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.