The Story I Cannot Write

I am an aspiring authoress.  I have been since middle school when my friends and I wrote stories on notebooks and passed them between us throughout the school day.  I always knew that my friends had a lot more talent and ability but I figured that at least my desire would make up for it.

I kept writing.

It's been 16  years since I was that middle school girl, passing notebooks and pouring my heart into made up characters and plotlines.  I still keep those notebooks in a box and I pull them out every so often as a reminder of the emotions I put into those stories and as a reminder of the dream of becoming a real authoress.

Writing is not easy for me.  Someone - William Faulkner - once said that a writer has to write because they can't not write.  I am that type of writer.  I don't write because I have talent and wonderful ideas that come spewing off the page.  I write because to not write hurts.  I write because my soul won't let me do anything else until I've expressed something in words.

The result of all of my writing though is this: a dozen unfinished short stories, three unfinished novels, and a dozen poems.  I pull out the bits of novels for bedtime stories to read to friends who are stressed or sick.  I pull out the short stories on those nights when the writing demon has gotten me and I think that I must surely finish something.  None of it is brilliant - in my nicest moments, they are like old friends who bring a smile to my face of good memories and in my most critical moments, they are raw and ugly brainchildren, proof of my limited ability.

I never finish anything.  I'm starting to wonder if I ever will.

However, in all of this, I keep writing.  Because I must.

Sunny Side Up

Dear Hasebe-san,

It must have been a surprise and an honor that you were chosen as the magazine cover for the An-an issue, "Strong Men".  It makes me smile though that your first thought/concern/question was, "Does this mean you want me to go shirtless for the picture?"  The result may be a disappointment to all your faithful fangirls (except one) but once again you prove to be nothing less than mein lieblinggspieler.

Love,
Me

P.S. For the record, I'm so glad that you know the appeal of a man in a well-tailored suit.


Dear Taemin,

I'm no rookie when it comes to distinguishing pretty boys from pretty girls in the world of Kpop.  Today, though, when I saw a picture of Shinee after winning M!Countdown! - a well deserved win, I might add - I honestly thought you were a girl.  I think it's time to stop wearing that wig, kid.  No older sister wants to be upstaged in feminine beauty by her little brother, even a fake-me-out adopted one.

Love,
Me

Source: Allkpop.com
Taemin's on the very left.

Dear Uchida,

I love that when Benni said, "It's amazing how much fan mail Uchida gets, so many sweets and nice stuff,"  that your response was: "I think he receives a lot more marriage proposals than I do."  More marriage proposals?!  Do you realize how much of a game changer that statement is?  We went from girls sending you nice little gifts to actually proposing to you via mail!  (What am I saying, they even propose to you via Captain Hasebe - "I want to marry Uchida.  Will you introduce us?")  I love that you're so nonchalant about it.  I love that you don't even see it as a big deal.  Meanwhile, the rest of us live in perpetual shock at your star power.

Love,
Me

Source: www.schalke04.de

Dear Yoochun,

What an honor to go to the Blue House and perform for the First Ladies from all around the world.  What an honor to get to meet South Korea's first Lady and have her personally greet you and tell you that she is enjoying watching your latest drama.  I just have to laugh though.  Somehow I still expect First Ladies to like serious or important TV shows and not romantic comedies about Crown Princes from the Joseon Era who find themselves suddenly dropped into modern Korea.  In any case, definitely a day to remember for a long time.

Love,
Me

On the Run

Dear Subconscious,

I've been on the run in my dreams before.  I've had chase scenes that make action movies seem tame.  It was one thing to be shocked when a kimodo dragon jumped up onto my lounge chair.  It was quite another to find that multiple kimodo dragons were intent on following me and eating live animals in front of me.  Even in the midst of trying to figure out how to deal with the situation, I marveled, "In my dreams, I've been chased by a number of things but nothing as surprisingly disturbing as this.  I wonder what is going on in my brain."  If you'd care to enlighten me, I'd be most interested.

Love,
Me

Dear Tuesday,

Where did you go?  In any case, thanks to you, I'm already desperate for a Friday.

Love,
Me


Dear Dreams,

You feel far away.  One day at a time; one step at a time.  I'm not entirely sure what I'm working for anymore.  PhD?  Marriage and Family?  Living/working in Japan?  Where have you gone?  I think I'm most worried that at the end of this semester, I'll stop to take a breath and realize that everything is still as distant and unattainable as ever. Or worse, that you've disappeared altogether.  Please don't leave me here alone.

Love,
Me


Dear Charlottesville,

It feels like my first spring with you rather than my sixth.  You continue to amaze me and take my breath away with your beauty.  Even in the midst of my running around, I cannot help but marvel.  Thank you for being so wonderful.

Love,
Me

Dear Chinese Professors,

After having gone off about the length of time for a Master's in China and a PhD in China (3-4 years), I was hesitant to give an answer when you asked what year in school I was.  Sixth.  You all got very quiet, looked at each other, and then jumped in with, "You must have a really strict professor.  You have such a hard program, it's no wonder it takes you so long."  It was so kind of you to think it must be someone else's fault besides my own.  But really, it comes down me to me, and my inability to get good data.  Thanks for the support anyway.  It really did mean a lot.

Love,

Me

Restless

A few weeks ago, UVa had spring break.  I do not say "I had spring break" because I worked the entire week.  My colleague and I decided we were going to take a few days off and we not only ended up coming in the entire week but I even stayed late on Friday.

But of course, despite what sounds like stellar work ethic, I was feeling as much in need of a good break as everyone else.  So, on Friday, I called up one of my sisters for help.  We came up with a plan: to meet somewhere near the middle of our two houses and visit something off the highway that we've always wanted to explore.

My sister decided on Chapman's Mill.  We were pretty excited to investigate this historic site which played some part in the Civil War.  We were encouraged when we noticed a lot of other cars parked near the entrance to the spot.  Apparently everyone else really likes this place too!  Then we wandered along a trail until we got to this:

 Ummm.... Also note, we were the only ones on the trail by this point.  But undeterred, we forged onward to the mill.

So...yeah, it got destroyed by fire twice.  It was a great view of a skeleton of a building.

 Oops!  So much for our historic outing.

We had a good laugh at our expense.  We also really liked the sign with its description.  Apparently, the mill was used by the Confederate soldiers during the War to store two million pounds of meat (!!!) while they occupied the area.  When the soldiers left, they set it on fire so the Union troops wouldn't have access to the meat.  The captions also made us smile.  On the left it says, The Mill.  On the right it says, The Fire.

 Here I'm trying to take an artistic shot of the building.

Well, that sightseeing adventure took all of 10 minutes (mostly to walk to this point).  Since we were on some trails we just started walking along.  We started finding lots of people who were all decked out in hiking gear, equipped with plenty of water and walking sticks.  We didn't really get what the trails were about until we got to the car and realized that there was some outlook that everyone else was hiking up to.  So we turned around and hiked up to the outlook in our non hiking gear and without water bottles or hiking sticks.  

 The ground sparkled!  "What is this?  Twilight?"  ~ My sister

 The hike proved to actually be a hike.  But after an hour of hiking we reached the top.

 It was a beautiful view.

 So our adventure turned out to be a real adventure after all.

I recommend it.  The view was great.  The hike was not too difficult and very beautiful.  And of course, the company couldn't be beat.

Stats of Single Men

Yesterday, I heard a statistic on the number of single men for single women above age 30 in the Church.  It was shocking, disconcerting but it at least led to some very fascinating conversation with a number of friends.

In any case, my curiosity was piqued so I did a little research.  (Operative word: little)  I found this marvelous gem.  It's an article from 1960 written by Eleanor Harris for the women's magazine Look about the state of single men.

While I do take some issue with this article, there were a number of aspects that left me feeling I honestly could do little but laugh at it (and point out its gaping flaws).

For one, the lists that men create for the women they are looking for.

Man 1 is looking for a girl who is:
Catholic, acceptable to his family, short, as good-looking as his sister, a logical thinker, willing to have five children in three years, distinguished looking rather than just pretty so that she'd still be handsome at 80.

Man 2 is looking for a girl who is:
Protestant, tall and slim, pretty, smart (high IQ), rich (family money), outdoorsy, a good cook, willing to live in a small community, of compatible blood type, between 20 and 25 years old, even tempered, a non-smoker, a non-drinker, a non-swearer, concerned about her makeup and void of a a history of inherited disease.

While I don't doubt that religious preferences, family considerations, looks and intellect are important, it is absolutely laughable to me that a man would specify that his wife must be willing to have more children than years available or that he would even care about blood type (unless he lived in Asia where there is still some idea that blood type indicates personality type).

Not unfamiliar with lists (and ridiculous ones at that - my 14 year old self cracks me up), I found these lists so contrived that I could just see the author trying to think of an "impossible" list for a man and after realizing that those things all seemed normal threw in a few off-the-wall items that would have every matchmaking busybody shaking her head in disgust at those "picky perpetual bachelors".  I'm sure the result would also have some women in fear of never matching up to all the expectations men place on a suitable marriage partner.

As if that wasn't enough, the article tries to bring in a science base to the entire process by citing the "Scientific Marriage Foundation".   The process this organization utilized included applicants filling out forms, supplying character references and attaching photographs.  You have an interview with a foundation counselor who writes down impressions of the potential bride or groom.  So far, this sounds nothing different than a typical old-fashioned matchmaking agency.  But no, they send all the results to an IBM sorting machine in Indiana which successfully pairs people.  This is 1960.  Computers were nothing much more than large rooms of adding machines.  And how did this magical computer sort people?  Based on their age, race, religion, education, etc.  Essentially, it doesn't matter what that counselor thought of you - this is no database looking for key words.  It's simply a matter of quickly comparing quantifiable information and spitting out matches.

And then of course we get to the most scientific of all measurements: statistics.

"Widowers and divorced men (20–44) are four times as likely to be killed in automobile accidents as husbands. Five divorced men commit suicide to each married man. In homicide, the picture is even blacker. Out of every 100,000 men (20–74) in this country, 24 divorced men are murdered, as are 17 widowers and eight bachelors—while only four married men die at the hands of a killer."

As any statistician knows (or should know) correlation does not equal causality.  I don't think murderers are running around targeting single men because they don't have wives or children.  Nor do I think auto accidents are more likely to be fatal if one of the parties involved is a bachelor (even a crotchety old one).  

I wonder how this article was received back in 1960.  I'm more curious about the article that preceded and prompted this one.  Another interesting point of this article is the discussion of homosexuality which manages to proves to be highly ignorant and offensive even while trying to challenge traditional social mores.  (On second thought, I guess it's treatment of homosexuality is no different than it's treatment of heterosexuality)  

In any case, this article like others shows the struggle we make to address the state of singleness and it's  perceived problems as well as the risk of citing science to back up an argument.  Failed logic = failed logic = failed logic. 

I close with probably the only true line of the entire article: 

A man in Missouri writes: “Having been indoctrinated in college with the ideal of the scientific method of solving problems, I found that method was applicable in almost every area of life, except in choosing a wife."

I couldn't agree more.  

Spring Comes to Cville

可愛くてしょうがない

At nineteen months, my niece is showing more and more of her personality.  She is just so much fun.  Whereas I felt from day one that she was a stubborn and determined little individual, I never expected to find that she also loves to help as much as she can.  I also can't figure out if she is highly risk averse or not.  For instance, when she was learning how to crawl and walk, she was always very cautious and possible even slowed her progress by insisting she always had a foot behind her in case she fell.  But then during this process, I once turned around to find her rocking her heart out in a child's rocking chair and then just leaning forward in the chair to reach down to get her toys on the ground below.  She continues the same pattern at nineteen months in which she shows hesitancy to jump because that requires both feet leaving the ground but she shows absolutely no fear running around on a moving and stopping subway train which should cause just as much uncertainty on her feet.

In any case, I am pretty smitten with Baby.  Here are a few scenes from the weekend:

(1) During dinner on Friday, I had the niece in my lap facing the table and was feeding her rice.  (She can feed herself but the large spoon in the restaurant was unwieldy and too big for her mouth)  If I tried to feed her something other than rice, she would shake her head and I would laugh and put it in my mouth instead.  Baby decided to try her hand at feeding herself and I watched her scoop up a little bit of rice on her spoon and put it in her mouth.  Then she took another spoonful and tried to feed me.  However, since I was sitting behind her, the result was that she threw the rice over her shoulder and onto me (and the floor).  I couldn't stop laughing at the result of her desire to help me out but had to put a stop to the mess she was making.

(2) My niece likes to use the phrase, "It's hot."  She knows that if we hold up food and say, "It's hot" that she is supposed to blow on it before she can eat it.  She has learned that this applies to more than just food.

While on the computer and putting in my thumb drives, the drives would light up red when they were running.  My niece put her hand on them and said, "It's hot."  I smiled at her.

She tried the next thing the next day on the subways when she saw the blinking lights lining the platform indicate the doors on the subway train were going to close.  "It's hot.  It's hot."  She was less than thrilled that we wouldn't let her go out of the subway and touch the lights.

She tried to describe something else as hot - she put her hand on an elevator window and insisted, "It's hot."  I touched it and found that it was actually cold.  "No, it's not Baby.  Nice try."

(3) Baby loves pictures of herself.  Looking at pictures of herself, I asked her, "Who is that?"  She smiled and pointed at herself, "Me."  I nodded.  "Yes, it's You!"

Later when we were looking at other pictures of her, I asked her the question again, "Who is that?"  She pointed at herself and, imitating almost perfectly my voice from before, said, "It's You!"

I am really good at confusing personal pronouns for my niece.

(4) My niece decided to try dressing herself.  After putting her in her pajamas, she took the clothes we had just taken off her and tried to put them back on.  She managed the skirt pretty well.  But then she tried to put on the shirt the same way she put on the skirt.  All of us adults just sat back and laughed as she maneuvered herself into this second "skirt" and then stood up and tried to walk around.  We tried to show her how to really put on the shirt but she couldn't manage more than just putting it on her head like a hat.

(5) Her mom and I tried to get her to sing songs with us to keep her occupied on the car rides, subway rides, and walking.  The first time we tried If You're Happy and You Know It, she was on board with us and completed all the actions in time with us.  It was adorable.  However, when we got to the third verse and she realized that we did something different from her, she just glared at us and refused to finish the song. Her look seemed to say, "Even the younger babies at daycare get it right.  Why couldn't you?"

(6) We went to a fancy bakery for a dessert on Saturday and splurged on a few cupcakes to share and a few macaroons.  Baby insisted to getting a bite of one of the macaroons so we handed it to her and let her take a bite.  She decided she didn't like it and squished the macaroon in her hand, crumbling it into small pieces and then brushed all those gooey crumbs off her hand over the side as the stroller while us adults tried desperately to take the remains of the macaroon out of her hand before they were lost.  What is one baby's trash is another aunt's treasure.