Not Pursued

One unreasonably late night, around two months ago, I sent in my resume for a job to fold clothes.

There were definite pros and cons in this situation.

Pro: Location was in the States, right where J was finishing up school.

Con: I would be folding clothes . . . while avoiding their embarrassingly graphic ads.

I absolutely bombed the interview. I fumbled when asked why I was passionate about working at their store. I was not particularly convincing when I told them that I had always been in love with their, um, skinny jeans, wait no, jeggings line. Skype cut out right when I was attempting to demonstrate how I could look hot while refolding that sweater on the sales rack.

So it was no surprise that I got this email today:

"Thank you for your interest in {company}. It is always great to meet such an enthusiastic candidate who shares our excitement for the {company} brand. 

We are always faced with the difficult challenge of selecting from such a great group of applicants. At this time, we have decided to pursue other candidates. 

We wish you the best of luck in the future and appreciate your continued support of the brand."

I laughed and choked on my yoghurt when I read it. Well, now I could tell my future husband that it's been proven by industry standards that I should not be entrusted with folding clothes. I hope he's all about doing the laundry . . . while looking sexy.

Update: Thank you for your concerns, but no, I'm not really going into retail. It was more of a temporary solution to attempt to live closer to J.
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Official countdown begins:

5 hours till the drive to the airport

1 day till a date with J in Provo

2 days till partying in Mexico

3 days till stressing out and cramming for speech

4 days till presentation at G20 and announcement of Financial Inclusion competition winner

5 days till checking off the Pyramid of the Sun from my bucket list

Secret Ballot

Got my absentee ballot today by email. Didn't realize that there was a Constitution Party and a Justice Party. I also didn't realize what mixed feelings Jason Chaffetz inspired in me. I knew virtually nothing about his politics or his record as a current Congressman, but I did know that he sucked at leg wrestling and that he slept in a cot in DC. All the important stuff Stephen Colbert taught me.

                          

As I was writing this post, I glanced at the election date. I realized that I will be back in Utah by Nov 6th to vote in person! Four years ago, I ran and voted, wriggling my toes at the voting booth in my American flag socks. In a few weeks, I will wear my patriotism on my feet and do that wriggle again.

Except, this time, I'm still an undecided voter this late into the game. 

Maybe they are right. I do have commitment issues.

p.s. Weekend in Nanjing with old friends was fantastic. Partying it up for 4 hours at a karaoke was hard for the throat though. Now even my vocal chords are getting old.

Backpacks and Mopeds

Once in a while (which is probably a little too often from my boss's view), the only respectable thing a girl can do is to hand in a leave application, grab a backpack, and go on an adventure.

Yang Shuo, nestled in its mountainous layers and idyllic streams, was the place.

We first inserted ourselves as a surprise foreigners' musical tribute in a very traditional wedding.

Met friendly Miao tribesmen who were out for a casual stroll in all their splendor.

Explored the rocky slopes and the lush countrysides with steamed pork buns and busting plantains squirreled away in the hiding spaces of our rented mopeds.

Wandered into the occasional farmer's home as he husked outside, wiping his sweaty brow in the midday sun.

Jumped off bridges to splash the passengers on the bamboo rafts.

Fished with Cormorants, webbed-feet birds that torpedoed into the dark waters and brought back fish because they couldn't swallow them with the strings tied around their necks.

Held back the giggles as a hundred "kissing fish" ate at the dead skin on our feet.

Squeezed in work in between everything, till 2 am or electricity shortages.

And rode a 22 hour train, hard seat, back home, with little old ladies leaning in for pillow comfort.

Making Do for July Fourth

While J was back in the States hugging the red white and blue flag to replenish his American juices, a history major, a halfie, and an Asian American girl with a Communist family legacy got together to create our own July Fourth.


We didn't have a picnic because our fridges were empty, a parade because we couldn't book all the Primary kids from Church to march for us, or fireworks because the Chinese invented it. But we made a program that celebrated America from the patriotic to the obscure.




Here was our program:

Native American beginnings: Interpretive dancing to Colors of the Wind in Pocahontas. I was flinging my arms wildly to do Grandmother Willow justice.

Independence War:

Civil War: Ben recited the Gettysburg Address

{Super Fast Forward}

Isolationist Period: America Uun-Gah-Ha!

Depression: Everybody sucking on ice cubes (because we couldn't afford ice-cream in Hoovervilles)

WWII: Epic war scenes from Wolverine


JFK: Marilyn Monroe's Happy Birthday (I do a pretty good imitation . . . all except the sexy part)

Civil Rights: MLK's I Have a Dream


Pop: Thriller


21st Century polarized politics: West Wing clip

Sept. 11th: Share our memories of that fateful day and what it means to us to be Americans

Oddly enough, I felt more patriotic after our silly historical reenactment than after gnawing on corn on the corn at a July Fourth barbecue. Must have been all the Un-gah-has.

Il Divo

Il Divo came to town and I went to watch their concert on a whim.

After I became hopelessly lost on my way to the concert, I hopped onto a tuk tuk, a box seat attached to the back of a motorcycle. The driver decided to forget about sending me to the designated taxi stand as I had asked, but tried to help out by directly hailing a cab for me. He would follow an empty taxi, speed up as fast as the tired, smoky engine would allow till we're in front of the taxi, and then make a screechy swerve against the grain of traffic to physically block the taxi so I could tell the taxi driver my address. After three or four failed attempts (and near death experiences), I finally told him to just take me to the taxi stand. Gosh. It never feels good to reject a Good Samaritan.

I made it right when Il Divo walked on stage.

Except, you could hardly see the guys' faces when they were singing. They must have brought in interns to do the lighting because they shone the light on whoever was not singing. It became a joke between the singers and the audience, with David waving his arms to catch the light guy's attention while he belted out his lines. The light stayed on Carlos the most though and the ladies absolutely went wild when he said "Hello, piao liang (beautiful)." Even I swooned. Just a little.

A lady sitting two rows behind me kept up a deep, throaty sing along routine. I finally turned around to give her a (mild!) evil eye. Instantly, I paused and retreated. "She" was actually a little boy, with thick framed glasses that rested on his round cheeks, gesticulating wildly as if he was singing alone in the middle of his room. His mom looked bored. But his eyes were shut, his imagination was untethered, and his chubby fists tightened as his voice sprang out of him, uninhibited.

Absolutely inspiring.

Would you be crazy enough to fly to another city for one night just to watch a concert? Well, that's what happened. 2 am nights. Those are always the best.

Regresa a mi.

Check out their videos. You will be hooked.

A Different Christmas

Christmas was definitely different this year. There were no songs, no lights, no snow, no (good) hot chocolate, no finals to cram and die for, no cuddling, no flying back home, and no freezing nights in our Arlington home (we were too cheap to turn on the heat for the 3 floors).

But I made do. I sorted through share allotment legal docs while listening to as many cheesy Christmas songs from China Google music player as possible. I made a repentant attempt to buy the whole fam as many presents as possible the day before Christmas. And I stepped up the Santa Surprise Initiatives (code name SSI), leaving pranks and genuine goodies under the tree.

But the human urge to confess was very strong. Even though I threatened my little brother Cody with tickle torture if he told, I couldn't keep it in so I blogged about my Santa gifts, thinking that everybody was already in bed.

When I walked up the stairs to bed after wrapping all the presents, Casey looked at me and said, "So, coal huh?" He smirked. He had read my blog post in the five minutes that it took me to turn off my computer and the lights.

Also, on Christmas morning, my dad had apparently figured out how to get on my blog so he and my mom caught up on several months of my posts. Of course, that way, they also knew that Santa was really me . . .  so they didn't even bother to open the Krispy Kreme box when they unwrapped it, thinking it was going to be filled with really light rocks. (Ha! They were really doughnuts).

But Christmas also had meaning this year because I had opportunities to share what I believed. Last week, I arranged a mini Christmas party for my China Construction Bank English students, complete with (bitter) hot chocolate, white elephant gift exchange, cakes, and a mini presentation on the American Christmas traditions. When I asked if they knew about the origins of Christmas, somebody yelled out "Jesus Christ's birthday." I talked briefly about Christ's divinity, his humble origins, and the reason why he had to come down to earth -- all within the context of general Christian beliefs. Even though I repeatedly said "They believe . . ., " it was really what I believed and what I knew to be true. And it felt so good to be able to finally share my testimony in an acceptable environment and adhere to the "no proselyting to Chinese Nationals" directives from the government and our Church leaders. Who knew that cultural classes can be a pretext for bite size missionary discussions?

 They wanted me to wear the reindeer headband during my Christmas lesson.

Respect Girl's Camp

I've learned my lesson: If you don't want to get sick and miss girl's church camp, do not make fun of it.

But you have to admit, having to be in charge of a group of teenage girls that is called the "Hard Core Testimony Givers" is quite something. Even though I had a really hard time coming up with a cool chant, I think we did come up with a bomb first aid skit that would give the "Charity Chargers" and "Wonder Witnesses" a run for their tithing money. Think Elizabeth Swan/ werewolves/ little red riding hood theme with a classic Asian tragic twist.

Either way, I was struck down with the flu so I, the only girl, never mind camp counselor, who hadn't been to girl's camp before, didn't get to go. So I resorted to the only sensible alternative - felt sorry for myself and gorged on West Wing episodes. Oh Sam Seaborn.

Knock Knock

When I first moved in, I thought the apartment was haunted.

I kept hearing knocks on the front door, only to find that nobody was there in the dim corridor. Then there were the coughs. Two in a row. The kind that you make not because you've got phlegm in your throat, but the artificial sort to let somebody know that you're there.

There were the occasional anguished wails as well.

I thought I was going crazy because sometimes I heard these noises when I was alone in my office cubicle. 

Finally, I told my roommate what was going on and asked if we could get out of our contract. She just laughed.

The knocks and the coughs came from her computer. Well, more accurately, they came from her QQ, China's MSN equivalent. They're the default sounds for somebody logging on and somebody adding you. I guess that also explained the noises at the office because I just signed up for a QQ, something that my boss made me do so I could communicate with the colleagues.

But the wails? Those were definitely not part of QQ.

She smirked. That's the ring tone that she had set for her parents. 

Hwanhi + Nate

Hwanhi and Nate are seriously one of my favorite couples.

There are few couples who are so supportive of and loving with each other. I'm so happy that after over a year and a half of togetherness, they have finally tied the knot.

I had my five cakes and ate them too. I feel sick now.

 

 You leave behind your thumb print and your love as a guest sign in. 

Ingenious huh? That way, we'll know if somebody kidnaps the princess bride.

The happy couple!

Love them.

Hope to Teach For America?

Just one minute and twenty six seconds shy of the the deadline, I submitted my Teach For America application.

Thought I was cutting it close?

Hwanhi, my roommate, hit "send" one minute and sixteen seconds after me.

I hope TFA will not discriminate against procrastinators like us. After all, it stands for equal opportunity right?

For those of you not familiar with Teach For America, here's a little something:

Lawn Party

What happens when you tell a bunch of college students to revamp the Kennedy Center's supposedly "too serious" image with department funds?

You get a hippie-feel, blankets-on-the-grass, lay-out-in-the-sun party of course. Complete with guitars and free gelato.

We even had three guys show up in kilts.

And wrapped ourselves in the ethnic drapery that we were sitting on.

*More photos to follow later.

An hour full of faux pas

Note to self:

Next time when you're invited to a luncheon at the "Presidential Room", don't forget. Also, just assume that it's business formal and do not wear a yellow shirt with rolled up sleeves, rolled up jeans, and a giant ring that you had thrown on that morning for a more casual look.

On top of that, if you're not dressed right, then don't make a dramatic entrance and exit by coming in late and slinking out early.

Don't choke on your vanilla fruit custard (set in a chocolate cup!) when everybody in the room is waiting for you to introduce yourself.

Even if all the above happens, keep your cool. Don't make it worse by dropping forks and napkins all over the place.

And did I mention DON'T FORGET next time ?!?

Happy Birthday bud!

A year ago today I sneaked up to the U of U to surprise my best friend in class on his birthday. I had done my background stalking work and had figured out his schedule, his professor's name and email, and of course the building floor plan. While my cousin who also went to the U was distracting him with some made-up sob story about an ex-boyfriend, I stole into his classroom and wrote a poem on the board (composed by me) asking him to go on a date with me after class. I also left some homemade chocolate cake balls on the main classroom desk for him. Then I found an underground tunnel and hid.

Of course, there were some gaping holes in my meticulous plan. First, he decided to skip class because it was his birthday. When he told me on the phone, I was frantic, bordering angry, which really confused him. So he went to class, 20 minutes late. By then, the professor had already pulled down the projector screen so it was blocking my poem on the blackboard. Long story short, he eventually saw it and we did end up chowing down pizza at his favorite place afterward - but not before I got lost in the tunnels because I wandered into the restricted/danger zones!

Sorry this year it will be so different. But I hope you will have an awesome day anyways!

Mahler (not to be mistaken for somebody who goes to the mall)

I'm not the biggest fan of classical music. Well I don't mind it so much if I don't have to sit there and watch it being played. Once when I was attending an hour long student violin recital with my room mate Belinda, I had a sudden epiphany before I fell asleep in the middle of it: I will not let my kids learn piano or violin because I don't want to have to sit through their concerts and pretend to enjoy them. Call me the wicked mother, but at least I will not be a hypocritical one.

Which was why it was with dread that I agreed to go with Andrea to a symphonic concert up in Salt Lake city last weekend. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir and the Utah orchestra were performing "Mahler's 2nd Symphony" and it was apparently going to be a big deal. As I wriggled into my seat, I glanced at the program, trying to read up on the next two hours of my life. Skipping over all the fancy music terminology, all I could glean was that it was going to be about a hero's funeral, nostalgia about his past, and eventual resurrection. Intense stuff.

Even without lyrics, somehow the music spoke and unfolded the story to me as I could have never imagined it. In my mind's eye, the hero morphed into a courageous but convoluted figure - he was disciplined yet passionate, tender yet crude and his funeral - oh those cellists! Their bows hacked the poor man's soul into pieces, lamenting his passing yet confining him to the bounds of mortality. But wait! The bugles sounded in the distance - could it really be? The choir of angels appeared and summoned fallen soldiers from remote lands and star-crossed lovers from their watery graves and called the most common of the commoners to stand forth to be resurrected.

By the time the symphony ended, I was sitting on the edge of my seat, mesmerized. One of the music buffs we rode back with claimed that Mahler had "made his weekend, no wait, his week, no, his Thanksgiving!" To which, his equally enthusiastic friend upped his game and claimed that Mahler had made his year. While I did not think that Mahler was life-changing, it was probably life-changing for my future children: sorry kids, it's back to the piano for you.

It's not as easy as ABC

Buying books was a little difficult for me today. The BYU bookstore has changed the way they stock their textbooks, switching their old by-subject system for a new alphabetical one. With a little sigh, I started singing the alphabet song. The thing is the song rolls off my tongue so easily that sometimes I go past the letter that I'm singing for so I had to sing it all over again. Needless to say, I took forever in the bookstore.

When the cashier asked me for my thoughts on the new system as part of some feedback scheme, I told her that it was fine but I just had to sing the alphabet song over and over again. The sad thing was she just laughed and assumed that I was kidding.

Unwanted . . . by China

With a U.S. passport, a Hong Kong permanent resident card, and a ten-year China home visit visa, I have never had trouble going anywhere in the world. I don different identities, slipping into and out of the various languages, sometimes out of convenience, sometimes out of laziness. If I'm headed to Barcelona with my friends, I pull out the U.S. passport and breeze through security. If somebody in China customs is giving me a hard time about certain procedures, with an unrepentant smile, I sometimes pretend that I have absolutely no idea what they're saying.

Which is why I was shocked when they wouldn't let me on the plane to Shanghai in the Detroit airport. All I forgot to bring was my flimsy China home visit visa. I had left it back home in Utah, safely tucked away in a plastic folder. I tried to convince them that I do indeed have a visa and please can they check my name in the ether of some computer program? Isn't it obvious that I'm Chinese? I tried frantically to demonstrate how I could speak all three languages. The stewardesses who were smiling so patiently at the bumbling business class flyer a moment ago turned around and glared at me, "you think anyone can go to China? Why should we believe you?"

Used to living in my little Utah bubble, I wasn't sure what surprised me more: the fact that somebody would think I'm lying or that I was refused (no! retained, turned away, and bundled off to a different airport where I was somebody else's problem) by China!

I'm ashamed to report, that I did what any respectable college girl would do: I called my parents ten times, and when that failed, I cried.

In someways, that worked. The stewardesses came back to me, promising me a free flight back to Utah (and then from there to Shanghai but it turned out my visa was expired anyways). I was surprised that my little histrionic outburst had effected such a change, but then I suppose that I had passed the test: after all, terrorists trying to enter China illegally don't cry.

Feeling Old

Even though people at the office teased me for being only twenty, I can't help but feel incredibly old now that I just had my twentieth birthday. The big 2-0 is a milestone, one that launches me into another decade of my life. I don't know if I'm ready to leave my teenage years behind yet. Regardless, it was ready to leave me behind. So with some reluctance I will resign to the fact that I'm going to start learning how to deal with adult issues like insurance, mortgage payments, retirement funds, etc. Man, I'm not even greying yet and I'm already being nostalgic.

I had a great birthday by the way. Last week we celebrated all the July and August birthdays at the Barlow Center. My friend Marie is an amazing cook and apparently she's also an amazing cake decorator. She piped our faces onto the cake, and President Obama's too of course.





On my actual birthday, my friends at the Barlow also surprised me with chocolate covered strawberries and a video that they put together for me. I nearly cried!

The center of the universe

Last week we got to go to the Capitol and spend an hour with Congressman Jim Matheson (Utah Democrat). He was a great speaker and made me think that maybe I can be a Democrat and yet still stand for fiscal conservatism, among other things that conform to my religious beliefs. Afterward, my friend Jason used his special connections (aka his Senator Hatch intern badge) to show Andrew and I around the Capitol.





Since we didn't have much time, we just poked around a little bit. Below is the site where they were originally planning on burying George Washington (if what I remember is correct):



He even took us to the underground tunnels where we were able to ride the trains that are only reserved for people who work on the hill. Needless to say, I was easily impressed.

The streets in D.C. are laid out in quardrants with the Capitol building as the center of the city. Jason, Andrew, and I located the very central spot of the building and got to stand on top of it. Guess which foot is mine? P.S. the swelling has gone down, thank you.



For an instance while my foot was on that spot, I felt powerful.

Just so you would believe me

Some people who have heard of my snake bite story don't quite believe me when I said that my foot and my leg just ballooned . So here's a photo to satisfy your curiosity. This was taken while I was in the ICU, a day after I already had three doses of anti-venom shot into my blood stream.


Now I know how I would look like if I got cankles.

Oh!-bama

Memorial Day weekend was tiring. The few of us who didn't end up going to New York (me because I was supposed to be in bed resting) decided to go and watch President Obama speak at the Arlington Cemetery. Jason somehow convinced us that we needed to wake up at 3 in the morning to line up to get good seats and even then he warned, we may be too late. So, when it was still dark outside, I grabbed a piece of toast slathered with chunky peanut butter, hobbled to the taxi, and with barely contained excitement, went off to the Arlington cemetery with my friends.

We innocently asked the taxi driver where he was from. "Sudan," he grumbled. In the short silence that pursued, I bet we were all thinking the same thing - should we tiptoe around the elephant in the room and change the subject or confront it head on and risk getting crushed? Tyler then casusally asked, "So what do you feel about what's going on over there right now?" What followed was an uncomfortable barrage against public apathy and political hypocrisy. All of a sudden he stopped the taxi and told us that we've arrived. When we got out, we realized that he had dropped us off in the middle of nowhere. The answer was clear - we got crushed. But still determined, we hiked the rest of the way, navigating with our cellphone light and my waterproof map. After all, President Obama was waiting.

There were nobody there when we arrived at the Arlington Cemetery. Ok, there were plenty of army soldiers teasing us for being so early. We sat there on the pavement for the next seven hours waiting for the gates to open. At around 7, still four hours before the event, the crowds began to come. There were the adoring fans, sporting obama t-shirts and even obama sport shoes. There were the sons and daughters of the veterans past wanting to visit their parents' graves. And then of course, there were mere tourists/ interns like us, who were told not to leave DC without an Obama-sighting.

It was all worth it, we were the first ones on the bus when the gates finally opened. Wriggling through the crowds, we secured seats in the front section - we were only 30 feet (six rows) away from the president!

Watching him in action, I think I finally understood why the crowds loved him. He was electrifying. There was a solemnity about him and a sort of quiet dignity that simply engaged you, leaving you hanging onto his every word. He spoke about the sacrifices of our troops, describing their bravery and courage in the face of war. He exalted the great generals loved by history and yet paused to acknowledge the unknown soldiers "whose names were known only to God". It was a beautiful tribute, made even more heartfelt because he vowed that he would never send troops to war "unless absolutely necessary". I veered from being on the verge of tears one moment and on the heights of patriotic pride the other.

I must admit though, this whole nationalistic thing was a little draining. I think this last stint should last me for a while.