The Studio

Who have I become? What do you see when you see me?

Do you see someone who spends her time being preoccupied with the "finer" things in life -- fine dining, fine arts? Am I someone who would much prefer to spend an afternoon at the mall than on a good hike or in a park? Would the sight of bugs make me squeamish?

Or do you see someone who spent the majority of her life as a tomboy? Someone who spent many Saturday afternoons helping dad complete home improvement projects and all the other Saturdays fishing? Would you guess that I could operate a ban saw long before I could use an electric mixer or a food processor? Would you see someone who didn't discover small-sized t-shirts until I was about 17 -- my favorite outfit used to be jeans and one of my dad's t-shirts.

What does it say when my friends get a vision similar to an episode of Paris Hilton's Simple Life when they try to imagine me going camping, when the truth is camping is something my parents and I did regularly. I don't think my friends think I'm prissy, but, well, to some degree, they might. I have spent so much time these past 8 years trying to be a class act, being as mature and refined as I possibly could be. To some degree, all my efforts were to help me fit in, and on some levels, to justify all the nice things that have found their way to me. I still try to convince myself sometimes that I am deserving of all the luck in my life, and all the opportunities. Sometimes though, I just feel like a fraud.

Here it is, my confession. I come from very, very humble backgrounds. My parents raised me on a combined income less than what I make now. I have never wanted for anything, material or otherwise. When I wanted a waterbed, I got a waterbed. When I wanted a car, my parents insisted on a new one -- a mustang nonetheless. How they did it? I will NEVER know. Good ole' asian savings, I suppose. I used to be a little embarrassed when my friends asked me what my parents did. But, looking back, I'm damn proud of them.

My father, a man who was studying for a law degree via correspondence because he was fighting in a war, came to America and worked as a custodian in a nursing home. This was long before he and mom met, though. For most of my life, my father delivered air freight. Mom used to always bug him and complain about his lack of ambition. He could have gone to school here in America, gotten a degree, been an engineer -- anything he wanted to be. I sometimes wondered about it myself, why a man who placed second in a national competition of English language and whose grammar was probably better than my own decided not to pursue further education here. I started to understand it a few years back -- when you've seen the atrocities that he had, your priorities change. Ambition, career, wealth are no longer your measures of success. The things that you cherish most are the 15 minutes you spend each morning with your daughter as she scarfs down her breakfast at 5:30 AM, already late for school.

My mother's story was even more remarkable and heart wrenching, though I am probably not at liberty to share all of it with you. But, at any rate, my mom spent her days as the manager of bakeries and delis for large grocery chains, such as Safeway, AppleTree, and Krogers. She was proud of her work, and she was good at what she did. So good in fact, that she was constantly shipped all over town to shape up failing departments. Through it all, she never really grumbled about the commute, even though I could see that it took its toll on her. And each day, when she would come home, she would prepare a three course meal, and somehow timed it so that the dishes landed on the table piping hot the minute my dad walked in the door. And though she was proud of her work, she offered to quit it all when I got into high school, so that she could spend more time with me, driving me to whatever rehearsals I needed. The company, desperate to keep her, offered her a lower position with more steady hours in a completely unfamiliar department. But my mom accepted the challenge, and of course grew quite knowledgeable about all the different cuts of meat.

So you see, there's a complex story to each of us -- what our pasts are made of, who we are as a result of it, and where our futures lead us. I know that I probably try to portray myself in a certain manner, and what you see is not false, but it is only a small fraction of the picture. I am a very contextual person, always doing whatever necessary to fit into my surroundings. So, until you've seen me in every element, don't suppose you've seen all of me. Trust me, I'm full of surprises. If we are to be bosom friends, you must be in it for the long haul. The revelations will come slowly, but they will be honest, sincere, and sometimes raw.

They say in this town, stars stay up all night,
Well, I don't know, can't see 'em for the glow of the neon lights.
An' it's a long way from here to the place where the home fires burn.
Well it's two thousand miles and one left turn.

"Dear Mom and Dad,
"Please send money: I'm so broke that it ain't funny.
"Well, I don't need much; just enough to get me through.
"Please don't worry 'cause I'm all right,
"I'm playin' here at the bar tonight.
"Well, this time, I'm gonna make our dreams come true.
"Well, I love you more than anything in the world,
"Love,
"Your baby girl."

Black jack, blue sky: big town full of little white lies.
Well, everybody's your friend: you can never be sure.
They'll promise fancy cars an' diamond rings, an' all sorts of shiny things,
But, girl, you'll remember what your knees are for.

"Dear Mom and Dad,
"Please send money: I'm so broke that it ain't funny.
"Well, I don't need much; just enough to get me through.
"Please don't worry 'cause I'm all right,
"See, I'm playin' here at the bar tonight.
"Well, this time, I'm gonna make our dreams come true.
"Well, I love you more than anything in the world,
"Love,
"Your baby girl."

I know that I'm on my way.
Well, I can tell every time I play.
An' I know it's worth all the dues I pay,
When I can write to you and say:

"Dear Mom and Dad,
"I'll send money. I'm so rich that it ain't funny.
"Well it oughtta be more than enough to get you through.
"Please don't worry 'cause I'm all right,
"See, I'm stayin' here at the Ritz tonight
"Whaddya know, we made our dreams come true.
"An' there are fancy cars an' diamond rings,
"But you know that they don't mean a thing.
"Well, they all add up to nothin' compared to you.
"Well, remember me in ribbons an' curls.
"I still love you more than anything in the world:
"Love,
"Your baby girl."

Ah yeah.

Your baby girl.
("Dear Mom and Dad,
("Please send money: I'm so broke that it ain't funny.)
("Don't need much; just enough to get me through.)
Your baby girl.
("Please don't worry 'cause I'm all right,
("Playin' here at the bar tonight.)
(Ooh, ooh, ooh.)
Dreams come true.

250 Miles. 1 tank of gas. $35

24 hours of Wining and Dining. $200

Creating new memories. Priceless

There are things that I am sure of, in my head anyways. You think that if you're sure of one thing in the world, you're sure of who you are -- the fibers of your core. Then you have a night like tonight, and you begin to wonder.

I'm used to asking my friends hard questions: What makes you tick, what are your motivations? What is your past like? What are your hopes, dreams?

But tonight, tonight Tiffany asked the hard questions. What is your number one priority in life? What event in your past was influential in the decisions you make today? Was there an event that was a turning point in your life? I was surprised that I was stumped.

If you know me, you would know that I can spew on for hours about myself. I can tell you what I like, what I don't like, my opinion on any number of topics, making stuff up and filling in the gaps where needed. I can probably entertain you for a long time, all the while entertaining myself too. But ask me something important like, what is your priority in life, and I don't have a satisfactory answer. My knee-jerk answer is family, of course. It's the proper answer, the expected answer, the responsible answer. But, is it the real answer? I wavered. No matter what I say, I have difficulty convincing even myself.

And so I realized tonight that there is a lot that I still need to figure out about myself. It was a hopeful discovery. Perhaps that will be my adventure -- a journey inward. It was great to let down my walls and share my unmasked self with Tiff. I love these evenings. There ought to be more of them.

Thanks Tiff!

A winter's day
In a deep and dark december;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
I've built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

Don't talk of love,
But I've heard the words before;
It's sleeping in my memory.
I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.

It's all so familiar, so expected, so predictable

Tomorrow, I resume work again, and I'm kind of dreading the familiarity of it all. Even this past week, while I've been at home, my days were so routine. I'm surrounded by people with whom I am perhaps too comfortable, doing things that I always do.

There are no adventures, little spontaneity, nothing is fresh, nothing is new. It's been some time now since I've experienced the lost feeling of driving down an unfamiliar street, but never before have I emotionally felt so lost -- it's like being stuck out in the middle of a stagnant lake.

More than once, it has occurred to me, as I am driving home from work, that I could just keep driving, for a day or two until I'm in some town where I don't know where the closest grocery store is and no one knows my name. And for some reason, this isolation and unfamiliarity -- driving into the unknown -- isn't scary, but in fact sounds nice.

Of course, I don't do this because it would be irresponsible. I think of all the people who would worry about me or who would miss me. But it's hard not to think of all the people who wouldn't notice that I were gone.

I've always done the responsible thing throughout my life, and my responsible decisions have served me well. I can't help but wonder, though, had I been a little more wreckless or taken a few more risks, if I would be just as fortunate.

There has been one common theme in the past four books I've read that have resonated so loudly with me, it has been hard to ignore. The books (Nickeled and Dimed, Memoirs of a Geisha, Girl with a Pearl Earring, and Catfish and Mandala) are dissimilar in every other respect, but in each, the protagonist has been uprooted from their normal surroundings, dropped into a completely different world, and been forced to navigate their way through "life". In each case, the protagonist emerged older, stronger, and wiser because of it. Perhaps I, too, could use a similar trial. I fell as though I ought to be tested, to be pushed to my physical and emotional boundaries, to discover where my limitations lie.

I hate that I sit here writing about how unhappy I am about leading such a happy life. In my life, I have never had a crisis, I have never wanted for anything, have never been lacking in love or affection, have never ached for anything that I didn't get. And for that, I am wracked with guilt. I can't imagine how those who are even more privileged than I deal with it. I try to channel this energy in positive ways, donating time and resources to charity and community service, but that doesn't ease the restless symptoms.

Life has got to be harder than this, surely it's got to be more challenging. Am I doing something wrong? Am I just naive? Is it that I'm not living life to its full potential?

WHAT AM I MISSING??

What's this life anyway?
What's it to you and me?
What's it to anyone?
Who are we supposed to be?
Make me a storybook
Write me away from here
I need a different now

Where we can wear each other for awhile
I'll lend you my tears if I could borrow a smile
I'll get through tomorrow somehow today
Happy After...

Once upon these days

There's four roads to anywhere
Four ways to everything
We were unbreakable
We spoke our destiny
Let's take a moment out
Go where we never go
Let's make a new world now

Where we can wear each other for awhile
I'll lend you my tears if I could borrow your smile
We'll get through tomorrow somehow today
Happy After...

Once upon these days

Then one day we'll find
when we're looking back at this time
Wondering how we've come so far from this
When we close our eyes

What's this life anyway
What's it to you and me
What are we doing here
Who are we supposed to be
I'll take a better world
I'll take anything
I'll take our little world now

Where we can wear each other for awhile
I'll lend you my tears if I could borrow your smile
We'll get through tomorrow somehow today
Happy After...

Once upon these days