Aging Gracefully

I was devouring the most recent issue of InStyle magazine, when I found the most handsome picture of who else, but Richard Gere. He had silvery white hair that screamed platinum. He wore the most darling spectacles, as well as a warm, sincere smile. He appeared to melt my "still a teenaged girl" heart faster than when I first saw him in Pretty Woman(1990). Mr. Gere, born in 1949, will turn 55 years old this year. How many people do you know, who looks as great as Richard Gere at 55? I personally can't say that I'll look half as good when I'm 35!

Today's focus is how people manage to age gracefully. I mean by that, to put it flatly frank, how do you look younger, no matter what your age is? Yes, today's topic is shallow. It's about the supercial, physical being, that I normally overlook. It's about sprouting zits just when I'm approaching the quarter-of-a-century mark, and finding a giant black head on my cheek. It's about the dark circles and bags under my eyes, and the impossible to iron wrinkles on the bridge of my nose. It's about my flabby arms that are slowly getting flabbier and old-lady-like by the minute. And who said it... that breasts, since the day they first emerged, are on a never-ending journey toward the feet, aided by gravity.

As an Asian, I am told that I look more youthful than my American counterparts. Generally darker than most Caucasians, there is significantly less sun damage. I don't know whether it is because being so yellow, it takes attention away from the wrinkles, but probably up to the age of 30, most Asian women look younger than their age. Perhaps it is because Asians are generally more petite. Most of us don't grow to be 5'8" with sexy J.Lo hips, or supple breasts. Our shoulders are narrow, and our height averages between 5' and 5'6" at best, and our hairs are dark by nature. We don't grow melons on our chests; our breasts are humble peaks. Looking more like a child in size and sexual development, we tend to look younger.

I think when an Asian woman slowly goes over that peak, which can be anywhere from 30 to late 30's, we age exponentially faster and faster, until we become the shriveled up raisin. Perhaps I am generalizing. But while I see many western women age like Diane Keaton, Asian women seem to shrivel up by her age. Why is that? I guess Vera Wang is somewhat an exception, but look at Martha Stewart! She's in her 60's (to my knowledge) and looks decades younger. She's beautiful and strong. She can carry her own in the court, as well as carry her own purse. Many Asians in their 60's can't tell if their cell phones are on or off. (I have at least one old man or lady a day, who comes in with a dead cell phone and they're complaining that it never rings. Hello! The screen is blank!)

Anyhoot, I am losing perspective again. Where was I? Oh yeah. When I age, I want to age beautifully. Like Jackie O, or Katherine Hepburn. Oh my goodness. Katherine Hepburn. A gorgeous woman all through her life! I don't want to age and look like the Dalai Lama with a wig. As much as I like the guy, I don't dig his look. No offense. It's about having stature -- standing tall, having confidence, looking great in a smile, and not losing the sparkle in my eyes. Actually, it is hard to see if the sparkle's still there -- I have squinty slanty Asian eyes. I can barely see the whites of my eyes! Maybe I'm not destined for great beauty. Oh well. Can't have it all now, can I?

Wow. It never ceases to amaze me, how much of an uber-geek I am. It felt like weeks since I last blogged, whilst it had actually only been two days.

It's a lovely day outside. It's bright and sunny and slightly breezy. The rain's supposed to come back next week though. Ah. I'll be starting my weekend in half an hour. I can't wait to bust out of here.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm.... I am having a piece of the left-over birthday cake I got for my mom. Just out of curiosity, I went to see if this bakery had a website, and lo and behold, it does! Porto's Bakery! I had bought their Cappucino Mousse Cake. Mmmmm.... Yummmmmy. Yummy Yummy Yummy, good cake in my tummy~

Please if you are in town, you have to visit this place. I guarantee that if you go in, you will come out with a slice of cake! Try the tiramisu. I think a good slice of Tiramisu would cure all writer's-block. It's so delicious, it's inspirational! It's a little slice of heaven, brought to the small town of Glendale.

Rain is lovely.

It reminds me of my violin days. The raindrops ricochetting off the ground. Raindrops sound like staccato, but feels like a pizzicato. Very surreal.

I walked to my car from school (about a 15 minute walk) and walking in the rain was even more fabulous than I remembered it to be. At night when I finally tucked into bed (after unsuccessful attempts at finishing Beowulf) my heart fluttered with a spurge of sensations by the rain plippity plopping on the roof top of the house next to my building.

Today it's crazier. It was pouring when I left school, just 20 minutes ago, and just now, a sudden flood of sunshine swept through the room. It's beautiful. Weather's beautiful. Rain is lovely.

Is being single a waste of time?

I have been told repeatedly by acquaintances that I am just simply wasting my youthful twenties being single. I am angered that close friends cannot understand my being single is not by default but by choice. I've been screaming on my blog for eons now. I'm single. I've been single, and I will continue to be single, until further notice. It is not because I can't get myself a man, nor is it because my last boyfriend made me sick of men. Men are wonderful. They're fabulous beings on their own. I love them. And I'm sure more than a few would date me, without my having to prod them with a stick. I'm no Gisele Bundchen, but even on a bad day, I'm at the very least interesting. On a good day, I can very well darn be fantastic. Bloody fantastic.

When people say bad things about me -- and I know some inevitably will and have -- I can let it go. It doesn't affect my karma at all. I know better. I know that I have an ultra-easy-going personality, and I'm sweet as homemade apple pie. I'm above that. So I'm pretty sure that the reason I get upset when people keep encouraging me to date, is because while I am still firm on my decision, I haven't quite convinced myself that this is a must.

There is the inevitable fear, that I may one day die alone, discovered months after my death. Or perhaps that I would have spent my prime years not dating and thereby lose the timing to meet my soulmate. Maybe it is true that my unwillingness to date is spawned by fear: fear of men, fear of the dating scene, fear of rejection.

I have so many friends who are married and unhappy. Not unhappy all the time, but more often than not. I have friends who are attached, or had been attached, and I've seen them miserable. Although I have a few pals who seem to be in an ideal relationship, they are far and few in between, just a minority. I value the notion that it is important to know yourself in order to be successful in any relationship. To become a productive, healthy member of society, you need to have obtained self-actualization. I don't think many people do. They just start hitching up with people, without knowing what they want, who they are, where they are going. Conflicts arise in relationships, all relationships. But how can you make an argument with someone when you have no clue what your position is?

I cannot love someone else. I cannot love another human being half as much as I love my cat. I think I am an innately selfish being, and beyond my nature, I was also nurtured selfishly. But I accept that, and in fact, I like that about myself, because it means I can cover my own ass. My mom has raised me to get what I want, when I want it. She has taught me not to take less than what I deserve and what I want, because I deserve it all. If I want it all, I must have it all. In the way she had raised me, I had quickly learned how to determine what I want. To this day, I am quick to know what I want. I don't share. Even my best friend has come to terms with that -- I don't share food. I will order a big mac and fries and a drink, and I will not share the fries. If another human being wants some fries, I will prefer to buy him/her a separate unit of fries, but I don't share what is mine. Because it's mine. I love my cat, because she shares that personality with me. She gets along with me the best, because we respect each other on that.

I can't love. Maybe i am just incapable. But I don't want to love. It is hard to explain, but I think it is best to blame it on my sarcasm toward life. I've become a cynic. I can't understand why people take so long to rebound after a relationship -- if a guy dumps me, I don't fret much about it. Sure, my pride has been dented a little, but I have all that I need to exist, which is me, myself, and I. If I cry during a breakup, it is only because someone's feelings were hurt (usually not mine) and I feel sorrow for that. It's funny, because I am a cynic, but also extremely happy-go-lucky.

I love myself. Loving myself unconditionally is the greatest power I have known. Lightning can hit me, stones can be cast at me, people can hate me, but I love myself so much that none of that hurts me in the slightest bit. Do you love yourself? If you do, then you share the immense power that is thoroughly enjoyed by me.

Found a hiiiiiiiiilarious site! : Harvard Blog.

I wonder if there is a Yale Blog or a similar sort, by a blogger who's equally dextrous with words.

When I read the first sentence in Eleventwentyseven's post, dated February 22, 2004, I knew what it meant.

"His name is John."

I have the final two episodes of SATC saved on my computer. I need my weekly fix with a dire urgency, but I can't. Knowing that they are the final two episodes, not final episodes of the season, but final as in The End. I will watch it when I have come to terms with this finale. I have to thank Eleventwentyseven for not spoiling it for me. She keeps a really spunky site with beautiful photographs and smart posts.

Seeing SATC makes me want to live in Manhattan. I hope to live in Manhattan, or at least near it, someday. I love SoCal, but I'm not quite sure LA is the optimal place to be. The atmosphere in LA is very lax (hey, it's the acronym for our airport!). Perhaps the warm temperature nearly year-round makes the people more relaxed and accepting, but at least for some portion of my life, I would like to bask in the bustling bristling energy of people cramming into a subway or watch the mustardy yellow cabs flood the streets. I don't know exactly. Perhaps when I do live there, I'd be tired of the constant friction of people and life and their clashings and long for the slow-paced warm southern life of SoCal. SoCal life is similar to the life in the deep south, in terms of the speed of time and people's attitudes. But there's just some things that people need to experience, and I think for me, NY dwelling is necessary.

Do I really have time to blog...? I have a class in half an hour -- I need approximately 8 minutes to drive to school, and 12 minutes to walk to class... I could spare a moment, I guess.

I finished all the assigned work from my previous classes! I love humanities and liberal arts. How on earth I once dreamed of majoring in chemistry, I do not know. That was a different me. I like chemistry, but it just isn't comparable to reading short stories by wonderful Indian women named Jhumpa Lahiri.

It is my mom's birthday today. It's February 5th, by the Chinese/lunar calendar, so it's today. I went to Porto's Bakery, which I had never been to. It used to be a small, miniscule bakery that was on Brand Blvd, near California Ave. Now it's swollen to about half a block! It's a gigantic cafe/bakery -- when did this growth spurt happen? Apparently, during the last few years when I didn't pay much attention to the on-goings of my little town. They are famous for their delicious cake, but I never bought one -- I always went to Korean bakeries and bought Korean-styled cake with lots of fruit. I think the cakes are made more palatable to the Korean tongue. But I didn't have time to drive all the way into K-town today, so I stopped by Porto's Bakery, and fell in love. Candy and Ice cream, move over! My new favorite food is cake -- namely tiramisu!

I have only been to each class once, and I have already proven to myself that 15 units are no easy feat. I already have an essay on a Hemingway piece due, along with a good batch of reading to do -- all of which, I should have done over the weekend, but I spent Friday letting all this sink in, and Saturday drinking it in, and on Sunday, just coping. Mostly a lot of reading. I have a Hemingway essay, as said earlier, about a short thing I had read in class. Basic analytical essay, intro, topics, a couple of paragraphs, bam, bam! and finish with a light conclusion. I have no problem producing 500 words -- I have no problem producing 3000 words overnight. It is the nitty gritty of picking apart Hemingway that bothers me. Hemingway... hmm... you know... my name is pronounced exactly like "Hemi" from "Hemingway."

Have you ever been in a situation, where there was a fine line between left and right, and yet the outcomes would give the most completely disastrically different results? For example, let's say that you have studied for a class. It was a difficult class, but you are a great student. You are currently receiving a scholarship based on your GPA, which is the your sole method of paying for tuition. Say that times have been a bit hard, and you are on a borderline. To get an A in this course would allow your situation to remain intact, while if you get a B, your GPA would go down 0.02, causing you to be ineligible for that scholarship. If you lose this scholarship, you will most likely have to postpone school for at least a year, and even then it will be extremely hard to make ends meet and come up with a plan to pay tuition. Your requests for loans have been denied, and there is no way out other than to get an A in this course.

There is such a fine line between an A and a B, especially when you're doing the tight-rope-walking on the borderline. It could mean one missed assignment, or perhaps one missed question on an exam. Virtually all errors, however minute, are fatal. Am I just writing nonsense? For some reason, I have had this scenario, and similar situations, multiple times. More than multiple -- numerous to say the least.

The reason why I bring this up today is because of one thing. It is life-altering, indeed. It feels like I am bleeding to death on an ambulance ride, and 3 minutes too late to the hospital would mean death, while 3 minutes early would be life. And the worst part is, it's not up to me how fast I can get to the hospital. I mean, sure, I could yell at the driver, but that probably won't help much.

My request to change my non-immigrant status was denied a while back. I was changing my status to an international student. The department handling immigration makes me feel futile in the most ridiculous way. It's not like a cell phone company, or the credit card company. I can't just call them up and ask questions about the miscellaneous charge on my bill, or refute it. I can't call the INS and ask for a supervisor -- they can't put a trouble ticket on my paperwork to expedite it. It is the slowest moving organization in the world, possibly. When the INS rejects you, they don't send you a letter detailing why they rejected you. It's quite similar to a college rejection letter, really. "Dear so-and-so, we have looked over your application and decided to deny your request. Don't take it personally. If you think you received this letter in error, please return the attached form within 30 days of the date on this letter. I am stamping the letter as we speak, but I will mail it out two weeks from today, so that you won't have adequate time to respond. So don't bother. Sincerely, the INS, which is not even called the INS anymore."

Fortunately for me, there are lawyers. Lawyers who have acquaintances, whose expertise is solely in this area. I got myself a lawyer. He is in the process of talking to the consul (council? consult? I don't know what this word is, but my lawyer pronounces it "consul") in Mexico, across the border. I don't know exactly how this works, but apparently you have to stand in line for a hellava long time at the consulate building, if they approve your petition, they stamp a piece of paper with the date, and you can cross the border. I've done this process when I was in the 9th grade I believe, but I was much too young to understand the delicate systeming of the INS. The laywer is speaking to the consul guy man person, to see if my case would be OK'ed. If that person gives a thumbs up, I will head down to Mexico for a very very expensive trip (paying not only for myself, but for the lawyer's trip, as well as his time).

But there is always the possibility that I will be denied, in which case, I may be stranded in Mexico for good. I guess I could run across the border and risk getting shot/dying from thirst in the Arizona deserts, but that would require me to work out and beef up my body beforehand, which isn't an option. I am hoping that the consul person gives me the thumbs up to go down there, because that increases my chances of getting an approval, exponentially. And I need that. I need to stay here. This is my home. I can't say this enough!

So I will know in a matter of days, if and when I will go, and what the expected outcomes are, and if there is a plan B. Staying in the U.S. means the world to me. I'm sure I could thrive anywhere else, but being forced off the land I've called home for more than two-thirds of my life isn't something I want. Because this trip takes place in Mexico, across the border, there is a small chance that I may not be allowed to return. I mean, I will be leaving the country. So if this is to take place, there is a good chance that I may not be returning to my blog... for a while.

I brought up the scenario earlier, because whenever I am in such a predicament, I always try to imagine myself in both situations. When I applied to colleges, I always saw myself at UC Berkeley, and in a less likely situation, at UCLA. I just could not imagine my life as someone who did not get accepted to college -- I could not see myself at a community college. I figured, if it is that hard to see myself in that situation, there is a good chance that it may not happen. But guess what? It did. At this point, I cannot imagine myself leaving the U.S. I cannot see myself ousted from my home, living somewhere -- elsewhere -- not here. I try hard to see myself living elsewhere, but I can't. I'm pretty sure that had I tried hard enough, I would have seen myself at a community college. By no means is this a way of predicting things or controlling events. But it is just something I do. Maybe it is a defense mechanism; I can't see myself in that predicament, so it won't happen.

This is just too overwhelming for me. At any rate, I would most likely be out 5 grand (as in $5,000) or so. It is the price to pay for me to ensure that my home remains where it is. I'm sure not many of you would have to pay so much homage to your home. I don't regret it or find it repulsive. It is important to celebrate your home and respect it. If you haven't -- do it for me. Home is sacred-- it deserves respect. It is often taken for granted -- but believe you me, when your home is threatened, nothing else remains the same. That's one thing I'm sure of. Home is not just a shelter or a place to hang out and sleep. It's a security, a vital necessity. It is one of the most basic and yet important needs, as outlined in Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Without it, we just cannot be whole. It is your foundation. It supports you in all your ventures and comforts you in your failures; it embraces you in celebration, and it welcomes your tired body at the end of the day. If you have ever been burglarized in your home -- you know the value of home. If your house was threatened by a landslide or fire, you know this. My home has been under constant threat for years -- I hope all this suffering comes to an end -- a good end. Ah... I hope life only gives me an amount of toil that I can carry.

It's been rainy the last few days, which has been great. Rain is fabulous. It's sweet and exotic in ways I cannot express. It feels like life, newly sprouting. It is varying. Even the softest drops can quickly turn into a series of sharp droplets, droplets that bounce off of rooftops of cars. Even when there's lightning and the roaring thunder, it embraces so much sensual pleasures -- the rumbling sound, against a backdrop of showers. Out of 365 days a year (or 366 days in this year -- is that right?), it rains probably less than 30 days in SoCal. It should rain more often, but sometimes I do think that it is its rarity that makes it even more a special commodity that is so marvelous.

Having said that -- Californians can't drive for shit in the rain!

I have waited all winter for the spring semester to start, and when it did finally, I am procrastinating again. But tonight, I will get down and dirty with Beowulf. But still, just out of spite, I will be rooting for Grendel.

Easter is coming. I am not Christian, and by no means am I a believer of some guy rising out of his grave (although it would make a great horror movie -- I could already see it: "What Would Jesus Do?" featuring dead guy rising out of the grave!) but I can always tell Easter is about 5-6 weeks away when the local stores start removing the Valentine stuff and restocking their holiday shelves with bunny shaped Chocolate (in my blog, Chocolate should always begin with a Capital "C").

I feel like crap when I have to buy my own box of chocolate on Valentines, but afterwards when everything is decorated in pastel colors, I feel fab. So I bought myself a gigantic bunny Chocolate. It looks kinda freaky when you look at the thing, because it is a bunny but the eyes are staring at you. It's a half a pound of sheer goodness -- or so I thought. I was just looking at the plastic wrapping, just looking... when I found these words, garnished across the top: "Milk Chocolate Flavored." Flavored? Flavored?? I hastily flipped the bunny bar over, and there wasn't a list of products included in this bunny thing. All it said was that a sixth of the bar is one serving, and there is 11g of saturated fat (55% of recommended daily intake) in each serving, and 2% calcium. Nothing about cocoa powder or vanilla extracts. It doesn't taste so great either -- but I will still eat it and perhaps even buy another one, because it is just 79 cents. And probably worth every penny of that. It's less than 10 cents per ounce! Cheap~ Mmmm... good...

I love rain and driving in the rain.

I hate alcohol.