ignorant doorman/racist son of a bitch

I know it's easy to get Asians all mixed up with one another, as our defining characteristics, or lack thereof, are kind of similar. We have the slanty almond eyes, jet black hair, small stature, and acute sense of style (just kidding.. that last one only pertains to yours truly).

I came into work last week and the Doorman, I think his name is Rich or Richard or something to that degree, sees me and calls up to Kimi per the usual. I sit in the stained red couch, waiting to hear "Kimi, we've got Fawn here for you," but instead it's "Kimi, we've got Grace here." Who the FUCK is Grace? Anyway, I ignored it.

Two days later, I met Grace. Fawn sits in dining room, doorbell rings, enter fobby-as-hell-sneakers-with-a-long-skirt-GRACE. She is a NYU Finance Grad student-- good for her, but she is not me! She continues to call me "Fong" all day and I continue to mentally judge her for either one of two things 1. Her unibrow 2. Her working for Kimi unpaid.

The next day, another strange thing happened. I come in to work. *ring*ring* "Kimi, Yang Yi is here to see you." How many Asians does this one Central Park white lady employ. One more of us and she can open her own damn sweatshop and put Nike to shame.

Anyway, back to the point. Why don't these doormen know the difference between me and these hoebags? They see me EVERYDAY. I can tell them apart even though they're all overweight white males with a Queens accent, wearing the same uniforms, and touting the same "we talk about Obama which makes us smart" bull shit.

Ok. the end. (before I start getting hate comments from doormen... or Grace)

Fishbowls and Astronauts

When I was younger, I wanted to be an astronaut... then a doctor... then a teacher... then a figure skater. When I was 12, I finally settled on becoming an actor slash singer. Then, I realized you needed talent for that, and reverted to "Account Manager or Brand Manager at one of the big 5 Ad Agencies in the World." That dream stuck, but was never realized.

I think back on my childhood and can recall, even down to the minutest details, the lengths at which my parents nutured my naive ambitions.

They really believed I was going to be some prodigious child- the first 9 year old to land on the moon, composing etudes and minuets between launches or maybe the female counterpart of Dr. Doogie Howser minus the shitty name and doofy haircut. I was going places, or so they thought.. hoped.

My mom believed in me so much that she sent me to space camp; made me an astronaut costume, crafted from an old, unwashed fishbowl and bubble wrap; and bought me a top of the line Galileo telescope with retractable capabilties.

Then I turned 10 and all I wanted was to play my music and sing. It didn't matter that I sounded like William Hung or that the only song I knew how to play on the piano was an especially archaic version of "Happy Birthday". My sweet immigrant parents sang along and cooed, "what a natural!"

Investment after investment, I never became anything. I never play the piano anymore after 10 years of lessons, my Astrospace stuff is somewhere in the basement either collecting dust or growing mold, and my guitar is stringless laying atop an old fishbowl helmet in the garage.

Coming to NYU was my last chance to prove myself-- to become my parents' child. When I was in school, I kept telling myself "I'm going to be someone, I'm going to be known, I'm going to do something worthwhile." And still, all I'm doing is dreaming. Not everyone's child is destined to be President, win an Oscar, and go into space... I mean, how many extraordinary people can exist in the world at one time?

As I get older, I realize that I no longer have the luxury to change my mind on a whim, to decide that instead of collecting fossils in South America, I'd rather be singing alongside Ben Gibbard at the Wiltern. At what age do you have to stop dreaming about your future and start living it?

Being in love

A friend once told me love was selfish. I didn't believe him then and I never will.

I know that when I fall, I tend to fall hard. I get screwed over and over, and yet jaded I am not. I don't believe that love is based on circumstance or sacrifices. To me, it seems counterintuitive to think that way-- to think that reason has to give into love or vice versa. I believe that when you're in love, there is no internal battle-- everything is as clear as day.

I love thee to the level of everyday’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.

-Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? (L. 5–10)

me. sort of..

I thought I should write something interesting for my first entry at Blogger, but all I can think about is how nice it is outside and how I'm sitting here writing an entry instead of roaming with the geese in Nowheresville, New York.

Anyhow...
A little about me: I am a New York City girl, a Southern California native, but ultimately the ultimate city girl. I moved from So Cal about 4 years ago to become a pretentious NYU undergrad. Now, 4 years later, I've got a bachelor's degree and no career prospects. I have two jobs, both of which are completely pointless and getting me nowhere.

I have a soon-to-be-doctor-but-is-still-just-a-med-student-for-now boyfriend who lives about 30 minutes north of the city in a place I like to call "hell" (just some of the time). I'm here now actually, which should explain why this entry sounds so bitter.

I am Asian. I'm not sure how important that is for you to know, but if College Board/ Univ. Admissions/ and the WalMart Survey wants to know that I'm Asian, I'm sure you do too.

I like to eat. I don't like writing about food. I just eat it. Period. Luckily, I've got one of those crazy Asian metabolisms that keeps me ... relatively thin.

Most people know I don't like to exercise, but I do like to walk... everywhere. I walk without listening to music or pod casts so that the voices in my head can come in clearer. I think a lot. About nonsensical things. This is why I have a blog.

It is the outlet for all my inane thoughts.