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Never, Ever Give Up

Fridays generally aren't good days for me because I have to teach. I get really antsy every time beforehand, not because I hate public speaking, but because I am afraid I won't do a good job. I try but more often than not, I feel like I fail. Everyone says teaching is supposed to be rewarding, but so far, I've yet to see that side of it.

I always forget how unimaginative people become as they age. The younger kids are brimming with imagination, and we can have a wholehearted discussion about a made up holiday or a made up career, but when it comes to the older kids, they have such a hard time imagining. It's as if they've spent so much time doing math problems and studying science that they've forgotten how to think outside the box and it becomes a strain to squeeze a little imagination out of them.

For example, today's essay topic was about the saying, "never, ever give up." I told them to come up with three arguments for the topic, but even that was a little hard. They complained it was too broad, since narrowing what they want to say into comprehensive paragraphs is often a challenge. But some good discussions came out of this, I found out what their future career goals are.

Teaching Goal #5: teach imagination.

Anyway, so for the past few weeks, with the exception of last week, Iris' mom has been driving me home on Fridays since I've been commuting with Iris. Iris is really funny and really young.

During our commute, I was listing how old people were at LH: "Ben is 85, John and Clement are 86, Eddie, Hannah, Colin, Heng, and Johnny are 87, Tabi and Selina are 88 - "

And she says, "WOOAHHH 80's babies!" Like we were a rare breed or something, and I found this really amusing.

In fact, the guy sitting across from us said, "don't make me feel old! I'm 25!"

I guess this made me happy. He was really funny about it because the entire time we were talking he had this grin on his face. Plus, he was still wearing flip flops which I admired because it was like he was trying to make summer last as long as possible. (I would still be wearing flip flops too but my mom stashed them away somewhere. I hate socks.)

When I was Iris' age, I had the same thoughts as she did about being 25:

1) 25 is when the prime of your life will end
2) 25 is the best age to get married
3) 25 is really old

Now that I'm 22 and 25 doesn't seem that far off, I no longer think it's that old nor is it the best time to get married, though technically I could still manage to pull that off. I guess if I wanted to, I could 'never, ever give up' on this.

Oh well, I hope I managed to write something happy. I accidentally ordered something super spicy today at the Korean Basement Restaurant (unofficial name) and my tongue is still a bit numb.

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Infinite Love

I ran into Khevna again this morning, on the train at Wilson Station this time, and she gave me the magazine. One of the pages displayed the word LOVE in big, bold letters, which got me interested since I presume that the thought of love makes everyone, like me, happy.

But not any kind of love. There’s a specific type of love that gets everyone giggly.

After class today, Amy Tang and I saw a cheesy movie called ‘What’s Your Number,’ which is about one woman’s quest to finding ‘the one’ (as is the running theme all chick flicks) as she goes through all 20 of her ex’s to see if any of them were worth a second chance, only to realize in the end that the guy who was helping her the entire time was ‘the one.’

Side note: anyone else notice how amazingly boring and predictable recent chick flicks have become? My theory is that it’s because it’s based on the romantic ideals of extreme situations that could happen. For example, in the movie, the girl has slept with 20 other guys in her life, before finding ‘the one,’ and the guy has presumably slept with just as many different girls (if not more). This is so extreme that it’s become unromantic, stale, and frankly, kind of depressing, even if they end up together.

Anyway, my point is, everyone, even in predictable chick flicks, is looking for ‘the one,’ a.k.a romantic type love. The magazine Khevna gave me featured an article called ‘500 days of disappointment’ which is a journal in which an unnamed girl wrote in for 500 days that mostly details about her desire for unconditional love. She looks for this love in relationships with guys, only to constantly come out feeling short handed, as if something was missing. There’s always that horrible, cheated, lonely feeling that can’t be made sense of, that sense of dread that you won’t be able to fill in this gap. If this guy can’t make you happy, then what will? Isn’t love supposed to the ultimate source of happiness?

The conclusion here is a happy one. She writes:

“I come to the conclusion that if I have this craving, there are two possibilities: this love – a love sans conditions - actually exists and can be found, or this love doesn’t exist and I’ve all deluded myself into thinking it does … I realize that I am wired to want and desire a kind of love that exists, but that I haven’t found. But if this is the way I am wired, then maybe, there is an outlet to experience this love and to output this love as well. I just need to find it … But if all the love that we have experienced has been finite, then this love probably can’t come from other humans.

Maybe, then, I’ve been seeing love the wrong way. Because if love has limits, if love is finite, if love has conditions, it may not be love. But if love is unconditional, unmerited and undeserved, then maybe religions version of love – as in, a set of rules and decrees to be followed, in order to satiate the wrath of a particular deity – has it all wrong. Maybe I don’t need to toil and labour and travail in order to be loved. It seems to me that if there is an infinite God, He has wired me so that, in search of this infinite love, I turn to Him, connect with Him and experience relationship rather than religion."

So if God’s love is the infinite love everyone is looking for, then to love others we must show them God’s infinite love.

(But I've recently realize this is easier said and done. Maybe more on this later.)

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Books and Squirrels

Today I shamelessly purchased books first hand from the Bob Miller Bookstore, when I could have bought them for less at the BMV, but this led me to my happy thought of the day:

Books make me happy, I like going into bookstores and being surrounded by them. I like cracking them open and discover fantastic sentences by imaginative authors who pour their souls and emotions into the what they're writing. I like reading the last paragraph first to see if the book is worth reading.

I want to build a collection of worn out books that have been abused by being in my bag, that are written in and underlined and highlighted, since every good book has to be well read. I want to have a large collection of Canadian Literature, particularly First Nations Literature, as well as a large section of African Literature, because these books have the rawest, most abused, and conflicting emotions. I want to have books on multiculturalism and Toronto, books that dwell into the fascinating minds of fictional characters that could very well be your next door neighbour.

I already have a lot of books, and I keep finding them in odd places in my room. Sometimes, they blend in so well with the surroundings that it isn't until I'm dusting that I realize there's a book hiding in that conspicuous corner, and it isn't until I put it away that the corner looks strangely empty.

Moving on:
Another thing that made me happy and is kind of random is my realization that squirrels are miniature, fuzzy t-rex's. Yesterday, I was getting coffee for Annabelle when I witnessed a hawk and two squirrels battle it out. The hawk basically grabbed a squirrel, for dinner I suppose, and was flying off with it, when another squirrel jumped on the hawk and to save its bro. The hawk drops the first squirrel with a loud thud, and the other squirrel jumps off of the hawk and goes to the aid of his injured bro.

This was the most heroic thing I've ever witnessed a squirrel do, and it got me thinking about them. If you really think about it, their stumpy arms are a lot like a t-rex's stumpy arms.

I think there's a lot to learn from the (imaginative) transformation of a t-rex into a fuzzy, nut loving, bro saving, squirrel: the t-rex, an all mighty rawring flesh eating reptile, wandering through the land like it's the king, destroying everything in it's path without care or thought for it's fellow creatures, has been reduced to a tiny, harmless creature who buries nuts at random and forgets about them, so that trees end up sprouting.

It's like the young man who lives by-carelessly without care or thought of what his actions are doing to the planet, turning into an old man who regrets his actions and plants trees to redeem himself.

(Sorry if this last thought is completely random, I realize there are some people who might read this blog and think I'm crazy, but I suppose you'll get used to it.)


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Happiness Challenge

Although it's early in the morning, and I'm sure that there will be plenty of other things that will make me happy later on today, my fingers are twitching and I am excited to get started on this 30 day challenge proposed by Ariel. Basically, she proposed the challenge of blogging about something that makes us happy, even if it's only one line, everyday for 30 days.


Get ready for a lot of mundane, random bursts of happiness! And I think this experience will be good for me to think more positively anyway.

Things that made me happy already:

1) Wearing my penguin shirt.

2) I was finally able to condition my hair this morning.

3) I'm not in a turkey coma, unlike everyone else, which is probably why Annabelle and I were able to snag seats on the train this morning.

4) Ariel called me to talk to me this morning and I'm grateful for her concern and care, she did that even though she was about to pass out from staying up all night.

5) I ran into Khevna, and she told me that she's been trying to contact me because she has to give me a magazine. (Khevna is an old childhood friend, we used to be neighbours and now we're at U of T together. She's part of Campus for Christ and I'm guessing the magazine from them.)

6) I packed spam and rice for lunch. Only two other things are more awesome than spam and rice: spam and garlic rice OR corn beef and rice.

---EDIT---

I lost my spam and rice at Robarts.

I was looking through the stacks in the 12th, 13th, and 14th floor, and somewhere in the mayhem of going up and down and wandering through the stacks, I lost my lunch bag.

SO I'M SORRY, whoever it is that will find my rotting apple, stinking oranges, and moldy spam and rice. I didn't mean to be careless. I hope it won't smell that much by the time you discover it.

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Better is Open Rebuke than Hidden Love

To Kirsten:


Hello.

Remember that time when you and Keisha asked Annabelle and I to play that board game you guys brought to church, because no one else wanted to play with you guys, and ever since then we've been friends? And we'd be self conscious because every time we all hung out, we'd look like a pair of twins - which is why Ting was so essential to the group.

Remember 'Night Watch' and how it was just an excuse to talk on the phone for five hours straight about nothing and guys and school and going to university and church and who likes who - since back then, life was simple for me but it was complicated for you. We'd write in our journals with elusive writings of what we thought we felt, but even this wouldn't be enough because there'd be weeks where no one wrote in their journal, so I tried to fill in the gaps with doodles and musings.

Remember how we'd have sleepovers at my place and promised to watch the sunrise, but always slept right through them, since we stayed up all night singing songs with Ting's guitar. And that time you guys made a horror movie with Peter Cho's tape in the bathroom at Hall 2, with Heng as the ghost and Keisha on light effects - then there was when we accidentally went to the Thanksgiving dinner and felt horrendously horrified when we were unwanted, so we snuck up to the roof and threw rocks, hoping it'd hurt someone. The morning after we went to visit Tabi in her dorm room on campus, but not after running into Seo in chinatown, and I had to rush to work and Ting received that email about the Thanksgiving dinner later on that evening. Isn't it odd how I'm now helping to plan it, and you're coming as an invited guest?

Speaking of work, remember that time you, Keisha, and Chris came to visit me at work in Yorkdale, and I tried not to make a long conversation with you guys because I was covered in chicken grease and my uniform stunk. Remember Chris? The last time I saw him was at your bbq, when I avoided talking to him because I was mean to him and yelled at him over msn, and yes, we're still not talking, even though I sometimes still ask Amy Tang what he's doing.

Then there was that time when everyone was in a relationship, and we went from saying, "How would you know, where was your first kiss?" to asking, "Which one?" because we all knew love failed time and time again, our illusions of Prince Charming disappearing bit by bit since every guy turned into the next biggest jerk. Remember ladies, you're not dating Jesus, he isn't perfect.

And now we're back to blogging, my simple faith turning into noddles, and having it seem like the journals we use to carry around in our pockets, but instead of paper, we'd read our blogs on our blackberries. Still portable. And now Annabelle wants her guitar back, even though she no longer stays up late singing, and we're too mature to throw rocks to hurt someone. But still, we'll gossip about guys and tweet about nothing and complain about class and breakups, because even though we've stopped talking, our friendship never ended.

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Grammar Nazi doesn't Ballroom Dance

Hullo Blog, I haven't forgotten you. The truth about my absence is because:


1) I got lazy and stopped carrying my laptop around campus (have gone medieval and begun writing my notes with pen and paper).
2) I got really discouraged and realized no one reads my blog, but then I came to the realization that no one reads great literature when they're first published anyway (not that anything I write here has any literary substance, but this is the only consolation I could come up with).

So life has been boring lately. Because my weekends are free from the evil clutches of retail that has managed to enslave me for years, I don't know what to do with all the free time I suddenly have, so I've been mousing around the library on weekends. This isn't so bad, because this means I'm on top of my readings (for once), but this also means my life is uneventful, dull, and completely nerdish.

Maybe I should take up a new hobby, like ballroom dancing or something.

Also, I've been editing a lot of essays lately, because people have wild assumptions that I'm fantastic with syntax, when I really don't know anything about it and have just been consulting my "Grammar for Dummies" book. There's a huge downside to this. Because I've been thinking hard about prepositions and pronouns and adjectives and adverbs, I suddenly find myself nitpicking every little thing I write, and as a result, become paranoid I'm grammatically incorrect all the time. And to top it off, I find myself unconsciously correcting everyone's grammar.

I really don't want to turn into a grammar nazi. I'll be anything else: crazy cat lady, crazy ballroom dancing lady, crazy nerd woman who gets paler by the weekend because she spends every weekend in the library - anything but a grammar nazi. Can you just imagine how annoying it would be to be friends with a grammar nazi?

You: Me and my friend are going ballroom dancing.

Grammar Nazi: You meant to say, my friend and I are going ballroom dancing.

You: Ok... well we're planning to waltz.

Grammar Nazi: Waltz what? You can't just waltz. You mean you're going to do the waltz, or perform the waltz? And that's an incomplete sentence, the subject and verb pair doesn't match up coherently.

You: Yup, and this is why we're no longer friends.

Yeah, let's hope this doesn't happen.

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Adventures with Poetry

So this year, I'm unfortunately stuck with several poetry and prose classes. My dislike for poetry has made me stay away from it as much as possible, but I guess I can't entirely avoid it. For one class, my professor's office hour happens to be at 8:30 a.m, which seems entirely unreasonable because who in their right mind would get up that early to discuss poetry.

But, because this year I decided to be a keener (better late than never), I went to see her this morning since I wanted to discuss a book she recommended us to read on the side, aside from the assigned readings. This book is 329 pages of dense reading, and after labouring through the first two chapters, I wanted her advice on what to focus on.

To which she says, "you're an English Specialist, you should be used to thinking a lot. Read the entire book."

READ THE ENTIRE BOOK? That's her advice?!?

Our meeting was very short. After she told me to read the book, I expected her to at least talk about it, but she didn't say anything else and just smiled at me. I guess I'm agitated because she assigned extra reading that she's not even going to cover in class, and she won't even discuss the book with me.

Ok, I'll stop complaining and read the book and try not to kill it. At least I won't have problems falling asleep.

Side story: as I was typing this my professor walked pass me and I freaked out. I half expected her to reprimand me for not reading the book (which I have open on the table) or ask me what I'm doing on my laptop.

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