i. When I left for college I had a huge lump in my stomach. My nerves were tempered with ecstasy. Here was a space for new adventures, new lessons learned, new wisdom gained; yet, the new made way for cravings of the old. You can only eat school cafeteria salad for so long before you long for mama’s home cooking. While my classmates pined after their mothers’ chocolate chip cookies, mac and cheese, and casseroles, I dreamt of my 媽媽’s tofu with century eggs, squid stir fry, and curry. My understanding of casserole was elementary school lunch: the grey-green sludge made of canned green beans. Something tells me that is not the type of casserole my peers yearned for. Continue reading “Vignettes on Intersectionality”
I don’t remember what exactly possessed me with the idea that day, but I had just shuffled out of my Religion & Culture class, which ended rather late at 5:15 PM. I had no dinner plans with anyone, and no time to make any. Immediately, I was transported back to middle school, when I would scurry back and forth between two girls’ washrooms, occasionally greeting teachers on the way as to not blow my cover, pretending I was about to go to recess. I’d find an empty stall, make sure no one saw me enter with my lunch bag and quickly scarf down my meal. It wasn’t until later that I was brave enough to confidently sit down at a lunch table and enjoy my solitude with a good book. For a long time, I didn’t want anyone to suspect that I was the girl who ate alone. Continue reading “A Simple Act”
I have been journaling pretty frequently lately and that is not normal (for me).
I occasionally save random thoughts on Evernote, clip articles I’m interested in, and write full blown pieces for this blog, but journaling? It has always been something that I’ve feared a little.
Why, you might ask? After all, I don’t think writing your thoughts in a private notebook is usually on people’s lists of scary things. But to me, it is terrifying. Believe me, I’ve tried to keep a consistent journal so many times over the years I’ve lost count. I even found several notebooks that I filled from middle school and promptly put them through a shredder and threw them away. Continue reading “Vivre Sa Vie and Recording My Thoughts”
I am an active user of several different social media platforms. Across all platforms, it is common to witness disastrous oversharing (I do NOT need to know the texture of your one month old’s fecal matter), pointless chain letters, and self-promotion. While I keep the deeply personal parts of my life off of social media, I do write or share a significant amount of political or social justice related pieces. People who share their opinions on these matters are often criticized for being “slacktivists” or “keyboard warriors.”
“All you’re doing is sitting behind a computer. What are you actually doing to help?” Continue reading “Social Media Activism Can Be Good”
I rush frantically into the field house. The parking lot looked pretty full when I rolled into the first empty spot I could find. My hair is still damp from my shower this morning and I had haphazardly applied lipstick in the car using my rearview mirror. Am I going to be late to my own college graduation? This kind of scenario would be a mediocre punchline in the sitcom called my life. After a minor (but major at the time) tiff with my parents earlier this morning about them not caring enough about this day, I really did not need any more drama. As I walk over to my seat, I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. There are other empty spots scattered across the room, which means I’m on time. I blurt out a “Hey, what’s up?” to the guy sitting next to me. I think his name is Jim (or maybe John? Joe?), and he is the same major as me, International Studies. We make some casual small talk. For such a small school you would think we would know each other by senior year, but I did not officially meet him until graduation rehearsal. The other guy that is supposed to be sitting to my other side has not arrived yet. I think we had a class together – one he was often late for as well. Old habits die hard, I guess.