Dazed first days in England

Fear, I am finding, is a matter of being afraid, but doing anyway. Of course, at the highest point of my terror (a gradual building up until the moment I had to say goodbye to Nate at airport security), by which time I had already paid for a plane ticket, summer school in Edinburgh, hostel accommodations, etc., I had little choice but to go, but the point stands, I think!

I was so incredibly sad to leave home, a note which might surprise many of you, as it did for me; after talking about these plans for so long (beyond a year!) it seems almost silly that I was so deeply affected by saying goodbye to my beloved Vancouver.

Beyond sad, I was also fearful (as I’ve already established) of all the things I can’t plan or don’t know, but of the things I do know, I know that I am so lucky. To be a young woman of colour, able to be on my own on the other side of the world so long as I am armed with common sense and constant vigilance, my family and friends still so accessible thanks to modern convenience… I am so lucky, so privileged, to be able to do what I am doing now (i.e., as I type this out from written journal entries, sitting on a train rolling across the English countryside). Frankly, it seems almost disrespectful not to go, fear and sadness notwithstanding.

Once I landed, I encountered a few unexpected hurdles… the cashier at the ticket office in Gatwick was impatient and incredibly unhelpful and did not seem to understand that I couldn’t understand how my train ticket worked. I got on the train, though I wasn’t even sure it was the one I was supposed to be on (my heart dropped into my stomach when an attendant came by to check tickets, but thankfully, I was on the right train).

I also didn’t realize that you had to press a button to open the doors on the Gatwick Express. I could feel the disdain of the man next to me as he reached around to press the button for the crowd of us trying to get off the train.

When I arrived in London from Gatwick (a half hour train ride), I was dismayed to discover that I had more than four hours until my train departed to Nottingham from London St. Pancras. After a desperate respite at the ever-familiar Starbucks (save for the fact that they didn’t have wi-fi… what’s up with that?), delighting in the fact that Buckingham Palace was only a ten minute walk away from my very spot and that the theatres of Hamilton (previews) and Wicked were even closer, I set out to King’s Cross/St. Pancras.

Once I got off the tube there, I still had time to kill, so I figured I would visit Platform 9¾. I am familiar with King’s Cross and Harry Potter, of course, but in my jetlagged state I wondered where I would find the “Harry Potter trolley thing” (which is how I was conceptualizing it). I saw a sign for Platforms 0-8 and promptly realized that I’d probably find the “Harry Potter trolley thing” by Platform 9. The line was long, as expected, so I left and headed to St. Pancras, where I spent some time wandering the shops, chewing gum, and walking to keep awake.

I relish in the thrill and accomplishment of getting around a new city successfully and with relative ease. So far, despite its bustling metropolitan-ness, London has been simple enough to navigate.

I think much of my comfort in London has to do with the fact that London feels so much like home, although I couldn’t tell you why I think so. Los Angeles, New York City, Miami, Orlando, and the cities I visited in between—these cities all feel distinctly un-Vancouver-like to me.  I’d say it’s the trains, but NYC had trains, too, so…

It was warm and pleasant in London today, although it would have felt far more pleasant if I wasn’t dressed for colder weather. Dressing in layers isn’t a particularly useful technique when you’re alone, carrying a lot of things, thus not really having hands or arms to easily carry outer layers that you’ve shed.

The trouble with today—other than exhaustion—was being lonely. Not alone, because I’ve felt capable enough on my own, but lonely: by this time, all of my friends and family at home are asleep (even nocturnal Mom), and I truly have only myself for company. I’m used to being alone for the most part, but with so much waiting to do (downsides of being early and prepared), I’m bored and longing for company, even if it’s only virtual.

But at this point, I am far, far too tired to be sad and scared and lonely. I just want to take a long shower and get into bed!

Fear, or that drum in my chest

Anyone who’s talked to me about this upcoming Europe trip knows that I feel pretty scared about it. It’s starting to dawn on me that the weeks spent outside of my summer school in Edinburgh (which are already structured for me, and so less scary) gallivanting across the United Kingdom and France will be me, a young, solo female traveller in countries and a continent she’s never step foot in before: that’s pretty insane. My dad likes to joke that I have been to Paris before, since my mom was pregnant with me already when she and my dad visited, so I will take that joke seriously for some reassurance that Europe isn’t so alien to me.

I had a (childless, male) teacher in high school whose lessons we filled with anecdotes about his experience travelling the world. I spoke with him once about wanting to travel like he did, alone, make your own adventure style. I can’t remember if it was him or me who brought up the fact that travelling as he did–as a white man–will not be the same as travelling as I will–as a woman of colour. All I can really remember from that conversation is him telling me how he kept his passport close to him at all times–worthy advice to remember as I go forward, I think.

I’ve been planning for this trip for so long that I hardly know when the planning started. I told a friend that I was scared and he assured me by saying that I am one of the most “together” people he knows, and I think it’s fair to say that this is the case for many of my friends. I am not a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of girl, in any sense of the phrase. I plan. I colour-code. I anticipate. I prepare. I mean, I’m adaptable to change, but I operate like everything’s going to go according to plan until it doesn’t, which works for me.

But it doesn’t work when planning for this trip. Because when I’m planning for projects or planning my day, there are only so many variables. I can account for possibilities here in my safety net. Travelling alone, there are too many possibilities, and it drives me to panic considering ways to avoid potential problems.

Even as I reflected on the irrationality of my problems to Nate last night–

“What if I run out of money before my trip ends?”

“We know that it’s easy enough to transfer money to you.”

“What if the Internet breaks?!”

“Yes. Yes. That is definitely a possibility.”

–I still felt that beat in my chest. It’s probably one of those big stand-up drums that has to be hit with mallets, just past my rib cage, someone pounding at it relentlessly.

I don’t think I can talk myself out of being afraid of this. (See: above, conversation with Nate.) I will not be able to consider all the variables. I know that there is a life past this–I’ve already planned for it, as I do–and I know that there is only so much I can do right now to be ready for this trip. One of the things that I can do right now is to accept that fear, to feel it whole-heartedly (I don’t have opportunities to be afraid very often, luckily), and know that on the other side of this fear, there is bliss.

Snow, and slowness

As somebody who plans to the hour and makes sure I am being productive every moment, you would think that I hate the snow, for all the reasons everyone else in Vancouver seems to hate snow. We can’t get anywhere, we’re late to wherever we need to be, we’re trapped inside. I do feel impatience when (like tonight) I was waiting for the bus for half an hour. I do find myself frustrated from time to time, when my workplace or school doesn’t call for a snow day–especially since I am far from walking distance for either of those places–but whenever I find myself in the snow, I cannot stop smiling.

I was running to the bus this morning, and generally the fastest way to get to my closest stop is to go through a school. The school is private, so in the snow, it’s closed, and they don’t bother clearing the snow. So I was shin-deep in snow in some areas, and I had forgotten to zip up my ankle-high snow boots, so I had snow in my shoes, and I was possibly going to miss my bus, but I found myself laughing, because I’m clearly ridiculous. I couldn’t tell you why–I think the clumsiness of it all just fills me with delight.

N. will tell you that it’s because I was born in a snow-deprived country. This is probably at least part of the reason. (For half my life I had no idea what snow was like! Amazing.)

But I think it is also the fact that, as someone who is always planning to the hour and ensuring every moment has its purpose, I relish the opportunity to slow down.

I appreciate these rare chances when I have no choice but to take my time, to use my own two feet, to clear my own path, and to go slowly. I am always on my way somewhere, and almost always I am in a rush, but when it snows, I am slow for once.

Of course, it’s hard to fully appreciate these forced walks, because they inevitably bring me somewhere warm. Tonight, it brought me to a bed and a heated blanket, within four walls and a roof, and I can’t neglect the fact that while the snow slows me down but never stops me, it brings others to a complete stop: I am privileged to have warmth when I need it. I’m also aware that some folks’ livelihood depends on the ability of their vehicles to have access to navigable roads, and when it snows, they themselves are not only slowed but their incomes are, as well.

But I am grateful for the snow for making me think about this, for making me confront my warmth and making me consider ways to take action.

I am grateful for shared laughter that emerges out of shared inconveniences; I am grateful for anything that enhances and strengthens the human connection.

If that’s what it takes, then–let it snow.

Summer 2016: A Reflection

With regard to global affairs, this has kind of felt like the summer that the world starts to fall apart. (I’ve read it described as scenes from the montage that is played at the beginning of post-apocalyptic movies describing the pre-movie apocalypse, which is, I think, pretty accurate.)

However, in my own little domain, this summer was a nice respite from action-packed second year.

Me and my cousins at Walt Disney World

Photo courtesy of Dad :)

Me, hardly working

I took two summer courses, worked in retail for the first time in addition to teaching ice skating with the city, and travelled to Florida for the first time. All in all, I had a great summer.

I remember feeling so frustrated at the end of last summer. Four months without school was just too long. However, despite having two courses to deal with all summer long and only three weeks in between my summer courses and the beginning of the fall semester, I’m already so ready to begin third year.

My summer courses, which were focused on syntax and structure and logic, have made me miss discussion groups and original thought. My limited working hours have made me miss a steady income from a job that I’m excited about.

Still, this will be a post about appreciating what I have learned over the summer, preparing to bring those hard-earned wisdoms into the future.

Working at Victoria’s Secret, for example, certainly taught me–as customer certain jobs are wont to do–the values of patience and viewing things from the other perspective. That being said, Victoria’s Secret has a pretty great crew of employees and of customers, so working there was actually really fun. It definitely ranks high on my experience of working with colleagues; all of the girls there tended to be quite fun and friendly, especially once I made the effort to get to know them better. I’m going to miss them a lot.

I obviously took quite a few things away from Symbolic Logic I and English Grammar and Usage, both of which ended up being grade boosters for me. Not only did they require skills that will help me in studying for the LSAT (and eventually, for law school), they bumped up my top 30 credits enough to make me competitive for the law school at the University of Toronto.

The two courses were also refreshing in the way that they required systematic studying in a way that my humanities courses haven’t really required of me. I can parse symbolic sentences and sentences in Standard (or non-standard) English… with some difficulty.

[S/NP(I) P/VP(can parse) O<NP(symbolic sentences) and NP(sentences in Standard {or non-standard} English)>… A(with NP(some difficulty))].

How do we even deal with parentheticals? A question for another course, I suppose.

They’ve also given me a revitalized appreciation for the nuances of language. As challenging and exciting as it is to consider the implications of language and literature at large, it’s also fascinating to delve deeper into the reasons we make certain decisions when we communicate. Like, why did I say “it’s also fascinating to…” instead of, “delving deeper into the reasons we make decisions when we communicate is also fascinating”? I assure you, that decision was a subconscious one!

But of course, this summer was not just all work, try though I did to make it so. (I was reading about declarative subclauses while in our rented villa in Orlando!)

Visiting family in the US is always a highlight of my summer. In the past few years, I’ve visited Los Angeles, San Francisco, Las Vegas, New York City, Atlantic City, Orlando, and Miami. Although the destinations are always thrilling (and so surreal, after reading about those places and seeing them in movies and whatnot), spending time with family always reminds me to take things a little less seriously–I tend to be the most serious of my maternal family, with my outright dedication to my work and my wariness of substances that make one drunk/high.

But man, I love the Disney parks. When I went to Disneyland for the second time, this during my graduating year, I bought one of those big Goofy hats (a souvenir I knew I wanted when I visited Disneyland for the first time). I brought it home and wore it to school, and my teacher started a conversation with me about the Disney parks. It ended with him saying, “Yeah, but you realize it’s all phony and you get tired of it after awhile.”

(I don’t.)

Yeah, kids are crying and hungry and tired and want to pee all the time, and parents are also tired and hot and just spent hundreds of dollars to stand in line, but I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking that it’s magical for a child to see characters they admire come to life in front of them.

I went with two of my cousins and my aunt, and my younger cousin, who’s only five, is not afraid to talk. She greeted and thanked and conversed with every cast member we met–but she suddenly became a pink-cheeked, smiling, bashful, and tongue-tied little pixie when she met Tinker Bell and Mickey Mouse. And I think that’s pretty cool.

There’s also the fact that it’s fun. It’s impossible to spend a whole day at Disneyland or Disney World and not find yourself laughing or smiling, I think, especially when you’re with people you love.

Tomorrow is the Orientations Leader training for Imagine UBC Day. My third Imagine Day, and my second as an Orientations Leader. It’s such an apt name for the day!

With summer 2016 behind me, I’m ready to spend some (more) time imagining my third year at UBC, and I am just as ready and excited to bring those imaginings to life.

What feminism means to me

I can have career ambitions, pursue higher education, and not feel guilty about spending so much time in school.

I can go into my desired field and find that there are both men and women, that positions of power are not dominated by one, that everyone feels comfortable and respected and valued.

I can be a wife and a mother someday and I don’t have to feel guilty about wanting that.

I can do what I want with my body: I can let it sleep eight hours a night, I can work out three or four times a week, I can eat “right”. I can have chocolate every single day. I can indulge in good food. I can take everything in moderation. (Except chocolate.)

I can wear pants and running shoes and hoodies.

I can wear dresses and skirts and heels.

I can enjoy shopping.

I can take time off to travel, by myself or with others. I can travel without feeling limited or unsafe.

I can enjoy being a slob on the couch.

I can cut my hair really short or grow it out.

I can wear makeup or go without.

I can walk home without my mom asking me to text her when I’ve left work, arrived at the bus station, when the bus has left the station, when I’ve gotten off the bus, when I’ve arrived home from the bus stop.

I can choose to go on birth control, or have an abortion, if I ever needed to.

I can leave parts of my body hairy.

I can have a say in my relationship, and my feelings will be recognized (both in the relationship and outside of it) as valid if I ever have concerns.

I can be heard.

I can be respected.

Feminism means that I don’t have to be afraid of having a voice, opinions, and desires, that I can trust that what I say will be heard and–although not necessarily listened to–my voice will be respected. Feminism means that I’m free to be myself without stigma. Feminism means that I will not be limited by my gender or my sex.

Jia Directs a Choir, year 3: “Fewer theories, more experience”

“School opened and Anne returned to her work, with fewer theories but considerably more experience.” (Anne of the Island, by L.M. Montgomery)

Directing my local middle school choir has been the ultimate learning-teaching experience because–like every bright-eyed aspiring teacher–I wanted to revolutionize what I’d gone through myself as a student, believing that I could change the experience for the better. This gets sour pretty fast, especially when you have no formal training as a teacher. Teaching is a true vocation, which is why I always feel a little bit resentful of anyone who tells me they want to teach… just because there’s too many of them. I know this isn’t fair, but I’ve become so skeptical of anyone who can’t think of anything else other than teacher-doctor-lawyer and so fall back on those options because they cannot imagine another position.

Despite all of bitterness you just read, I returned to the middle school for another year directing the choir. After a summer of worrying about how it was going to fit in to my schedule with all the other things I committed to and feeling my interest in the gig fading (I told myself that this would be the last year I did it), I went to the first rehearsal with my teacher face on, only to discover that the teacher face stayed on.

In an hour, I remembered just what I love about teaching choir. I love sharing music, and I love being surrounded by kids who love to sing, despite how hard of a time I give them. This is such a fresh new time for these kids, and I can feel it. At my training for my job as an ice skating instructor, my supervisor reminded us that we could be the difference between a child loving skating, or hating it, and being in that position doesn’t frighten me as much as it probably should. In both skating and in choir, all I see is the opportunity to show a kid the world that I grew up in and I want them to feel as safe and loved and part of something as I did.

Skating and singing and music ended up being places of refuge for me. They did so well at serving as those places that I didn’t even realize that I ever needed refuge. Even though I was never particularly gifted at either of those things–I’ll never receive money or prizes for my abilities in music or skating–they defined my childhood and offered me so much.

That is what I want to bring to the table. Being on slippery ice is scary. Working with others is scary. Performing is scary. Being yourself and putting who you are on display is scary. But I want these kids to know that it is so much more than scary, and that I am there for them even when it is, because I know that there is a chance for them to fit in and figure things out and shine, if they let themselves.

Here’s to another wonderful year of non-bitter teaching. ♥

Personal Reflections, Girlfriend Edition

I don’t really want to talk about my personal relationship, exactly, not much. I’ve been in a flux as a girlfriend because Nathan and I have gone through a tumultuous time, even just as people unconnected to each other: most notably, we graduated from high school and started our respective undergraduate educations (at different institutions). This has had all sorts of implications on the way we interact with each other, but I mostly just want to talk about me. (LOL.)

Nathan is probably the best partner anyone could ever have, so thank goodness for all those stupid girls who friend-zoned him before. He is patient, thoughtful, kind, funny, hard working, and he is an excellent cuddler. Me, though, I’m working on a lot of those things. (Except for the cuddling. I’m great at that.)

Among my great flaws as a girlfriend (like, being desperately and annoyingly clingy–although I have gotten way better, I think) is that I am very rigid. I have a hard time adjusting to the situation, and things always need to go the way I want them to.

Spoiler alert! Things ALMOST ALWAYS don’t go the way I want them to.

Although I love him dearly and he truly is my superman, Nathan is not superman. He cannot do everything, and I constantly need to remind myself of this. I don’t like thinking of myself as a slice of the pie chart that needs to become smaller when school comes into the picture, and I’ve tried to think of metaphors that would make me feel less optional, but firstly, that premise is wrong, and secondly, there’s nothing wrong with being a slice of the pie chart because that’s what I am!

I am still trying to figure out that being a relationship is a constant work-in-progress. I think I’m finally understanding what Sarah Dessen meant in This Lullaby when she tried to explain that a relationship doesn’t have to be either a fling or forever. At least, my interpretation of it is that I need to approach every situation with a unique mindset. Not everything can be dealt with the same way.

Something frustrating I’ve learned is that there is never one answer to a problem in the realm of romantic relationships. When I’ve been asked advice about partners, I’ve learned to tread carefully because what worked/hasn’t worked for me might not be the same case with someone else. In fact, it probably won’t. Dealing with people is a skill that constantly needs to be adapted.

That’s why I’m very grateful to have Nathan, who–human though he is–is steady and reliable. From the very beginning, what made him stand out to me was his incredible kindness and patience and having my best interests at heart. Perhaps even when he shouldn’t, he considers me even before himself. (So thank you, honeybunch. I love you!)

Where We Are: Imagine UBC + Second Year Begins

Study tumblr blogs (“studyblrs”) feature a lot of school tips, including back-to-school preparation tips. A piece of advice that I read a few weeks ago, prior to school starting, was to sleep in the day before classes start (albeit having slept early the night before, of course). This year, that was not possible for me.

I actually had a very hectic week leading up to the first day of classes, loaded with preparations for back to school, orientations, and meeting up with friends who would be leaving for their out-of-province schools.

I had a mediocre Imagine Day during my first year, which is not to say anything against my Orientation Leader, who was very sweet and a wonderful resource regarding the best places for food on campus. However, it was pouring rain, and as a rule, I cannot maintain a good mood in such conditions. Luckily, this year, it was quite pleasant out.

I find that the events that the university puts on for orientations and first year (like Destination) are put on to remind you where you are. This is UBC! This is the most beautiful campus in the world, home to some of the brightest minds and diverse stories on the planet! As a first year and a second year, I buy into the hype–I mean, I’m borrowing thousands of dollars to buy into that hype, because it’s true.

There were a few highlights of being an Imagine Day Orientations Leader. We’ll start with the end: my group called me “super cool”/”mega awesome”. I’m really very proud of that. But I’m also glad that my group became a group. Although individually the members of my own Imagine Day group last year were quite pleasant people, we didn’t quite “glom” onto each other–but I suppose kindred spirits are preordained.

Thankfully, quite a few of the first years in my undergraduate group were very kindred spirits. In addition to enthusiastic inclusivity, I heard strange conversations throughout the day–between strangers who you would think had known each other forever.

Imagine Day is all about orientating, yes, but another way I’m thinking of it as is situating. Although there is a literal campus tour, there is also a constant reminder–especially on the centennial of our university–that we are somewhere special. This was illustrated in a number of ways by a number of different people, but this year, it stands out to me that the University of British Columbia is located on the traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory of the Musqueam people.

Although unintentionally so, I registered for Canadian literature and Indigenous literature in the same semester. This proved to be a happy coincidence. Two classes in a row, I was reminded that being Canadian is very real and something to be proud of, but–as Professor Kevin McNeilly articulated brilliantly–being a Canadian citizen is not an uncomplicated citizenship.

I see myself as Canadian, and if I were abroad and somebody asked me where I was from and who I was, I would know the tl;dr answer I would give them. But, as a Canadian and as much more, it is not an uncomplicated answer. I am excited for the opportunity to learn more about the answers to those questions, by exploring what I’m becoming more and more sure that I love (the study of English literature) and seeing just what I’m capable of in other areas.

Here’s to a great great year!

NEW YORK and My Week in the Big Apple

“Tucked into every nook and cranny of New York City are depths of history and billions of stories and lives to understand, and it’s truly a gift to even catch a glimpse of it.”
– me, on Instagram, 9 weeks ago

I fell in love with Edward Rutherfurd and his cities with his latest epic historical novel PARIS, published in 2013. It became such a precious book to me that it sat on my desk–even after being finished–for months. I started reading SARUM (his first novel, published in 1987) next, but I never finished it. When the plans for my family’s trip to New York City were made, I set aside SARUM for NEW YORK. But I’ll get to my summer vacation in a few paragraphs.

With eight hundred pages of relatively small print and multi-multi-multi-multi-generational storylines, Rutherfurd gives you the time and space to fall in love with cities, by every definition of the phrase, “fall in love”. He shows all the sexy (and seriously unsexy) close-ups, revealing both the dark corners and astonishing views of the city, embedding the universal themes of family, romance, and hardship as he shares these cities in unparalleled literary intimacy.

NEW YORK in particular is thoroughly American, even though Rutherfurd begins the story in New Amsterdam, which then becomes the object of a tug-of-war between the Dutch and the British and then the Americans and the British. The binding familial story is the Master family line, whose prosperity rises and rises and falls slightly but never completely falters, from their beginnings as successful Dutch merchants to Park Avenue lawyers. But the Masters were once aspiring Americans, which makes them exactly like the many other families and characters who join the cast of NEW YORK, which is why I say that the novel thoroughly American. The dreaming and working hard and achieving featured in the novel is the prototypical American dream, of course. But my favorite part of both NEW YORK and New York City was the layers of texture, culture, and people. It is what you make of it, whether that is a beacon of hope and power or a city of betrayal and loss.

By the time I landed in JFK, the half-Loyalist, half-Patriot Master family was right in the heart of the American Revolution. I knew of Bowling Green, Broad Street, the Hudson River, and Trinity Church.

On my first two days on the Atlantic Coast, we were mostly in Atlantic City in Jersey (my godmothers love slot machines), but we drove into “the City” from Queens, where my grandmother lives, before going to pick my cousins up from the Newark airport. I didn’t realize until then what a big deal those Manhattan skyscrapers really were. I used to just put aside what I’d heard about the Manhattan skyline, but there truly is nothing like it. Not even Los Angeles, and certainly not even Vancouver, fit the description of “concrete jungle” anymore, now that I’ve seen Manhattan.

I fell in love with Manhattan the way you’re supposed to fall in love: “slowly, and then all at once” (thank you, John Green, for the most accurate description of falling in love ever).

I fell in love with the hot and sticky Manhattan. I fell in love with the way the city and its humidity clung to my skin, I fell in love with the way it suddenly poured while we were in Times Square, like an overcompensated apology for the heat.

I fell in love with Manhattan sitting in my awful seats at the Met Opera, watching a tiny Misty Copeland dance in what looked like a shoe box diorama below me as she made history for the American Ballet Theatre as their first African American principal dancer.

I fell in love with being a tourist in the City, wearing my Statue of Liberty hat and having pizza on Wall Street, trying to grasp all the important decisions being made steps away from me, all the important exchanges that have been made, were being made, will continue to be made.

I fell in love with the smaller-than-anticipated Statue of Liberty and all she must have stood for and the way her meaning has changed over the years. As I gazed down at Ellis Island from the ferry, I–a Canadian immigrant–imagined how different it would have been to come up to the Statue of Liberty after months at sea, believing that a better life lay behind her.

I fell in love with the Manhattan skyline from above the East River, crossing the Brooklyn Bridge with tired feet, taking seflies with my family and feeling the cars rumble beneath us.

But the falling in love “all at once” came when my cousins and I went for a walk around Central Park and then took a peek into the Upper East Side. This picture, below, is one of our favorites. My cousins are GOSSIP GIRL fans, so they had to visit the Met steps, of course.

Another famous Manhattan stereotype is that it is busy and fast and you blink and everything’s changed, but gazing at the skyscrapers backing the Central Park trees, sitting on the Met steps and watching taxis and people go by, I didn’t feel busy and fast and stress. I felt life, pounding the pavement and reaching into the clouds, bursting at the Hudson and the East Rivers. And it was life unlike anything else I’d experienced before.

I’m so grateful to Edward Rutherfurd for giving me the chance to extend my week in New York City in so many different directions: temporally, spatially, emotionally. I’ll be back for you again someday, NYC. ♥


 

MY NEW YORK CITY BUCKET LIST

  1. go to the top of the Empire State building
  2. visit the Strand bookstore
  3. watch
    1. The Phantom of the Opera
    2. The Lion King
    3. An American in Paris
    4. Misty Copeland dance… not from the family circle
  4. come back for Magnolia Bakery

Reflecting Upon Happy Days: Day 10

My friend, Faye, was suggested by another friend of hers to do this Instagram tag challenge called the 100 Happy Days Challenge. Now, I’m not necessarily in need of a pick-me-up. I am just pretty human, and I have my bad days, but if you asked me to grade the status of my life, I’d probably give it the best score possible. Sometimes I struggle to get out of bed in the morning, but my life would be less perfect if I didn’t.

Regardless, I loved the idea of sharing something visually and explaining why it made me happy, so for ten days now, I’ve posted pictures to Instagram of things that have made me happy. I’ll include some of my favorites in this post.

I’ve really enjoyed the past ten days. I always feel like I want to do something. The project has motivated me to not only get up and carpe diem, but it’s made me excited to do something that makes me happy. I think a lot of unhappiness I see grown-ups experience is because they do things that don’t make them happy. I’m old enough to understand that sometimes we don’t have a choice, and sometimes sacrifices have to be made, but what I’ve found so far is that we can find something every day that makes us happy.   

There’s also something about sharing happiness that makes the happiness even more tangible and real. Now, don’t get me wrong: I am without a doubt a child of the digital age. Unless I tried really hard, there’s no way I’m going a day without visiting Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, or Tumblr. I’m addicted to checking my email. But I’ve never been someone who counts likes. I’ll notice when my friends and family pay a lot of attention to something, but I don’t change my profile picture and wait for it.

For the challenge, however, I find that I want these likes. Having people interested in my happiness does wonders for my happiness. I mean, it works regardless, obviously. What made me happy on a given day will still make me happy even if nobody knows about it, but if my friends and family do know about it and like it, I feel more like my well-being and happiness is something that matters to them.

#100happydays #IAMUBC #nofilter (because duh, it doesn’t need it) I’ve been on summer break for over 3 weeks now, and UBC is a long commute from home, but you can’t keep me away! @itsfayeee let me sit next to her in a very intimidating Gateman ECON101 lecture. I learned a lot (particularly about price elasticity of demand) despite having very minimal exposure to economics, and I’d love to take some economics courses if I could. But after an hour, I decided I wanted to get some of my own work done (and Gateman doesn’t allow electronics…), so I relocated outside and was very glad I did. My beloved school, as always, was picture perfect, and soaking in the sun while reviewing a manuscript felt so great. Reading books for an internship while at the school of my dreams felt really fulfilling… I’ve had an impression that turning a hobby or passion into a career is a tough thing to do, but today, I felt pretty good about it. A photo posted by Jia Faner (@howdoyouwords) on

#100happydays #thefluffymovie Many of my guy friends do this thing. They’ll be saying something, saying something, and then they’ll change their tone of voice and say this phrase that sounds almost like a catch phrase, and the other guy friends will jump in and they’ll continue to say the next phrase in unison. Then they’ll usually start laughing. I don’t know what it is, but apparently guys always watch the same comedians, and none of them have ever bothered to expose the rest of us to the funnies… except tonight! I watched the last half of Gabriel Iglesias’s stand-up comedy film with @natesoer and BOY DID I LAUGH. I think being a stand up comic might be one of the hardest occupations out there. Humor is such a fickle and diverse thing (as evidenced by the few Cards Against Humanity games I’ve lost). Fluffy falls into the class of people I admire most, though, and it’s not comedians: it’s story tellers. Laughter is his hook, but the real skill in comedy is attaching the funnies to things that matter, to the truths of life. One day, a controversial teacher at my high school was saying some of his usual controversial things, and the class started laughing. He mused, “This is quickly becoming stand up comedy… the truth tends to do that, doesn’t it?” A photo posted by Jia Faner (@howdoyouwords) on

The last thing that I’ve learned in the past 10 days is that 100 Happy Days isn’t going to mean 100 days of happiness, straight. I’m still going to feel stressed and sad and lonely and even unhappy for moments or even hours or maybe even the whole day. And that’s okay.

Happiness isn’t about ignoring those things, exactly. It’s about deciding what in your life is worth highlighting, sharing, and being proud of and letting those things be featured on Instagram, and not the other things.

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