Je me souviens

Sometimes, when the noxious fumes of a pestilent week permeate my breathing space, saturating the air, blackening out the sun, and making me a little faint, music pulls me away from the danger like a hero's hand at my waist.

The beginning notes of a good song are the earliest breaths of clean air, the whiff of fresh pastries, the brief but exciting glimmer of infinite possibilities of infinitesimal variations, and alongside, a small reminder that the rays of happiness shone on my face not too long ago.

The hook (at its very best!) is contentment in its atomic form, an appreciation of the beauty in simplicity that is best enjoyed with closed eyes: a warm blanket and a cuppa on the coldest day, the first sip of work-week coffee, the safety-net of those who care, the evening glow of the sun from the passenger seat as a lover drives, sitting on the window-sill in the cover of dusk watching the tiny flickering lights of traffic down below, all the different shades of off-white, the sweet taste of water post-workout, and most importantly, a respite from the objects and events that make me forget all these things.

The best songs inspire me to think of what can, instead of what cannot, as their melodies stir the inner dragon that slumbers in the deep recesses of my mind's corners, flints to its steel scales as an amaranthine fire, once dormant, peeks out through the metal, with each repeat making it successively difficult to quell.

A post-mortem.

 Obliging a request from a friend, we watched 500 Days of Summer the other night. Every time I watch that movie I'm always bequeathed with a different interpretation to Summer and Tom's relationship, a reflection of my current stage of life, a reflection of the new experiences I've accrued since the last viewing. This time I feel like I've reached a deeper level on understanding of Summer's actions, why she does what she does, says what she says, when before she was the conundrum, and I identified more with Tom's plate-breaking trance.

Summer: I just... I just woke up one day and I knew.
Tom: Knew what?
Summer: ...What I was never sure of with you.

 I've started to think of him a lot more often now. But I know I don't miss the relationship, rather the intimacy of it. It was really nice having him as a pillar of strength and consistency where other anchors of my life -  work, school, job interviews, moving apartments, friends, - threaten to pull me down to the seabed and drown me, constantly elbowing each other for my attention. The problem was when he wanted a significant slice of my attention, and in trying to reshuffle my priorities I sadly realized I couldn't give him what he deserved.

 So the last day of my work ended up marking the last day of our relationship. We parted amicably, both agreeing that we tried our darndest to make it work, but there were 'irreconcilable differences'. I've always felt he loved me more than I loved him, and so I was unsure of the authenticity of his accord, but when he left I felt pardoned, the remaining slices of pie became fatter and everything was more manageable again.

 I thus began the road of self-rediscovery, filling my days with activities (funnily enough not with people this time - I've become quite the content hermit), redesigning my lifestyle - buying a road bike, taking up jazz dance, looking up design opportunities, feeding the homeless, growing an herb garden, making my own meals, redefining my diet - wild instead of white rice, almond and flax instead of cow's milk. It used to be an alternating cycle of getting tired of dealing/arguing with him, followed by putting on my rose-tinted glasses during alone-time and letting my heart soften again as I start to miss him the intimacy. Rinse, wash, repeat. I checked out his facebook profile out of curiousity last night, and the moment I saw his picture familiar memories came rushing back into my head like a giant wave and I notice my vista had pink edges to it (damnit). I remember Boston, scratching his car, his anger manegement issues, his viewpoint on friends, his viewpoint on acts of kindness, his pessimism, self-deprecation, traditional Asian-mindset, and inability to come up with any alternative to the brute-force method (and getting angry) when it comes to solving problems. And of course, the fact that EVERYTHING is a problem.

 Then I discover the fortress I've imprisoned my emotions in has been quietly crumbling at its turrets, and that I've been holding my breath these past few weeks, putting on a brave front, but then getting into fights with people and subsequently purging them from my life. Some deserved it, but of course there are always grey areas. I've also developed a severe intolerance to vision-without-execution, individuals that tell you they are 'going to make it happen' but do not lift a finger (or spare a thought) to do anything to 'make it happen', except for constantly reminding you that they are, indeed, 'going to make it happen'. I know the type because I am prone to that as well, except that I keep myself in check. If I really want it, I will do whatever it takes, whatever means necessary to carry out my vision. And I will keep quiet about it until I have something significant to share. Call me bitter/pessimistic/pitiful, but at this moment it bugs the shit out of me and I've definitely been lashing out as I see fit.

 Ironically, I'm less in control of my temper and more pessimistic - and it's unsettling me.

What happens after 'happily ever after'.

The first time I broke up with him I felt a sensation of relief. My shoulders felt lighter, my inner voice told me it was for the best. In retrospect that was a pivotal point where how much courage I could summon determined the next ten or so months of my life. 

I watched Upstream Color the other day, by the same director who made Primer, his first hit at the Sundance Film Festival. I really liked the dreamy quality of the film that entranced me for a little under two hours - I've forgotten how movies can take you away from your own life, and transport you to somewhere else, anywhere else, destination TBD. Almost like a mental vacation. 

Letter to the Editor: Advice for the young women of Princeton: the daughters I never had

Forget about having it all, or not having it all, leaning in or leaning out — here’s what you really need to know that nobody is telling you.

For years (decades, really) we have been bombarded with advice on professional advancement, breaking through that glass ceiling and achieving work-life balance. We can figure that out — we are Princeton women. If anyone can overcome professional obstacles, it will be our brilliant, resourceful, very well-educated selves.

A few weeks ago, I attended the Women and Leadership conference on campus that featured a conversation between President Shirley Tilghman and Wilson School professor Anne-Marie Slaughter, and I participated in the breakout session afterward that allowed current undergraduate women to speak informally with older and presumably wiser alumnae. I attended the event with my best friend since our freshman year in 1973. You girls glazed over at preliminary comments about our professional accomplishments and the importance of networking. Then the conversation shifted in tone and interest level when one of you asked how have Kendall and I sustained a friendship for 40 years. You asked if we were ever jealous of each other. You asked about the value of our friendship, about our husbands and children. Clearly, you don’t want any more career advice. At your core, you know that there are other things that you need that nobody is addressing. A lifelong friend is one of them. Finding the right man to marry is another.

When I was an undergraduate in the mid-seventies, the 200 pioneer women in my class would talk about navigating the virile plains of Princeton as a precursor to professional success. Never being one to shy away from expressing an unpopular opinion, I said that I wanted to get married and have children. It was seen as heresy.

For most of you, the cornerstone of your future and happiness will be inextricably linked to the man you marry, and you will never again have this concentration of men who are worthy of you.

Here’s what nobody is telling you: Find a husband on campus before you graduate. Yes, I went there.

I am the mother of two sons who are both Princetonians. My older son had the good judgment and great fortune to marry a classmate of his, but he could have married anyone. My younger son is a junior and the universe of women he can marry is limitless. Men regularly marry women who are younger, less intelligent, less educated. It’s amazing how forgiving men can be about a woman’s lack of erudition, if she is exceptionally pretty. Smart women can’t (shouldn’t) marry men who aren’t at least their intellectual equal. As Princeton women, we have almost priced ourselves out of the market. Simply put, there is a very limited population of men who are as smart or smarter than we are. And I say again — you will never again be surrounded by this concentration of men who are worthy of you.

Of course, once you graduate, you will meet men who are your intellectual equal — just not that many of them. And, you could choose to marry a man who has other things to recommend him besides a soaring intellect. But ultimately, it will frustrate you to be with a man who just isn’t as smart as you.

Here is another truth that you know, but nobody is talking about. As freshman women, you have four classes of men to choose from. Every year, you lose the men in the senior class, and you become older than the class of incoming freshman men. So, by the time you are a senior, you basically have only the men in your own class to choose from, and frankly, they now have four classes of women to choose from. Maybe you should have been a little nicer to these guys when you were freshmen?

If I had daughters, this is what I would be telling them.

Susan A. Patton ’77
President of the Class of 1977New York, N.Y.

http://dailyprincetonian.com/2013/03/29/32755/

Lies

Sometimes I'm afraid that if I tell enough lies, I'll start to believe them, and lose track of who I am in the process. It would be easy to blame my environment for my actions, like somehow I was forced to adapt, and to survive I had to conform, emulate, and lie my way into social acceptance, but somehow it just doesn't feel quite right to use that excuse to completely absolve myself of all responsibility. I will say however, in certain circles here, there is such a thing as too much honesty and it tends to turn one into a pariah.

These lies range from I'll have these completed in 2 weeks - when it only takes a few days, to that dress looks amazing - when it doesn't. I imagine a secret counter working up to a magical number, unknown yet finite like the final click of a camera's shutter, the lifespan of my laptop, or the day my life (our lives) will end. Maybe then I'll start thinking that things do need a couple of weeks to complete, maybe that dress does indeed look amazing, maybe if I buy that bag I will be happy, maybe a promotion is what I want, maybe more money is what I want, maybe more friends is what I want, maybe a marriage is what I want. Maybe all these things will make me happier. Maybe I already know it won't. I haven't quite blurred the definitions between 'want' and 'need' yet, but I'm scared that one day I will. After all, successful lying comes with envisioning the lie, and then convincing reality to revise itself to fit the lie. A believable lie comes with believing it yourself; it's much easier to sell a product if you're sold on it too. 

Lately, I've taken to reconnecting with old friends, friends who I met at previous stages of my life, and listening to old songs - sometimes they freshen up faded memories. Maybe I'll remember something I've forgotten, but the problem is I don't know how much I've forgotten. Isn't it hard to know what you've forgotten if you don't remember what you've forgotten? How can I know what of my identity to preserve if I don't know the true extent of its erosion?

Things I've managed to come up with (relearn?) so far: I like listening to music. Like real music, the 95% of songs that shy away from the main stream of Top 40. I want to be an artist, always wanted to be. So I don't actually need more money or to move up the corporate ladder. I don't want a reason to work longer hours. I also don't need to be in a relationship, or get married for that matter. These should be wants. Every person in Toronto seems to feel the need to have a significant other, and those who don't have one are convinced that they need one, and spend most of their waking moments in pursuit of this holy grail with such astounding fervor. Maybe I've got it all wrong, maybe my sample size is biased, maybe I have much to learn, but it still feels right to think this way. 

I know I have more to say but my writer's winter has been long and dreary, much like the one blanketing Toronto. 

On an unrelated note, research shows that, contrary to what we think when we think of the Mark Zuckerbergs and the Nick D'Aloisios of the world, innovation is not quite 'the provenance of the young'. 

Untitled... so far.

I'm fighting sleep to say this, but I feel like I'm slowly getting back on the right track. That's all I've managed to come up with for now; creativity and fatigue are two warring factions of my body. You'll hear more soon.

Confessions: Part 2

I think this is probably the second bad omen to happen. I'm furious right now, as the most infuriating thing that can happen is for a post that you write, that makes you so immersed in pouring your thoughts into words, to be deleted by damn facebook that decided to kill your browser at the most inopportune time. Perhaps this wasn't meant to happen, maybe this wasn't meant to be immortalized in this space, or this possibly wasn't meant to be exhumed in the first place.

I had put down thoughts of this week, a tumultuous week that was inadvertently spent spilling my own secrets to him, because I had felt pressured to do so, my guilt festering like an ugly pustule fed his comments on how he felt he didn't deserve me, or his praises that I seemed so angelic. So this week I spent crying buckets, him getting angry and yelling at me, calling me an ostrich for blotting them out of my mind and treating these matters so wantonly and then questioning my judgement behind the execution of my decisions. But I had so desperately wanted to dispel his notion that I was perfect. A friend had comforted me later by saying that it's all normal, that I was a normal girl, and such a good girl on the whole, and that it was ridiculous of him to have gotten angry at him over such banalities. At that point, I just wished these words had come from him instead.

Wednesday dusk was spent at the city hall rooftop garden, the waning light dulling the green in the grassy patches surrounding the wooden bench we sat on, the two bottles of water he had thoughtfully brought for us demarcating our sides. I could barely look at him as I spoke. We moved to his car later on as the weather got chillier, and I cried for a few good hours. He finally calmed down and held my hand, telling me he did indeed accept me completely for who I was, and that our relationship was never in jeopardy. I just tried my best to stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. 

Over the next few days, I grappled with my decision to have revealed so much to him, waking up feeling pangs of shame and uneasiness to the point I entertained the idea of not seeing him the coming weekend. Fortunately he reminded me, through our marathon phone sessions, that his past was grittier (according to him), and retold his stories in explicit detail just for my benefit. I felt immensely better after that. He was essentially trying to tell me that he's human too, imperfect, just like me. 

All this seems so far away now, yet it happened just only a couple of days ago. I do feel closer to him now, and he tells me the same. I've fallen for him hard enough to feel my heart ache, and it scares me a bit. Today we talked about the finality of marriage, about how I was 'it for him', that he worries that I might not feel like I've been around enough to value what we currently have, but that he has no solution to that matter. He asked me what it felt like to love someone. I said that you know you love someone when you can actually feel your heart ache at the thought of losing them. Why do you ask, I said. He said he had never loved anyone before, but felt like we were moving in that direction. 

Once, his friend had told us a story about the first date with his fiancée-to-be. They were in his car, and he was going to run a red light, but had decided against it since it was a first date and all. But she asked him to run it anyway. And that's when he knew, through that one detail, that she was the one for him. 

We took a trip together two weeks ago. He drove us to Montreal and on our way back, I was incredibly sick and ended up falling asleep in the car, despite protesting at his orders for me to rest and desperately trying to stay awake to keep him company. I woke up one and a half hours later to him still driving, the sun shining on me, but also to the car sun shade tilted sideways to my side window because he tried to block the sun from my face. He had also told me he had wanted to buy sun shades for my side window before our trip but couldn't find any. That's when I knew, at that one point in time, that he was the one for me.