high school buddy

Dear Not-So-Stranger,

Aren’t you friends with Anthony; anyway, I think I recognize you from Lowell. I secretively took a picture of you and texted it to Spenser, but neither of us can figure out who you are. You fell asleep resting on your elbow and you have a long time to sleep too, because our flight’s delayed for two hours. Unfortunately you don’t seem to have a computer so you’re not taking advantage of the free Wifi that SFO offers. Provided that you’re not scared of girls, I’m about to initiate a conversation with you that will be slightly awkward.

Sorry,

Armrest sharer

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six sentences

Dear Stranger,

You seemed very young to me, like you were just out of high school with your driver’s license burning a hole in your pocket. But I doubt that MUNI would hire someone that young and there are currently no bus operator positions open either; I looked it up. So I’ll have to deduce that you are actually older than you look. Don’t forget to thank your parents for your genes because honestly, you seemed like you were of my little sister’s cohort. And she’s sixteen.

Sincerely,

Passenger

p.s. Thanks for letting me cross the street first.

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come home to

Background: I am sitting in the lobby of SK Global at a large desk with eight swivel chairs, four facing the other four. It’s just me, for the most part, and the Korean receptionist-cum-security man at his own desk behind me. At times, students trickle in and out of the lobby, heading back to their rooms or heading out to parts of Seoul. I am behind on my essay for my Sociology class and am typing tons of bull to fill my 10 page essay. It is due in three hours and I have just begun to labor.

Enter friend N.

N is in my devil Sociology class with a 10 page paper requirement, conveniently (I say this in the tone of my professor’s voice) due after school has technically ended and all finals are over and done with. He was a smart boy. N opted to do a group presentation on Christianity in Korea instead.

N asks me what I’m up to and I tell him I am scrambling. We make chitchat and he gives me encouraging words and I moan about my situation and he feeds me platitudes and all is well. He leaves to go take a solitary walk around Seoul and to think. This is the type of person N is. Also, he is very tall. And half-Korean. And wears giant headphones. And asks lots of intelligently-framed probing questions in class. And his dad is a pastor.

I go back to typing. And by typing, I mean that I am listening to Korean music while eavesdropping on conversations and trying to make my essay on the role of Confucian values on paid and unpaid work in Korean society, for my sake, make sense. It’s not going well.

An hour or so later, N enters again. By this time, it’s already close to my deadline and I’m stressed and eating and stress-eating and long story short, N and I exchange emails (I give him mine) and I make him promise to email me when something random happens in his life. I make him understand this is a very serious request. Also, he does not have Facebook, which makes this request even seriouser.

Jump forward to today and my junk email box and a brief and concise five lines that let me know that since he’s returned to Michigan, he’s suffered through a collapsed lung, surgery, and learned to make bread (bbang). He tells me that he is “now contemplating the possibility of knowing the possibility of knowledge.” This reminds me of Descartes and also the limitedness of human creativity and limitingness of human arrogance. This makes me happy.

Also this is probably the closest that I will have to an email pal (refer to checklist). So I rejoice, but not in the lobby of SK Global at a large desk with eight swivel chairs, four facing the other four.

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pigeon express

During our last week of senior year in high school, Mr. Shimmon made us each self-address a letter to our future selves that he would send to us in four years. He must have miscalculated because my mom received the letter a few weeks ago in the mail.

My handwriting’s still the same–bubbly and round and big–and the binder (yeah, Norcal) paper that I wrote on is imprinted with my words. The letter is dated June 5, 2008, and it starts off by saying “Dear Older You,” which, in hindsight, doesn’t quite make sense.

You are old now. No more making of Tim and Rosa while holding onto your youthful 17. Hah, little did you know, younger version of me, that I would receive this two years earlier than anticipated and that I would still cling onto my youth. Dumb younger version.

The next section takes into account that this is four years later. What is your career? Did you really end up majoring in Soc? Huh. This means that I was doubtful that I would actually do Sociology. Are you still community-based? Not as much as I’d like to say I am.

MOST IMPORTANTLY, have you gotten your stupid driving license yet? …Well done, 17-year-old Connie, well done. Way to call me out on it. It also seems like everyone (and apparently my high school self) asks me this question whenever I am back.

I wonder who your friends are now. More UCLA folks or still Cal (I think I meant high school) friends? I’m happy to say that it is a mix of the two.

As to me, I am doing well. Of course I would be arrogant enough to think that my future self would care about my current wellbeing. It’s Thursday, the last day of actual school and I’m late. AGAIN. I told Kyo and Jeffrey I’d meet them during mods 4-5 (HAH, the mod system) to plan out elections, but you know me. Again, the assumptions.

High school, I just realized, is only part one of my formative years. How accurate and wise and cliche I was!

In theory, right now, you’re unafraid of most things. But I do hope you’ll learn how to act to protect what matters most to you. Not to mention stop shying away from relationships and so easily dismissing people.

I am surprised at how well I knew myself at 17 to be able to write that. It feels like a friend gently rebuking and reminding me of a promise that I made to her. I am content and peaceful and in awe of her youthful wisdom and honesty.

It is then dated June 6, 2008, which means that I procrastinated and finished my letter to my self a day after I started it. I wish I had written more but I’m happy with what I’ve written. It’s something to remember.

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scratches

Dear Cousin,

I still wear the ring your mama made for me, though it’s now given me a tan so I have to alternate fingers every so often. It acts as my engagement, promise, and wedding rings (not to you though, because that would be kind of gross). It is my nostalgia, commitment, and my thermometer (I think my fingers swell in warm weather) all rolled up in one. It cracked last year, so there were moments when it was touch and go whether I would lose it, but then your mama soldered it back together and now the ring is back on my finger.

Sometimes I fiddle with it and I turn it around and I move it to a different finger. Sometimes I take it off and I spin it like a coin on a tabletop. There are a few scratches, mostly because I wear it all the time.

I don’t accessorize much (in boy talk, read: wear extra little things) and I rarely remember to wear jewelry but I always have the ring on. It reminds me that it takes time to be comfortable with other people and with myself but that it will come. Most times, the ring reminds me to try and to be happy and to be patient with others. But sometimes I wear it and it is just pretty.

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portable ATM

Dear S,

Upon browsing one of my favorite sites, I came across the answer to your walletlemma.

Though I am an equal opportunity walleteer (unless it is ugly in which case, I discriminate), I just can’t turn down an accessory that makes me look like I’m 1) not holding a wallet (thieves, be confounded), 2) fluent in another language, and 3) a hip tourist who still enjoys cassette tapes.

And in case you have have conveniently forgotten to get Cousin a birthday present, I think his wallet is beginning to wear out. You may consider buying him the following:

Or in case you have REALLY forgotten about George‘s birthday from long-ago March, you may consider purchasing the following wallet in case his job as a male stripper DOES pan out and he needs somewhere (ELSE) to stuff those bills.

And since Ling Ling’s birthday is tomorrow, S, you may want to get him the following, seeing as Politics is his second language. Only the following item can add to his legitness.(Also, a great Christmas present for Tony in case he learns Arabic on the side.)

But what if your friends go overseas to Paris? Well now you can send them off with the proper present and Yellow, Mel, and P can whip out their wallets at any time! They’ve got (international) mail from friends!

If you just want to send a very random thank-you-for-existing present for either Jo, Kendall, or Daddy, I would suggest the following wallet because who knows what’ll happen if these three are ever found without a crossword from the Daily Bruin? *Carrying case for pen not included.

I hope this letter has helped you with your walletlemma. I look forward to hearing back from you on your decision!

Love, C

p.s. I’ll love you no matter what you’re walleting.

p.p.s. I couldn’t think of enough creative things to say about the rest of the wallets (or the rest of the people on my blogroll).

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med student love

Dear Bravo,

I love love LOVE your network so much. I love your trashy shit like the drama on The Real Housewives of the OC. I love your competitive shit like Top Chef and Project Runway. I love your drool-worthy shit like Make Me a Supermodel, where you are currently featuring my future husband, Colin.

But one thing I hate about your network is the show, Millionaire Matchmaker who features Patti, a self-proclaimed matchmaker aka the fucking BITCH from hell. The most surprising thing about it all is that Patti doesn’t actually seem to grasp her role as a matchmaker. She champions the idea that even the wealthy need love. Well, how the fuck are they ever going to find it if all of the girls are subject to a very superficial scrutiny and all of the guys need to undergo your roving eye and displeasant attitude?

Wake up, bitch.

She is a matchmaker. But it’s the 21st century She cannot DEMAND that the guy be chivalrous because not all girls like that, despite her ingrained, outdated beliefs and adamantly annoying critiques.

Most importantly, she cannot straight up ask a girl about her sex life without fucking being tactful about it. Saying, “no wonder you’re 41 and unmarried” is not an appropriate response to a prospective client. This lady needs to UNBITCH HERSELF or she’s seriously going to lose all of her clients. I know she’s a strong womyn, but it doesn’t mean that she can ever forget to be CIVIL.

Frankly, she’s obviously out for the money because people who invest in a Millionaire’s Club are NOT out to help the poor folks of the world. Another problem is that she think that EVERY client has a hang-up. Some do, but honey, we the viewers have some problems with HER. She (very desperately, I might add) needs a makeover for her nasty-ass hair and fucking innappropriately bitchy attitude.

Thank you for listening to my rant, Bravo. Hopefully you’ll take this to heart and either fire the bitch or send her to charm school via MTV. Whichever’s cheaper.

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candles on the mind

Dear Daddy Hubes,

I know that tomorrow is your birthday (thank you, Facebook) so I’ve decided to arrange a little something for you in the dining halls. I’ve planned a Theme Dinner of Authentic Thai Cuisine for tomorrow night!

I’ve even managed to plan the menu, which includes:
Thai Larb-style Pizza (made with chicken and a vegan option)
Thai Curry Vegetables and Tofu with Sweet Potato Purée
Baked Salmon in Thai Red Curry Sauce in Banana Leaf served with Jasmine Rice
Tom Kha Gai (Chicken and Coconut soup) served with rice
Chicken and Shrimp Pad Thai and Vegetarian Pad Thai
Thai Burger with Thai Kettle Chips
Fried Plantains (Banana Chips)
Vegetarian Thai Tofu and Lemongrass Soup
Pineapple Fried Rice and Thai Style Grilled Root Vegetables
Spicy Thai Vegetable Stew (Vegan) and Spicy Thai Beef Stew
Green Papaya Salad, Spicy Thai Mango Salad, Julienne Vegetable Salad
Coconut Rice Pudding, Green Tea Roulades, Mango Mousse
Warm Pineapple/Macadamia Cake, Mango-filled Sugar Cookies
Green Tea Soft Serve

As your favorite daughter, I thought that I would do something nice for your 19th and have therefore influenced the kitchens at De Neve, Rieber, Covel, AND Hedrick to prepare this meal for you (and all of your friends and fellow classmates at UCLA). Feel free to eat as much as you want!

Love,

Your most well-behaved and beloved daughter (whose allowance is about to drastically increase please and thank you)

p.s. You’re welcome, Daddy. But just remember this present when MY birthday rolls around. I wouldn’t turn down a car for my birthday (with a driver’s license attached).

p.p.s. Premier Plan folks can’t swipe others in, though. Boo.

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killing it

Dear all,

For homework 3, the due date will be postponed to next Friday that is 02/06. The rest of the homework will be postponed accordingly.

An index card is allowed for all three exams. Size: 5 by 7. Both sides ok.

TI 83/84 is allowed to all exams as well. OK for tomorrow in particular.

Shouxin

——————————————-

If you find yourself with an hour to spare mid-day on campus sometime in the 6 remaining weeks of Winter quarter, do yourself a favor and stop in and watch one of the 10 episodes of the Decalogue. Your cultural capital will go up sharply (thank you, Bourdieu), you’ll see a beautiful 55 minute piece of film, and you might have a really good time. FREE. You are so lucky.

best, Terri

I think my professors for this quarter are the least stuffiest teachers in the school.

Professor (Shouxin) Dai resembles Mr. Chan in the way that he carries his shoulders, but he has an accent. (He is pretty legit.) When a kid asked him how the tangent line formula equaled f'(c), Professor Dai got this really confused look on his face, looked back at the board, pointed to the equal sign, and said, “This is from high school.” Then he drew an arrow to the equal sign and wrote down “high.” (He didn’t quite get to the “school” part.) Obviously, the kid wasn’t confused about the equal sign itself, but the fact that Professor Dai thought that he was, was pretty cute.

Professor Terri Anderson is my Sociology teacher. One of the sophomores on my floor who had her last year asked me if she had worn her “pimp coat” to class yet. I didn’t know what a pimp coat was so I had to ask. Apparently it’s this but in a lighter brown color with more white.

And yes, she has worn her pimp coat.

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they call me hell

THAT’S NOT MY NAME. THAT’S NOT MY NAME. Damn that is an addicting song.

I checked my mail today and got three letters. One from the Boy. One from my mommy. And one from Bizness. The first one was sweet. The second one just had my new CA ID in it. The third one read:

I don’t want it. Thanks though.

Enclosed in that stampless envelope were two dollars that I pushed on him that night of Jo’s birthday. Two dollars. To pay for my share of the tax. Two dollars! Normal people let two dollars go, Bizness!

p.s. Dear Mommy, why did you think that it was okay that I’d (try to) fly home with an expired CA ID after my new one had been processed? Thank you for finally sending it to me. Unfortunately, I look very much like I did five years ago. Just less pissed.

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