March 31, 2008

i’ll be my own father

Having a close relationship with my dad means that I occasionally imagine a scene, when my non-existent suitor is being interrogated by the old man.

My lover will be fiddling with the arrangement of his hair, worried that he doesn’t look like he’s going to be able to provide for me. He will try to smoothen his freshly-ironed shirt off those micro wrinkles,  and he would be wondering if his suave tie is straight enough or if his lint-free dress pants are showing too much of his matching socks. (Yeah, DUH, of course I expect my future significant other to have a good sense of fashion.) All the rehearsed lines would be running through his head: "Yes, sir. I do love her very very much," "No sir, I would never cheat on her," "I promise you with every single breath I have that she’ll be treated like a princess," and so on.

Meanwhile my dad would relish on the tense atmosphere and how nervewracked this poor lad is. He’ll sip his tea (he doesn’t drink coffee) real slow, put the cup down, observe my man from head to toe and deliberately lengthen the awkward silence for as long as he could before looking at my lover straight in the eye and ask:

"What’s your intention, son?"

 

But I know this scene would never become a reality. Although I still love my dad very very much and I bet I’m still his little princess, I’ve become too independent a daughter as to allow him to exercise his paternal prerogative on my life. 

My mom did warn me two years ago that no matter what (read: no matter how Westernized I’ve become), my future husband-to-be still has to ask my parents’ permission before proposing to me. She told me that, "It’s just for formalities’ sake. Our answer will always be ‘yes’. It’s just a way of showing respect to us for bringing you up so well, y’know."
Okay mom, whatever…

But back to the whole interrogation scene. That just would never happen, and so, from now on I’ll be my own father. Whenever I’m starting a serious relationship with anyone, I’ll ask him, "What’s your intention? Do you intend to sleep with me tonight and leave me in the morning? Do you intend to have a fling with me for a season and break up as the leaves turn color? Do you intend to charm me, sweep me off my feet and scoot off once the romance settles into a routine? Do you intend to share my happiness and sadness and joy and fear until you realize you can’t share your toothbrush with me? Do you intend to love me and live with me but most probably will run away once in a while? What’s your intention?"

In return, I will be very honest with him too. I’ll tell him that the only thing I love about him is his firm butts and nothing else. I won’t beat around the bush about my desire to bed him another three or four times before the end of the affair. I will not hesitate to say:  Yes, I do like you very much but I will never be able to have a serious relationship with you because you don’t know who Milan Kundera is. I will swallow my pride and admit that I’m halfway in love with him and would very much like to have a privileged access into his life.

Some might believe that mystery and guesswork are part of the excitement in the early stages of a relationship. I say, get rid of the bullshit and let’s be clear with our direction. And don’t get me wrong, asking for someone’s intention is not the same as asking someone to promise you the future. I’m not requesting a notarized contract that things will not break in the future or that the sky will always be azure blue whenever we’re together. All I’m asking is his rough conception about where our relationship is going, and hopefully we’re both on the same page. If not, well, I guess it’s a simple "au revoir, no bad feelings, take it easy, good luck and i wish you happiness."

It’s just like graphic design, as I learnt today: you have to know what you want or how you want your end product to look like, before you can start. The final result will probably be different from what you expected, but it’s always good to know approximately where you’re going from the start because otherwise you tend to get lost in the process and end up throwing away a lot of your design that doesn’t seem right. Weird, because you don’t even know what "right" is in the first place. On the other hand, with a clear idea of how you want things to look like, you know how to work things out when certain elements don’t make sense aesthetically.

So…. "what’s your intention, sonny??"

March 28, 2008

no longer a skinnydip virgin

Thanks to, who else,... Mr. Shawty. We decided pretty impulsively last night to drive to Miller’s Pond and skinnydip in slightly-above-zero-degree water.

Not a very good idea, btw. Less than twenty seconds of being in the water, I ran out of the water, put back all my clothes and ran to the car. While my incredibly crazy partner-in-crime chose to run back to the car naked. Thank God he didn’t get hypothermia on the way coz for sure I didn’t want to explain to the paramedic how it all happened.

Yeah, yeah… Mr.Shawty and I have indeed hung out a lot these couple of weeks. The whole house thinks I’m dating him and it’s funny because we’re not. At least not by the conventional definition of what constitutes dating.

We’re definitely and openly not exclusive. We have our lives completely separate from each other and although we do meet each other pretty regularly and would update the other on our current affairs, we’re unaffected by what the other does. We both agree that we do not want to be in a relationship because the past relationships we had suck balls and we’re both not each other’s type. Strangely enough, we get along really well and are able to talk about all sorts of things. Bonus point for me because he understands my weird sense of humor and can banter back

I must admit that from the first few interactions I had with him, I thought he’s a dumb jock with zero personality. I was so wrong. He’s an interesting character, smart (although I still think I’m smarter hehe) and what I so truly like from him is that he’s confident. Well, it’s probably hard not to be confident when you have a sick body like him and are so fucking fit it’s getting quite ridiculous in bed lately. To the point that we have to impose a rest day for both of us because despite our fitness levels, there’s a limit to everything, unfortunately.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to catch up on my sleep. 

March 27, 2008

up and down she goes

Even though this week is not officially over, I’m declaring that this week is over. Done, done, done, I’m so done with this week. I’m just sooo tired of the ups and downs of this week. Good day after bad day after good day after bad day… Enough with the roller coaster. Why can’t I just have a calm, restful week for a change?
First I had a crappy start because suddenly everyone (read: some seniors I know) seems to get back from the break with a job proudly slinged across their shoulders. While I’m slaving away trying to finish up my projects, my studio arts projects, and organizing shits for my house.

Even more crappy is when the rolls I shot from the weekend turned out to be so-so, not amazing as I expected.

Then the week took a turn because my productivity rate doubled and I managed to cross out a number things from my to-do list for the week.

Before I even had the time to celebrate my accomplishment, everything just slumped to the bottom of the hill, not to mention the critique session that is simply the bane of my existence. Top that off with the fact that I didn’t get to be in the same group as Mr.Dwork for the new graphic design assignment. Boo.

And still, as much as I keep myself on top of my shit, sacrificing sleep and play and what-nots, works just pile up on my lap – one on top of the other. Still jobless, still sleepless, scared shitless.

I don’t even dare to think about the weekend and what I have to do before next week starts… 


Anyway, I had a good talk with my photography professor today. It was nice to just sit there with her and talk about my work so far, my aspiration, where do I want to take this hobby of mine. She finally spelt out what I’ve known all along: how she thinks that I definitely have a natural talent for composition and all these design shit, it’s just that I don’t pay enough attention to tiny details that matter.
And she’s so right.
Deep down I’m still that girl who refuses to give it my all because I’m too scared. Scared that even though I give it my all I’ll never be as good as I’d like to be, so might as well give it a half-assed effort. That way I always have something to blame.


It’s always hard to strike the right balance between caring too much and too little. I care too much about things that don’t matter to distract myself from caring about things that actually matter.
Blergh.

March 12, 2008

A cute boy was checking me out at the gym today. He walked past me, did a double take, gave me a small head nod, and as he was stretching, he kept looking my way. Since he started the stare down, I stared back at him, and he winked at me. Wink. Can you believe it? I thought only gay guys and old men past 50 do the winking thing. Since when is winking back in vogue?

Anyway, I totally would’ve made small talk with the said cute boy and helped him do bench press if not for the fact that Mr.Shawty was also at the gym and I didn’t want to give the wrong impression. So I act cool to both Mr.Shawty and Mr.Cuteboy. Blah, the irony of life…

Oh whatever. Must not be greedy… 

Watched 27 Dresses last night and am so totally in love with the Kevin / Malcolm Doyle character. See… I like that kind of guy: smart, witty, stubborn, ingenious (the thing he did with her filofax was hilariousss i would’ve dated him right then and there if i were her), unrelenting, slightly cynical but actually just need a little love to bring him back to the good side. And even though I admit that I’m a superficial bitch who cares a lot about looks and appearance (w.r.t. my partner), wit and intelligence are definitely the next must-have I seek in a guy. They’re deal-makers. In certain cases, I’m very positive that these two are actually better hooks than looks/appearance. You can easily look good with the right kind of clothing/hairstyle/exercise/dog, so almost everyone can actually look handsome. But intelligence and wit?? Now that’s not easily fabricated especially when it comes to "real time" bantering. Either he’s smart and able to respond with funny, intelligent reply pronto, or his neurons are just lagging like a 56K modem and he can only laugh.

Not that I’m currently looking for anyone like that…. 

March 9, 2008

demons and devils…

are raging aplenty in my soul, my treacherous soul. The one who perpetually plots its own miserable existence. Gathering thorns and blades to pierce (not armor) itself, rolling around in a bed of distrust and paranoia, screaming "why?" while knowing fully well who’s responsible for this masochist behavior.

This self-inflicted emotional abuse makes no sense to me because it provides no benefit or comfort whatsoever – just a hundred percent pure misery straight from the distillation factory.  Even more absurd is the fact that I choose this path over many other known paths that give me happiness and bliss. Why do I choose this one over and over again? As if misery piled up upon misery will somehow turn into a mountain of goodwill where happiness and bliss spring from? NOT!

This is not the case of the blind walking into a burning room. This is the case of a fucking idiot (that’s me) voluntarily entering a burning room the second time in a day. I have been inside that furnace. I have the scars and wounds to prove them. Fuck, I’m still nursing them. So why the fuck do I want to go back inside??? What’s the use of that fucking journal filled with words of wisdom that has brought me out of this abyss if now I’m merely standing still, watching silently as each page turns into ashes. 

What the fuck, Sel?? What the fuck??? There’s nothing inside that burning room. Only self-destruction. Nothing else. There’s nothing you can save from it, no one you can save from that hell. So why don’t you just walk away and save yourself?


This is just pure distraction, all these non-sense. I already know where I’m going. But occasionally I’ll turn around and see what I’ve left behind. Many things. Some I’m just glad to leave behind, some still leave me that bittersweet aftertaste, some I wish I could go back and change. Although I know nothing will change even if I try. That’s why my word for the year is ACCEPTANCE; to accept things I cannot change.

Maybe it’ll be a good idea to ask someone to tie me up on this chair for a while, until I learn that inaction is sometimes the best route to take.

March 8, 2008

you’re looking at me

Spring is in the air, I can feel it…

I’ve always been really excited about spring. It’s almost as if I measure year not based on New Year (Chinese or Western) or academic year or birthday, but on season. Spring is the beginning of the year and yeah… I’m pretty damn excited about this year. New town, new job (hopefully…), new friends, new house, new life… As my beloved country girl Sade said last week, "You gotta get yourself some good seeds for this year’s crop, hun". Spoken like a true farmgirl/cowgirl.

It’s also interesting to note that almost all of my serious relationships start in spring (March/April). Although this year’s this fact will be pretty much irrelevant because… this girl is staying single.

So I spent most of my day today spring-cleaning my iTunes, mostly coz my harddisk crashed and I had to start rebuilding my playlist all over. Inevitably I spent many hours listening to my old music, like this Stacey Kent’s version of "You’re Looking At Me" that made me go…. shiet, this is so me…

(And do you know that the whole collection of Bob Dylan’s albums cost your harddrive 3.62GB ???) 

Who had the boys turning hand springs crazy to love her, claimed she
Who could so misunderstand things?
You’re looking at me.

Who was so sure of her conquest?
Sure as a human could be
Who wound up losing the contest?
You’re looking at me
You’re looking at me

Where is that girl?
Who was certain her charms couldn’t fail
Where is that girl?
Believed every word of this ridiculous tale

Who was so childishly flattered?
Thought she’d swept him off his feet
Who woke to find her dreams shattered?
Might I repeat, might I repeat?
For you needn’t strain your eyes
to see what I want you to see
That’s right!
You’re looking at me

March 7, 2008

just one of those things

Perhaps the way to know what we want is by finding out what we do not want.

I went to the ocean survey office down in LIS (that’s short for Long Island Sound, honey) and I must say I love the work they do, the people, the weekly fishing trip and bbq they have, the quaint city of old saybrook, the boats parked on their shed, heck… I even love their small sidescan sonar. But as I traipsed down their cute little run-downish office (compare that to new york’s skyscrapers) and met all the project managers from their various departments, it became clear to me that I don’t want this job.

It took me a while to admit that, because come on…. this is a great job! Traveling, cool people, modeling sub-bottom surface in 3D, and many other perks that should make even the most brooding puppy wag its tail the whole night long. They see no problem with supporting my visa – which also means I’m going to earn above 40K.

What the hell is wrong with me?, I keep asking myself. What the fuck is wrong with me? Do I seriously think that working in NY at some weird-ass job that doesn’t guarantee any financial security, scrambling for rent and making ends meet by working in a restaurant are more worthwhile than this job?

But it’s the whole idea of how stable life’s gonna be at this job that makes me sick to my stomach. Living in that nice family neighborhood for the next four years? Having weekend trips with my colleagues and their cute-as-a-button kids? Coming home to a quiet house and a puppy?

No, dammit. That’s not twenty-something me you’re looking at. That’s not me. 

Although the more I think about it, I realize that whatever job I’m going to end up doing, stability will inevitably standing right behind me. Be I working as a designer in SF or a non-profit admin worker in NY or this, I’ll have to come to terms with the same thing. As my professor once told me, "It’s called growing up, sweetie." But what if I don’t buy this whole convention of what growing-up entails? What if I insist that I don’t have to get a nice-paying job, go to grad school, go back to work and advance my career, buy a house, settle down, get married and have kids? Because let me tell you,... the whole progression just freaks the hell out of me.

When Mark, the oceanographer head was talking to me about how he started out in the company and how he ended up staying in the same company for the next twenty years (),  my impulse was to get up, run for the door and drive the car as far away from that place as possible. And it’s not because I thought it’s a dead-end job. Far from it. It’s a stable career with a lot of perks and advancement opportunities, a lot of responsibilities and different types of jobs/assignments every month. This is my chance of proving to my skeptical parents that their off-the-wall daughter can get a stable and sane job.

And it’s not because of Connecticut either. Old Saybrook is pretty near to New Haven and NY if ever I feel like hanging out in the city. Hell, Seth thinks I can even live in New Haven and commute, so I am not wholly isolated from the city life. The hours are pretty sane too: overtime here and there, but generally you have the weekend to yourself.

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with me??

Why am I so absolutely terrified by the idea of settling down? Maybe it’s the fault of that book I just read. It brought up all sort of wanderlust in me and made me want to pack my bag and my passport, buy a one-way ticket to Europe and see what happens.

Yet,... it reeks so much of irresponsibility and escapism. As usual, Selina running away from her ghost, which comes this time in the form of stability and responsibility. What do I fear exactly I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s the fear that I’ll lose myself in this comfortable niche. Maybe it’s the fear that I am going to be an ordinary person.

I know I want to be extraordinary. Yet after finding this extraordinary opportunity, I still don’t consider it extraordinary enough. Fuck it. I give up. I absolutely do not know what I want. 

PS: I’m pissed because it seems my arrangement with Mr.Shawty needs to be dissolved. He just friggin asked me to spend the weekend in his house. in Jersey. with his parents and his little brother. WTF, seriously… As if I didn’t explain from the beginning that I do NOT want anything that resemble relationship in whatever shape or form. DAMMIT  

March 3, 2008

mustardy

I’m feeling a little bit too mustard these two days. Pardon me, I’ve been preoccupied with color palettes and composition lately, that the only way I can aptly convey my mood is through color.

I was mellow yellow a couple days ago. Not too awfully bright, but warm enough to spread the love to people around me. But I’ve been losing lustre, hence the mustard hue. My nose is still obstinately runny despite nasal spray, claritin, and chicken soup. Life’s still hectic as usual and I have yet to finish my symposium proposal and fill in my tax forms.

And the parentals have a new interesting habit: calling me on saturday night to make me feel despondent about life. It’s probably not their intention, but it can only come across that way when they always ask why I’m not out on a saturday night ("I have to finish shooting two rolls of film in two days, daddy. No time for social life.") and irresistibly followed by the gratuitous "What’s gonna happen after you graduate?"

Geez mom and dad, I don’t know myself… I wish I knew alright. Seriously, my parents are treating me as if I’m still fifteen. Helloooo…. don’t they realize that I’ve been independent since I was fifteen? Did they go through some kind of time warp or what? Too bad I no longer grow physically because I’m afraid the only way of proving to my parents that I am a grown-up is to show them that I’m two feet taller since the last time they saw me.

emoticon

And for some inexplicable reasons, both H and I are partially depressed tonight. Mine was mostly from tiredness. His is still a mystery.
I’ve been locked up in that insane dark room for more than six hours today, and despite being a nocturnal animal, darkness brings me depression.
The only break I got was to rush home and cook dinner for fifteen people (house recruitment dinner) and rush back to that insipid dungeon.
I’m not much of a hater (coz life’s too short) but I vehemently hate the chemical smell of the developer and the fixer that stays in your hand forever even after you wash your hands. Worse still, I hate the people working on Sunday night… a bunch of obnoxious seniors who think they’re cooler than everyone else. And golly god, do we really have to waste sheets and sheets of glossy paper perfecting the print when I bet there are ways of figuring out the print exposure other than this obsolete and wasteful trial-and-error method. Not to mention how expensive these papers are (50cents a sheet).
I’m sorry… as much as I heart black-and-white manual photography, this is just way too much effort and torture that isn’t even necessary in the first place. I miss digital… my baby of a digital SLR has been pretty neglected and often gives me that jealous look when I pick up the manual K1000 instead of her…. Poor baby…

To top everything off, I don’t think my five-min movie is going to be materialized after all, although I’ve an awesome script, great ideas for the music and shots, and the camera. Oh well..

Yep, seems like the mustard color just got even more washed out into the gross color of flax. Yuckety yuck.