For now.

I really hate this dog-eat-dog world sometimes. This is your ambitious, overachieving Asian talking. I spent the end of my high school years doing all this thing so I can have the resume to get into top schools. And I thought that was the end of it, but apparently not. I'm still probably gonna have to do the same to get into grad school, and even if I decide to not go to grad school  - there's still no escaping this. I'm still gonna have to calculate every move I make in the limited time I have to build up a good resume for a job someday. And so on, and so on.

God, I hate it. I hate that word sometimes. Resume. I'm not even spelling it right because I can't be bothered with the accented 'e'.

But of course, with all things I have emotions for, there is a fine line between hate and love, so I guess I also love building resumes. Still not spelling it right.

All I'm doing this summer is traveling, and spending a month in Russia under my college's summer program, which probably weighs nothing in a resume, but I like it. And I hate that I'm already thinking what I need to do in the next two summers I have, like how everyone is doing an internship or research - just something - when all I really want is to spend my summer in Spain, brushing up on my Spanish again until I can have a full conversation with someone. I also wanna go to Peru. I wanna write. I wanna help people who wanna write.

I hate to think that I might have screwed up my chances of working in journalism or publishing because I quit my position as news editor in the school newspaper, and decided to devote my four years in college to debate, just because I fell in love with it, even though it has evidently nothing to do with writing. 

If life goes well, doing what you like should intersect with personal success. 

I know I'm a lucky bitch, who doesn't have to worry about getting a job instantly, because my parents will be able to support me. I know I have the luxury of freedom and time to do what I want - even if what I want doesn't necessarily earn me money. I know I should suffer like common people do, and try to get a job as fast as I can, so I can be sucked into the whole race to earn money and survive and not die out on the streets, cold and hungry.

Because that's just the way things are. That's just how things work. You can't do the things you love, because you need money to survive. And for most people, those two areas never cross paths. Interest and money.

Bah I'm gonna stop here because this post is turning out to be so cliched. Again can't be bothered with the accented 'e'. I just wanna be able to stop worrying about what I'm gonna do for the future, which school I'm going to get into, what title I'm going to get at my job, and what I have to do right now to get it. I don't wanna worry about all that. I just wanna do what I have to right now. For now.

Living in the moment is the biggest achievement that I can ever hope for. I am so far from it sometimes, it's not even funny. I feel it when I'm by myself and content, I feel it when I walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, I feel it when life gives me this great big hug, I feel it when I take the subway to a place I wanna go, but those moments come so far and few.

I guess I kinda feel it right now too, being in New York, up at 3 in the morning, not giving a shit about anything else. It's so liberating, and that's the best feeling in the world.

What's the point in living if you don't wanna dance?

The shithole in Manhattan has a name.

It's called Harlem. I've been living here for a few days because I'm running low on money and I'm crashing at a friend's place, and honestly, it's not worth it. This place is fucking disgusting, I've never seen a worse place in such a fabulous city in my life.

In what world can a girl not walk four blocks to the nearest subway station without being harassed verbally every. single. fucking. time? In what fucking universe is it appropriate for men to point out your tits, or ask you what you're doing tonight while you're walking down a street? What the fuck kind of education are these people receiving??? How were they raised??? I don't know, and I don't plan on staying around to find out.

I don't know how so much shit can be concentrated in one area. I really don't. Am I supposed to be glad or sad that everything bad in life is focused into one neighborhood? I don't know.

I lived in Chelsea for a night when I first got here, and then Astoria in Queens, and I've been spending two weeks now walking around Manhattan - sometimes late at night. Never have I felt more unsafe than in Harlem. The horror and disgust I felt when I had to walk fifteen blocks, because I was confused about the train stops. Oh my God, seriously, who are these people? Have they not seen a yellow-skinned woman in their life? They're sure acting like it. I am seriously disgusted. That is the only word I can express for how I feel here. I have been harassed, hit on and stared at by people regardless of gender and age. You'd think the old people would know better - no. You'd think the women would know better - no.

And that's in the day. At night, it gets a hundred times worse. People talking loudly, violently, acting aggressively. Last night I heard someone breaking bottle after bottle on the road outside where I am living. When this happened in Queens, it was followed by police sirens - relief. Nope, not in Harlem, where everything is just so fucked up.

There is no "charm" about this place. Some areas are so bad that they have their "charm". I get it. Yeah, not here. Not in this shithole. Maybe if you're a 30 year-old black male, or 45 year-old white male, or Hispanic, or someone these people are afraid of. Not for a 20 year-old Asian woman.

When I stayed in a hostel the first time, I swore on my life I'd never go back again. Now, compared to this shithole that spans the entire neighborhood ... I think I'm considering moving to a hostel in a nicer area again. At least there are cute French boys there to keep me company.

Seriously even the subways suck. How can the subway system suck in New York City?? God just wants me to hate Harlem. It takes me fucking longer to get from Harlem to Midtown - both of which are on the same island, btw, than like Queens to Midtown - which is on a whole different island. But the subways are nicer, cleaner, come more often and not as crowded. Everything about my trip in this area has just been shitty.

Everytime I'm in this area, or even on the subway ride back, I have this look on my face.



I hope it sends my message across, which is "FUCK YOU GO AWAY I'M NOT INTERESTED."

Because if I try to say it to their face they'll likely whip out a gun and shoot me. Or stab me. Or punch me. Seeing as they have no respect for women, I would not put it past them.

The next time I am called out by someone again (which will probably be in the first 30 seconds I step out of my building) I feel like stopping them and giving them a quick lesson on how to be behave civilly. But of course there is that complication of me likely being shot/stabbed/punched. God I love it when I have no choice but to keep quiet.

I don't know how any sane-thinking woman can live here. I really can't. I'm getting the fuck out of here, even if I have to fork out more money.

Fuck me, I'm awake.

Blah. I made a promise to my body that I will put it to sleep early, like 12 midnight, but I decided going to sleep was too much effort, apparently.

So I'll blog what I had in mind today, as I continued to roam the streets of Manhattan, New York. I saw three things happen today. Well, one of them was more like something that happened to me, but here:

1. A man proposed to a woman on the subway, on the R train, between 8 St and 14 St, in the carriage I was in. The woman said yes. Everyone clapped and aww-ed on the train. It was great. That woman's life was changed then and there. It's weird how it's not just our skin that separates our internal environment from our external, but how between me and that lady, there's a space between us that separates us emotionally. That woman a few seats away from me was probably experiencing the best moment of her life, and I was sitting there, feeling so happy for her, and just seconds before I was feeling glad to have seen the Financial District and I was ruminating on where to go next - and then he proposed, and then I felt happy for them.

And everyone else on that train, as a matter of fact. All these barriers between us, even if our skin decided to merge together or something. And just the diversity and the range of emotions on board - brought to hover around the same wavelength in that one moment because of the proposal.

2. A dog was running across me, its leash trailing behind him - I was in the Meatpacking District. A man ran after it, going, "Oh God, oh God" and as he turned the corner and saw his dog racing down the street, he yelled, "Stop the dog!"

I've never seen a dog gone loose before. Only in movies, never in real life. You never seem to grasp the gravity of a situation when it happens in movies sometimes, until it happens right before your eyes, and you see the emotions and events play out right before your eyes.

3. The white, dotted walking man came on, and that was the sign for me to cross the street. It was the West Street highway too, so it was serious business. I was the only one crossing the street. Everytime I do that, I just get the feeling that all the drivers' eyes in the car are on me. I mean, what else is there to see? The first and only pedestrian crossing the street, just as they see red. We gasp, we point in the direction and say, "He went that way!" and we stretch our heads, hoping someone did stop the dog.

***

I also went to the World Trade Center ground today. Visited the Memorial Center right next to it. Speaking of emotions, there were many that I felt. Came back home and watched videos of the attack footage, the news reports, and so on. It really is sad what happened that day, in more ways than one. The shock of the people on the flight, who were just planning on getting from Boston to LA - a route even I would one day travel. The people in the offices of the WTC, who were just doing their day's work. The firefighters who intended to rescue lives, but lost theirs. In situations like this, there really isn't much we can do, but grief and remember. "May we never forget" Not sure how I feel about people chanting "USA! USA! USA!" on the ruins, three days after it had happened, especially in retrospect of the events that would happen after.

I need to go to bed. No idea why my fucking text is over on this side. (woo fixed it)

Shitty on the inside.

I'm a mess again. I'm grumpy, intolerant, angry, fussy, angsty, bored. So bored.

I need to take a break from all this. I'm disabling Facebook, Gchat, because I feel like I'm always waiting for something to happen there. I click refresh, I pull up my contact list, like my life depended on it. And I think it has. That's life to me when I am not distracted by things on the outside,

I need to find inner peace - as cliche as that sounds. I'm so restless, not in a good way anymore, and I've had about enough for this week.

I don't think we're in Kansas anymore.

I have taken such a huge step in my life. Most people don't mean this literally, but I so fucking am right now. I have moved from a 24/7 (nevermind nighttime), 365 days a year (nevermind monsoon season), hot and humid country to ... well, basically, Siberia.

So yeah Siberia.

Before when I bought cute little dresses, or sleeveless tops, they were actually worth my money as I could wear them all year round. I never had to check the weather or temperature outside, and then - a bit of personal involvement here - stick my hand out the window to gauge how cold it really is (the temperature is hardly ever accurate, it's also a combination of wind and non-existent sun), and then plan my outfit for the day, and how many beastly layers to add on after the outfit.

And I mean, what weather? In Malaysia, there will be sun. There will be heat. Everyday. And even on days that there aren't, like rainy days or cloudy days ("What's that?" - an average Malaysian), it won't be balls-freezing cold. That's one thing Malaysian men never have to worry about, I can tell you that. Except when the air-conditioning gets too cold. Wow we are such wimps. Come to Rochester, and your balls will have an experience of a very different kind.

The only decision you have to make in Malaysia is whether you want to be sunburnt or not. Not like the thickness of your winter coat so as to keep you warm while not looking like a Matzoh ball all the time.

So back to my point. Eight months out of twelve, I won't be able to wear my dresses anymore. And I don't just mean skanky dresses (that is a problem on a whole different level - ie the partying level), I mean dresses that show even a little skin, like my chest, or 3/4 of my arms, or my ankle area, for God's sake. If I reveal my ankle area, that part dies of numbness, yes. Shoes become a whole problem on their own too. Let's not even start on that.

So now when I go shopping, I am still shopping like I live in a tropical country. Just because I still think I am, and the past ten months of Sibera does not seem to register in my mind as I reach for yet another summery dress. And then I'm back in Rochester, trudging and grudging my way through the snow, and I want to go back in time and shoot myself.

These clothes just aren't worth it anymore. Sure, I can layer some of them up, but they just look ugly. Maybe I just hate layers. Maybe I'm just bad at it. Either way. Ugly.

And it's not just the weather. It's that in college I don't do anything anymore. In Malaysia, I'd go out on weekends, to the bar, to a nice dinner, but sadly people don't do that here. I also can't get around, without cheap cabs or the ability to drive a car (let's not go into that), and that just makes my dresses very sad.

When you have to limit yourself in the things you get to buy, just because you have nowhere to wear it to, your life is just really, really sad. And I understand if it's a floor-sweeping, hips-swaying, bodice-hugging D&G dress or something - only Gods wear that - but we're talking about simple dresses here.

I'm really hoping that next semester if I come back - I hope I do, it's been iffy - I wanna be able to wear my dresses out more. Sometimes life should be based on your clothes, because they determine where you will go. If I stop myself from buying these gorgeous knee-high (okay let's be real, they're all shorter than that), strapless/spaghetti/sleeveless, chest-plunging, bareback dresses (okay, not all together, but you get the point), then I'm dooming myself to a life of eating Chinese food in front of the TV on weekends, wearing a sweatshirt that says "Rochester Debate" or "MKIS" or "University of Rochester".

So no, I will not stop buying these dresses. I will not stop buying clothes that will make me a very happy girl some night. I will not stop buying pretty things just because Americans don't feel the need to dress up and go out on weekends.

If there's nothing to do, then by God I will find things to do. Go out to dinner. A fancy luncheon. Throw a party in my suite. Whatever. We'll have a coat check for sure.

So that's it for clothes.

And now for a little session on men. Before, because Malaysia was my place, it was easy to hit on men. It was my turf, if anything I owned them. So I didn't have to think very hard - not much effort. And they also noticed me more, because I spoke good English, and knew world history - or something like that.

Here, it required a little more effort. Also judging by the way I am getting hit on here (when compared to the way it was back home), it definitely does require a little more brainpower. So back home, I see someone who seems like he's from Spain, maybe, I just have to put on the eyes, flash a smile, cock your head, and go, "Are you Spanish?"

Doesn't work that way here. Because chances are, he is not Spanish. He is American. And in America, you don't go, "Are you American?" because that's just retarded. And apparently here you can be put into an insane asylum if found harmful to yourself or other people. So yeah.

This was actually inspired by this really cute guy sitting next to me on the subway ride home. He was definitely my type. Pretty face, blonde (ehh not a fan, but it goes with the cuteness I guess), wearing a suit, boyish smile. Very, very cute. He was playing solitaire on his phone. So the way to approach men here in America is to just make a random comment on what they're doing or wearing, and then they'll reply to your random comment, and this paves the way.

Well. What the flying fuck could I have said to him, that would have made any remote sense?

"Interesting game of solitaire there."

"You go get that card, you!"

"Hi there, are you American?"

Yeah no. None of the above. I could compliment him on the umbrella he was holding, but there is also something else in America called the "restraining order", and I'd like to not have to experience that, so yeah.

So I stopped at my station, and he probably at his, and a very flirtatious banter did not materialize.

Clothes and men. Two of the enjoyable distractions in my life, now fundamentally changed. I'm not gonna say it's for the worse yet, although I sound like it, but maybe winter-shopping is a good skill to develop, seeing as many places do have winter, like Russia, and the fabulous places in Europe, so I'll have to deal with it someday, so why not at 20, when I can still laugh at my mistake?

Afterall, at 35, it won't be so funny figuring out winter coats. I'm sure I'll have taxes and an adopted child and other shit to worry about then. Joy.

Where?

I just realize how many people are envious of where I am right now. Not like metaphorically speaking (for once) but geographically. People are looking at my photos and telling me they wanna go to these places too. And man, that was me years ago. That would have been me a year ago. I would have sat in front of a computer, flipping between her pictures, wherever I was, and wanted her life. Now that I have it, I don't even see how far I've gone, from my bed in Malaysia to this apartment in New York City.

And hey, I'm happy. I know it's always up and down with me, and the next minute I could be foaming at the keyboard again, but right now, at 2.58am, 12th May 2011, I'm content. I've been trying to keep it up, I really have. I hope I'm posting at most contemplative posts, and not depressing ones. It's really not that bad anymore. 

I miss him/Rochester.

This is love.

My love for shopping reemerged. Let's call it love, for want of a better word.

And I think I know why I love it so much. It shows me my desires can be satiated. That I'm in control. That if I want something, I can get it, and if I don't want it, I can just as easily discard it. Being in America has impaired my sense of control of my surroundings and emotions, and shopping lets me regain that.

For once, for once I'm able to get what I want. For once, I'm able to want what I can get. These two finally intersect. Oh, for once. A dress is not something that ignores you when you want its affection, when you want it to wrap itself around you and make you feel loved (by the general public ... male). A dress is loyal. It is mine and mine only. It does not choose bitches from Vermont over me.

But I know, that I'm always happy when I walk out the store.

I will never be truly happy until I stop wanting. Until I can stop reaching for the top shelf, the sale rack, the glass case. Of course I understand that, but until I'm able to return to that state of nonchalant content, I have my Mastercard.

Even if it's just for a while. Even if it's only passing. Even if it's illusory.

Yeah, capitalism is not going anywhere, so just quit it.

FUCK TURNS OUT MY LUGGAGE LIMIT IS ONLY 23 KG AND 20KG TO RUSSIA FUCK MY LIFE SHIT I PACKED FOR 32KG FUCK HOW THE FUCK WAS I SUPPOSED OT KNWO THAT MAXIMUM WEIGHT ALLOWED AND PLEASE DO NOT EXCEED WERE NOT HE SAME THING WHO THE FUCK IS SUPPOSED TO KNOW THAT NOW I'M FREAKING OUT BECAUSE I PACKED FOR 32 FUCKING KG AND NOW I'M ROYALLY FUCKED WHY THE FUCK DID I PACK SO MUCH TO AMERICA IN THE FIRST PLACE AND WHY THE FUCK DID I BRING SO UCH BACK NOW I'M GNNA HAVE TO DISCARD IT ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

PS - Although my freaking the fuck out was very productive, I have devised a plan. I'm leaving New York City on May 28th, so on May 27th I am doing what is called, Judgment Day. Or it could be earlier, I don't know, depending on my plans. So tentatively May 27th. This will be the day I decide (sobs) what to (sobs) throw out and (sobs) ship home. I have a large grey suitcase (correction: fucking large grey suitcase) and a filled up duffel bag. I will leave New York City with only one large suitcase ... and possibly the duffel bag as hand-carry, but it can't be too heavy. So that will be the plan, and hopefully I don't fuck it up.

NY fucking C

Past few days were great. Why can't he see that all I wanted was to be wanted, just like that. Then I wouldn't have to whine my way through eight months. Eight months that shouldn't have happened, but happened anyway.

In New York City now. Got waxed by a Ukrainian lady. Embraced my inner SATC fan and lined up for Magnolia cupcakes. 

While wondering how the fuck did I spend 100 dollars by 3pm in one day. Fuck me. Obviously the wax didn't help.

I'm having a packing crisis. Hey ho, what's new. It's just so hard because I'm caught between being a materialistic pig and a dreamer who wants to be able to pack everything I need into one (albeit very large) suitcase and leave if I have to. I'm kinda liking the whole 44 pounds limit idea.

And I vacillate between the two roles so much, like within four hours I kid you not. This can't be good for my mental health.

I was watching this movie The Ice Harvest a few days ago, and the only thing I got out of it was that if I had to elope (well, or if I was given a lot of money by the FBI to drop everything I have and start a whole new life in some obscure place, like Kumala City, or some obscure name like that, and have a whole new identity) the first things that would come to my mind are (in this order): what about my laptop? What if people find shit they shouldn't find and publish it? Oh wait, that'd be my blog. What about my parents?? My family?!! I'd miss them.

And that was it.

So yeah I could totally do it. I mean as long as I have the money to build up my new life and be a materialistic pig in my new life, why not? There's actually a really fine line between a materialistic pig and the dreamer who wants to travel light; it's called infinite resources.

If I knew I had enough money to shop forever, I'd discard of things along the way. Like insects that shed skin. Sure, I'd sit in my sea of clothes, having a hard time deciding which to throw out, recalling the memories I've had with them, envisioning future potential with so and so dress, crooning to them, but once I step into a store and see all the beautiful clothes that await my luggage space ... fuck the old, bring in the new!

No, seriously. I discarded like a pile of clothes in this hostel I stayed in last night so if you're ever in a hostel in NYC and you find some satin tops, they were mine thank you very much. Yes, I thought satin tops would make my luggage lighter. Obviously I was wrong. God help me why am I so dumb. You'd think for a slut like me I'd have less clothes to pack, but I just end up packing more so I can diverslutify.

Ah, I love this city. But it'd be greater with great company... because I'm running out of money. Fuck.

PS - I discovered international shipping,

PPS - Oh, a story untold about my trip to NYC. Or rather, pre-story. So I conveniently missed the first train I was scheduled on, but it was nice, because he took me in, and then the train I took the next day ... hit someone on the tracks. Some people were drunk and thought it was a good idea. Train stopped for an hour almost. I definitely arrived two hours past my scheduled time. I hate drunk people who mess with train tracks.