For the first time in three years I actually sat down to eat a dinner with my parents. I munched on my London Broil slowly and even took generous bites of my verdant "Sang-hoi toi." After I said "ho boh la," I cleared my plate into the garbage bin and washed my own plate! I had a feeling my parents harmoniously said, "Ting yut hung lew sim en la." To combat my impending ADHD, I focused intensely on reading my book The Game of School without scrutinizing my computer screen aimlessly for Facebook updates.
The election results instill in me a slight sense of comfort and hope at a time of dark financial abyss and increasing cynicism towards the government or whatever this word "government" stands for. I am mostly inundated with concern for my own future and mounting indifference towards politics as a whole even though it is inescapable. Perhaps this jubilant election celebration is a distraction from the "real work" that has to be done during New York City and New Jersey's major recovery efforts to ameliorate hundreds of lives whose homes were ravaged. I am still conflicted: should I volunteer my time or decide to be helplessly selfish and focus on my life? Tiffany chided me for my stupidity and goaded me to go out and help because regardless of what my intentions are (skewed or genuine), I will make a physical and emotional difference in other people's lives. That end result is apart from my vanity and self-validation. Speaking of vanity, why would anyone dress in a thousand dollar jacket when their house is submerged and their lunch consists of dollar hot dogs?
Every morning I wake up I feel a sense of repetition as if I am motioning through mundane tasks to ready myself for the world outside of my apartment. The moment I wake up to light peeking through my window shade, I ask myself, Didn't I wake up yestermorning? Didn't I part my eyes with my clenched fists and squint at my strewn blankets yesterday? I have done this before, but every night I feel like I prepare myself again for another day, another cycle. But it is shallow to have this contemplation, for I have friends and two parents who dramatically alter the contents of my day, affecting the mood of events from pedestrian to diverse. When I think of my students I smile and frown at their incohesive essays; when I think of Linda, I think of how lucky I am to have a close friend who tolerated my antics and share my same insight on this hard-knock life; when I think of Joe I think of manual labor of immigrants and his strenuous efforts to eke out a path for himself and his family; when I think of Kathy I blush with jubilance and bliss. I am reminded that things happen for a reason. Not everything is designated or premeditated by a higher power or deity; sometimes things occur because they are concomitant points on a grid. The only misnomer here is "coincidence."
It is amazing how my summer friend Jamie and my young lad Tiffany are dispersed on the globe. Jamie is back in her slow-paced hometown of Arizona, the state from which Michelle Branch hailed. She is working weekly shifts at Buffalo Exchange and furthering her goals in fashion design while contemplating diversification (not the company term). When she is not working, she bikes in the morning for exercise and performs at local open mics which are hard to find in AZ. She reminds me of the fragrant memories we had at Pete's Candy Store where she would perform her newly-written songs and we would meet eccentric artists who eagerly cornered us in conversation. Tiffany is an adventurous friend who is currently enjoying the weather in Melbourne on her study abroad expedition. I did not realize the extent of eye-opening experiences she had acquired until I had watched a video she compiled. Tiffany has gained a well-rounded view of the world in which diversity is really the highlight of survival and togetherness. For that I am extremely proud of and happy for her.
Bike lanes are difficult to keep up with. When I think of bike lanes I seldom imagine Linda cruising down a narrow path hemmed by white paint. Then you throw in a couple of behemoth vehicles circumventing her change of direction, it's not a party on two wheels. I hope that she rides safely and cautiously with her Robocop-polo helmet. After watching Linda sprint off on two symmetrical wheels I thought about the speed of progress in addition to the speed of change. I have been teaching at a prep center for nearly two months and I have dramatically altered my weekday schedule and my mental outlook on life. Regarding growth, I attribute all my progress to Linda who not only helped me acquire this position but also assured me throughout the interview by currying favor to me. If Linda had not woken me up that somnolent Friday morning in September, I would still be scouting for work on Craigslist and I would not have honed my passion for English. Though my passion for English has been augmented, my writing skills have paled because I have not attended the Sin Rostro open mics or have gotten time to read any other books besides my English "bibles," Strunk and White's Elements of Style and Bedford Handbook of Grammar.
Privilege and self-righteousness are repulsive because these values are condescending towards others. When someone believes that their education is more valuable than everyone else's education, they are clearly setting up a shanty-house of privilege. This person privileges himself or herself by having an upper hand over another person because he or she either hold a higher degree or believe that he or she has mastered a deified field. I don't want to be paternalistic, but this behavior is very turnoff-ish and protective of one's status as something less than they perceive himself or herself to be.
When I peel open my closet door, I am greeted with a "bok faw gung thew" or clothing department of shirts that resemble each other. I look at these shirts hanging on lonely hangers and I notice my state of vanity. It is only when I am clad in J.Crew that I notice how vain I am. I become more attuned to people's wardrobes in public and I begin to make assumptions and cloudy gestures that are condescending and ignorant of class, race, and gender. Clothing is a superficial veil that coats us all in public because we cannot hit the pavement naked. When we strip down to shower we are nothing more than our bare flesh and inscrutable wrinkles. Why should clothing matter so much? It's not as if I strike enigmatic poses for runways whenever I enter a deli or school. I aim to slim down on my spendings on shirts and miscellaneous accessories such as bags. This way I can save up for what's more important: needs instead of wants. Moreover, I can spend my money wisely: on my friends Linda, Joe, Shawn, Ivan, and Kathy. Spending money on expensive clone shirts and marginal alcohol is feckless. These material goods are all but apparitions of status we yearn to achieve. But status is a hit or miss right now. We are still in school and we are only becoming shapely young adults. Our class status is waiting for us to slip into.
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