Some people hate me because they think I try too hard, or that I'm fake. Some people hate me because they think I'm shy or I act. They think I am hateworthy because they don't know me and it is impossible to get to know me because I didn't know myself. People think that I am no one. Just this asian, chinese girl who is conservative. Who doesn't know what to do. Who thinks I am so weak for not speaking in class or for looking at people a certain way. They hate me because I don't know who I am. Because I am awkward in front of them. They hate me because I live in my own mind and I keep to myself instead of being a part of the group. They hate me because I don't know what to say. I don't know how to act. People hate me because I am scatter-brained. I make them feel uncomfortable and they don't know how to handle me. They think I'm desperate. People hate looking at me. They hate seeing me down the street. They hate when I talk because I am always controlling. They hate me because they always sense that I'm looking for something in them that they aren't willing to give or they don't have. They hate me because they think I'm ruthless, a loner, a person who doesn't need help at all. They hate me because I can be random and stupid but act smart at the same time. They hate me because I am foreign to them. They can't tell what my problem is and they don't want to know what it is or touch it at all. People hate me because they think I have everything in order. That I get things my way. That I go at something while using people and stepping on toes. They hate me for trying to be nice. They hate me for being silent. They hate me for being a nuance and a deranged person. They hate me for acting like I know or acting like I don't know and acting like a victim. They hate me for my personality. They hate that I get answers from them. They hate me for not knowing how to be normal. Not knowing how to approach someone and carry a conversation. They hate me because my face is blank. Because I am a hypocrite. Because I say one thing and act another. They hate me because I'm always changing. Always unpredictable. Always different every day. People hate me because they think I think I'm better than them. They hate me for not putting enough effort into my work. They hate me because I don't live up to what I say I am. They hate me because I manipulate them. People hate me because they think I'm perverted. They think I'm unworthy to talk to. They think I'm nothing, no one, with no substance. They think I'm a floater. They think I have no feelings. They don't think I'm human at all. They see me as someone out to get them. They don't like me at all. They hate me because they don't feel safe around me. They think I can't communicate with them or talk because I act weird and I have all these walls and barriers and guards up. How could they possibly know me or get to know me. Me who I don't even know who I am. Me who I thought I knew who then changed and thought it was permanent and then woke up and realized that I don't have anything and I don't remember anything but who I was when I was a kid who everyone hated. People hate without even saying those words. They hate by not talking at all. They hate by ignoring. They hate by seeing me as nothing. They hate for not looking at me as a human. They hate by assuming. They hate by thinking I'm not worth their time. They hate by looking at me and saying with their eyes that I'm different and that I'm an alien to them and that I deserve to die, go to hell for taking up room, taking up their time and energy. They hate by brushing me aside. They hate by treating me like dirt. They hate by thinking that I'm dumb. That I can't tell that they think I'm worthless or don't know any better. They think I can't feel. They think I have no emotions or heart or passion or soul or something worthy for them to consume. They hate me for knowing too much. For seeming like I am perfect and that I have a perfect life. They hate me for appearing happy all the time. They hate me because they think they can't get to me. They think I'm impenetrable. They think that I am a stone wall. They think that I can handle my own problems and then when I need help I can come to them or not at all. They hate me because I don't get help. Because I don't know how to ask for it. They hate me because I am radical. Because I am volatile. Because I am impulsive. Because I criticize. Because I judge. Because I assume. Because I hate them. Because I oppress them. They hate me because they don't know me. They don't know that I am a sister. I am fun to be around. They don't know that I can really open up to them. They don't know that I can be so open. They don't know that I can be compassionate. They don't know that I can be understanding. They don't know that I am a believer. They don't know that as a believer, I will never be able to feel at home on Earth. They don't know me because I am supposed to be alien to this world. They don't know me because my deepest and darkest secrets are between God and I and me and myself. They don't know me because they themselves are afraid and they themselves want to protect themselves from harm or hurt and they don't want to be bruised or used or tossed or confused. They hate me because I don't know. They hate me because I don't know them. They hate me because I don't know. They hate me because I am. They hate me because they think I am. They hate me because they think at all. They hate me. I can tell when they treat me like I don't know. That's the worst feeling. I'm supposed to hate you. And I do hate you. But I'll choose to love you anyways. And you'll hate me for that too.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
It's time to update on my life.
There are three weeks left of school. What I've realized is that each day spent in college, living independently and what not, beckons a continuous flow of some of life's most profound, yet intensely disturbing, questions. Every stretch of days or so, I arrive at a new question, or multiple questions.
Is this who I really am? who I've become? will I be like this in the future when I am a wife? a mother? No, the future will ask even more of me; I'll need to be stronger, more resilient, harder-working, more responsible, more accountable, and I will have to think of others more often and truly than I do of myself. I will work late nights and I instead of having five deadlines for five classes I'm taking now this semester, I'll have five times as much on my mind - food, home/rent, car, commissions, church, cleaning, appointments, meetings, ... the list goes on.
I'm assuming it's natural for anyone to think these things and feel anxious, but whether or not people doubt themselves at this stage, when they imagine the future and see themselves failing at life because they don't think they have it in them, is more of a variant than, say, a common or prevalent feeling of anxiety.
Self-doubt is me right now. Physically, I feel like my body is numb and my soul is suspended in a cave inside of me, shaking. I don't think I have it in me to be someone outstanding enough, someone that people look up to and admire. I am more convinced that I have it in me to persevere, but not be respected or honored in the way I want to for my parents.
The Maryland Institute College of Art is a strange place. I went to MICA completely blank-minded and blind-sighted. Looking back at when a rep from MICA first came to my Briarcliff art classroom to promote the college, I am astounded at how remarkably severed a lived experience is from a simple presentation of its institution (literally, because she used a powerpoint) is. The fact is, everything falls short of description, no matter how detailed and labored or thought-over your words are. Nothing compares to the reality of the moment than the lived experience itself.
I'm not saying MICA lies or pitches false impressions. I'm saying, ten, twenty, thirty years from now, my college life will not only have shaped me into being, but it will also have shed down into mere words (written on a page, spoken, or evidenced through documents) that all the memories of it will be consumed over time for its own purposes and the day I utter back those words I will have embodied what it has given me.
That is also to say that my time here at MICA right now is a capsule. Once I'm out, I'm out and there's no going back.
People understand that adults are also kids. Physically, they once were, but they also possess the desire to relax and enjoy themselves from time to time again. Childish adults are really immature, but an adult who is a child inside is admirable and relatable. When we were all kids, we would look up to adults and see them as a whole different kind of species living in their own world. First, they appeared as giants, towering over us having adult one-on-one conversations, one having his arms crossed with a plastic cup in one hand doing the talking, and one making an L shape with his fingers on his chin and a hand in his pocket thinking hard. And we'd observe their serious expressions, their nodding, their harboring of something completely oblivious to us. High school, but especially College, is where we kids discover how much parents hold back the world for us to make a transition into it. The world demands many things of a human being as much as it subjects him to isolation. That is the post-modern world I am entering, and to be honest, I think it's fair game for how the generations below me will develop into their own world. You see, the world just doesn't become on its own. The world one generation enters into was built by the generations that came before it. Therefore, the world I will be building will be the world my little cousins will be entering in the decade to come. We are never simply transforming consecutively or linearly in time, but our actions hold weight much like the touching of the surface of water from a skipping rock.
Apparently, there are billions and billions of books out there, and there's a statistic that shows that there's a new book churning out every so [insert small interval] - day? (something like that). The novels and books and authors and philosophers I've come across in my courses here at MICA have been self-gratifying, because the quality of work and reputation of the author is well worth the time to digest and educate in. It just leaves me completely dumbfounded at how voices all over the world and throughout our entire history has been preserved, and what a loss it is only to be touching upon a very select few. From what I've read so far, I never imagined the conclusions or realizations I've had in real life would have already made its way into publication by someone wise and well-spoken enough to share before my time. It's both reassuring and nullifying because for one, I can confidently acknowledge that what I am going through in life right now has happened to someone before, and for two, it makes me feel like I'm just a repetition of the first and, therefore, insignificant.
While this has become a super long post, I'll end with my hopes. Ultimately, I hold onto God's faithfulness and the belief that He wants what is best for me in light of the world. I hope in his unconditional and utter love for me. I also hope in the day I will meet Him face-to-face and be made new again. I trust that along the rough road in life, my parents and siblings will be there for me. I trust that God will inspire me through other people and it will greatly motivate me to also do great things. I trust that no matter what happens to me on earth, that earth is not my home. I believe that God is also molding me into a teacher and understander so that I can help grow the next generations that will take after me. I understand the profound importance of paying attention to our younger generations and not only being there for them, but also being role models for them. I trust God's work in them as they grow. Lastly, I trust in the church, that people who have faith in God, no matter who we are, what we've been through, where we came from, would be united in God and would be each other's support and strength. May He continue to show Himself to us.
There are three weeks left of school. What I've realized is that each day spent in college, living independently and what not, beckons a continuous flow of some of life's most profound, yet intensely disturbing, questions. Every stretch of days or so, I arrive at a new question, or multiple questions.
Is this who I really am? who I've become? will I be like this in the future when I am a wife? a mother? No, the future will ask even more of me; I'll need to be stronger, more resilient, harder-working, more responsible, more accountable, and I will have to think of others more often and truly than I do of myself. I will work late nights and I instead of having five deadlines for five classes I'm taking now this semester, I'll have five times as much on my mind - food, home/rent, car, commissions, church, cleaning, appointments, meetings, ... the list goes on.
I'm assuming it's natural for anyone to think these things and feel anxious, but whether or not people doubt themselves at this stage, when they imagine the future and see themselves failing at life because they don't think they have it in them, is more of a variant than, say, a common or prevalent feeling of anxiety.
Self-doubt is me right now. Physically, I feel like my body is numb and my soul is suspended in a cave inside of me, shaking. I don't think I have it in me to be someone outstanding enough, someone that people look up to and admire. I am more convinced that I have it in me to persevere, but not be respected or honored in the way I want to for my parents.
The Maryland Institute College of Art is a strange place. I went to MICA completely blank-minded and blind-sighted. Looking back at when a rep from MICA first came to my Briarcliff art classroom to promote the college, I am astounded at how remarkably severed a lived experience is from a simple presentation of its institution (literally, because she used a powerpoint) is. The fact is, everything falls short of description, no matter how detailed and labored or thought-over your words are. Nothing compares to the reality of the moment than the lived experience itself.
I'm not saying MICA lies or pitches false impressions. I'm saying, ten, twenty, thirty years from now, my college life will not only have shaped me into being, but it will also have shed down into mere words (written on a page, spoken, or evidenced through documents) that all the memories of it will be consumed over time for its own purposes and the day I utter back those words I will have embodied what it has given me.
That is also to say that my time here at MICA right now is a capsule. Once I'm out, I'm out and there's no going back.
People understand that adults are also kids. Physically, they once were, but they also possess the desire to relax and enjoy themselves from time to time again. Childish adults are really immature, but an adult who is a child inside is admirable and relatable. When we were all kids, we would look up to adults and see them as a whole different kind of species living in their own world. First, they appeared as giants, towering over us having adult one-on-one conversations, one having his arms crossed with a plastic cup in one hand doing the talking, and one making an L shape with his fingers on his chin and a hand in his pocket thinking hard. And we'd observe their serious expressions, their nodding, their harboring of something completely oblivious to us. High school, but especially College, is where we kids discover how much parents hold back the world for us to make a transition into it. The world demands many things of a human being as much as it subjects him to isolation. That is the post-modern world I am entering, and to be honest, I think it's fair game for how the generations below me will develop into their own world. You see, the world just doesn't become on its own. The world one generation enters into was built by the generations that came before it. Therefore, the world I will be building will be the world my little cousins will be entering in the decade to come. We are never simply transforming consecutively or linearly in time, but our actions hold weight much like the touching of the surface of water from a skipping rock.
Apparently, there are billions and billions of books out there, and there's a statistic that shows that there's a new book churning out every so [insert small interval] - day? (something like that). The novels and books and authors and philosophers I've come across in my courses here at MICA have been self-gratifying, because the quality of work and reputation of the author is well worth the time to digest and educate in. It just leaves me completely dumbfounded at how voices all over the world and throughout our entire history has been preserved, and what a loss it is only to be touching upon a very select few. From what I've read so far, I never imagined the conclusions or realizations I've had in real life would have already made its way into publication by someone wise and well-spoken enough to share before my time. It's both reassuring and nullifying because for one, I can confidently acknowledge that what I am going through in life right now has happened to someone before, and for two, it makes me feel like I'm just a repetition of the first and, therefore, insignificant.
While this has become a super long post, I'll end with my hopes. Ultimately, I hold onto God's faithfulness and the belief that He wants what is best for me in light of the world. I hope in his unconditional and utter love for me. I also hope in the day I will meet Him face-to-face and be made new again. I trust that along the rough road in life, my parents and siblings will be there for me. I trust that God will inspire me through other people and it will greatly motivate me to also do great things. I trust that no matter what happens to me on earth, that earth is not my home. I believe that God is also molding me into a teacher and understander so that I can help grow the next generations that will take after me. I understand the profound importance of paying attention to our younger generations and not only being there for them, but also being role models for them. I trust God's work in them as they grow. Lastly, I trust in the church, that people who have faith in God, no matter who we are, what we've been through, where we came from, would be united in God and would be each other's support and strength. May He continue to show Himself to us.
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