I just realized there were no candles at my birthday this year, which means I can't do the traditional corny candles post. In a desperate attempt at a substitute metaphor, I will turn to city lights. There's just something about New York City's skyline that everyone falls in love with. Chicago. Los Angeles. None of them hold a candle (bad pun intended) to my newly adopted city.
I tried really hard not to talk New York up to myself. In some ways, I was successful. I'm realistic about its grime, its narrow spaces, and its isolation, but really, all I have done is accelerate from a crush to a love affair. Because one sees nothing and the other sees everything yet loves despite the seeing. It's like New York has taken place of the friendships that should be blossoming. It's much easier to love a city than a person.
I suppose that's what I miss from the past life. The last two years were filled with a pleasant buzz of satisfaction, grinding into the crevices, getting comfortable. Those were the candlelight years, warm, yellow, and small. Now, the lights are colder, bluer, and infinitely more powerful. The wheel has been re-invented. Granted, the beginning is always more exciting, but also more exhausting. So for one day I wished candles were back in my life again. I wished the coming revolution could fast-forward just a little bit. I wished we could skip to the next candlelight period. But then, maybe I'd be missing the bigger picture. The much bigger picture. Maybe even a whole skyline's worth.
**
Monday, September 26, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
stuck on B+
There's an episode of How I Met Your Mother, where Barney has a moment of rare clarity after a scotch. And he says: "I'm an B+."
That line resonated with me long after it should have been forgotten. In my elementary school, our grades (and in turn, our self-worth) hinged on one test each semester. I was always 2nd in my class. This became a joke for everyone in my family except my mother. I was always met with a slightly crestfallen face after coming home. No reprimands. No ecstatic exclaims either. Just B+.
The very last grades I had ever received in China, I was number 1 for ten minutes, until a kid yelled out his tablemate's scores, who was sick and wasn't there--the absentee had scored 3 points higher than I did. My teacher instinctively looked at me with protective pity. At that time, my dad was mere weeks away from leaving for America. And I was not to be far behind. Did it matter who was number one? Moreover, did it matter if my parents would never find out?
Still, it didn't occur to me to tell my dad anything but the truth. But when I got to the part where I had seemingly taken that elusive title, he interrupted me. "You got it!", he said gleefully. His face was pure happiness. It was so unadulterated, so simple. I did not want to dilute it.
"Yes!"
What happened next deserves its own story. To sum up, my parents found out when my friend came over and spilled the beans. I received the most memorable beating of my life, while my friend watched from our worn, blue couch. Suffice to say my lies decreased drastically after that. Lesson learned.
The other lesson, the murkier one, is that I resigned to my fate a little that day. My high school grades consisted of unblemished good grades save one French class. Then, three out of the five ivy leagues I applied to waitlisted me. Next up, law schools. Second tier. Without a first tier school, it is 99.9% certain that my dream job five decades down the road is also out of reach.
Over the summer someone said if my GPA had been better, I'd be at a better law school. Others are appalled upon hearing this, but I received it with mostly indifference. It is true. It is also too late. Not only in the sense that I cannot change my college grades, but in the sense that in the fifth grade, part of this fate had already been woven into place.
At twenty-one years old, I am too young to think anything is sealed. Consciously, I don't allow myself to think this way. But once in a while, a Barney moment escapes. And I get stuck on B+.
**
Postscript: I just reread this post and it sounds terribly whiny. I run around accusing my mother of thinking anything but the best is crap, when I am guilty of it myself. This is exactly why I found Holden from Catcher in the Rye intolerable. Is there anyone more hypocritical than the one who has everything?
**
That line resonated with me long after it should have been forgotten. In my elementary school, our grades (and in turn, our self-worth) hinged on one test each semester. I was always 2nd in my class. This became a joke for everyone in my family except my mother. I was always met with a slightly crestfallen face after coming home. No reprimands. No ecstatic exclaims either. Just B+.
The very last grades I had ever received in China, I was number 1 for ten minutes, until a kid yelled out his tablemate's scores, who was sick and wasn't there--the absentee had scored 3 points higher than I did. My teacher instinctively looked at me with protective pity. At that time, my dad was mere weeks away from leaving for America. And I was not to be far behind. Did it matter who was number one? Moreover, did it matter if my parents would never find out?
Still, it didn't occur to me to tell my dad anything but the truth. But when I got to the part where I had seemingly taken that elusive title, he interrupted me. "You got it!", he said gleefully. His face was pure happiness. It was so unadulterated, so simple. I did not want to dilute it.
"Yes!"
What happened next deserves its own story. To sum up, my parents found out when my friend came over and spilled the beans. I received the most memorable beating of my life, while my friend watched from our worn, blue couch. Suffice to say my lies decreased drastically after that. Lesson learned.
The other lesson, the murkier one, is that I resigned to my fate a little that day. My high school grades consisted of unblemished good grades save one French class. Then, three out of the five ivy leagues I applied to waitlisted me. Next up, law schools. Second tier. Without a first tier school, it is 99.9% certain that my dream job five decades down the road is also out of reach.
Over the summer someone said if my GPA had been better, I'd be at a better law school. Others are appalled upon hearing this, but I received it with mostly indifference. It is true. It is also too late. Not only in the sense that I cannot change my college grades, but in the sense that in the fifth grade, part of this fate had already been woven into place.
At twenty-one years old, I am too young to think anything is sealed. Consciously, I don't allow myself to think this way. But once in a while, a Barney moment escapes. And I get stuck on B+.
**
Postscript: I just reread this post and it sounds terribly whiny. I run around accusing my mother of thinking anything but the best is crap, when I am guilty of it myself. This is exactly why I found Holden from Catcher in the Rye intolerable. Is there anyone more hypocritical than the one who has everything?
**