I wandered around Bedford Ave in Williamsburg, Brooklyn today when my boss dropped me at the nearby train station after work. I'd been here dozens of times, but never walked beyond N 7th street, just scooted off downstairs for the L train to take me home.
But today, for no explicit reason, I wandered and kept walking, and found myself in a boutique called Pema. I've been doing this for the past few days: I Don't Want To Go Home. So I wander around, relatively aimlessly. I spent the better half of the weekend crying, for reasons that I probably won't go into yet. Let's just say that it's been hard - palpably so - to physically eat around certain people who make you sick to your stomach. I'm less in pain about it today, but I'm digressing.
When I was in Pema, I was browsing around, but was primarily put at ease by the music in the boutique; I recognized a few French words, but stuck around because it was like listening to this indecipherable lullaby. The ladies there were really nice, so, as retail therapy would have it, my eyes fell upon these gorgeous bracelets that were half off. I left with my new acquisition, feeling relaxed, and little by little, didn't feel that lump in my throat on the way home.
I browsed around iTunes out of curiosity earlier, and discovered the voice behind the music at Pema: Carla Bruni! So I bought a bunch of her songs just now.
I can't understand most of the lyrics save for a few basic sentiments I'd picked up in French class as an undergrad. But with all the recent developments and adjectives in my life, this is respite.
I think I'm finally acclimated in my "new" life of not being a student. I start full time at my job full of many challenges, wonderful people, and familiar ties next Friday, so for now I've been able to sleep in-ish and get on the commute while most people are already at work. After what transpired on Saturday, the office is respite, as I collect myself before I get on the elevator, compartmentalize the very-related hurt, and press on, with a smile.
But as the Beatles repeatedly say, let it be. Instead of feeling hurt and holding onto those feelings, I just have to accept that some people have difference values than my own, and not allow myself to be reduced to a number. That they have a different set of expectations, different definitions of accomplishment.
Anyway, things to look forward to: dressing up for Halloween, Maroon 5 concert with DM and DC, catching up with friends, for whom I am so thankful.
so i started reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert two summers ago. this soul-searching journey of Gilbert's has three "books," if you will: one each about her stay and illuminating life moments in Italy, India, and Indonesia. Julia Roberts is playing Gilbert when this comes out in film, but i personally don't see it - that blonde actress from Lost fits the bill. anyway, i only finished book 1, which was approx. 120 pages, and thought, meh, and it was subsequently placed in my bookshelf of many books which i have to finish.
but for the past few days, something compelled me to start reading EPL again, like it was calling out to me (such a phrase is a huge part of EPL's lexicon). so a few pages in, i highlight a whole bunch of things about yoga (of course) and this quote was on-point: actually the entire 48th bead was gold - each "bead" is another subset of her chapters, like mini lessons or personal moments of revelation - and i will share it, especially for the most neurotic and in need of some soul-searching (like me) or need a good smack in the head because they don't acquiesce (like many i know): David* tells Gilbert when she's profusely bawling because her past transgressions are unrolling in front of her:
Your problem is you don't understand what that word [soul mate] means. People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that's holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. And thank God for it. Your problem is, you just can't let this one go. It's over, Groceries.* David's purpose was to shake you up, drive you out of that marriage that you needed to leave, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light could get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you had to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master and beat it. That was his job, and he did great, but now it's over. Problem is, you can't accept that this relationship had a real short shelf life. You're like a dog at the dump, baby - you're just lickin' at an empty tin can to get more nutrition out of it. And if you're not careful, that can't gonna get stuck on your snout forever and make your life miserable. So drop it."
this is just such a great reminder fully articulated that i've always just managed to understand: that people come in and out of your life, and that glass half full thing. anyway, i'm off to dinner. long day at work tomorrow.
*David is someone whom Gilbert befriends while staying at an ashram in India. He has this thick Texan drawl, and he's like the perfect omniscient-came-out-of-nowhere supporting actor in a movie, haha.
our own beauty not enough
I managed to finish Cat's Eye by Atwood during my many commutes on the train for about a week; that tells you how much I'm on the damn train. I love the book - but really, how could you not? My first Atwood, she articulates the very thoughts you'd repressed into the state of the vestigial because of some probable traumatic childhood moments of being a young girl. Some really great commentaries on gender roles, especially. This reflection is brief and my tired state is ephemeral, but she gets deep into your veins, your lungs. You breathe in as a surrogate of Elaine Risley's own feelings at times, and exhale as your past 9 year old self. I found myself, today, asking my nine year old cousin about her friends in school.
The ending was not as strong as the beginning and rest of the book, but I was semiconscious yesterday, so I'll have to revisit it. One of many favorite quotes:
"I want to protect myself from any further, darker memories of hers, get myself out of here gracefully before something embarrassing happens. She's balanced on the edge of an artificial hilarity that could topple over at any moment into its opposite, into tears and desperation."
I tried to do handstands for you
I tried to do headstands for you
Everytime I fell on you, yeah, everytime I fell
I tried to do handstands for you
But everytime I fell for you
I'm permanently black and blue, permanently blue for you.
I tried to do handstands for you
I tried to do handstands for you
Everytime I fell on you, yeah, everytime I fell
I tried to do handstands for you but everytime I fell for you
I'm permanently black and blue, permanently blue for you-ooh-ooh-ooh
For you-ooh-ooh-ooh
So black and blue-ooh-ooh-ooh
For you-ooh-ooh-ooh.
I grabbed some frozen strawberries so I could ice your bruising knees
But frozen things they all unfreeze and now I taste like....
All those frozen strawberries I used to chill your bruising knees,
Hot July ain't good to me
I'm pink and black and blue for you.
I got bruises on my knees for you
And grass stains on my knees for you
Got holes in my new jeans for you
Got pink and black and blue
Got bruises on my knees for you
And grass stains on my knees for you
Got holes in my new jeans for you
Got pink and black and blue for you-ooh-ooh-ooh
For you-ooh-ooh-ooh
So black and blue-ooh-ooh-ooh
For you-ooh-ooh-ooh
Do-doo-do-do-do-do-doo
Do-doo-do-do-do-do-doo
Do-doo-do-do-do-do-doo
Do-doo-do-do-do-do-doo
Do-doo-do-do-do-do-doo
Do-doo-do-do-do-do-doo
Do-doo-do-do-do-do-doo
I did a handstand today!!! Well, not quite; it was assisted with a wall, but a first, nonetheless. Have a happy Saturday :)
Lately, I've been giving some thought to what it means to be passionate. For me, an investment in a person, concept, subject, has always peaked, and subsequently acquired a new residence in the past.
Blogging was a passion of mine, especially in 2007-2008. I loved it. I still do. Hell, I even turned it into a legitimate research proposal and case study. But then I felt burnt out. So many blog entries left unfinished and saved, only to be read (or not read at all) by me. I've been told that I'll come up to an experience, something novel, gobble it up, inhale it, dissect it, enjoy it, and then move on. I understand the blueprint, I learned, now my curiosity is on what's next.
Last week, AA told me that everyone's mouths dropped when I presented my topic for my globalization class: a semiotic of SARS in New York City during the outbreak in 2002-2003. This is significant, especially in light of the Binghamton shooting. I've always circled around the meaning of being Asian in a Western society. No matter the composition of my tastes, the lifestyles I'd chosen, my great array of friends, I'll never be the "one," but will forever remain the "other." As much as we're socially acceptable in society, as much as we think we're passing, any misstep and we're hypervisible, no longer the model minority, but of the yellow peril variety.
But back to my point. Oftentimes, the week is a drag. So much to do, yet so little, simultaneously. Where is the challenge? By Tuesday night, I'm grading last-minute papers and making a lesson plan, and in the morning, dreading the 1 train, hoping time slows a little by the time it hits 96th street, cherishing the last few minutes until 116th and Broadway. However, by the end of class, everything is reaffirmed again: I love teaching, my students make life so much more interesting, and their lives espouse so much humility. How could I dread this?
Maybe my passion resides in the notion of passion itself. Corny, huh? Anyhow, I have to wake up in a few hours. Good night.
i have to report, for lack of updates, that i'm in a state of zen. i haven't felt this balanced in a long time, if ever. yoga helps, being around people with positive energy helps. every week i leave my students with a renewed sense of happiness and humility. my problems - few that there are - don't have to be that heavy. life doesn't have to be that heavy. don't get much sleep, but it's okay. i think that when people take things too personally, their worlds come crashing down. but everytime my world leans side to side, i am forever grateful of my safety net. you know who you are. :o) i'll probably elaborate when i'm done with this pile of work. off to buy soap!
xoxo
kendra
The future is an apathetic void of no interest to anyone. The past is full of life, eager to irritate us, provoke and insult us, tempt us to destroy or repaint it. The only reason people want to be masters of the future is to change the past. They are fighting for access to the laboratories where photographs are retouched and biographies and histories rewritten.
- Milan Kundera, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting
In the complete cultural and intellectual vacuum that is Gossip Girl, I found a gem while watching the latest episode (taped), last night. As ridiculous as this comparison/juxtaposition may be, I liken the show to Gayatri Spivak. AA and I commiserated on the incomprehensibility of Spivak's writings, but excitedly pointed out the "gems," the high points of the selections. Gems, because not only were they great points, but her oft-critiqued writing style felt like a mass of unintelligibility to us, through which we found some enlightening words.
Gossip Girl is quite the same, yet, the opposite. Same, because both rely on a lot of superficiality to relay (or not) a message. About the "subaltern subject-effect," Spivak writes,
A subject-effect can be briefly plotted as follows: that which seems to operate as a subject may be part of an immense discontinuous network ("text" in the general sense) of strands that may be termed politics, ideology economics, history, sexuality, language, and so on. (Each of these strands, if they are isolated, can also be seen as woven of many strands.) Different knottings and configurations of these strands, determined by heterogenous knotings and configurations of these strands, determined by heterogenous definitions which are themselves dependent upon myriad circumstances, produce the effect of an operating subject. Yet the continuist and homogenist deliberative consciousness symptomatically requires a continuous and homogeneous cause for this effect and thus posits a sovereign and determining subject. This latter is, then, the effect of an effect, and its positing a metalepsis, or the substitution of an effect for a cause.
Basically, circumstances were used and misconstrued as definitive causes for a phenomenon that may or may not have happened, but by dominant/hegemonic standards, this did transpire.
But back to my point, about Gossip Girl. I feel a lot like the new teacher in the show, Rachel Carr, except for the whole sleeping with a student part of that narrative. Serena is embarassed upon handing a paper for her English teacher, Ms. Carr, to grade, because it was preceded by a whole bunch of praises Carr had for Serena's boyfriend, Dan Humphrey, whose passion is in writing. So, Serena decides not to submit the paper yet. When she finally does, and Rachel gives her paper back, Serena admits to her that she feared (knew) that her writing paled in comparison to her boyfriend's. Rachel responds that Dan is talented, but grew up in an environment of encouragement wherein he was motivated to keep writing. Such a brief, yet eye-opening (hopefully to viewers) remark about how socialization has a huge impact on intelligence.
That said, I taught my first class of the semester two days ago at Columbia, except this new class is Level C, as opposed to my previous semesters of Level A English. I was especially pleased when I discovered that three of my Level A students wound up in my new class, meaning they bypassed Level B and accelerated to C. One of them was a "for sure" student, that I knew would reach great heights. With good instruction, I really got to observe and witness how positive reinforcement, along with instruction, can radically motivate a student to move mountains. It was such an inspiration to meet my other students, as well. I'd contemplated on why it was - is - that I teach. Usually, the night before, I partially dread it (mostly because of the early morning part and the commute) but almost always dismiss class feeling inspired.
Does this make me selfish? Mind you, I actually don't believe that there are selfless acts. And there's nothing wrong with that. But I was always unsure of my motives for teaching, because there are certain "perks," as a volunteer teacher. Coordinators thank you ad nauseum, and you get that "feel good" warmth when students exhibit interest or curiosity. But that line from Gossip Girl summated it so, so well.
In other news, this semester has been a haphazard one. My work has no structure. I work for the department, but hold no office hours, and am essentially "on call" to some professors. My master's degree culminates with the comprehensive exam, which I have to pick up on Monday. I have other ideas, some things to be set in motion, but am honestly too apprehensive about writing about them, primarily because I'm flaky.
You know how many emails I've sent and declarations and a meeting I've had regarding my future? And I withdraw. So like me, to attach myself to an idea, drink it in its entirety, and then retract. But when I went home this past weekend, so much happened. My hands couldn't stay steady because of reasons that are three-fold. My grandmother fell and the ambulance came. I quickly went upstairs, remained calm and spent the whole time walking through the language barrier with the EMTs and soliciting responses from my grandmother, who, hasn't been capabale of speech since May of 2007, and speaking to her in Cantonese. And I watched myself in third person doing this, because there are so many different scenarios where you have to dissociate yourself from, well, yourself, in order to get through something. Like how the protagonist's mother in Edwidge Danticat's novel, Breath, Eyes, Memory detaches when having sex because of a prior trauma. That (my grandmother) coupled with the change in tides at home, with respect to my parents. My mother spoke with me and to me as if she and I were finally on the same wavelength. I was no longer pleading or presenting a case for life after my MA. She and my father were enthusiastic about a prospect that I won't go into detail here. So maybe that's what I ultimately need to make a huge, huge commitment, familial encouragement. And the other reason was because I'd consumed too much green tea.
I feel like there are so many signs that aren't just resonating, but pushing me toward a direction. The lines outside Trader Joe's are so long, these days. "With the recession, more people are staying home and cooking, so they come here for the food. Which can be good, because people are generally healthier, but it can get really chaotic," was the explanation the cashier gave me after I waited on line for twenty minutes. Many other rocks - symbols of stability - for me have also been unraveling. Nothing has much structure anymore. Do we embrace this or run away?
