Now, father, you did praise him last Wednesday. You said he had an uncommon notion of stock, and a good eye for things."
"Did I?" said Caleb, rather slyly.
"Yes, I put it all down, and the date, anno Domini, and everything," said Mary. "You like things to be neatly booked. And then his behavior to you, father, is really good; he has a deep respect for you; and it is impossible to have a better temper than Fred has."
"Ay, ay; you want to coax me into thinking him a fine match."
"No, indeed, father. I don't love him because he is a fine match."
"What for, then?"
"Oh, dear, because I have always loved him. I should never like scolding any one else so well; and that is a point to be thought of in a husband."


Elinor Dashwood now has Mary Garth as a companion on my short but dear list of most beloved literary characters.

Mood Swings

One of life's ever-fascinating entertainments (especially if you're female) is observing your own mood swings. Yesterday I had three very abrupt ones, each progressively more alarming/drastic. In the morning, I went to the farmer's market with my mom, and I guess eating all the free food samples put me in a really cheerful mood, because I suddenly got into one of those uncontrollable laughing fits, during which the fact that I have no idea why I'm laughing just propels me to even greater hysteria. Unfortunately, this happened while I was driving out of the parking lot, and my poor mom had to endure a probably terrifying ride home at the hands of a laughing maniac.

At the farmer's market, I convinced her to buy two pieces of cinnamon coffee cake. The samples were SO good, and I thought one piece MIGHT not be enough for our family, but two pieces definitely would be. After lunch I cut a small piece, thinking I'd exercise my generosity and leave some for the others before coming back to claim more. But an hour or so later, I came back and discovered that my dad had finished BOTH PIECES BY HIMSELF without consulting me. I was so devastated that I actually cried. I'm not even kidding--tears welled up in my eyes, and I got that tingly sensation where it feels like a bunch of tiny needles are poking into my nose. Of course, after five seconds or so, I realized how stupid I was being and calmed down...but it was a pretty sad moment for sure.

Later, I was wandering around the house and came across this red pencil sharpener that I love, because it works super well and is really fun to use. This led to a very enthusiastic pencil-sharpening rampage; I started with the pencils in my room, and proceeded to sharpen all the pencils in my house. Then I decided to test all the pens in the house and throw away the ones that ran out of ink. I don't know if other households are like this, but in mine, it seems like every time I really need a functional pencil, all I can find in our pencil boxes are completely random and useless things, like a highlighter or a glow-in-the-dark marker, or an unsharpened colored pencil...this has been a problem for as long as I can remember, so I was very happy to finally solve it. I went on to organize the erasers, markers, colored pencils, scissors, glue sticks, and basically all stationery items. Now, everything is easily accessible, and every pencil can/box in the house is readily equipped with a perfect balance of writing tools (usually three pencils--one with an eraser and two without, two black pens, one colored pen, one marker, and one colored pencil). We also have a communal pencil box where we can store extra pencils etc. Sadly, neither my family nor friends who came over later were especially interested/impressed...I think they were just glad I had something with which to occupy myself so cheerfully, and when I tried to explain to any passersby about the pencil system or communal pencil box, they kind of ignored me and walked a little more quickly away from me. Then my dad came over and was all like, "Jennifer, since you are so good at cleaning, why don't you also work on the kitchen, and these cabinets, and also the floors in your room-" and he went on for a while. That's when I sort of lost my enthusiasm for organizing, and decided it'd be a good idea to leave the house for a while.

But it's mood swings like this that we female musicians can draw on when we have to play stuff like the Ein Heldenleben solos and Tchaikovsky concerto. Hehe.

Sadly True

"Musicians are egotistical maniacs with an inferiority complex." -Lionel Richie

Story of an African Farm

Don't read this book--it's very bad. But it has one good quote.

Experience teaches us in a millenium what passion teaches us in an hour.

Split Mind

I had a mini-hiatus from my blog, mainly because it's the usual end-of-year craze, heightened by it being the end-of-NEC craze as well, for me...but also because Blogger has a new layout, and I actually could not figure out how to make a new post for a couple days.
In any case, here's Middlemarch Quotes #4 and 5:
Any one watching keenly the stealthy convergence of human lots, sees a slow preparation of effects from one life on another, which tells like a calculated irony on the indifference or the frozen stare with which we look at our unintroduced neighbor. Destiny stands by sarcastic with our dramatis personae folded in her hand.


Strange, that some of us, with quick alternate vision, see beyond our infatuations, and even while we rave on the heights, behold the wide plain where our persistent self pauses and awaits us.


It's a testament to how amazing this book is, that it keeps lining up so beautifully with the events of my life, or the series of emotions I experience from day to day.
Often I feel that in my head, there are two Jennifers--one who is self-preserving and who, above all else, avoids regrets...and the other, perhaps more immature version, who sort of runs free in an idealistic, whimsical dreamland. Usually, these two characters are able to compromise and coexist as one unit, so that I remain a somewhat sane/rational human being. But particularly when I encounter the larger turning points of my life, the Sensible and the Wishful in me drift further and further apart. Picture a person walking his dog, and the dog wandering off once in a while in pursuit of a momentary distraction, having to be called back to his master on the straight, safe path. That is sort of the relationship between Wishful Jennifer and Sensible Jennifer, respectively.
Irony can be an overmentioned cliche, but cliches are what they are for a reason. I keep learning how important it is to keep an open mind, because you truly never know what unexpected thing or person from the past will come back to surprise you. As Eliot mentions, any previous indifference or dismissal can turn into something integral--and vice versa. All the while, the bigger road map of our lives unfolds piece by piece.
Sensible Jennifer takes it all in, maintaining that no matter what, everything happens for a reason, and it is all for the best, because I DO believe this. I feel that, in the best and worst of times, we as humans can never claim to wholly understand the events of our lives, nor predict what will happen next. I trust that I am in good hands, and I strive to remember this unconditional belief. Wishful Jennifer, on the other hand, runs amok (took me five tries to spell that word) of her own volition. She peeks around all the corners of What If's, dips her toes into dangerous pools of Should I Have's...she's like the little kid who is scared of a horror movie on TV but can't tear her eyes away... Often before something big, Wishful Jennifer breaks free once in a while to frolic down that (fourth? fifth?) dimension, where all the paths of possibility are before us. Sensible Jennifer yanks the Wishful back, saying sternly, "Just concentrate on doing your best, because you can't control the results, and you don't want to disappoint yourself or psyche yourself out by overthinking."
This also happens AFTER something big, where Wishful Jennifer again succumbs to doubt, and Sensible Jennifer must say, "Hey settle down, you made the right choice."

So this is where my mind is at these days, a constant tug-of-war/goose-chase. If you see me staring off into space with a dazed glaze in my eyes, you'll know what's going on.

Me...

Middlemarch Quote #3: Having the amiable vanity which knits us to those who are fond of us, and disinclines us to those who are indifferent, and also a good grateful nature, the mere idea that a woman had a kindness towards him spun little threads of tenderness from out his heart towards hers.


As reluctant as I am to admit (but as recent events continue to prove), this is TOTALLY ME. And before reading Middlemarch, I could never quite pinpoint or validate it. Reading this sentence feels as if George Eliot is jumping forward some 150 years in time, sitting next to me, taking my hand, and saying with an amused smile, "Trust me, dear...this is you."

Remember

Christian or not, I think everyone would do well to remember this story. I know I would.

Early in the morning he [Jesus] came again to the temple. All the people came to him, and he sat down and taught them. The scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in adultery, and placing her in the midst they said to him, "Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now in the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?" This they said to test him, that they might have some charge to bring against him...as they continued to ask him, he stood up and said to them, "Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her." ...when they heard it, they went away one by one, beginning with the older ones, and Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him. Jesus stood up and said to her, "Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?" She said, "No one, Lord." And Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more."
John 8:2-11

In addition to the simple yet significant universal truth about humility, mercy, and compassion, there are two factors about this story that, as a Christian, blow my mind.
First, that when Jesus asks, "Has no one condemned you?" we ought to remember that there was one person that day who was free from sin and had every right to judge/accuse/sentence the adulterer, and that was Jesus himself. But instead of doing so, he lets her go; and you may ask, how is this fair? A legitimate religion and morality demands a certain balance between justice and mercy, and you may think: such an act is merciful, but is it just? It is just, because only shortly hereafter, the punishment is served, only in the most unexpected way--with Jesus lying on the cross being condemned in her/our place. So when we pray about our sins now, we ought not to plead for mercy, since we have already been graced with the most incredible mercy conceivable. Rather, we ought to plead for justice.
Which leads me to the second mind-blowing point, in the last sentence above: "Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more." Notice the order in which Jesus phrases this. He doesn't say, "Stop sinning, and then I will forgive you." He declares first and foremost his compassion for the woman, regardless of what she has done, or what she may do in the future...her redemption and self-improvement stems from this, not the other way around.
In the same way, we worship and believe, not as an obligation or a task or a way to build ourselves up...but as a reciprocation of the love and life that has already been laid down for us.
Mind-blowing.

Art Appreciation

It boggles my mind to recall that a mere five years ago, I was quite adamant about not wanting to have children when I grew up. Nowadays, I'm constantly fantasizing and making mental notes about how I want to raise my future kids, provided this dream comes true. My babies are going to grow up on Disney movies, Haydn, the Cosby Show, and Lemony Snicket books. I'm going to make sure that they keep up with current events...that they learn and remember how to ride a bike (unlike me), and that they learn and remember how to speak Chinese (also, sadly, unlike me).
Last weekend walking through Central Park, H and I started talking about how certain kids are so much more cultured/sophisticated, because their parents brought them up that way. They just know way more than the average person about things like politics, opera, and history...not because they're smarter, but because they were exposed to those things when their brains were new and fresh and young. While their parents perhaps prioritized this sort of knowledge, our parents--having immigrated and sacrificed everything so that we could grow up in the US--prioritized instilling in us this sort of sacrifice. It's not that they are less cultured; they just couldn't afford to be visiting museums and watching operas with us while learning English and working multiple jobs. I feel like when I have kids, I want to combine these two priorities, so that my children learn the basics of working hard and being obedient etc. but also go out and learn as much as possible about the world, rather than staying indoors doing homework or practicing piano all day.
I keep coming across books in particular that I really want to introduce to my kids when they're fairly young. Books like In Memoriam, which I'd like to read with them, a few poems per night or something...just because literature teaches certain invaluable lessons that one often can't identify on one's own. I think being exposed to this stuff early on gives anyone a head start on life, so to speak. While I'm REALLY thankful I'm learning these things now, I do wonder if I maybe would have made past decisions with more maturity and wisdom, if only I had discovered these books earlier on.

Which brings me to--MIDDLEMARCH! Middlemarch, by George Eliot, is one of the best books I have ever read. (It also happens to be one of the longest books I've ever read, but it's worth every one of its 837 fine-print pages.) Usually when I read something noteworthy, I underline/dog-ear my favorite quotes and post them here. However, with Middlemarch, this doesn't seem like a good idea because a) I dog-eared practically every other page, and b) lumping all the quotes together wouldn't give each one the loving attention and admiration it deserves. So I will write about one or two quotes per entry. I will admit that most of the time, thanks to my inherent narcissism, a quote becomes my favorite simply because I can relate to it so perfectly. Once in a while, a passage will strike a beautiful chord within me and express things I've been longing to say, put into better words than I could ever devise. It's as if the author is teaching me about myself. Thus, while writing about these quotes, I'm also essentially writing about myself.

So after this circumlocutory preamble/ramble, here is my favorite quote #1: Art is an old language...sometimes the chief pleasure one gets out of knowing them is the mere sense of knowing.
I spent a good couple hours at the Metropolitan Museum a few days ago. There was only time to really look at one exhibit, called "the Steins Collect" (http://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2012/steins-collect/). We walked through at least ten rooms full of paintings, reading every single placard next to it. By the end, I was exhausted, but I also felt like I could distinguish a Matisse from a Picasso from a Renoir without much trouble, and that was certainly a significant skill gained. I realized that my sense of satisfaction and happiness from that day at the museum wasn't the appreciation of art itself so much as the appreciation of KNOWING about art. To be honest, I probably spent more time reading placards than actually looking at the paintings they described. My understanding of art is at such an elementary level that I need the placards, the way a cripple needs crutches or a toddler needs training wheels. I can still look at a painting and instinctively feel whether I like it or not, appreciating it blindly (so to speak) without knowing why, but that is much less enjoyable to me...it doesn't feel complete, secure, or memorable. It reminded me of how, oftentimes at concerts, I get the sense that the majority of audiences derive pleasure from simply BEING there and knowing what's going on, rather than being moved by the music itself.
I can understand both sides. I just hope that someday I will know enough about art that I can surpass the mere enjoyment of simply knowing about it.

Opinions

In the present world of Facebook and Twitter and Youtube, one is constantly bombarded by an overwhelming onslaught of opinions, from best friends and complete strangers alike. While self-expression is generally a good thing, it can also be tiresomely circuitous. Have you noticed that in the aftermath of big events publicized by the internet, people's reactions tend to follow a pattern? For example, when Michael Jackson died, there was the tidal outpouring of grief and tributes. After about a month, that got old, and people got irritated with the mourning. Then people got irritated with the people irritated with the mourning. Same with Whitney Houston. First everyone grieved ("RIP Whitney, we will always love you" etc. etc.). Then people criticized the grievers (). Then people criticized the critics of the grievers.
And now with the whole Kony business, it's the same old cycle--popularity, criticism, plus the added bonus of a drunk public humiliation tidbit (which I admit I almost shared).
I hate to say this, but sometimes I get tired of everyone expressing their opinions all the time. When I unconsciously scroll down to video comments on Youtube, I'm constantly appalled at how unnecessarily crude, pointless, or plain stupid they can be. What on EARTH would compel an individual to expend their energy by typing such things, to be seen by the entire world? Obviously some comments are great (I have yet to read a bad comment on TED.com particularly). But in general, it's pretty depressing.
I watched the Kony video a few weeks ago, and it was sad. But a tiny part of me wasn't convinced...maybe it was something in the speaker's voice, or the way they chose to present their claim, or the claim itself...that didn't seem completely genuine. Of course, it's a cause worthy of attention, like most causes in this world. And of course I love Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston and Etta James and other celebrities whose deaths garnered widespread lamentation. But I think that before we publicize our opinions on such things, we should stop and think...is it really worth sharing? Can we get the same satisfaction by just telling ourselves and/or our friends?

I was saying this all to C, and he was like, "Jennifer, if reading other people's comments annoys you, why don't you just stop reading other people's comments?" And I was like, "...oh."
So I've stopped reading my Facebook news feed, at least for now. And I gotta say, it's pretty nice.

Something I've Noticed...

When someone gives me disappointing news, no matter who it is and what it's about, at that moment I become solely preoccupied with acting okay about it. This could be for several reasons: a) I don't want people around me to feel uncomfortable, b) I want to preserve my pride, and c) I want to convince myself that I'm okay. Whatever it is, I've noticed that I don't have an honest reaction until a while later, usually when I'm by myself thinking and/or writing. That's when I finally decide whether I actually AM okay with it or not, and how to deal with it. I wouldn't say this nonchalant facade I assume upon initial disappointment is fake, necessarily...even though it only happens when I am around other people (I don't pretend I'm okay when I get disappointing news by myself). Partially it's an automatic habit, and partially I really DO want to be okay with it, especially if I'm around people who would really worry about me, or if the bad news comes in the form of an apology/confession (e.g. Person: I did something bad yesterday etc. etc. Me: I see, yeah it's fine"). My brain tries to skip carelessly past the issue, which might make things easier in the moment, but certainly makes things harder for me when I am re-confronted with the issue, later and on my own.
Does anyone else do this?

Cheating

These days, my mind is just bursting with thoughts. If I wanted to, I could write at least 20 entries right now, on 20 different topics, and let it all out. But I'll settle for just one...or maybe two.
First of all, cheating. This is a sort of premeditated rant that I've dumped on several poor people already...and lately, it's bugging me more than ever. I have more free time these days, so I've been reading a lot and watching a lot of dramas. And it really seems to me that a LARGE majority of fictional relationships end with one (or both) of the individuals cheating on the other. I am certainly NOT trivializing the pain of being cheated on; thanks to the Lord it has never happened to me, so I can't properly sympathize with the situation. I also simply cannot understand the concept of cheating in the first place--of even considering loving more than one person simultaneously. It's incomprehensible, at least so far in my life. I don't mean to say, "If one of the people cheats, it wasn't real love or a real relationship," because I'm in no position to make that judgement. However! As an observer, I do think I'm in a position to say, please can we have a different story once in a while? From soap operas to great literature, from 90210 and Friends ("We were on a break!") to Wuthering Heights and Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina (what an annoying woman), it's ALWAYS down to someone not being faithful. And as someone who is watching these stories unfold--whether the plot is superbly crafted or cliche/recycled--I'm automatically disappointed and even disinterested when the cheating begins. The characters lose validity, and the story line loses appeal. I was watching "Smash" (a new drama on NBC, it's pretty good) yesterday night, and when people started cheating on each other, I just thought, "Really? This again?" Yes, it's sad, and maybe I'm part of a minority that cannot connect to this sort of experience...but if I EVER abandon music and go into writing, like screenwriting or something, I will try to shed some light on other reasons people break up. Because there are many, and they can be just as heartbreaking, just as memorable, just as powerful--if not more.
A huge percentage of art/entertainment is about love...this being said, creativity is vital. Please, I beg of you...

Happiness

If happiness is like a bright and wandering bird, appearing one unexpected moment and gone the next, it has been a lovely and faithful companion these past two days. From sitting in a circle singing Bach chorales, to reading Haydn and Mozart and Beethoven quartets into the wee hours of the night; from provoking ridiculously fat squirrels who make angry bird sounds when agitated, to totally surprising myself by buying a ruffly floral mini-skirt at French Connection...life has been good.
I spent today primarily with three fantastic people. With the one in the morning, I admit it took a while for me to recognize what a special girl this is...now that I know, I look forward to every moment we spend together, even if it's just walking home from school. It actually puzzles me when, like a ray of sunshine, I suddenly realize how great someone is. This doesn't happen often, because usually friendship is like cooking--whether it's a slow marinating meat or a five-minute grilled cheese, there is always an observable process. Camaraderie and a close bond don't just appear out of thin air for me. But once in a blue moon, I'll meet someone, think they're okay for four years, and then all of a sudden, see them in a whole different light. It was sort of like that moment when you're in the shower and, like a bolt of lightning, you randomly realize what the last word in your crossword puzzle is, and you're like "YES!!!" That's how I felt when I really became friends with this girl. It was awesome.
The one in the afternoon, I've known for quite a while. Since he's new to Boston, I took him through the usual tour I give visitors--down Newbury, around Boston Common, back up Boylston, and conveniently ending at Legal Seafood (where he, being the usual infuriating sweetheart, refused to let me pay). It was lovely, one of those times spent with old friends who never change...there's never a dull moment with a quirky companion who is basically the embodiment of Weird Jennifer times ten. At one point, he told me he was considering changing majors (from classical performance), and I thought maybe he was interested in jazz or something, but no--what he had in mind was becoming a sushi chef. Ha! So great.
And the one in the evening is my concert-going buddy of three years, and one of those Mark-Zuckerberg-type geniuses who tend to talk faster than I can think, except completely minus the ego. Another example of a totally unique and interesting individual, but in his own subtle and quiet way. It just confirms my suspicion, that the people I gravitate toward tend to be the ones who are truly one-of-a-kind, once-in-a-blue-moon types, but who aren't aware of it, and who don't hit you head-on with their specialness and uniqueness.
As a musician, I tend to meet a lot of eccentric personalities who are Different with a capital D. You know it, they know it, the world knows it, and the minute they walk into a room, it's obvious they're Different and proud of it. That's cool and admirable, but definitely not my type.

On a separate note, tonight I watched a fantastic rendition of Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique. It's obviously an epic piece that never fails to activate your dopamine neurons and get that blood pumping. Watching it performed at such a high level made me want like CRAZY to play in an orchestra for the rest of my life. With music like this, how can it get any better? It also reminded me of when NEC played it two years ago (see September 2010 entry entitled "What Feels Good"). I went rummaging around Instant Encore to find the live recording. There's no doubt that we rushed, and we certainly don't play with the same flawless beauty or precision as the BSO...but I think we had ten times the energy, and twenty times the fun.
Here's the last movement:
Dreams of a Witch's Sabbath

Is that cheer at the end not worthy of a Red Sox game or a Linsanity buzzer beater? It's so great--not because it shows we were good, but because it shows we made the audience happy. :)

Lady Audley's Secret

Loved this book...

Favorite Quotes:
He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. The one purpose which had slowly grown up in his careless nature until it had become powerful enough to work a change in that very nature, made him what he had never been before--a Christian; conscious of his own weakness; anxious to keep to the strict line of duty; fearful to swerve from the conscientious discharge of the strange task that had been forced upon him; and reliant on a stronger hand than his own to point the way which he was to go.


The snow lay thick and white upon the pleasant country through which he went; and the young barrister had wrapped himself in so many comforters and railway rugs as to appear a perambulating mass of woolen goods rather than a living member of a learned profession.
Haha! Exactly how I feel when I go outside bundled up in countless layers. :)

How fondly we recollect these solitary days of pleasure, and hope for their recurrence, and try to plan the circumstances that made them bright; and arrange, and predestinate, and diplomatise with fate for a renewal of the remembered joy. As if any joy could ever be built up out of such and such constituent parts! As if happiness were not essentially accidental--a bright and wandering bird, utterly irregular in its migration; with us one summer's day, and for ever gone from us the next!


"So he can be in love, after all. That slow lump of torpidity he calls his heart can beat, I suppose, once in a quarter of a century..."
Ouch.

...this pleasant dream floated off into the great storehouse in which the visions of things that never have been and never are to be, are kept locked and guarded by some stern enchanter, who only turns the keys now and then and opens the door of his treasure-house a little way for the brief delight of mankind.

High Expectations Asian Father 2

Books > Sex :)

Wuthering Heights

Favorite Quotes:
He took a seat opposite Catherine, who kept her gaze fixed on him as if she feared he would vanish were she to remove it. He did not raise his to her often; a quick glance now and then sufficed; but it flashed back, each time more confidently, the undisguised delight he drank from hers.


They [Hindley and Linton] had both been fond husbands, and were both attached to their children; and I could not see how they shouldn't both have taken the same road, for good or evil. But, I thought in my mind, Hindley, with apparently the stronger head, has shown himself sadly the worse and weaker man. When his ship struck, the captain abandoned his post; and the crew, instead of trying to save her, rushed into riot and confusion, leaving no hope for their luckless vessel. Linton, on the contrary, displayed the true courage of a loyal and faithful soul; he trusted God; and God comforted him. One hoped, and the other despaired: they chose their own lots, and were righteously doomed to endure them.

Lin-sanity

So inspired, grateful, and heart-warmed to find that such people exist:
http://www.mercurynews.com/jeremy-lin/ci_19954877

Also, not mentioned in this particular article is that he graduated from Harvard, and failed his first license test, because he drove 10 miles under the speed limit.

...Is he looking for a girlfriend??

Just kidding. But seriously.

Gaskell's Gothic Tales

Favorite Quotes:
The blooming look of the time of flowers, was past and gone; but instead there were even richer tints abroad in the sun-colored leaves, the lichens, the golden blossomed furze; if it was the time of fading, there was a glory in the decay.


By this time the whole table was silent, listening to the captain; it was just one of those chance silences that sometimes occur, without any apparent reason, and often without any apparent consequence.


She could not choose the right words with which to speak to him of her gratitude and friendliness, which yet could never be any feeling nearer and dearer, no more than two parallel lines can ever meet.

Koreans on Email

Hahahaha this made me laugh so hard:


Jen!!!!!!! I was out of mg mind last few days!! Just finalized my schedule today!!
When do u free?! Since I dont have any audition or smthing I should be flexier than u!! 
Here r when i'm free ! Let me know urs too:)


And the message continues. Emailing with J is sort of like Skype-ing with my parents; both make me so happy.
Flexier!!! Hahahahaha...

It's one of those days...

where I come home from class, lie down on my bed to "rest my eyes," and wake up 3 hours later. Tired and grumpy, I pick up my violin and play about 2 chords before my A string unravels and breaks with a sad twang.
-_-

Having unwisely lent my spare string to someone, I stared aimlessly/hopelessly out the window for a few minutes before deciding I might as well use this unexpected spare time to write an entry.
Today I had a random flashback to freshman year of high school, 8 years ago. I was sitting in some class, Geometry or Bio or--God forbid--PE, and I started imagining what it would be like if I could create the ideal school for myself. This was before I understood the concept of a conservatory or even seriously considered pursuing a career in music...all I knew was I spent every day in school looking forward to Saturdays, when I'd go to San Francisco and play in youth orchestra. So in this ideal school, a sort of Jennifer Utopia, I made up my own schedule of classes and activities. I even remember writing it down in great detail--I wanted to have orchestra every other day, weekly lessons, quartet rehearsals every day, and classes throughout the week about music theory and musicology. And maybe throw in a literature class once in a while. At that time, this seemed like the perfect life. I daydreamed about it constantly, while running laps in PE, memorizing the 7 basic economic principles in Econ, doing labs in Chem, having Socratic seminars in English...
I hated high school, but not because I disliked learning. I LOVE learning, and I always have. I just wanted to learn about music SO much more than than I wanted to learn about other stuff, and the more I realized this, the more "regular" high school seemed like a waste of time.
Well, today it hit me that I am now living the Jennifer Utopia about which I had fantasized so long. Practically verbatim, in fact. I have orchestra every other day (although in a perfect world, rehearsals would not be at 9am...hence my spontaneous naps). I have lessons, I can go to free concerts practically any night of the week, I'm seeing my quartet almost daily. On Wednesdays, I have a 2-hour interpretive analysis class, which is spent discussing certain composers and works in great detail, and listening to one another perform. Ordinarily, my attention span is woefully short, but during this class I'm rapt from beginning to end. On alternating Thursdays, I meet with a professor and one other student, and we talk about Victorian literature, a new novel every 2 weeks. On Fridays, I have a small class for score-reading, which teaches us how to play multiple parts of a score (say, all 4 voices of a quartet) on the piano--a skill I've wanted to acquire for a long, long time. This all may sound boring, but it's what I wanted most, back then. While other teenagers perhaps dreamed about prom, Ivy League schools, making the Varsity basketball team, or med school, I dreamed about this...the life I have now.
Of course, now that I've got it, I have new dreams, hopefully which will also pan out, when the time is right. But it is important to remember how lucky I am at this moment, without looking ahead constantly.
I also realize I should have made more of my high school education, truly learning the things I was taught rather than breezing by on last-minute studying, short-term memory, and luck. There are so many occasions now when I wish I remembered "that thing I learned back in high school." Knowledge of any kind can only make me stronger. I should have figured this out in high school, and maybe I wouldn't have scorned it so much. If I had to be there whether I liked it or not, I might as well have tried my best.

I guess if 14-year old Jennifer somehow appeared in my room right now, complete with Paris sweatshirt, purple braces, and Care Bear watch, she and I would both have some good lessons to teach each other.

Bronte

The writer who possesses the creative gift owns something of which he is not always master--something that at times strangely wills and works for itself...Be the work grim or glorious, dread or divine, you have little choice left but quiescent adoption. As for you--the nominal artist--your share in it has been to work passively under dictates you neither delivered nor could question--that would not be uttered at your prayer, nor suppressed nor changed at your caprice. If the result be attractive, the World will praise you, who little deserve praise; if it be repulsive, the same World will blame you, who almost as little deserve blame.
-Charlotte Bronte's preface to the 1850 edition of her sister Emily Bronte's novel Wuthering Heights