The other day I was skimming Jeremy Lin's blog, and it reminded me that I have a blog too and should update it at least once before the year ends. On a side note, the more I learn about Jeremy Lin, the more I'm convinced he's my soul mate. He plays songs from The Lion King on his keyboard, doesn't like vegetables, and included my favorite Bible verse in one of his posts. Be still my heart!
Last October, I wrote an entry describing the process of buying a car. Who would've known that a year later, I'd write an entry describing the process of buying a property? Here's the random/destined sequence of events that led to this important decision: break up with boyfriend >> decide to get a dog >> decide to rescue a dog >> some dog shelters won't let you adopt unless you're a homeowner >> decide to become a homeowner. In August, I was researching dog shelters and told my mom, "It's so frustrating that some shelters don't let you adopt unless you're a homeowner." She replied, "Well, if I were you, I'd buy a condo." "Really?" "Yeah." ".....Okay!" Three months later, I closed on my first property.
I watch a lot of HGTV, so I thought I was pretty prepared for the buying process. HGTV supplies important information, like how to prioritize your must-haves, how to negotiate, and what issues are easy fixes (floors) versus nightmares (black mold). But you know at the end of those house-hunting shows when the buyer's offer is accepted, everyone celebrates, and then they skip to three months later or whatever when everyone's all moved in? I'd like a show about what happens during the time frame they skip, because that was most difficult/confusing for me.
So this is how it went down. First I figured out what cities/neighborhoods I preferred, noobed around on Zillow to get a general idea, found an agent I trusted, and started looking at different units. Originally I thought I'd like to live in Royal Oak, because it's closer to work and has more young people...but after a while, I realized that choosing a top school district could make reselling my place way easier in the future, so I stuck with Troy. After about a month, I made an offer on a place, but it didn't work out. When you're negotiating with a seller, it's important to make sure the seller isn't crazy or sketchy. In most cases, you're not going to talk to the seller directly, but from their actions and the terms with which they negotiate, you can sort of figure them out. If they seem desperate to sell and insist on selling the place "as is," or if they're super stubborn and refuse to compromise on something perfectly reasonable, it's probably a bad sign. Trouble early on will likely escalate throughout the closing process (which takes longer than you'd think). It's simpler and wiser to walk away unless you're desperate to buy, and I'd never recommend house-hunting in a limited time frame unless there's no other choice. So I kept looking and about one month later, I made an offer on another place. After a bit of negotiating, I got a satisfactory price and hired an inspector, read the bylaws for the condo association, and applied for a mortgage.
An inspector is almost as important as an agent...find someone you trust, preferably with reliable references. A condo differs from a house in that you technically only own the inside of your building. The condo association maintains the exterior, like grass and snow removal etc. and you maintain the interior. Older condos are similar to townhouses in that each unit has its own space, separate from the neighbors. Newer condos in this area are more like apartment buildings, where your floor plan overlaps with your neighbors', so your bedroom might be on top of their living room, which is on top of your garage etc. The newer condos seem nice and look cool, but personally if I own a property, I'd rather not be dependent on neighbors (for example, if they had a leak that damaged one of my walls and caused mold or something). Applying for a mortgage is complicated, and it's the part I understand the least, because of all the numbers/math... Basically the goal is to get as low an interest rate as possible; a higher rate can be offset by a point system, which can be a good option depending on how long you envision staying in that property. Make sure there are no pre-pay penalties or hidden fees--there are always going to be ridiculous fees required for no justifiable reason, but make sure that they are the standard ridiculous fees, not unknown ridiculous fees in addition to the standard ones. It also helps to have a mortgage agent you trust.
It takes a long time for the mortgage to be approved, and it felt longer to me than the house-hunting process, because at least with house-hunting I was busy and somewhat in control of the progress. With the mortgage, I was submitting papers and materials, but I had no idea what they were being used for or how long it would take. During that time, the title company (a third party that sort of oversees the process and provides documentation for the property) does an appraisal of the property. Here's a suspicion of mine that not many people may realize--sometimes the title company purposely appraises the property as close to your offer price as possible. The comps they reference in the report are skewed in a way to make you think you got a great deal. In mine, they only included comps that sold for higher than my offer price...but if you look at official records, there were plenty of recent comps that sold for lower, which they neglected to include. It wasn't a huge deal for me, so I didn't bother to contest it. But if every dollar matters and you feel this same suspicion when buying a place, it may be worth looking into.
Something else I learned during the closing process is that agents are humans, not machines...they make mistakes, they get emotional, and sometimes they are manipulative. If an agent, whether yours or the seller's, does something strange that makes you feel guilty or uncomfortable, don't accept it. Your agent should never pressure you into buying a place, and the seller's agent should never directly contact you at all. I didn't have a problem with my agent, so I don't have advice for that except not to hire them if they're untrustworthy... But I do have advice if the seller's agent does something out of line: if it doesn't directly concern you, stay out of it and let your agent deal with it, because that's his/her job. If the seller's agent makes false accusations against you specifically, it may be wise to calmly/briefly refute them in a written record. Not only will it protect you in case the issue comes up again, but it also shows you weren't born yesterday and are not willing to be pushed around.
Finally, there's the closing date, when everyone--seller, buyer, agents, title company, mortgage company, friends and family if you wish--comes together to sign papers and hand over the down payment. You realize that the names you kept seeing on the forms and using during negotiations are actually connected to human beings with lives and personalities...and you also sign a TON of papers. Be prepared for awkwardness...it's inevitable. But if you're lucky, you'll talk to the sellers about the property, which can be invaluable...and at the end of the day, you'll have a new home (along with a substantially diminished savings account and an intimidating ever-growing to-do list).
I never imagined I'd buy my own place a) at this age and b) by myself. On HGTV, the buyers are usually young couples who just got married or are planning to have kids...and my agent told me I'm the youngest client she's ever had. It wasn't like I needed to buy a place; I could easily have found a satisfactory apartment. But besides for wanting a dog, I chose to buy instead of rent because factors like location, the housing market, and my financial status were in my favor. Houses in this area are pretty inexpensive, and although it costs a little extra to fix up the house and maintain it well, it'll be worth it when I resell or rent it out in the future...whereas with an apartment or rental property, I'd just be paying money without investing in anything. And it's a good learning experience at this point in my life, when I can really concentrate without the distraction of kids or job-hunting etc. If you're not interested in buying a place at all, this entry was probably super boring. But if you are considering it and want to know more, I hope it was helpful! There are plenty of websites with suggestions for the house-hunting/purchasing process, but maybe there are a few beneficial things here that you won't find anywhere else. :)
Monday, December 8, 2014
Saturday, May 3, 2014
Guilt
In a linguistics class I took for two weeks at Rice U (before sheepishly yet wisely dropping it), I learned that in the most primitive human language, only three emotions were designated words. The first two emotions were predictably "happy" and "angry," but the third surprised me--"guilty." I wasn't able to understand this until something weird and random happened today.
There is an intersection on my way home from work where, during daytime and decent weather, I almost always see a homeless man. I've started recognizing faces, because it's usually the same couple people who take turns standing there. There are two general types of homeless people--loud and crazy ones that make a scene or try to approach you, and sad quiet ones with downcast eyes that mutely hold up their signs. The first type scares me, but the latter breaks my heart. And there's something about seeing the same person consistently suffering, that makes it more unforgettable.
I was taught by my parents never to give money to homeless people, because you don't know what they'll spend it on. Over winter break, I tried to learn knitting, because I thought maybe I could knit scarves for these people, giving them something more useful and meaningful than spare change. Sadly, my knitting progress has been very slow...I completed about half a scarf, and then I ran out of yarn and couldn't find the same color... (I do hope that I can finish this scarf at least by next winter.) A few weeks ago, I remembered this idea a couple people at NEC had, where we'd make sandwiches and go around giving them to homeless people. It was one of the best things I've ever been involved in, so recently I've been bringing an extra sandwich to work every day that we have lunch break. For some reason, each time I did that, there was nobody at the intersection when I was driving home, so I just ended up eating both sandwiches...
Then, this morning we had a concert. On Friday morning concerts, there are usually free donuts in the musicians' lounge, and oftentimes that is the highlight of my week, especially when they have my favorite kind (plain and glazed). Today there were three giant baskets of donuts left over after the concert, so I went into pig mode and ate two, saving a third for later. (On a side note, yesterday I took an online quiz called "What Is Your Spirit Animal?" and asked S what he guessed my result was. Without hesitation, he said, "Pig." At least he's honest, but the real result was "Bear.") Later as I drove toward the aforementioned intersection, I saw one of the homeless guys there, and I suddenly thought, "Wait, I have an extra donut! I can give that to him!" I hadn't touched it, and hopefully he wouldn't think it was rude...I mean, whenever someone gives me a free donut, I'm elated. Timing was perfect, so that the traffic light was red and I was stopped about eight feet away from him.
For reasons absolutely incomprehensible to me, I froze. All I could do was look at him, and I swear we made really long eye contact while my heart raced and palms sweated. I stared his cardboard sign, which said the usual things--homeless, anything will help, God bless...I stared at his dirty clothes and grey hair, and I stared at his vacant defeated eyes. The seconds ticked by, the traffic light turned green, and before I knew it, the moment had passed, I'd failed to act, and was driving past him.
Why did I do that???
It wasn't like I had nothing to offer, it wasn't like I was too far away, or it was a green light and people were honking at me, or that he seemed dangerous or sketchy, or that I had doubts about helping him. It would have been so easy for me to just roll down my window, hand him the food, smile, and drive away. But instead I did nothing, and I have NO IDEA why.
On the highway, I kept picturing his face in my mind, remembering how he leaned on a cane, and how the tattered cardboard sign hung limply from his grasp, and with each new detail recalled to his image, I felt worse. I wanted to cry, and when I called my mom on speaker phone to tell her what happened, I did cry. She was totally bewildered as I blubbered and sniffled. "Are you driving right now?" she asked incredulously, and when I said yes, she was all, "Are you crazy? You shouldn't be thinking about this while you're driving. If you want to feel bad, wait until you're safely home!" She asked if something else had gone wrong, and I answered that no, I'd had a perfectly good day up until then. After I calmed down, she told me, "Sometimes it's nice to help someone, but if you don't, it's okay too." She said the government should be fixing this problem, not me, and if nobody gives to these people, maybe they'll find better alternatives to improve their situation. They shouldn't be encouraged to rely on charity. Also, she said it's dangerous to interact with possibly unstable people, especially while driving.
After we hung up, I was still distracted and sad. I missed my highway exit, and it took an extra ten or fifteen minutes to get home.
It's stupid and simply weird/anomalous for me to feel SO guilty over such a little thing...in general, I'm a pretty practical person who has her emotions in check. But I guess when it comes to helping the less fortunate, I don't think there's ever a "little" thing, because you never know what tiny act of kindness could change someone else's life. It's not like handing that man a tasty dessert would have drastically altered his circumstance or prevented him from going hungry ever again, but maybe it would have lifted his spirits. I had an opportunity to do good, yet I didn't, and I just don't understand why.
Guilt is a complicated and fascinating phenomenon...in a way, it's self-centered, because we're thinking about ourselves and our own shame/faults/flaws. At the same time, it connects us to things outside of ourselves and demonstrates our innate morality, the ability to define an objective right and wrong. To me, this is an ultimate proof of a supreme being, because where does morality come from, if not Him? Even the most primitive humans identified guilt, knowing evil is wrong and good is right.
Another thing about guilt is, it's sneaky--you don't know how powerful it is until it hits you. I'm writing about guilt, but I don't even really know what it feels like on a larger scale. To me, guilt means cruel words that escaped my mouth when I was angry, forgetting about God in an obsession over myself, not helping others when I had the chance, and other stuff that's private. And if I were to draw a pie chart of all the emotions I've felt in my life, I'd say yeah, guilt consists of app. one-third, because it's unforgettable...it stays with me no matter what. I can't imagine how torturous guilt from more lasting/impacting crimes must be.
I suppose some people are more sensitive to guilt than others, and there are those few infamous figures that appear(ed) to feel barely any guilt at all, no matter how deplorable their actions. Still, I think it affects us all, whether or not we are open about it. To err is human, and with erring comes guilt...but the beautiful silver lining of guilt shows that despite how inexplicably, bizarrely, perversely, or foolishly wrong humans can be, the little spark of light that is our desire to be good shines on.
There is an intersection on my way home from work where, during daytime and decent weather, I almost always see a homeless man. I've started recognizing faces, because it's usually the same couple people who take turns standing there. There are two general types of homeless people--loud and crazy ones that make a scene or try to approach you, and sad quiet ones with downcast eyes that mutely hold up their signs. The first type scares me, but the latter breaks my heart. And there's something about seeing the same person consistently suffering, that makes it more unforgettable.
I was taught by my parents never to give money to homeless people, because you don't know what they'll spend it on. Over winter break, I tried to learn knitting, because I thought maybe I could knit scarves for these people, giving them something more useful and meaningful than spare change. Sadly, my knitting progress has been very slow...I completed about half a scarf, and then I ran out of yarn and couldn't find the same color... (I do hope that I can finish this scarf at least by next winter.) A few weeks ago, I remembered this idea a couple people at NEC had, where we'd make sandwiches and go around giving them to homeless people. It was one of the best things I've ever been involved in, so recently I've been bringing an extra sandwich to work every day that we have lunch break. For some reason, each time I did that, there was nobody at the intersection when I was driving home, so I just ended up eating both sandwiches...
Then, this morning we had a concert. On Friday morning concerts, there are usually free donuts in the musicians' lounge, and oftentimes that is the highlight of my week, especially when they have my favorite kind (plain and glazed). Today there were three giant baskets of donuts left over after the concert, so I went into pig mode and ate two, saving a third for later. (On a side note, yesterday I took an online quiz called "What Is Your Spirit Animal?" and asked S what he guessed my result was. Without hesitation, he said, "Pig." At least he's honest, but the real result was "Bear.") Later as I drove toward the aforementioned intersection, I saw one of the homeless guys there, and I suddenly thought, "Wait, I have an extra donut! I can give that to him!" I hadn't touched it, and hopefully he wouldn't think it was rude...I mean, whenever someone gives me a free donut, I'm elated. Timing was perfect, so that the traffic light was red and I was stopped about eight feet away from him.
For reasons absolutely incomprehensible to me, I froze. All I could do was look at him, and I swear we made really long eye contact while my heart raced and palms sweated. I stared his cardboard sign, which said the usual things--homeless, anything will help, God bless...I stared at his dirty clothes and grey hair, and I stared at his vacant defeated eyes. The seconds ticked by, the traffic light turned green, and before I knew it, the moment had passed, I'd failed to act, and was driving past him.
Why did I do that???
It wasn't like I had nothing to offer, it wasn't like I was too far away, or it was a green light and people were honking at me, or that he seemed dangerous or sketchy, or that I had doubts about helping him. It would have been so easy for me to just roll down my window, hand him the food, smile, and drive away. But instead I did nothing, and I have NO IDEA why.
On the highway, I kept picturing his face in my mind, remembering how he leaned on a cane, and how the tattered cardboard sign hung limply from his grasp, and with each new detail recalled to his image, I felt worse. I wanted to cry, and when I called my mom on speaker phone to tell her what happened, I did cry. She was totally bewildered as I blubbered and sniffled. "Are you driving right now?" she asked incredulously, and when I said yes, she was all, "Are you crazy? You shouldn't be thinking about this while you're driving. If you want to feel bad, wait until you're safely home!" She asked if something else had gone wrong, and I answered that no, I'd had a perfectly good day up until then. After I calmed down, she told me, "Sometimes it's nice to help someone, but if you don't, it's okay too." She said the government should be fixing this problem, not me, and if nobody gives to these people, maybe they'll find better alternatives to improve their situation. They shouldn't be encouraged to rely on charity. Also, she said it's dangerous to interact with possibly unstable people, especially while driving.
After we hung up, I was still distracted and sad. I missed my highway exit, and it took an extra ten or fifteen minutes to get home.
It's stupid and simply weird/anomalous for me to feel SO guilty over such a little thing...in general, I'm a pretty practical person who has her emotions in check. But I guess when it comes to helping the less fortunate, I don't think there's ever a "little" thing, because you never know what tiny act of kindness could change someone else's life. It's not like handing that man a tasty dessert would have drastically altered his circumstance or prevented him from going hungry ever again, but maybe it would have lifted his spirits. I had an opportunity to do good, yet I didn't, and I just don't understand why.
Guilt is a complicated and fascinating phenomenon...in a way, it's self-centered, because we're thinking about ourselves and our own shame/faults/flaws. At the same time, it connects us to things outside of ourselves and demonstrates our innate morality, the ability to define an objective right and wrong. To me, this is an ultimate proof of a supreme being, because where does morality come from, if not Him? Even the most primitive humans identified guilt, knowing evil is wrong and good is right.
Another thing about guilt is, it's sneaky--you don't know how powerful it is until it hits you. I'm writing about guilt, but I don't even really know what it feels like on a larger scale. To me, guilt means cruel words that escaped my mouth when I was angry, forgetting about God in an obsession over myself, not helping others when I had the chance, and other stuff that's private. And if I were to draw a pie chart of all the emotions I've felt in my life, I'd say yeah, guilt consists of app. one-third, because it's unforgettable...it stays with me no matter what. I can't imagine how torturous guilt from more lasting/impacting crimes must be.
I suppose some people are more sensitive to guilt than others, and there are those few infamous figures that appear(ed) to feel barely any guilt at all, no matter how deplorable their actions. Still, I think it affects us all, whether or not we are open about it. To err is human, and with erring comes guilt...but the beautiful silver lining of guilt shows that despite how inexplicably, bizarrely, perversely, or foolishly wrong humans can be, the little spark of light that is our desire to be good shines on.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
September Notes
It is officially my one-month anniversary of living in Michigan! To celebrate, I stayed home all day in my pajamas and practiced--basically what I do on all my days off.
Over the past month, I began and then abandoned a number of blog posts...lots of topics came to mind, but a couple sentences in, I'd realize I couldn't summon up enough interesting/worthwhile thoughts. Laziness led to guilt, which led to unnecessary added stress, which led to me writing this entry.
The first significant event upon moving here was the purchase of Macy, my first car. This involved a lot of confusing math, frustration, nervousness, and arguments with my mom. Just to show how clueless I was when the whole process began, in July I didn't even know that car payments were divided monthly...I thought I'd just skip into the store, plunk down a bunch of money, take the car, and be done. When I told my dad this, he gave me a look like "are you really my daughter?" and explained APR financing etc. A little history of me+cars: I never had my own car in high school or college, and I get exceedingly nervous when it comes to driving or even filling up gas. Once I was pulled over for drunk-driving, even though I didn't have one drop of alcohol in my body...after explaining that I didn't drink and was simply a bad driver, the policeman gave a commiserating chuckle and went, "Okay, well, drive home safely!" I decided to put all this behind me as I set out to buy my first vehicle. For other inexperienced and confused people out there who are thinking of someday owning a car, here is my advice, from one car dummy to another.
First of all, determine the circumstances in which you'll be driving. Knowing I'd be driving in snow and ice, and aware of my deplorable driving skills, I decided on an All-Wheel Drive. If you're a good driver (or just don't worry about this kind of stuff), you might not need AWD for snow. Next, ask around for advice of the best cars that would suit your needs. I went with a Toyota RAV4, because I know two satisfied RAV4-purchasers. I test-drove one of their cars for a while in California and felt pretty comfortable. I also looked up safety ratings and customer reviews from more reliable websites. Then comes the hard part. I recommend calling/emailing several different dealerships to check their inventory, and whether they have the specific model with the color and features you want, and ask what their lowest price is. You shouldn't commit to any dealership yet; make it clear that you're not going to take any crap, and you just want numbers. Car dealers hate emails, because they have a harder time distracting you with tricky antics. Also, at least for me, female car dealers tended to be more straight-forward and honest. After you get different prices from a couple dealerships, you can compare and start the negotiating process. It's sort of like negotiating for college scholarships...you can play one dealership against the other until you get the best price. Make sure you remember the listing price (MSRP) and NEVER pay above it. One dealership wanted $3,000 over the listing price! You should also feel somewhat comfortable with the dealer you eventually decide on. When the day of your appointment with the dealership arrives, make sure you are WELL-RESTED and WELL-FED, because you will likely be there for a long, l o n g t i m e............If you are a girl, I'd suggest bringing a male with you, any male. I've heard dealerships tend to act differently if a male is present. Ridiculous, but the truth. I'm not a good negotiator, so I can't give tips on that, but make sure you have all your numbers straight, don't be afraid to ask tons of questions, and again, don't take any crap. It's a fine balance between showing that you're smart and not born yesterday, but also a decent/likable person. Ask for any discounts they have for recent college graduates (if that applies to you), and be ready to show a transcript for proof. I went during Labor Day weekend, so I also got a nice promotion from that. Buying towards the end of the year may be cheaper, because they're gearing up for next year's model. There is a lot to think about, but in the end, you're left with a shiny new car, with that shiny new car smell.
Meet Macy! My resilient, friendly, and cute car, who has been braving the highways and streets of Detroit and is prone to collecting excessive condensation.
Another significant happening was moving into my new home. I am currently residing in the first story of a family friend's house in the suburbs. This housemate started out as my mom's friend's friend's friend's friend. The fact that I ended up living with such a distant relation shows how fortunate I am to have been introduced to a continuous line of super generous people. My mom's friend is her old high school classmate, who now goes to our church. She got us in touch with HER friend, who has a family in Michigan. He was one of the people who suggested I get a Toyota RAV4, and he gave me the phone numbers of car dealerships to contact. He then got us in touch with HIS friends, a couple who have become something like second parents to me in Michigan. We met when I was visiting back in May, and we got along so well, I ended up staying several nights at their place, watching operas and movies in their home theater. They took me sight-seeing, gave me advice for my first job, went with me to get Macy, and even gave me speakers for my new TV and an extra music stand. Then they got me in touch with A, and I couldn't have been blessed with a sweeter, more generous housemate/landlord/new friend.
Of course the most significant happening in Michigan is the new job. I wish I had eyes on the back of my head and three more pairs of ears (although how weird would that look?), because there's so much I'm trying to learn, adjust to, and absorb, all at once. These past two weeks have been fascinating, and I am looking forward to what's ahead, praying that I am up to the task and here for a good reason. Something I've learned that I feel comfortable sharing is a reaffirmation that there is simply no point to being snobby or elitist when it comes to music. (Is there a point to being snobby or elitist ever, actually?)
The more you learn about music, the more you develop opinions and become an expert and connoisseur and critic. Pops concerts aren't usually what inspire me most, and plowing through Star Wars or Copland's Hoedown night after night can be tiresome. But last Thursday we played a concert of mostly pops music, for maybe the happiest audience I've ever encountered. The large majority were African-American, and I thought I'd stepped into a Southern Baptist church service, and people would start crying out, "Amen!" and "Praise the Lord!" They cheered raucously in the beginning of the concert before we'd even played a note, simply because someone fixed the microphone. They continued to clap and give standing ovations throughout the concert, piece after piece. As one of my favorite quotes (and apparently one of our conductor's favorites as well) goes, "There are only two kinds of music--good music, and the other stuff." Certain pieces are more intellectually stimulating or emotionally complex than others, but who's to deem what makes "high art" and "low art"? Music and intellect are two separate things, as far as I know. If I can look out into an audience and see eyes alight with joy, and smiles as wide as only music can make them, then I'm happy, whether I personally find satisfaction in the repertoire. Music should encourage us to be selfless, as much as it encourages us to express ourselves. I'm finding that my favorite artists are ones who are the least self-indulgent and who constantly look outward, to the composer, the audience, and the world (e.g. Szigeti and my recent favorite, Isabelle Faust!). We are reaching a point where orchestras all over are having to play more music we're less interested in, and vice versa. The only way to make everyone happy is to try and find worth in everything we do. After all, if a piece of music makes one person in the room happy, there is most certainly worth in performing it.
(All this being said, I will try my best from now on to contain my annoyance with 1812 Overture.)
Over the past month, I began and then abandoned a number of blog posts...lots of topics came to mind, but a couple sentences in, I'd realize I couldn't summon up enough interesting/worthwhile thoughts. Laziness led to guilt, which led to unnecessary added stress, which led to me writing this entry.
The first significant event upon moving here was the purchase of Macy, my first car. This involved a lot of confusing math, frustration, nervousness, and arguments with my mom. Just to show how clueless I was when the whole process began, in July I didn't even know that car payments were divided monthly...I thought I'd just skip into the store, plunk down a bunch of money, take the car, and be done. When I told my dad this, he gave me a look like "are you really my daughter?" and explained APR financing etc. A little history of me+cars: I never had my own car in high school or college, and I get exceedingly nervous when it comes to driving or even filling up gas. Once I was pulled over for drunk-driving, even though I didn't have one drop of alcohol in my body...after explaining that I didn't drink and was simply a bad driver, the policeman gave a commiserating chuckle and went, "Okay, well, drive home safely!" I decided to put all this behind me as I set out to buy my first vehicle. For other inexperienced and confused people out there who are thinking of someday owning a car, here is my advice, from one car dummy to another.
First of all, determine the circumstances in which you'll be driving. Knowing I'd be driving in snow and ice, and aware of my deplorable driving skills, I decided on an All-Wheel Drive. If you're a good driver (or just don't worry about this kind of stuff), you might not need AWD for snow. Next, ask around for advice of the best cars that would suit your needs. I went with a Toyota RAV4, because I know two satisfied RAV4-purchasers. I test-drove one of their cars for a while in California and felt pretty comfortable. I also looked up safety ratings and customer reviews from more reliable websites. Then comes the hard part. I recommend calling/emailing several different dealerships to check their inventory, and whether they have the specific model with the color and features you want, and ask what their lowest price is. You shouldn't commit to any dealership yet; make it clear that you're not going to take any crap, and you just want numbers. Car dealers hate emails, because they have a harder time distracting you with tricky antics. Also, at least for me, female car dealers tended to be more straight-forward and honest. After you get different prices from a couple dealerships, you can compare and start the negotiating process. It's sort of like negotiating for college scholarships...you can play one dealership against the other until you get the best price. Make sure you remember the listing price (MSRP) and NEVER pay above it. One dealership wanted $3,000 over the listing price! You should also feel somewhat comfortable with the dealer you eventually decide on. When the day of your appointment with the dealership arrives, make sure you are WELL-RESTED and WELL-FED, because you will likely be there for a long, l o n g t i m e............If you are a girl, I'd suggest bringing a male with you, any male. I've heard dealerships tend to act differently if a male is present. Ridiculous, but the truth. I'm not a good negotiator, so I can't give tips on that, but make sure you have all your numbers straight, don't be afraid to ask tons of questions, and again, don't take any crap. It's a fine balance between showing that you're smart and not born yesterday, but also a decent/likable person. Ask for any discounts they have for recent college graduates (if that applies to you), and be ready to show a transcript for proof. I went during Labor Day weekend, so I also got a nice promotion from that. Buying towards the end of the year may be cheaper, because they're gearing up for next year's model. There is a lot to think about, but in the end, you're left with a shiny new car, with that shiny new car smell.
Meet Macy! My resilient, friendly, and cute car, who has been braving the highways and streets of Detroit and is prone to collecting excessive condensation.
Another significant happening was moving into my new home. I am currently residing in the first story of a family friend's house in the suburbs. This housemate started out as my mom's friend's friend's friend's friend. The fact that I ended up living with such a distant relation shows how fortunate I am to have been introduced to a continuous line of super generous people. My mom's friend is her old high school classmate, who now goes to our church. She got us in touch with HER friend, who has a family in Michigan. He was one of the people who suggested I get a Toyota RAV4, and he gave me the phone numbers of car dealerships to contact. He then got us in touch with HIS friends, a couple who have become something like second parents to me in Michigan. We met when I was visiting back in May, and we got along so well, I ended up staying several nights at their place, watching operas and movies in their home theater. They took me sight-seeing, gave me advice for my first job, went with me to get Macy, and even gave me speakers for my new TV and an extra music stand. Then they got me in touch with A, and I couldn't have been blessed with a sweeter, more generous housemate/landlord/new friend.
Of course the most significant happening in Michigan is the new job. I wish I had eyes on the back of my head and three more pairs of ears (although how weird would that look?), because there's so much I'm trying to learn, adjust to, and absorb, all at once. These past two weeks have been fascinating, and I am looking forward to what's ahead, praying that I am up to the task and here for a good reason. Something I've learned that I feel comfortable sharing is a reaffirmation that there is simply no point to being snobby or elitist when it comes to music. (Is there a point to being snobby or elitist ever, actually?)
The more you learn about music, the more you develop opinions and become an expert and connoisseur and critic. Pops concerts aren't usually what inspire me most, and plowing through Star Wars or Copland's Hoedown night after night can be tiresome. But last Thursday we played a concert of mostly pops music, for maybe the happiest audience I've ever encountered. The large majority were African-American, and I thought I'd stepped into a Southern Baptist church service, and people would start crying out, "Amen!" and "Praise the Lord!" They cheered raucously in the beginning of the concert before we'd even played a note, simply because someone fixed the microphone. They continued to clap and give standing ovations throughout the concert, piece after piece. As one of my favorite quotes (and apparently one of our conductor's favorites as well) goes, "There are only two kinds of music--good music, and the other stuff." Certain pieces are more intellectually stimulating or emotionally complex than others, but who's to deem what makes "high art" and "low art"? Music and intellect are two separate things, as far as I know. If I can look out into an audience and see eyes alight with joy, and smiles as wide as only music can make them, then I'm happy, whether I personally find satisfaction in the repertoire. Music should encourage us to be selfless, as much as it encourages us to express ourselves. I'm finding that my favorite artists are ones who are the least self-indulgent and who constantly look outward, to the composer, the audience, and the world (e.g. Szigeti and my recent favorite, Isabelle Faust!). We are reaching a point where orchestras all over are having to play more music we're less interested in, and vice versa. The only way to make everyone happy is to try and find worth in everything we do. After all, if a piece of music makes one person in the room happy, there is most certainly worth in performing it.
(All this being said, I will try my best from now on to contain my annoyance with 1812 Overture.)
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Too Much Brahms
You know how, if you overdose on a certain TV show, you start thinking in the voice of the characters? (E.g. When I watch an excessive amount of Friends, I develop an incessantly sarcastic voice in my head that makes side comments to everything, the way Chandler does. If I watch a lot of Family Guy, I start thinking in Stewie's British accent.)
Well, last week I was in a Brahms mood, listening to stuff by Brahms on shuffle every day, practically non-stop. Not only did coherent thoughts with words vanish completely from my mind, to be replaced by occasional bursts of vibrato-infused melodies, but also I developed some unusual urges...
1) To romp about the countryside with my violin, playing devilish gypsy music and emitting occasional high-pitched whoops.
2) To stand in the middle of my backyard with the California sun shining down, hold out my arms, and proclaim, "How lovely is thy dwelling place!" (I declared this to my mom the other day when we were sitting in the living room, but she just gave me a funny look and left the room.)
3) To give big warm hugs to everyone I meet on the street.
4) To continue consuming food at an alarmingly uncontrollable rate until I am a big beefy man with a generous beard and sausage fingers.
5) To walk in hemiola rhythms.
6) To dash Sound-of-Music-style up a lush green hill, heart fluttering with expansive joy, sing a gorgeous tune, and then abruptly lock myself in the privacy of my room and shed quiet tears over unrequited love.
I think it's time for me to listen to a different composer now.
Well, last week I was in a Brahms mood, listening to stuff by Brahms on shuffle every day, practically non-stop. Not only did coherent thoughts with words vanish completely from my mind, to be replaced by occasional bursts of vibrato-infused melodies, but also I developed some unusual urges...
1) To romp about the countryside with my violin, playing devilish gypsy music and emitting occasional high-pitched whoops.
2) To stand in the middle of my backyard with the California sun shining down, hold out my arms, and proclaim, "How lovely is thy dwelling place!" (I declared this to my mom the other day when we were sitting in the living room, but she just gave me a funny look and left the room.)
3) To give big warm hugs to everyone I meet on the street.
4) To continue consuming food at an alarmingly uncontrollable rate until I am a big beefy man with a generous beard and sausage fingers.
5) To walk in hemiola rhythms.
6) To dash Sound-of-Music-style up a lush green hill, heart fluttering with expansive joy, sing a gorgeous tune, and then abruptly lock myself in the privacy of my room and shed quiet tears over unrequited love.
I think it's time for me to listen to a different composer now.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
What Makes an Audition?
Sorry for another mini-hiatus, but I've been at Tanglewood for the past four weeks, an excuse which I think requires no further explanation.
I've been wanting to write an entry about auditions for a while, ever since I miraculously/somehow/finally won one. People say that failures are only when you don't learn from your mistakes; I'd add to that by saying that successes are only when you learn HOW you got there, rather than blindly accepting good fortune or attributing the whole accomplishment to natural talent.
[ A precursor about orchestra auditions for non-musicians (if you already know a lot or too much about orchestra auditions, skip this paragraph): To land an orchestra job, one first sends a resume to whatever symphony has an opening. Openings are rare and unpredictable, and usually occur when a current member of the orchestra leaves or has gotten super old and decides to retire. If personnel deems your resume sufficiently legit, they invite you to a live audition or ask you to send a recording. The recording process SUCKS. You have to tape yourself playing several sections of various pieces without editing, and the goal is usually technical precision. Since the judges listen to you through a machine, musicality beyond general good taste is hard to tell...intonation/rhythm on the other hand is objective. For live auditions, you arrange your own transportation to the home of the orchestra, usually a major city. There are preliminary, semi-final, final rounds, and occasionally a final-final round. I'm used to seeing 150-ish applicants show up at prelims, and then around twenty for semis, but it varies depending on the job, instrument etc. Most (if not all) the rounds are held behind a screen, so the judges have no idea who you are, what you look like, and what kind of experience you (don't) have. The judging committee is made up of members of that orchestra. Each round lasts anywhere from 5-15 minutes, I'd say. You are asked to play a variety of things...short snippets from concertos and symphonic works. Afterwards, the judges vote on whether to advance you to the next round, and then you are informed by a proctor, usually in the presence of other applicants, which can be very awkward. If you are able to jump through the hoops and over the hurdles, you emerge as the "winner", and you get to deal with trial, probation, and other equally scary tasks. ]
My first memory of auditions is from youth orchestra in San Francisco. This is embarrassing to admit, but I actually took those auditions more seriously than my eventual job auditions. I think it's because if a job audition doesn't go well, there are no long-term consequences...I just keep trying. But if my youth orchestra audition didn't go well, I'd have to deal with the SHAME of sitting in a "bad" seat for the whole year. I remember actually crying after a couple auditions. But I am so lucky, because I learned very early on how to practice specifically for auditions and excerpts. With all due respect to what M. Lowe says, I still believe preparing for excerpts is different than preparing for solo pieces. It doesn't mean one process is more passionate or inspired than the other...the context is simply completely different. As a thirteen-year-old, I learned to play my excerpts along with CD recordings...you just wouldn't do that for your concerto, would you?
At NEC, I took orchestral excerpt class in my sophomore year, because it seemed interesting. For the course final, we had to play some concertmaster solos on the stage of Symphony Hall. I genuinely loved those excerpts, so I think I did okay. Afterwards the teacher took me aside and told me that I should start taking job auditions. I was so stunned and excited that I immediately began looking for opportunities, and I took my first real audition a couple months later.
I've taken six professional orchestra auditions so far, which is nice, because six is my lucky number. I keep a journal of basically everything that happens, so I sometimes flip back to certain audition entries and read them over to remember the lessons I learned. (It's also kind of entertaining in retrospect, how dramatic each audition felt.)
In the first audition, I learned how different it feels to play behind a screen. I realized how much I relied on the visual aspect of playing, and that I should take that energy and focus it on pure sound instead. I was so freaked out by the notion of playing for people I couldn't see, who were evaluating me from behind a curtain, that I completely could not concentrate. The overall conclusion was that I needed to be ten times more prepared, to compensate for all that weirdness, awkwardness, and unpredictability.
Thus, preparation for my second audition was the most I've ever practiced in my life. I think the lessons I learned here were more emotional than purely musical, since it was such a significant ordeal. I learned what it's like to have countless hours of countless days of obsession and devotion condensed into ten minutes, and at the whim of one or two judges, dismissed. I learned how to accept this as fair and move on. I learned the importance of sound quality. Most importantly, I learned to accept the level I was at, a level that simply wasn't all there yet. There was no need for me to force myself into the shoes of someone more advanced, or to impose unreasonably high expectations upon myself.
The third audition was really weird because, although it was the first time I felt fairly comfortable playing behind the screen, I was so physically wrought during the waiting process that I was shaking pretty violently throughout the whole day. I missed a couple notes during the second round, which probably eliminated me. Who knows, though. I learned that one should ALWAYS ask for comments from the judges, and ALWAYS check a proper edition of the score, so there aren't nasty surprises in the warm-up room when scanning through an official version of your excerpts. I also discovered the joy of failing, because it gives you another chance to try again. That night, I wrote the following:
The ride back was like a blur of tiredness and bleakness, but somewhere in there I also summoned up this random and deep joy that no matter what, I am still so privileged and happy to have these opportunities as a musician, to try and play wonderful works on a beautiful stage, to strive for a life in music. And the ultimate triumph in an audition (besides for actually getting a job, I suppose) is finding the excitement and willingness and joy to TRY AGAIN!
The fourth audition was over a span of two days, and on the second day I used beta-blockers. I learned that they have no effect on me whatsoever...if anything, they hinder me, because I feel guilty and uncomfortable the whole time.
The fifth audition was the first and only time I ever cried after an audition (besides in pre-college days). It was because I actually thought I'd played well enough to get it, but then I didn't. I learned to pay attention to how things went from an outsider's perspective, rather than how I personally felt it had gone. Sometimes, an audition feels good, but in reality it doesn't sound good from outside your own personal bubble. Like Stephane Deneve says, you have to "grow a pair of giant ears." After that audition, I sat on a bench outside, called S, and proceeded to sob like a baby. It was embarrassing. I almost cancelled my next audition, because I really felt there was no hope. But I didn't, because the deposit fee deadline was over, and I was too cheap to waste a hundred bucks.
Two and a half weeks later was Detroit.
I don't know what I did differently in preparation...I didn't practice more than usual or try any weird techniques like meditating. Something very important did finally register in my head--I figured out what I do when I get nervous, and I figured out how to AVOID doing it. It sounds so simple duh, but for slow people like me, it takes a while... The key thing I remember from those four audition rounds is that each one got a little better (except the very last one, because at that point I knew I had already gotten in the orchestra, so I was just having fun, and it was certainly not my best). Also, I was focused on listening to myself in the moment while I played, as if I were behind the screen with the audition committee. That was helpful, because when I walked off the stage, I wasn't like, "OH MY GOSH WHAT JUST HAPPENED," but rather, "I know what I did well, and what I did poorly. If I pass, it'll be because of a, b, and c. If I don't pass, it'll be because of d, e, and f."
Auditions are complicated and bizarre and perplexing. I think the audition winner is rarely the "best" applicant, but rather the person who happens to do the right things at the right time, in front of the right people. There are a bunch of inspirational stories about those who failed a hundred times before succeeding...Einstein, Christina Aguilera, Bill Gates, Henry Ford, Thomas Edison, J.K. Rowling...the list goes on and on and irritatingly on. Yeah, those stories are great, and the same thing certainly could happen to you--but you know what stories aren't great? The ones where people fail and never end up succeeding, even though they also keep trying. Those stories are rarely ever told. When I didn't get good results, people reminded me of inspiring stories, encouraging me to stay positive and have faith. And I would secretly think, "But how do I know if I'm not one of the majority whose failures don't ultimately turn into successes?" How do you know when to quit, and when to keep trying? I think it's the point when you realize that trying again is bringing you down instead of up. It's the moment when you're getting out your old and battered excerpt book for the umpteenth time, looking Don Juan square in the high D, and suddenly it dawns on you--I don't like what I'm doing. This isn't exciting. This isn't inspiring.
That's never happened to me, honestly. Of course Don Juan isn't my favorite thing to play. But every time I dig it out again, a tiny part of me (even if it's just 1% or 0.003%) is eager to do it better than before. I guess if continuing to improve brings you joy, and you are at a point in your life where it's reasonable to keep trying, then you should.
Lastly: This may sound weird, but the terrifying unpredictability of auditions and being a music major in general actually made me less stressed at times, because it really led me to put everything in God's hands. The more unpredictable your field is, the less control you realize you have. After that fifth and saddest audition, I started looking at different career paths I could pursue. Musicology? Phd? I prayed, "If it's right for me to play in an orchestra, please give me a sign this next year. Otherwise I'll accept that I should try another path." That sign came way sooner than I expected.
Whenever I get nervous playing violin, whether it be walking into an audition, attempting an elusive octave, or willing my bow not to shake, I try to remember the verse, "Be strong and courageous for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." I'm not saying that by thinking this, I then am able to play perfectly. Sometimes I think this verse, feel better, and then a truly disastrous sound comes out of my instrument. So what? We don't praise the Lord so that we'll get good results; we praise Him because it's true.
I've been wanting to write an entry about auditions for a while, ever since I miraculously/somehow/finally won one. People say that failures are only when you don't learn from your mistakes; I'd add to that by saying that successes are only when you learn HOW you got there, rather than blindly accepting good fortune or attributing the whole accomplishment to natural talent.
[ A precursor about orchestra auditions for non-musicians (if you already know a lot or too much about orchestra auditions, skip this paragraph): To land an orchestra job, one first sends a resume to whatever symphony has an opening. Openings are rare and unpredictable, and usually occur when a current member of the orchestra leaves or has gotten super old and decides to retire. If personnel deems your resume sufficiently legit, they invite you to a live audition or ask you to send a recording. The recording process SUCKS. You have to tape yourself playing several sections of various pieces without editing, and the goal is usually technical precision. Since the judges listen to you through a machine, musicality beyond general good taste is hard to tell...intonation/rhythm on the other hand is objective. For live auditions, you arrange your own transportation to the home of the orchestra, usually a major city. There are preliminary, semi-final, final rounds, and occasionally a final-final round. I'm used to seeing 150-ish applicants show up at prelims, and then around twenty for semis, but it varies depending on the job, instrument etc. Most (if not all) the rounds are held behind a screen, so the judges have no idea who you are, what you look like, and what kind of experience you (don't) have. The judging committee is made up of members of that orchestra. Each round lasts anywhere from 5-15 minutes, I'd say. You are asked to play a variety of things...short snippets from concertos and symphonic works. Afterwards, the judges vote on whether to advance you to the next round, and then you are informed by a proctor, usually in the presence of other applicants, which can be very awkward. If you are able to jump through the hoops and over the hurdles, you emerge as the "winner", and you get to deal with trial, probation, and other equally scary tasks. ]
My first memory of auditions is from youth orchestra in San Francisco. This is embarrassing to admit, but I actually took those auditions more seriously than my eventual job auditions. I think it's because if a job audition doesn't go well, there are no long-term consequences...I just keep trying. But if my youth orchestra audition didn't go well, I'd have to deal with the SHAME of sitting in a "bad" seat for the whole year. I remember actually crying after a couple auditions. But I am so lucky, because I learned very early on how to practice specifically for auditions and excerpts. With all due respect to what M. Lowe says, I still believe preparing for excerpts is different than preparing for solo pieces. It doesn't mean one process is more passionate or inspired than the other...the context is simply completely different. As a thirteen-year-old, I learned to play my excerpts along with CD recordings...you just wouldn't do that for your concerto, would you?
At NEC, I took orchestral excerpt class in my sophomore year, because it seemed interesting. For the course final, we had to play some concertmaster solos on the stage of Symphony Hall. I genuinely loved those excerpts, so I think I did okay. Afterwards the teacher took me aside and told me that I should start taking job auditions. I was so stunned and excited that I immediately began looking for opportunities, and I took my first real audition a couple months later.
I've taken six professional orchestra auditions so far, which is nice, because six is my lucky number. I keep a journal of basically everything that happens, so I sometimes flip back to certain audition entries and read them over to remember the lessons I learned. (It's also kind of entertaining in retrospect, how dramatic each audition felt.)
In the first audition, I learned how different it feels to play behind a screen. I realized how much I relied on the visual aspect of playing, and that I should take that energy and focus it on pure sound instead. I was so freaked out by the notion of playing for people I couldn't see, who were evaluating me from behind a curtain, that I completely could not concentrate. The overall conclusion was that I needed to be ten times more prepared, to compensate for all that weirdness, awkwardness, and unpredictability.
Thus, preparation for my second audition was the most I've ever practiced in my life. I think the lessons I learned here were more emotional than purely musical, since it was such a significant ordeal. I learned what it's like to have countless hours of countless days of obsession and devotion condensed into ten minutes, and at the whim of one or two judges, dismissed. I learned how to accept this as fair and move on. I learned the importance of sound quality. Most importantly, I learned to accept the level I was at, a level that simply wasn't all there yet. There was no need for me to force myself into the shoes of someone more advanced, or to impose unreasonably high expectations upon myself.
The third audition was really weird because, although it was the first time I felt fairly comfortable playing behind the screen, I was so physically wrought during the waiting process that I was shaking pretty violently throughout the whole day. I missed a couple notes during the second round, which probably eliminated me. Who knows, though. I learned that one should ALWAYS ask for comments from the judges, and ALWAYS check a proper edition of the score, so there aren't nasty surprises in the warm-up room when scanning through an official version of your excerpts. I also discovered the joy of failing, because it gives you another chance to try again. That night, I wrote the following:
The ride back was like a blur of tiredness and bleakness, but somewhere in there I also summoned up this random and deep joy that no matter what, I am still so privileged and happy to have these opportunities as a musician, to try and play wonderful works on a beautiful stage, to strive for a life in music. And the ultimate triumph in an audition (besides for actually getting a job, I suppose) is finding the excitement and willingness and joy to TRY AGAIN!
The fourth audition was over a span of two days, and on the second day I used beta-blockers. I learned that they have no effect on me whatsoever...if anything, they hinder me, because I feel guilty and uncomfortable the whole time.
The fifth audition was the first and only time I ever cried after an audition (besides in pre-college days). It was because I actually thought I'd played well enough to get it, but then I didn't. I learned to pay attention to how things went from an outsider's perspective, rather than how I personally felt it had gone. Sometimes, an audition feels good, but in reality it doesn't sound good from outside your own personal bubble. Like Stephane Deneve says, you have to "grow a pair of giant ears." After that audition, I sat on a bench outside, called S, and proceeded to sob like a baby. It was embarrassing. I almost cancelled my next audition, because I really felt there was no hope. But I didn't, because the deposit fee deadline was over, and I was too cheap to waste a hundred bucks.
Two and a half weeks later was Detroit.
I don't know what I did differently in preparation...I didn't practice more than usual or try any weird techniques like meditating. Something very important did finally register in my head--I figured out what I do when I get nervous, and I figured out how to AVOID doing it. It sounds so simple duh, but for slow people like me, it takes a while... The key thing I remember from those four audition rounds is that each one got a little better (except the very last one, because at that point I knew I had already gotten in the orchestra, so I was just having fun, and it was certainly not my best). Also, I was focused on listening to myself in the moment while I played, as if I were behind the screen with the audition committee. That was helpful, because when I walked off the stage, I wasn't like, "OH MY GOSH WHAT JUST HAPPENED," but rather, "I know what I did well, and what I did poorly. If I pass, it'll be because of a, b, and c. If I don't pass, it'll be because of d, e, and f."
Auditions are complicated and bizarre and perplexing. I think the audition winner is rarely the "best" applicant, but rather the person who happens to do the right things at the right time, in front of the right people. There are a bunch of inspirational stories about those who failed a hundred times before succeeding...Einstein, Christina Aguilera, Bill Gates, Henry Ford, Thomas Edison, J.K. Rowling...the list goes on and on and irritatingly on. Yeah, those stories are great, and the same thing certainly could happen to you--but you know what stories aren't great? The ones where people fail and never end up succeeding, even though they also keep trying. Those stories are rarely ever told. When I didn't get good results, people reminded me of inspiring stories, encouraging me to stay positive and have faith. And I would secretly think, "But how do I know if I'm not one of the majority whose failures don't ultimately turn into successes?" How do you know when to quit, and when to keep trying? I think it's the point when you realize that trying again is bringing you down instead of up. It's the moment when you're getting out your old and battered excerpt book for the umpteenth time, looking Don Juan square in the high D, and suddenly it dawns on you--I don't like what I'm doing. This isn't exciting. This isn't inspiring.
That's never happened to me, honestly. Of course Don Juan isn't my favorite thing to play. But every time I dig it out again, a tiny part of me (even if it's just 1% or 0.003%) is eager to do it better than before. I guess if continuing to improve brings you joy, and you are at a point in your life where it's reasonable to keep trying, then you should.
Lastly: This may sound weird, but the terrifying unpredictability of auditions and being a music major in general actually made me less stressed at times, because it really led me to put everything in God's hands. The more unpredictable your field is, the less control you realize you have. After that fifth and saddest audition, I started looking at different career paths I could pursue. Musicology? Phd? I prayed, "If it's right for me to play in an orchestra, please give me a sign this next year. Otherwise I'll accept that I should try another path." That sign came way sooner than I expected.
Whenever I get nervous playing violin, whether it be walking into an audition, attempting an elusive octave, or willing my bow not to shake, I try to remember the verse, "Be strong and courageous for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." I'm not saying that by thinking this, I then am able to play perfectly. Sometimes I think this verse, feel better, and then a truly disastrous sound comes out of my instrument. So what? We don't praise the Lord so that we'll get good results; we praise Him because it's true.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Southwest
I've been a faithful customer of Southwest for over a year now, and have flown on their airlines at least five times without a problem. They treat instruments and instrumentalists with respect, they hand out ample snacks and drinks free of charge, and allow two free checked bags. But just when I thought I had finally found a trustworthy airline...
On Friday, I flew from Detroit to Las Vegas, and then Las Vegas to San Jose. The first flight was fine, and the second flight started out fine. I was pretty happy, besides for being extremely hot from wearing a sweatshirt and sweats in Vegas weather. I fell asleep as we made our ascent, but woke up thirty minutes later drenched in sweat. My ears were popping every few seconds, which is not an usual occurrence. The plane was really turbulent and scary, but nobody on the plane was making a sound. All of a sudden, the pilot's voice came over the intercom, announcing that there was a pressurization problem with the aircraft, and we had to turn around and go back to Vegas as quickly as possible, for safety reasons.
Immediately, people began panicking. The guy next to me threw up in his barf bag, an old lady in front of me threw up as well, a lady behind me continually pressed her help button...even the airline attendants seemed frightened. They told the complaining lady, "Just plug your ears and keep opening your mouth!" and frantically darted back to the front of the plane. The first thought that went through my head was, "Fantastic, I just got a job, and now I'm going to die." (This is what employment obsession does to you.) My heart was pounding, and I was opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish. The air seemed to be getting thinner, and the cabin was burning. It also didn't help that the plane was experiencing pretty bad turbulence. The pilot later told us that we almost had to use the yellow oxygen masks above our heads. However, after a terrifying thirty minutes of rapid temperature and altitude changes, we were returned to land with a hearty bump.
About an hour later, we boarded a different aircraft. For the first time in my life, as the airline attendants were giving the safety precautions on how to use life vests in case of an emergency, the whole plane was so silent with rapt attention, you could have heard a pin drop.
On Friday, I flew from Detroit to Las Vegas, and then Las Vegas to San Jose. The first flight was fine, and the second flight started out fine. I was pretty happy, besides for being extremely hot from wearing a sweatshirt and sweats in Vegas weather. I fell asleep as we made our ascent, but woke up thirty minutes later drenched in sweat. My ears were popping every few seconds, which is not an usual occurrence. The plane was really turbulent and scary, but nobody on the plane was making a sound. All of a sudden, the pilot's voice came over the intercom, announcing that there was a pressurization problem with the aircraft, and we had to turn around and go back to Vegas as quickly as possible, for safety reasons.
Immediately, people began panicking. The guy next to me threw up in his barf bag, an old lady in front of me threw up as well, a lady behind me continually pressed her help button...even the airline attendants seemed frightened. They told the complaining lady, "Just plug your ears and keep opening your mouth!" and frantically darted back to the front of the plane. The first thought that went through my head was, "Fantastic, I just got a job, and now I'm going to die." (This is what employment obsession does to you.) My heart was pounding, and I was opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish. The air seemed to be getting thinner, and the cabin was burning. It also didn't help that the plane was experiencing pretty bad turbulence. The pilot later told us that we almost had to use the yellow oxygen masks above our heads. However, after a terrifying thirty minutes of rapid temperature and altitude changes, we were returned to land with a hearty bump.
About an hour later, we boarded a different aircraft. For the first time in my life, as the airline attendants were giving the safety precautions on how to use life vests in case of an emergency, the whole plane was so silent with rapt attention, you could have heard a pin drop.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Top 5 Favorite Books
Today, A asked me what my top 5 favorite books are, and it turned out to be a really difficult question to answer. I immediately listed the no-brainers, Les Miserables and Middlemarch, but it took deep contemplation throughout the rest of the day to come up with the others. Now I can say with certainty that my top 3 are definitely:
1) Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
2) Middlemarch by George Eliot
3) In Memoriam A.H.H. by Tennyson
By the way, this list excludes The Bible, as well as obvious favorites from my "youth" like Harry Potter, Lemony Snicket, Calvin and Hobbes etc. which are of course ingenious, but belong to a different category.
I think book-lovers can attest to this--each person's criteria for what makes an All-Time-Favorite Book is a little different. For me, above all else, my morals have to be in line with what the author is trying to convey. It helps a LOT if the characters and writing style are likable, too. Then, there's the initial reaction a book has on me, plus the long-term reaction. Les Mis and Middlemarch are hefty novels, 800+ pages and not what most would call a fast read. Both teach invaluable lessons about the humanity, although in very different ways, and both have a large number of main characters, most of whom I find extremely lovable and admirable. Hugo is French, so I can't say much about his writing style, but I love Eliot's voice and the way she unravels her stories. In Memoriam is a set of poems, which is weird, because I usually don't have the attention span or depth of mind to really appreciate or even understand most poetry. But Tennyson's requiem for his best friend is just unbelievable, and the content totally overshadows the format for me. Family and close friends will back me up when I say that after reading each of these three, I became obsessed and talked about them nonstop for a long long...LONG time. After Tennyson, I marched around the house reciting the poems to whoever would listen. I also gave the book to three different people as birthday presents.
So what about 4 and 5? I'm inclined to say-
4) something by Jane Austen
5) something by Shakespeare
It's kind of embarrassing that I can't name a specific work by either one, and it's not like I'm saying all their works are the same...but it's more that I love the authors more than I love any individual work, if that makes sense. I can't choose a particular Shakespeare play (or sonnet), because it's his output collectively that make him so significant and life-changing to me. I do admit that after a while, some of Jane Austen's novels start to blend together in my easily-confused brain. But I love the atmosphere she creates, the way her characters interact, and how incredibly charming she is.
Close runners up include-
Shorter books: Animal Farm, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Of Mice and Men, and Screwtape Letters. They're little gems, but I'm not sure they are comparable to the likes of what I mentioned before.
The classic, disillusioned-wife-cheats-on-husband books: Bovary, Karenina, and Chatterley, which I really enjoy (for some reason) but can't deem true favorites, because I simply hate the protagonist so much.
Intimidating books: Ayn Rand's Fountainhead and Hardy's Jude the Obscure. Amazingly written, but...a little too heavy for me.
And more recent books: 5 People You Meet In Heaven, The Last Lecture, My Sister's Keeper, and pianist Arthur Schnabel's Music and My Life.
1) Les Miserables by Victor Hugo
2) Middlemarch by George Eliot
3) In Memoriam A.H.H. by Tennyson
By the way, this list excludes The Bible, as well as obvious favorites from my "youth" like Harry Potter, Lemony Snicket, Calvin and Hobbes etc. which are of course ingenious, but belong to a different category.
I think book-lovers can attest to this--each person's criteria for what makes an All-Time-Favorite Book is a little different. For me, above all else, my morals have to be in line with what the author is trying to convey. It helps a LOT if the characters and writing style are likable, too. Then, there's the initial reaction a book has on me, plus the long-term reaction. Les Mis and Middlemarch are hefty novels, 800+ pages and not what most would call a fast read. Both teach invaluable lessons about the humanity, although in very different ways, and both have a large number of main characters, most of whom I find extremely lovable and admirable. Hugo is French, so I can't say much about his writing style, but I love Eliot's voice and the way she unravels her stories. In Memoriam is a set of poems, which is weird, because I usually don't have the attention span or depth of mind to really appreciate or even understand most poetry. But Tennyson's requiem for his best friend is just unbelievable, and the content totally overshadows the format for me. Family and close friends will back me up when I say that after reading each of these three, I became obsessed and talked about them nonstop for a long long...LONG time. After Tennyson, I marched around the house reciting the poems to whoever would listen. I also gave the book to three different people as birthday presents.
So what about 4 and 5? I'm inclined to say-
4) something by Jane Austen
5) something by Shakespeare
It's kind of embarrassing that I can't name a specific work by either one, and it's not like I'm saying all their works are the same...but it's more that I love the authors more than I love any individual work, if that makes sense. I can't choose a particular Shakespeare play (or sonnet), because it's his output collectively that make him so significant and life-changing to me. I do admit that after a while, some of Jane Austen's novels start to blend together in my easily-confused brain. But I love the atmosphere she creates, the way her characters interact, and how incredibly charming she is.
Close runners up include-
Shorter books: Animal Farm, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Of Mice and Men, and Screwtape Letters. They're little gems, but I'm not sure they are comparable to the likes of what I mentioned before.
The classic, disillusioned-wife-cheats-on-husband books: Bovary, Karenina, and Chatterley, which I really enjoy (for some reason) but can't deem true favorites, because I simply hate the protagonist so much.
Intimidating books: Ayn Rand's Fountainhead and Hardy's Jude the Obscure. Amazingly written, but...a little too heavy for me.
And more recent books: 5 People You Meet In Heaven, The Last Lecture, My Sister's Keeper, and pianist Arthur Schnabel's Music and My Life.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Mother's Day
It was a successful Mother's Day this year! First of all, the Warriors won Game 4 against the Spurs, which in itself guarantees a good day in my book. I mean, I cheer with great exuberance for anyone who beats the Spurs. But the Warriors have been so inspiring especially lately, from David Lee's courageous minutes despite his injury, to Harrison Barnes who is only 20 years old (!!!), to the raw talent of Steph Curry and Klay Thompson. I really hope they get to the finals. (That being said, OKC is breaking my heart! What is happening???)
Meanwhile, customary Mother's Day festivities were in order, starting from the morning when my sister and I lugged ourselves out of bed way too early to make my mom's breakfast of fruits galore, a spinach cheese omelet, random nuts/cereal, and coffee. Then we headed to church, where there were four testimonies given in honor of this day. The first aww-moment was when I heard a little girl talking to her friend's mom, saying, "I'm sooo excited for when we go home, because my cousins and I have this whole program planned out for my mom" etc. etc. It made me think that, yes, Mother's Day (along with Valentine's Day) can be one of the most irritatingly commercialized holidays, with the bombardment of flowers, chocolates, and ads that make you feel guilty for not hopping straight to a store and spoiling your loved one with tons of jewelry and desserts. But looking past that, something I do love about this day is how it introduces kids to the sheer joy and excitement one feels when making someone ELSE happy. Selfless happiness is just a good feeling to experience early on, I think.
My dad was one of the people to give testimonies, and since I'd spent the previous night and morning listening to him practice over and over, I was definitely quite nervous for him, reciting his speech right there with him (in my head). He did a great job, although I must say that I don't think I've ever met someone who speaks as slowly as he does. Nevertheless, it was touching and an admirable feat.
Another person who gave a testimony said two things that really stuck in my mind. The first thing was that most of the time, when we try to do our own thing and our parents disagree, it's not so much that they don't have faith in US and OUR abilities, but that they don't have faith in the world around us, the circumstances in which we may unwittingly find ourselves. I can definitely recall times when my parents were against a decision I made. In retrospect, I now believe they were more afraid about the environment around me than any mistake I might make. It seems obvious now, but whenever we are at odds, I manage to forget this simple truth.
The second thing this person said was that her mother didn't look at her through the eyes of a regular person, but tried to look at her through the eyes of the Lord. Meaning, her mother didn't judge her or try to control her. Judgement is something I've wondered about for a while. If you know me well, you'll know that a pet peeve of mine is people who want to do things without being judged. I just think that everyone should take responsibility for his/her actions, and if we don't want to be judged for something, we simply shouldn't do it. Everything has consequences, not only for us but also for countless others that we may never know about. We can't put these consequences on hold when we don't feel like being judged. (I'm referring to serious things, not like, "Don't judge me, I'm going to eat three slices of cheese cake.") At the same time, there have been a few times when someone said, "Don't judge me, but--" and I nod sympathetically like, "Okay don't worry, I understand." Maybe it's an automatic reaction, or maybe in that moment I do feel it's an okay exception. To judge, or not to judge... But ultimately the best thing to do is leave the judging up to God. I still believe every action should be judged, but that doesn't mean I'm the one who has the right or ability to BE the judge. Really, the only thing I have considerable insight into is what I do with my life.
The rest of the day was devoted to food! We made my mom a card that said, "Age only matters if you're a cheese." So practically everything we ate was cheese-themed...cheese and crackers, cheese and bread, plus cheese (and chocolate) fondue. It was a lot of fun, and it's nice to have the whole family together again; it's been a while. It's also nice to be blogging again, after an unexpected and embarrassingly drawn-out hiatus, which I will try to justify in my next (?) entry.
Meanwhile, customary Mother's Day festivities were in order, starting from the morning when my sister and I lugged ourselves out of bed way too early to make my mom's breakfast of fruits galore, a spinach cheese omelet, random nuts/cereal, and coffee. Then we headed to church, where there were four testimonies given in honor of this day. The first aww-moment was when I heard a little girl talking to her friend's mom, saying, "I'm sooo excited for when we go home, because my cousins and I have this whole program planned out for my mom" etc. etc. It made me think that, yes, Mother's Day (along with Valentine's Day) can be one of the most irritatingly commercialized holidays, with the bombardment of flowers, chocolates, and ads that make you feel guilty for not hopping straight to a store and spoiling your loved one with tons of jewelry and desserts. But looking past that, something I do love about this day is how it introduces kids to the sheer joy and excitement one feels when making someone ELSE happy. Selfless happiness is just a good feeling to experience early on, I think.
My dad was one of the people to give testimonies, and since I'd spent the previous night and morning listening to him practice over and over, I was definitely quite nervous for him, reciting his speech right there with him (in my head). He did a great job, although I must say that I don't think I've ever met someone who speaks as slowly as he does. Nevertheless, it was touching and an admirable feat.
Another person who gave a testimony said two things that really stuck in my mind. The first thing was that most of the time, when we try to do our own thing and our parents disagree, it's not so much that they don't have faith in US and OUR abilities, but that they don't have faith in the world around us, the circumstances in which we may unwittingly find ourselves. I can definitely recall times when my parents were against a decision I made. In retrospect, I now believe they were more afraid about the environment around me than any mistake I might make. It seems obvious now, but whenever we are at odds, I manage to forget this simple truth.
The second thing this person said was that her mother didn't look at her through the eyes of a regular person, but tried to look at her through the eyes of the Lord. Meaning, her mother didn't judge her or try to control her. Judgement is something I've wondered about for a while. If you know me well, you'll know that a pet peeve of mine is people who want to do things without being judged. I just think that everyone should take responsibility for his/her actions, and if we don't want to be judged for something, we simply shouldn't do it. Everything has consequences, not only for us but also for countless others that we may never know about. We can't put these consequences on hold when we don't feel like being judged. (I'm referring to serious things, not like, "Don't judge me, I'm going to eat three slices of cheese cake.") At the same time, there have been a few times when someone said, "Don't judge me, but--" and I nod sympathetically like, "Okay don't worry, I understand." Maybe it's an automatic reaction, or maybe in that moment I do feel it's an okay exception. To judge, or not to judge... But ultimately the best thing to do is leave the judging up to God. I still believe every action should be judged, but that doesn't mean I'm the one who has the right or ability to BE the judge. Really, the only thing I have considerable insight into is what I do with my life.
The rest of the day was devoted to food! We made my mom a card that said, "Age only matters if you're a cheese." So practically everything we ate was cheese-themed...cheese and crackers, cheese and bread, plus cheese (and chocolate) fondue. It was a lot of fun, and it's nice to have the whole family together again; it's been a while. It's also nice to be blogging again, after an unexpected and embarrassingly drawn-out hiatus, which I will try to justify in my next (?) entry.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
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. :)
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. :)
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