A Chinese-American Thanksgiving

I expected yesterday to be like any other usual Chinese thanksgiving, with the obscure chinese foods and random slices of turkey shoved to the side. The schedule would be simple; get cast off to eat with the little fourth graders then babysit them for the rest of the night, with activities ranging from playing with a dollhouse to watching nickelodeon. But, to my surprise, yesterday was... incredibly fun. We went to a party with a different group this time; dropped off my brother at a friend's house then left.

Firstly, the food. You won't believe it, but we had turkey. And mashed potatoes, and sweet potatoes, and stuffing, and macaroni, and cranberries. Cranberries! We didn't really know what to do with that stuff, so we just kindof took some and ate it with the stuffing. Yes, this is going to be the tradition that gets passed down our chinese heritage line; putting cranberries on the stuffing. (Is that what you're supposed to do? I might never know). And then, when I walked in the other room, a familiar smell wafted in my nose, with the clanging spoons and loud chinese laughter, and the terrible smell of hot spices and tofu and lamb mixed together. This was their thanksgiving dinner. And I smiled, because here I was, right in the middle of a crossroad between two different cultures. You know, one of my secret dreams has been to have a true American thanksgiving, with the family relatives and the close bonding time and the yummy turkey in the center. But yesterday, I realized that I don't really want that at all. It's just not... chinese. It's stiff. It's weird.

But it was really nice to see that the adults took the extra leap to make sure there was a taste of American food, you know? I know they hate that stuff, but they did it. Of course, in the center of the table was a huge display of asian jellies and pocky sticks, but I'm not going to complain. I have the best of both worlds, dude.

And then, we gathered in a room and watched Star Trek, which was really fantastic by the way. Then we went outside and played some touch football. Ohmygoodness, it was such a great night. Hey, don't Americans play football on thanksgiving too?

A Million Different Things

Okay obviously, I have not actually re-organized myself since the last post. Everything's just been in a clutter lately and absolutely chaotic, but I blame that on myself because I've taken to procrastinating even more than usual. I think this is partly because I've about halfway given up by now; I really can't do well. Oh, my room shows it too; this is the messiest it's been all year, with underwear hanging on the doorknobs and a billion pages of loose leaf scratch paper scrawled with my physics work. The stuffed animals that I've kicked off my bed and the SAT workbooks on the ground add to the effect too.

And I saved about six drafts in the past week but I didn't publish any of the posts, mainly because they were too whiny or rambly or private or whatever. Or simply because I only got halfway through the post before succumbing to the voice in the back of my head telling me to go do work. Which is ridiculous, because I always end up not doing work. Anyways. There was a lot to say.Starting from Veteran's Day from a few weeks back to yesterday's gingerbread extravaganza. But filling in the gaps in between those two events would take twenty pages of rambling so now I'm stuck with a this-is-what-you-get-for-not-updating-daily feeling. I guess I'll number things. Add a bit more order to my life.

1. Physcis egg drop yesterday- this was incredible. We had to make a structure solely out of toothpicks and glue, put an egg in it, then drop it from 5 meters high onto concrete and hope it doesn't crack. Well, only two structures in the class worked; everyone else's eggs cracked. Take a look at my structure's corpse:

I've learned from this that no matter how hard I try, I still can't get an A on a physics test. Which is really disheartening, let me tell you. But still, this class is one of the best classes I've taken, and I'm probably learning more from it than I did from six of some of my other classes combined. Plus I met some super cool (and kooky) dudes; here's a joke I heard from one of them: What do you call a nosy pepper?

JALAPEÑO BUSINESS (say it aloud with a spanish accent, come on now).

2) Gingerbread house- So yesterday, we had a sunday school party at Jason's house; it was so. much. fun. I don't know why we never had more sunday school get-togethers, because these people are amazing. Plus, I've known them since second grade; we've always been in the same sunday school, always sat in the same room every sunday. So why don't we know each other that well? But anyways, It was loads of fun, and I'm so happy we did it. The gingerbread tasted terrible and the house collapsed after five seconds, but we had fun playing with the gingerbread men and wasting those gross gumdrops and dancing to michael jackson and GEEGEEGEEGEE baby baby.
before:

after:
3) Veteran's Day- So as I was sitting there in the Veteran's Day assembly, I just realized how serious this whole war thing is. Except I probably didn't realize it at all, because that probably takes some real eye-witnessing and heart-hardening. But really, just that morning, I was sitting in my bus and I overheard some of the really loud and obnoxious sophomore guys talking, and they were just fawning over how cool it'd be to be in a war. They talked about having these huge whatever-you-call-them guns and just shooting off a few heads like bambambam, and how they'd laugh when a bullet would shoot five in a row, like a kabob. And I was grimacing, and I really wanted to ask them if they really knew what it was all about. I wanted to ask, "have you ever seen a dead person before? How about your dead best friend?" and see if they still thought it was so funny. Because the truth of the matter is, our soldiers are really out there, fighting for their lives, only a second away from being dead. And even if your dad isn't out there somebody's dad is, and before you know it his family will be fatherless and the wife a widow. God, how awful would it be to lose someone to war. I wish I could even begin to understand, but at the same time, I'm so very thankful that I don't.

4. Spanish class- So in spanish class, we watched the first half of this movie called The Otro Lado. It's super depressing I admit, but I liked it. It was real. But there were so many in the class who were like, "This is so depressing. I hate this movie." But why? Is it because you can't face the truth? Because you don't realize that immigration problems and disappearing dads are an actual problem in other countries? Because you just want to stick with your comfortable life, where everything you want is in reach, so you don't have to struggle past the extent of rumors and boys? It's sad, really, how blissfully ignorant we are, and how everyone else is suffering. Rebecca told me some stats -- every person in the US put together makes up 95% of the wealth in the world. What? That's incredible. I'm hella thankful for it, but oh my goodness I do not deserve it.

5. And finally, I've just had a lot of thoughts just floating around lately.

Like how I hate how proud some people are for being naturally smart. They wave their A++s in my face and brag about how they didn't even study. But they might as well be bragging about their hair color or their eye shape because they didn't do anything to be smart. They were born with the intelligence, and that's awesome, but they have no right to brag about being popped out of their mothers' wombs. Please.

Anyways though, happy break guys.

Hopefully I'll get back to posting more, and stop watching so much of the office.

(btw, the women's appreciation episode is just about the funniest thing i've seen).

Later!

What's worse?

What's worse?
Knowing something's wrong, but doing it anyways,
or not having a clue how wrong it is, but doing it for the rest of your life?

Or how about knowing something's wrong and doing it because you think that makes you cool?
Yeah, that's funny.

Persecute me, please.

Alright. It's 1:06 a.m. and there's really no reason for me to be up so late. It' just been easier to sleep later than I usually do. Of course it all comes back to me in the morning, when I'm kicking myself for sleeping so late and struggling with all my might to get out of bed. It doesn't work until fifteen minutes before the bus comes, and I'm rushing to brush my teeth and put on clothes and eat the wonderful breakfast my mom cooked up. Why am I up again? Gosh.
Well, it was probably a mixture of NaNoWriMo writing and The Office watching. Put those two together and I could be up all night (did you know I got up to 10,000 words and watched two episodes today? Talk about productivity!) Anyways, I wanted to talk about church.

Today is National Pray-for-the-persecuted-churches Day, or something along those lines.
You know what's really, really, really sad? It's that those people who are being persecuted, those faithful and enduring spirits (God bless their souls) have more faith and more desire to serve God than we do. And they've got so much more to worry about too; their parents are threatening to disown them (or kill them) for following Christianity; their governments persecute the churches and raid them; they have hardly any leadership because it's so dangerous; they don't have many Bibles. They're banished from homes and even from churches; they're sent to jail for their belief. And you know what they say, even after all that? They say with a grin spread wide across their face how much faith they've still got in God, and how they just know that God will deliver them from their pains and toils. Yeah, they say that.

And I'm just sitting there, leaning back in that comfortable red chair, complaining about how hard it is to balance school and God and how tempting it is to steal candy from little kids. What an easy life I live. And we take it for granted, don't we? We have this absolute freedom to worship whatever the heck we want and to lift praises and prayers to God in public. And what do we do with that freedom? Nothing. We hide in our little corners, and we don't confess to anyone our faith. We're afraid of getting persecuted by our friends. But so what? That's nothing compared to getting killed by some psycho government fanatics.

Seriously? I'm ashamed of myself.

Excerpt.

One bench. Eighty-eight keys. Ten fingers- long, graceful, slender fingers.

The air vibrates in waltz, in tango, in jazz; a classic. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Pause, jump, twirl, land. One, two, three, four.

An elderly man slowly pushes back his chair, hesitating for a split second as he remembers that he has never danced before. A song floats through the air, and he smiles at the memories the melody carried. His life was slipping away, what was there to lose? Shyly looking across the glass table-for-two, he offers a hand to his aged yet ever so beautiful wife. “Would you join me for a dance?” They step in easy rhythm. One, two, three, four.

An audience excitedly fills up the seats of the grand symphony house, marveling at the chandelier that glistened in the dim light and the seats made of velvet and silk. A playful melody dances through the air, and a smile lights every person’s face as the music lifts the heavy burdens off their shoulders. Enjoy the show, whispers the tune. Enjoy the show in a one, a two, a one, two, three, four.

One, two… Jewel Serenity Carwin opened her eyes, and the music stopped. The images vanished; she was alone. She sighed and leaned back against the piano as she stared at the large empty room before her. A wooden floor seemed to stretch for miles around her; there was nothing but a black grand piano in the middle of the circular wooden floor. The walls that took up one half of the room were freshly painted- white. Windows made of nearly invisible glass made up the other half; they stood so tall and elegant as beams of sun warmed the room.

Nobody called her by Jewel. It seemed too awkward, calling an acquaintance a jewel when in reality a graphite stone probably would have better sufficed for resemblance. They called her Serenity. Peace. She was quiet, with grey eyes that seemed to look right through someone’s soul. Nobody could ever recall hearing her voice, or even seeing her teeth for the matter. A strange aura followed her, yet people still felt at ease in her presence. She was everybody’s best friend for gray days, simply because she never talked and only listened. She was forgotten when the rain passed.

Serenity glanced in anticipation at the ancient clock placed on the piano. One more minute… she clutched the piano for support. Thirty seconds… she closed her eyes, and tightened her clammy fingers around the side. Four, three, two, one…
She gasped as her breath escaped her, and she tumbled off the seat, landing on the ground with a heavy thud. Dark clouds covered the sun, and she crawled across the stretch of wood, clawing at nothing as her insides seemed to tear themselves apart and vulnerably spill into the darkness. She cried out toward the deaf sky; she whimpered as the thunder mocked and sneered at her in disdain. One last pain-filled breath escaped her mouth, and then suddenly, the clouds parted to reveal one brilliant beam of sunlight.

Serenity paused for a second then stood up. She dusted herself off, and she walked the long distance out of the room. As if nothing had happened.

Except You're Not Kidding.

What bothers me the most is when people throw the rudest, most obnoxious, most insulting comments at me and expect me not to care. Like, "Jessie, everything you say is so obnoxious; please stop." or "Jessie, you're so stupid, why can't you get this?" I mean, I know they don't mean any harm (or do they?), but I also know that the only reason they say these kinds of things is because they know I won't blow up. They think that I'm this nice, awesome girl who'll take in their jokes and simply laugh along. They know that I'm such an easy person to target, because I won't make a scene. I'm perfect for guys to practice insulting. But you know what else I hate? I hate those obscene gestures and those terribly sexual movements, or those stupid, perverted, horny jokes that boys make. What's worse is that a lot of those guys think they can target those jokes at me, because they think I don't care.

And hey, sure I don't care. Sure it doesn't matter if you think I'm a skank (what? where'd that come from?) or that I'm stupid or obnoxious or annoying or that my laugh is too loud or that I spazz out too much or that I'm weird. But what bothers me even more is that everybody thinks they can erase what they say with a simple "just kidding."

What? You're just kidding? Okay, so of course that makes everything better. Of course I won't think twice again when I open my mouth. Of course you just said your little insulting comment for the sake of just kidding. Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, there's the friendly banter that can occur between two really good friends, but at the same time, there's a line. I'm very sensitive about my intelligence (or should I say stupidity?) and people know that. They don't cross that line. And when you call me stupid, please don't think you can just permanantly erase those words from my mind, as if you never said it. Because the truth is, after years of not caring about the insults being thrown at me, I've actually become very, very self-conscious.

And what's with the little sexual implications?
Why aren't girls respected anymore? (Actually, were we ever respected?) But honestly though, we're moving out of an age where girls were used as nothing more than sex toys, and we're stepping forward into an era where people have realized the capacity and potential behind the female sex. (I don't know why the boys in my school aren't there yet). And with this realization comes with respect. Where on earth is it? I'm sick and tired of these immature dudes scoping out chicks to bang and regarding any little phrase I say or action I make as dirty and obscene.

Please, grow up.

The Sizzlin' Western

Today, we drove two hours all the way to Rome, Georgia to test out the freaking piano for thirty minutes. Tomorrow, we have to drive down there again for the real competition. Ohgosh. But anyways, after testing out the piano, my mom took the piano teacher out to eat, and it was awfully and awkwardly interesting. So we were in the car on the way home, when my mom asks him if he wants to go out to eat. He replies with a hesitant "mmm" and a "Well... no, I think I'm fine" until my mom insists that she'll treat him and pay the bill. At that, my piano teacher sprung up a little in his seat and slurred out an excited "Reeeally?? I guess we can just stop by somewhere then!" And so we did.

We parked in front of a restaurant called "The Sizzlin' Western".
Now, my piano teacher, thinking that he knows everything, takes one glance at the sign and says, "Oooh, this is a steak place? Yes, steak is perfect for the night before a piano competition. Always eat steak before piano competition." Except I did not want steak. So I ordered pasta.

My mom decided she'd order chop, or something like that.
Mom: Could I get the chops, please?
Cashier: Sure, how do you want it made?
Mom: Um... well done?
Piano teacher: Ooooh.. well done? No, I don't think that's right.
Mom: Oh okay... medium then. Wait actually, could I get the T-bone?
Piano teacher: Ooooh... the T-bone? No no, you shouldn't get that. Too much fat.
Mom: Okay... I'll just go back to the chop then.
-pays money-
Piano teacher: Oooh wait a second, you shouldn't get the chop. It's like a hamburger pattie. It's different. No no no.
Mom: Okay... um.
Piano teacher: You should get the sirloin.
Mom: Okay, can I still change my order?
Cashier: -is fuming-

The owner of the shop was super nice and let us change the order without having to pay any extra money. It was only because we were asian, and she was asian, and we were able to have a grand old ball being asian together. Seriously, she stopped by our table every few minutes to talk in Chinese and check to see if everything was alright; it was nice though. I could tell she was glad to have people from the same culture finally come to the Sizzlin' Western. All the other waitresses were nice too, with the southern accents and lingo (they called silverware "flatware"!) Oh, and the piano teacher really wanted me to have that steak (he wouldn't let up on it), and he made me and my mother switch our meals. So I ate the stupid steak.

But I mean, it's nice that he knows so much about nutrition, I guess. Being healthy's always important. Haha, when we were walking out, he saw the owner's daughter, and he goes, "Hello there. You look very healthy!" And then we left.