"Can you try to fit in?"
~ Thi to me, at the sinocentric Bubble tea shop.

"This is a great place!" says I in a genuine attempt to engage, "how did you guys find this place?"
A couple of confused looks. "You just kinda... know this place. If you're chinese."

Am I? I drink Starbucks' maple macchiatos in Kerrisdale.
Is that enough to nullify my cultural heritage and identity?

THE SHIT IS BANANAS
I am blonde.

A year and a half ago, I identified this man as Samuel L. Jackson.

Today, I went through 40% of my final exam commenting on a quote by Mahatma Ghandi, thinking that he was a chick. Somehow, I had a little brain fart and was under the impression that they were talking about his daughter, Indira.

Today, I learnt that Indira has no relation, whatsoever to Mahatma.

Today, I made soup without water, and burned it.

Some of us have infinity planted in us in odd ways. Yesterday, Today, Forever, I will ever be blonde.
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I am a flower quickly fading, Here today and gone tomorrow,
I want to breathe in the open wind
A wave tossed in the ocean, A vapor in the wind.
I want to kiss like lovers do
Still you hear me when I'm calling, Lord, you catch me when I'm falling,
I want to dive into your ocean
And you've told me who I am. I am yours.
Is it raining with you?

Stepping out from my Chinese final was a less-than-triumphant moment for me. Travelling purposefully down the halls of the Buchanan B block brought surprising tears to my eyes. I am finally done with Chinese, academically speaking at least. I found myself quaking with irony and fear, recalling the exuberation I would feel at the end of each passed exam in Singapore. It meant a year less of Chinese and as I worked my way toward the AO levels when it would all

Stop

I didn't think I would ever need to touch the loathsome language. ever. again. But somehow, deep in my bones, I always knew that God would call me back into the Sino world again. And here I am, three years later with twelve credits of upper level Chinese courses under my belt.

But no, no joy in completion or renunciation of learning. But rather, a tender sort of nostalgia in understanding that in taking ludicriously difficult chinese courses filled with native speakers, in White Land Canada I have brought to the battle front of my identity. Who am I as a Canadian Born, Singaporean-bred, Anglo-speaking, Protestant, Straits Chinese Girl?

In wrestling with my ethnic and cultural identity, these courses have imbued in me a burning desire to be more Chinese, to speak, think and be Chinese. And ending my courses have filled me with fear that this will be the last strings of contact I will have with the Chinese culture before giving it all away.

But perhaps, as God would have it, this is only the beginning.
Where are you taking me?
Give me strength to go. Alone.

Tomorrow will be better.
...fo' shizzle




This made my evening.

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I remember the June of last year, over lunch and agony, with you holding on to an iPod that you had no intention or means of using.

Today, I realise that since then, I've been trying to understand that nothing you would ever hold in your hands (or heart) again, would be for me.

Oh how I am weak!
And how we have been foolish.

Intertia Crepes, moving up slowly

Warm and sunny today. Glen and I sat for two hours in the blazing evening, him with a crepe and me with chinese take-out. We had our annual meeting of catching up and talking of life, school, Jason and future summers. We should meet more, and do more then just talk. I think there's a reason why we meet once a year - with the amount of intellectulized talking, there's only room for so much. We need to diversify our relational economy.

But since we're going places, and doing wildly different things, I'm sure we'll have plenty of material to work with. I'm quite pleased with the proposition of a an extra-annual meeting - In Tanzania.

Jie Yi

My Chinese name means Purity and Obedience. Purity is anyone's judgement, depending where you stand on the spectrum of fundamentalism, but obedience, now that's another story.

I wouldn't say that I'm disobedient, however the term is defined. In fact I have it on my heart (and character) to be as obediant as possible toward persons/institutions that I respect. And that is not a frequent occurance. People need to earn the right to speak truth in someone's life, and in mine, the price is high.

Tom always jokes about my assumed inability to find a husband if the condition is that he is one who can domesticate me, or in his less genteel lexicon, he must be one who can "submit me".
Uh-huh.

And I realise that that is quite true. My pride may hence be my downfall, but on some respects, it is relatively easy to force ernest regard from me. Steadfastness, integrity, surety and above all confident authoritative love. Complement my pendulous and volatile fire with a steady stream of truth and direction, and all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay and follow thee my lord throughout the world.

Yes. I am currently reading pride and prejudice.

And having some rather distrubing dreams.

Today was both wonderful and disastrous at the same time.

I guess it all evens out.

Weak me.

Our relativist, polite encouragement-over-discipline society has given way to an inability for people to pronouce stupidity when they see it.

Some decisions made, no matter the circumstances and context, are inexcusibly moronic.

and the worst part is, we're all expected to live with the consequences.
need... lots... of... grace. But my opinion still stands, unwavering.

P.S. Thank you Doc, for being so very human with me.
Pastor or not, all those are social constructs, but the truth of God is engagment, expression and reality.

In other news, I am going Sinophobic again.
3 days on Bowen and I forget I'm not white.

Mel and I have an agreement: He will stop cigging, if I stop reading Dennis' blog.
Ok. This calls for mutual support.

At anyrate, Bowen Island was great. I feel like I have lived a lifetime in three days. And nothing violent or exhilerating. The sheer silence, the emerald light, coupled with good company and endless hours of reading just made for a good time. A good time of self-reflection (not introspection) with heartfelt sharing (Dear Laura) and wooded walks (Dear Tara). I climbed a hill with a heavy backback, I hitch-hiked, and I felt taken seriously by the Ryan family at L'abri.

I felt out of my usual self, and deeper in my element.

I realise that the issues I face have nothing to do with being dissatisfied/disgusted with who I am. but rather are deep frustrations rising from me not being everything that I should be.
- I am not enough of me.

And in that knowledge, I quake with excitment in the possibilities that lie ahead.

oh! And I saw three Llamas today. They were cute