Sunday morning, my two aunts took me to the cemetery where Grandma was buried.
There, I observed the follow scenes:
1. a 30-ish mother, hugging her 8-10 year old kid (who was writhing in her arms, suggested that he wants to go somewhere to play), seemed to be talking to a grave, which had a little American flag next to it. The conspicuous absence of the father made me think that perhaps it was the grave of the father. Later I went by, and saw that the buried person was born in 1967 and died in 2005.
2. a group of people, aging young to old, picnicking next to a grave. Sun umbrella, juices, barbaques. It was a large gathering. A jovial one.
3. another group of people, larger gathering again, picnicking around a grave.
4. 3 hispanic/white men, with shaved heads, gathered around a grave which is just off the road. There sportish cars parked next to the curb. These 3 men are in the prime age (probably late 20s – 30s).
5. A father, and a toddler in a baby car. They were sitting next to a grave.
6. Inside the funeral home office, a middle age (late 50s) Asian woman, and her adult son (looks to be my age), arranging the funeral care for someone. Her arms in her son’s.
****
Seeing these scenes made me feel uncomfortable. Strangely, that feeling was a feeling of shock. It’s not like everyday that you see these things, where there is a conspicuous absence of one member of the party. And here, you are again reminded how common death is, and how variable is the circumstance around death.
Suddenly, I felt I am the lucky one. And Grandmother, was certainly a very lucky old woman.
Last week, inspite of a busily “scheduled” weekend, I managed to begin and finish the novel “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” a philosophically tilted piece of literature written by the Czech writer Kundera. In the story, the main character Tomas (a womanizer who was finally tied down by a woman named Teresa) ponders how 6 fortuities brought about his meeting with Teresa.
And then I think about all the fortuities in my life, especially the more recent ones.
A true fortuity: last year I travelled solo to Austria on a pilgrimage for classical music and sound of music and a verification of the beauty of the scene of a little lakeside town as captured on my desk calendar. There I befriended a couple spanish/german speaking men (one is a biology teacher and the other is a Spanish teacher in a university in Linz) and a dog, and stayed with them for a night and then to Czech Republic. This year, a couple weeks ago, I went with Lynette to Costa Rica, where, on the first night, I met two Austrian college students, who happened to go to the university which the man I met in Austria teaches — and they happened to know exactly that man I met in the small lakeside town in Austria last year — and I happened to still have the business card of the Austria man I met last year in my wallet and showed it to them.
Is this a true fortuity? I think so. It took 3 countries (Austria, Costa Rica, USA), in 3 different continents, thousands miles apart, more than 1 year later, to find a 2nd degree of connection with Javier (the Spanish teacher in Austria). Is this fortuity meaningful? Perhaps not.
While that above example is a fortuity, it is actually normally tricky to identify whether some encounter is truly fortuitous, as you’ll see…read on.)
So then I ponder about my latest fortuitous encounter:
I signed up to a piano meet up group (which meets in a church) because I want to befriend some African Americans who play jazz and get tips from them. I went there that Friday evening. Arrived at the designated church, but found that all 5 entrances were locked. Now, I am not a really social person, and at that point, I was not feeling very determined about going into a church to discuss and perform piano in front of a bunch of black people, so — I was about to give up and leave — only that I suddenly remembered that, the night before I had copied the main contact’s phone number onto my map (normally I am not this organized…for some reasons, that night, at that second that this possibility crossed my mind, I decided to grab a pencil and jog down the number).
Do you know, that a split second decision could be the break between a stagnant day-to-day life versus an amazing and eye-opening experience? (It has OFTEN been this case in my life of almost 27 years)
So I called the organizer of the piano group, and viola, they were meeting upstairs. I could already hear the Chopin wafting from above. The church is a very, very old church. And surprisingly, inside the compound is like a castle. There is an indoor basketball court!
Cut to the crux of the story: in the meeting, indeed there were a lot of African Americans. And a few white people. I was the only Asian. It was an amazing experience, because never had I actually participated in these informal sort of piano recitals, among a very eclectic group of pianists. All the African American piansts blew me away — and they were not playing blues or jazz — they were playing Rachmaninoff and Chopin.
My latest fortuitous event happened during this meeting in that, during the middle of the session, another Chinese person joined the meeting. We became fast friends and talked about everything about music.
How many Chinese people I know sail? (Yes, SAIL A BOAT) Among all the friends, only 3 guys, and 1 girl. Well, this Chinese person I met in the piano group, happened to sail, and in fact, sail in Northwestern, exactly where I had spent the summer windsurfing. Furthermore, after more talking after sailing, I realized that piano and sailing are not the only things that we have in common — he reminds me of somebody I know: my Dad! How many people resemble my father in actions and personality? Far and few between.
So at first I thought, meeting a person who plays piano, and who happens to sail, and who happens to resemble my Dad — meeting such a person in a roomful of African Americans — this must be a fortuitous event.
But as I think about it, I don’t think it is as random as it seems.
When I went to that piano group with the intention of mashing with black musicians, I was behaving what my Dad would have done if he were me. My Dad has a knack of getting himself into situations where he would find himself the only Chinese (and not speaking proper English). It requires a certain, adventurousness or openness to foreigness, to take the initiative and follow through to this meeting. If I were not feeling that passionate urging to learn jazz piano, I also wouldn’t have followed through.
The counterparty of my story — yes, the other person must be sort of like my father to go to that meeting too. Any normal person (especially Chinese, who tend to be reserved about meeting non-Chinese people and super cautious, and even racist) who saw that piano group’s photo album should be expecting themselves to be the only Asian face in the crowd. Furthermore, the person is not discouraged by the amazingly frustrating traffic that night (yes, there was huge traffic). This piano-sailing person I met was late because of the long traffic, came toward the supposed end of the meeting (but the piano playing lasted more than 2 hours beyond the designated end time, with a Greenmills performer (blind) ended up taking the hot seat….) His interest in the subject has to be strong to resist the temptation to turn back.
So, if I were behaving like my Dad, and the other person was behaving like my Dad, it makes sense that these two people who resemble Jones Wong, will cross path…if not there at that particular situation, the encounter will still happen on some other day!
P.S. Let me further hammer the optimistic point of this post into your head: follow your passion and just go at it with ferocity, without reservation or second thoughts (my faith in this mantra had somewhat waivered in the last couple years but now restored). There you are BOUND to meet kindred spirits, sooner or later.
Yesterday I went to a friend’s house for dinner, and the dish made specially for me is, cashews with celerie, chicken, green onions, and carrots. Every single ingredient has a significant meaning and I am quite touched. Furthermore, the dessert is a raspberry cheesecake with white chocolate topping — whao! I will be thinking of her as I chew on the cashews she gave me.
In the past 2 races, it was during the last mile or two when thoughts attacked my mind. In this last race, again just as I was doing the last stretch, I had this thought:
If as little as a second matters so much to me during these running races, why don’t I treat my non-running time with equal care? I am doing all these things just to shave off a couple seconds off my average per mile time, which total to be less than a couple minutes in the whole race.
What do a couple minutes in non-running time mean to me? NOTHING. I waste those time like they are pennies. I can sit before my computer and then a minute will have passed when I have accomplished nothing.
But pennies accumulate to be a lot of money.
If a treat every minute of my non-running time with as much care as during the race, I think I would have accomplished a lot.
What is a minute to you in your life?
Having been a teacher this year, I realized what kind of student I am from the students I teach and grade. Every university consists of different types of students, but the difference couldn’t be more drastic across ethnic lines. Asian students tend to think/approach grades in a certain way, and non-Asian students tend to behave in the opposite way. Specifically, Asians tend to memorize, though not with complete understanding, they tend to do better than the non-Asian students. On the other hand, non-Asian students tend to ask inquisitive questions if they care about the material. They tend to be less caring of the grade, but more caring about the learning process (if they care about the material at all).
Which type do I prefer as a teacher? The type who care about the material and ask a lot of questions.
And then, there are the type of students who would come to the office hours all the time and ask a lot of questions, and then those who are quiet and don’t ask questions.
Which type do I prefer as a teacher? Of course the type that ask questions. But which type do I fall into as a student? Unfortunately, I am the latter type.
Being a teacher makes me more aware of my fallibilities as a student, because I can see what I would appear before the teacher. But it all depends on whether I care about the subject. Again, if my heart is in the right place, I do things better. In this sense, I am more of a non-Asian student.
Filed under: Musings
The results of these races amaze me. First, Kris Allen won American Idol, despite ALL THE HYPES about Adam Lambert — before this finale, there couldn’t have been more pimping of anyone candidate as Lambert — then the midget Shawn Johnson won DWTS over two hyped contestants….then Mine that Bird won by 50-1 odds against the other horses.
Just amazing!
Those three are what you call “dark horses”.
Next thing you know, I win the 10-mil race. Yoo ho!
Filed under: Musings
And now, a sense of relief sets in. I can finally settle back to my normal life, but not without a little struggle. Things could occur rapidly on a mercurial spring night. It began slowly, then gathered up pace, and then it morphed into several unexpected directions. That’s the complicated interplay of reality and expectations, and I take that knowledge and live with it.
I came back from the skit show of our department, something which a group of dedicated and creative classmates and I had been working our butt off for in the past couple months after several late night sessions in my apartment. The result was 4 skits, 3 songs with changed lyrics, and a rambuctious MC.
Just let me say it right off the bet that I have never worked with a more dedicated group of people. I mean, these people are working not for any reward, yet they are all creative, and never ask for anything more. And most of all, you don’t need to push them to work — they automatically exert their best — and their best is really best that I have ever seen of any people. I mean, this is the first time I find myself in a group where I am not the most dedicated person there. This group I worked with, I have to say, is the most talented group — ever. I mean, really seriously.
That said, I go on with life now with full appreciation for this experience.
As for my conclusion about my debut solo-singing performance in front of 180+ audience, all I could say is — It felt pretty horrible. My first note was off, I was sure. And then it got better, only to get worse when I forgot to enter through the instrumental break and in that moment of panic also forgot the words. In the end, it went by in a flesh. I almost have no memory of what had passed. However, I got feedbacks from the audience that at least I could sing.
That quiet moment, when I saw Mark leaned on the stair, and summarized that what we need in this econ department is more loving, I had this pang of heartfelt happiness. However breezy that moment was, it was a moment. The expectation of where the night might lead to is totally unrealized, yet the end of the day also felt right (helped taking a crazily-drunk Brazilian home after dancing on the empty street), and ….sanely, steadfastly concrete. It fully equipped me to do what I need to do.
When I was playing Scott Joplin’s Entertainer, it suddenly reminded me of all my previous childhood dreams, which I had already achieved and therefore devalued their importance in my life agenda.
So when I was in middle school, I had this ambition to play the Entertainer. I think I heard it the first time in a piano bar, and it always got me jumping and made me all high for a long time. I remember that the performer of this song always played it in such a carefree way, that I thought to myself: this is the person I aspire to be!
So in middle school, I got my hands on the score. With all the chords, I thought, wow this is hard. I toiled at it and then I could play it ever since. If you ask me to perform one song which I have committed to my memory, it is the Entertainer. While I have forgotten pretty much all the classical pieces I had to play for piano exams, or all the pop pieces I played as a hobby, I still have Entertainer. It is always there.
And today when I played it again, the memory of the feeling of that childhood ambition came back. It was the sensation when I stared at the chords in 8th grade, and thought, I have to play this because this is the kind of pianist I want to be!
And after I could do it, it doesn’t seem to important, and I wasn’t as good as a pianist as I want or envision myself to be.
Playing the Entertainer was that one childhood dream which filled me with motion when I was a child.
Filed under: Musings
Randy Pausch in his last lectures talked about how to achieve his childhood dreams. These childhood dreams define who you are. So the question is, what are my childhood dreams?
At some point in one’s adult life, one’s childhood dreams get lost amidst the overwhelming realities of everyday life. Dreams are almost by definition something that have a long time frame; dreams cannot be achieved overnight; dreams require vision, and planning; dreams require perseverance and patience. Most of all, dreams require faith.
Lacking any of those preconditions, dreams are lost.
When I was younger (meaning, < 21 years of age), I have dreams. But now I am forgetting them, one by one, and not replacing them at all by new ones. If the trend goes on, by the time I am 30, these childhood dreams would permanently leave my memory forever, and I would not have any dreams.
So, inspired by Professor Randy Pausch, let me try to remember what my dreams are, so that I will remember them in times that try to make me forget them:
1. To gallop on a black horse in the green grassland of Mongolia. (check)
2. finish the novel about Sea Ranch.
3. Sail regularly and do distance and race.
4. Sing the American Songbook with a jazz band (perhaps do some open mic in a bar?)
5. run a marathon
6. get something published in a respectable journal
7. have some influence in policy formation
8. Own a big house (yesterday night I had yet ANOTHER dream about this huge house. Again, I found myself exploring this house, discovering little nooks and corners which totally delighted me. Why oh why do I always dream about exploring big houses that either my parents or I bought?)
Being able to do any one of these items would make me VERY VERY VERY happy.
I understand that you got to do things for the right reasons; that if you got the right reasons, you can almost certainly achieve it. In that matter, I wonder if #6 and 7 are correctly motivated.
Yesterday night I discovered another of my hidden talents: opening doors.
And I do mean, literally, opening doors.
And this is not the first time that I evinced a talent for opening problematic doors.
Back in 2003-2004, when I lived in a 60-girl coop house in Berkeley, I was known in my house as the GO-TO person for problems related to being locked out of rooms. It was typical that sometimes people left their rooms without bring their keys and then locked themselves out. When the person in charge of the master key wasn’t present, I would be called upon to open the doors for them. How? Well, back then I discovered a way to open locked doors with cards. So I would swipe the card in a specific way to open the lock. It always worked. And I did it many times for my housemates.
But back to the present day.
Yesterday night when I came back home, my friend I discovered that the front door locked had been destroyed (meaning that some component inside got jammed). As my friend decided to use the backdoor, I said, “Stop. I think I know of a way.” Then in one swift movement, I placed my foot on one side of the door, and using my opposite arm, yanked the door out. Viola! It opened.
Today, as I came back home again, another girl was locked out at the front door due to this jammed key lock. I demonstrated my prowess again:
Girl: “The key is locked. I got my friend to come down to open for us.”
Me: “Wait… I got a trick.” Then I looked back behind us to see if anybody is watching (for security purpose). Then with another one swift movement, I yanked open the door, to the surprise of the girl (funny thing was, she had the same surprise look as my friend who looked on yesterday).
Viola!
Call the Anna-hotline whenever you are locked out of your house and I’ll come to your rescue.
P.S. Perhaps this door-opening ability of mine signify something else about me — I don’t let things get in my way! If you get in my way, I’ll find ways to crawl through!
