That would be gong hay fat choy up there, or, as the Mando people say it, gong xi fa cai.
Happy Lunar New Year! I know this post is a little bit late, seeing as the majority of initial celebration happens of the eve of this day, and it's rather late now anyway. But did you know that, traditionally, the Lunar New Year is celebrated for fifteen straight days? (In China, anyway. I can't testify for other countries.) It's my favorite holiday, a definite time for family, red envelopes, sugary snacks, tea, firecrackers, and incense. And you know what? This is the first year of my life where I will get none of that, being alone in wholly non-Lunar-New-Year-celebrating community. Not only am I not with my family, but I can't even enjoy festivals on my own.
It is pretty disappointing, to say the least.
However, I will try to remember our (our: my family, not our: larger Chinese community since ancient times) traditions, and I will remember the story I read in Fruits Basket about how the rat hitched a ride on the ox's back while traveling to the zodiac banquet.
Yeah Year of the Ox!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
It's not over 'til it's over
I have never had a gaming console in my home until my older cousin unloaded his PlayStation 1 at our house around when PlayStation 3 first came out, so I never really got into gaming. What I want to say is (and nothing else), I don't have the habit or the muscle memory of button combinations--and only until recently did not associate A with go and B with cancel.
What I really mean to say is--my confidence in my gaming skills is not nonexistent, but just barely so. So I like to get ahead of the game and inform others before I even touch the controller that I suck, I don't know what I'm doing, please don't be too surprised when I die within a minute/the first level.
Nine years ago (has it been that long?) my family went to Canada for the holidays, where we stayed with an old friend of my father. He had a son, one year older than me, who was of course incredibly well-traveled in the world of console gaming. Us kids were instructed to play together, which basically meant that he played while my brother and I watched. Eventually he managed to convince me to play a solo game of Super Smash Bros. Melee. It didn't look too hard. So I managed to Princess Peach my way (on what I'm sure was the easiest difficulty) to Final Destination, and then I completely wussed out. There was no way I was going to try and lose, and I knew I was going to lose, so I wasn't going to try. I walked off the stage, determined to make this humiliating experience end as soon as possible and move on with my non-gaming life.
"What are you doing?" he asked me incredulously as he watched Princess Peach commit suicide a second time.
"I'm walking off the stage," I said, embarrassed. "This is too hard. I'm going to lose anyway."
"Why would you do that? You're not even going to try?"
"I'm going to lose! If you want, you can fight him," I said, holding out the controller.
"No, that's stupid. You're playing. Just... just fight him! He's not that hard."
"Fine," I say angrily. "But I'm going to lose. I mean, I already lost two lives anyway."
I won.
I had nothing, absolutely nothing, to say as whatever winning animation was supposed to play played on the screen. I didn't know whether to be embarrassed that I revealed myself to be so low on confidence, embarrassed because I was wrong and he was right, happy because I won, or angry that I could have had a more complete victory had I not dropped two lives down the drain.
It would be cliché of me to say that the lesson I learned was to not give up prematurely (or ever), to try, to believe in yourself, but that is exactly what I learn that day, when Super Smash Bros. slapped me in the face and proved me wrong. There is no after story to this. I didn't become some sort of gaming master or anything. I don't even remember who the boss was (I just looked it up on Wikipedia--Master Hand?).
It's just that, sometimes, when I think I will fail, when I am so sure I am going to lose, I remember this scene in my head, and know that sometimes I can win anyway, even if I have already lost two lives. And then, sometimes, I win.
What I really mean to say is--my confidence in my gaming skills is not nonexistent, but just barely so. So I like to get ahead of the game and inform others before I even touch the controller that I suck, I don't know what I'm doing, please don't be too surprised when I die within a minute/the first level.
Nine years ago (has it been that long?) my family went to Canada for the holidays, where we stayed with an old friend of my father. He had a son, one year older than me, who was of course incredibly well-traveled in the world of console gaming. Us kids were instructed to play together, which basically meant that he played while my brother and I watched. Eventually he managed to convince me to play a solo game of Super Smash Bros. Melee. It didn't look too hard. So I managed to Princess Peach my way (on what I'm sure was the easiest difficulty) to Final Destination, and then I completely wussed out. There was no way I was going to try and lose, and I knew I was going to lose, so I wasn't going to try. I walked off the stage, determined to make this humiliating experience end as soon as possible and move on with my non-gaming life.
"What are you doing?" he asked me incredulously as he watched Princess Peach commit suicide a second time.
"I'm walking off the stage," I said, embarrassed. "This is too hard. I'm going to lose anyway."
"Why would you do that? You're not even going to try?"
"I'm going to lose! If you want, you can fight him," I said, holding out the controller.
"No, that's stupid. You're playing. Just... just fight him! He's not that hard."
"Fine," I say angrily. "But I'm going to lose. I mean, I already lost two lives anyway."
I won.
I had nothing, absolutely nothing, to say as whatever winning animation was supposed to play played on the screen. I didn't know whether to be embarrassed that I revealed myself to be so low on confidence, embarrassed because I was wrong and he was right, happy because I won, or angry that I could have had a more complete victory had I not dropped two lives down the drain.
It would be cliché of me to say that the lesson I learned was to not give up prematurely (or ever), to try, to believe in yourself, but that is exactly what I learn that day, when Super Smash Bros. slapped me in the face and proved me wrong. There is no after story to this. I didn't become some sort of gaming master or anything. I don't even remember who the boss was (I just looked it up on Wikipedia--Master Hand?).
It's just that, sometimes, when I think I will fail, when I am so sure I am going to lose, I remember this scene in my head, and know that sometimes I can win anyway, even if I have already lost two lives. And then, sometimes, I win.
Monday, December 8, 2008
HOLY SHIT
CHRISTIAN BALE WAS THE VOICE OF HOWL IN THE ENGLISH DUB OF HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE?
I DID NOT KNOW THIS.
I DID NOT KNOW THIS.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
I'll see you in December
Where should I begin?
For eight years, I've been playing in an ensemble of guzhengs. Every Saturday, my mom would drive me out, fifty miles away, to practice. There are six of us. All the other girls are far younger than me, so, when I left for college, I was the first.
My instrument and my group has been an incredibly integral part of my life. I really cannot fully put into words all the work, the literal sweat and tears, the love, the bonds, the time, the money I put into this. For eight years, we built something up. We (or at least I) passionately spilled everything out on those strings, we cemented our relationships. I'm sure we had hundreds of performances, some much, much better than others. Oh my gosh, it's overwhelming, how much we all put into this group.
So, being the first one to leave, with the others having a couple years before they are ever required to think about moving out, I figured, yes, I will be a bit left behind, and maybe they will go on, grow up without me, but I am always one of them, and I will always be able to come back to tumbling group melodies and harmonies. At least for a few more years.
Oh, I don't know what happened! As soon as I leave, it seems, from what I hear, that everything has fallen apart. Members can no longer make practice, our teacher is absent more (maybe she gave up on us, one said), and some of them say that they no longer like the guzheng, that perhaps they are clinging on to thin air every time they practice.
This breaks my heart. Here I am, trying so, so hard just to find a guzheng so I can practice, looking up Youtube videos of our songs, practically counting down the days until I can see them again, until I can go to practice again, and here I am learning, in a span of three months, that there may not be an ensemble waiting for me when I return home.
How does this happen? What am I supposed to do? I can't force them to love something, but, at the same time, there is no way I'd enjoy playing with a group who aren't even into their music. But I love them; I can never leave them. Is this a case of denial, of not appropriately moving on? At this point I'm not even thinking about having to move on. I love the guzheng, but I'm not sure how I can still continue when I'm playing alone. After all we put into it, does it really vanish so fast.
This is breaking my heart. I'm scared to go home now, I'm scared that when I put on my picks, half of my girls won't even be present, and the other half will be just waiting to go home.
For eight years, I've been playing in an ensemble of guzhengs. Every Saturday, my mom would drive me out, fifty miles away, to practice. There are six of us. All the other girls are far younger than me, so, when I left for college, I was the first.
My instrument and my group has been an incredibly integral part of my life. I really cannot fully put into words all the work, the literal sweat and tears, the love, the bonds, the time, the money I put into this. For eight years, we built something up. We (or at least I) passionately spilled everything out on those strings, we cemented our relationships. I'm sure we had hundreds of performances, some much, much better than others. Oh my gosh, it's overwhelming, how much we all put into this group.
So, being the first one to leave, with the others having a couple years before they are ever required to think about moving out, I figured, yes, I will be a bit left behind, and maybe they will go on, grow up without me, but I am always one of them, and I will always be able to come back to tumbling group melodies and harmonies. At least for a few more years.
Oh, I don't know what happened! As soon as I leave, it seems, from what I hear, that everything has fallen apart. Members can no longer make practice, our teacher is absent more (maybe she gave up on us, one said), and some of them say that they no longer like the guzheng, that perhaps they are clinging on to thin air every time they practice.
This breaks my heart. Here I am, trying so, so hard just to find a guzheng so I can practice, looking up Youtube videos of our songs, practically counting down the days until I can see them again, until I can go to practice again, and here I am learning, in a span of three months, that there may not be an ensemble waiting for me when I return home.
How does this happen? What am I supposed to do? I can't force them to love something, but, at the same time, there is no way I'd enjoy playing with a group who aren't even into their music. But I love them; I can never leave them. Is this a case of denial, of not appropriately moving on? At this point I'm not even thinking about having to move on. I love the guzheng, but I'm not sure how I can still continue when I'm playing alone. After all we put into it, does it really vanish so fast.
This is breaking my heart. I'm scared to go home now, I'm scared that when I put on my picks, half of my girls won't even be present, and the other half will be just waiting to go home.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
B.F. - Falling
And here I was again, on top of the world.
My favorite place to be.
The air up here is so cold, and the wind whips furiously against my back, threatening to push me over and into the sky. I shiver. The cold concrete and metal of the scraper's edge pushes into my thighs while the rest of my legs dangle over the edge. The juxtaposition of my small feet so large against the background of the city tops, the city floors, give me a chilling feeling of nonexistence.
Does anyone ever look up?
It seems a hopeless cause. The sky is dimming, and I can barely see a soul around. Would I be able to, even if there was one? I am so high up. Any person walking around would be no more than a speck to my eyes.
Another gust blows through me, piercing my bones despite the protective layers of outerwear I have on. My numbing hands grip the edge harder. I imagine my knuckles are white underneath the gloves. I should probably move away; doubtless my little body would be strewn about the pipes, ladders, and rafters most horrifically, without ever touching the ground, should I lose my hold.
Somehow, though, I want to let go.
The tip over seems so slight and easy. I feel insignificant enough to be carried by the wind. I've always wanted to fly, to soar over tops of buildings, to jump off cliffs only to come to a breathtakingly sudden halt just before being engulfed by the sea.
My fingers flex while I watch the empty bottom, metal webs waiting to catch me.
A slight shift of weight, that's all it takes.
After all, falling is the same as flying, only maybe with less control.
I don't do it. Shivering, I walk through empty, gray streets, where every step presses back firmly against my feet. I want to cry. I always knew it was impossible, of course. Flying is for hollow bones and feathered wings, for the thin film of those petals beating against strong backs. I have not slept for days, and my weary mind must have had delusions of grandeur.
The chill blows straight through me, and I feel my legs giving way.
"Well," I tell myself, breathing out a little cloud of moist air. I guess it's okay now.
It has to be okay, because now I fall.
A short distance of five feet while my knees crumple and where my feet never leave the ground.
My favorite place to be.
The air up here is so cold, and the wind whips furiously against my back, threatening to push me over and into the sky. I shiver. The cold concrete and metal of the scraper's edge pushes into my thighs while the rest of my legs dangle over the edge. The juxtaposition of my small feet so large against the background of the city tops, the city floors, give me a chilling feeling of nonexistence.
Does anyone ever look up?
It seems a hopeless cause. The sky is dimming, and I can barely see a soul around. Would I be able to, even if there was one? I am so high up. Any person walking around would be no more than a speck to my eyes.
Another gust blows through me, piercing my bones despite the protective layers of outerwear I have on. My numbing hands grip the edge harder. I imagine my knuckles are white underneath the gloves. I should probably move away; doubtless my little body would be strewn about the pipes, ladders, and rafters most horrifically, without ever touching the ground, should I lose my hold.
Somehow, though, I want to let go.
The tip over seems so slight and easy. I feel insignificant enough to be carried by the wind. I've always wanted to fly, to soar over tops of buildings, to jump off cliffs only to come to a breathtakingly sudden halt just before being engulfed by the sea.
My fingers flex while I watch the empty bottom, metal webs waiting to catch me.
A slight shift of weight, that's all it takes.
After all, falling is the same as flying, only maybe with less control.
***
I don't do it. Shivering, I walk through empty, gray streets, where every step presses back firmly against my feet. I want to cry. I always knew it was impossible, of course. Flying is for hollow bones and feathered wings, for the thin film of those petals beating against strong backs. I have not slept for days, and my weary mind must have had delusions of grandeur.
The chill blows straight through me, and I feel my legs giving way.
"Well," I tell myself, breathing out a little cloud of moist air. I guess it's okay now.
It has to be okay, because now I fall.
A short distance of five feet while my knees crumple and where my feet never leave the ground.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
I'm very upset
California Ballot Measure results. November 4, 2008 election, of course.
What. The fuck, California. I thought we were different, tolerant enough. If the State Constitution is anything like the Constitution of the United States of America, then this sort of right-denying, religiously-based amendment doesn't belong in there.
I thought I wasn't going to post anymore about the election, because I'm far from a politico, and I'm not confident enough in my law-knowledge to write about this and not worry if somehow I'm misunderstanding certain histories or nuances. But this one was a no-brainer for me. Early on, I thought it'd never pass, then I was surprised to find out that it was so hotly contested, and now I'm floored that it passed. I guess I need to get to know you better, California.
This is ridiculous.
At least that stupid Prop 10 didn't pass. That's my bit of consolation. And Prop 4. I'm glad that didn't pass either.
What. The fuck, California. I thought we were different, tolerant enough. If the State Constitution is anything like the Constitution of the United States of America, then this sort of right-denying, religiously-based amendment doesn't belong in there.
I thought I wasn't going to post anymore about the election, because I'm far from a politico, and I'm not confident enough in my law-knowledge to write about this and not worry if somehow I'm misunderstanding certain histories or nuances. But this one was a no-brainer for me. Early on, I thought it'd never pass, then I was surprised to find out that it was so hotly contested, and now I'm floored that it passed. I guess I need to get to know you better, California.
This is ridiculous.
At least that stupid Prop 10 didn't pass. That's my bit of consolation. And Prop 4. I'm glad that didn't pass either.
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