Category Archives: First Year

05/1/14

Wrapping Up

Wow.

 

Wow.

 

First off, I would like to congratulate the people who got their acceptance letters from UBC! Well done! If you’ve accepted your offer (and I don’t see why you won’t), you’re going to be in for a ride. The UBC Blog Squad is a really good resource to get to know more about life as a first year and more. Hashtag shameless plug. Hashtag ubcblogsquadforever.

So after 8 months of being lost, doing stupid things, having heart-breaking exam schedules and many sleepless nights, I am done. DONE. Well, not DONE like graduating-from-university-done, but I’m done with first year. I can scarcely believe it. I can still remember the day I left for Vancouver (I cried secretly on the airplane; I think my mom noticed but she pretended not to). I was young(er), and so naive…. Now I’m still fairly young – turned 19!, and I’ve learned so much from my first year in university. Still pretty stupid, though. I had to live in a foreign country all by myself. I had to file taxes (it was painful and I didn’t know what I was doing most of the time). I had to do scary adult-things like pay bills and go to fancy offices and speak nicely. I presented at an academic conference. I ogled some cute guys.

It’s been a year to remember. Sure, it wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows and puppies, and I did occasionally want to flip tables and cry my eyes out, but it has been illuminating. I would never trade my first year in university for anything else.

(Unless someone wants to give me a pet dragon. I want a dragon.)

I thought I’d be a little more social and outgoing in university, but umm, leopards don’t change and their spots and stuff. I am a natural recluse. So I spent time outside of classes either working or sitting in my room. I enjoyed my time cooped up in my tiny room, but I suggest you do not do this. I hope I get involved a little more next year… (without having to socialize much… wishful thinking. What can I say, we can’t all be outgoing and energetic. I usually fake it, then run back into the embrace of my bed asap)

Many of my friends in residence are jetting off home, but I am staying in Vancouver. *silent sobs* I miss the food back home a LOT, and I really want to see my friends and experience crazy driving (if you think the drivers in Vancouver are crazy, you ain’t seen nothing till you head to Asia). I want to bask in face-melting heat and hair-ripping humidity. I want to eat spicy food and see an entire family ride on a single motorbike (this is an actual thing) (PS this is dangerous please do not try it). I want to have oily skin and sweat profusely. I want to finally not have to use a universal adapter to charge my laptop. But nope, I’m staying here, and I’m completely cool with it. I’ll actually be taking two summer courses, so I guess I can blog about that too.

I also need to look for a job. I applied for some Work Learn jobs but they rejected me…… Which didn’t hurt at all. Haha. Ha. ha. SOMEONE PLEASE HIRE ME.

 

Well, this chapter is now over. (Now I’m going to rest and not study for two weeks before summer school, play some Bioshock Infinite maybe and not think about life). I can’t wait to see what second year holds. I’m already excited. And scared. But mostly excited.

12/12/13

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

“A tale that will warm your heart and soul, perfect for winter!” – Jack Froze, North Pole Times

“… a magical story of love and reconciliation… sure to be a family favourite!” – Nicholas Claus Jr., Thine Magazine

“Heartbreakingly powerful and exquisitely crafted…” – Easton Bunny, Magazine Magazine, starred review.

 

********************************

 

“I’m going to take my exam now. Wish me luck.”

“Don’t go.”

I roll my eyes. “Stop being so clingy, I really have to take this exam. I don’t like it, but I have to go. I’ll be back in three hours.”

“But baby, it’s cold outside.”

I heave a deep breath to steady my nerves. I have a final exam in 40 minutes and now I have to deal with the kind of temptation that even a saint cannot resist. Why is this even happening to me? “I really can’t stay,” I breathe, looking away.

“But baby, it’s cold outside.”

“Stop!” I throw my hands up in the air in exasperation. “This exam is worth thirty percent of my grade. That may not mean anything to you, but it sure means something to me. Please respect that. I’ve got to go.”

I feel forlorn eyes gazing into me and my eyes tear up unexpectedly. Crap. No. No no no. Not the eyes. “But baby, it’s cold outside.”

Now I find myself weighing the possibilities in my mind: I can stay a little longer and be up to thirty minutes late to the exam…. Or maybe I could just skip it. What is my current grade in that class again? I mentally attempt calculating my scores but give up immediately. But well, life is short… right? Right?? No one cares about grades in first year… right?

“Yes… Come back here.” My bed entices me, showing me its silky sheets. My eyes fall on its soft duvet and I feel myself falling under its spell. I feel my body grow weak as I gaze at its softness. Mmm… it would feel so good to just forget everything and go to sleep…

“Yes… it’s cold outside… stay in here with me.”

“I-I-I must… I must go?” I whimper, torn between my immediate desires and sense of responsibility. What responsibility, though? I couldn’t remember why I had to leave anymore. What could have possibly driven me to go out? I must have been mad… Yes. I was mad.

“It’s cold outside.”

“Yes. It’s too cold outside.” I throw my bag down and leap into the arms of paradise.

 

AND THAT IS HOW I FAILED EVERYTHING

I first converse with inanimate/intangible objects here 

11/26/13

#UBC50K (and procrastination)

Hey.

I’m procrastinating right now, kind of. I have a paper that’s due tomorrow, but I have reached this certain point where I just don’t give a hoot anymore. My paper doesn’t make sense, and I don’t even care. I don’t even like that class. POLI 101 Government of Canada is the pits. No offense, Canada.

And now I’m going to tell you guys about something that’s going on!

Most of you may know about the recent typhoon that devastated the Philippines. Well, UBC Dollar Project and UBC Kababayan have joined forces to organize a fundraiser – UBC50k, in order to help the victims of the typhoon. The idea is to collect a dollar from every student on campus and like get a whole bunch of money to donate to the Red Cross. This project is also in collaboration with UC Berkeley and UC Davis in California. (It’s called UC Davis 33k or something on the other side)

(I honestly don’t think 50k will be achieved, but it’s always good to aim high.)

A friend of mine brought the initiative to Totem Park, and they’ve started to branch out, and even collected money by the fountain today. At least, my friends did, for the most part. I spent most of my time eating kimchi, drinking hot chocolate from Tim Hortons, and watching our bags, because I am inordinately paranoid. I did help though, I swear. I just have trouble approaching strangers, because I usually don’t talk to people unless they talk to me first. Very friendly, I know. Also, going up to strangers and asking for money? Um. Check back on another day, when I get a little more self-confidence. Hashtag awkward people problems.

I kid (mostly). Helping out with this project really makes me happy, not because of the whole helping out people in need thing, but because of the interactions we have with people we encounter. You really meet a lot of interesting people by hanging around in the cold.

We’ll be at the fountain again from 12 – 4pm on Friday, and there’s going to be music and a bunch of singing as well (having talented friends I crai everytim), so do drop by. You don’t even have to donate a dollar – 5 cent coins gladly accepted. We don’t discriminate. Even if you’re as broke as a broken thing, come by and say hi and be awkward then run away. I think we’re fun people.

And now I will go back to my paper and rearrange words.

#UBC50k

11/24/13

Why you no

JAYYYY.

WHY YOU NO BLOG.

 

That is me, imagining you. Because in my imagination, I’m actually wanted, you know. People like me and adore me in this version of reality. People watch my blog in hopes that I will update and regale with tales of dwarves in misty mountains cold. Real life sucks.

 

This is me right now:

AGH

I almost want to call it quits. I don’t want to write this stupid paper on Canadian elections. I don’t want to write anything anymore. I want to sleep forever… which sounds really morbid, because it may seem a little like dying to you, but really, I just want to sleep forever. Many fun.. so sleeep much snorez.

Then I think about the thousands and thousands of people with degrees, the people causing this academic inflation. If they could do it, why can’t I? So I’m sucking it up now.

I’LL BE BACK.

 

10/30/13

Puppy Love

I can’t tell you when it began.

Maybe I just slipped without noticing, losing just a little bit of the already precarious hold I have. Perhaps I lost focus one day, and everything went spiralling down.

I am so stressed.

Now, I am a little embarrassed to admit this, because some upperclassmen in Arts have talked about how they never had anything to do in first year (what on earth?!) and everyone thinks we’re supposed to be really chill and smoke weed and talk about how things are gnarly and so rad. I also feel bad because I probably have no idea what the kids in engineering feel. Maybe I just have crappy time management skills. Maybe I need to step my game up.

But I digress. Possible reasons aside, I’m tired. I’m not lucky enough to be able to function without many hours of sleep like some. I am a creature of rest. I am a monster of snores. I thrive on being dead to the world. Now I fall asleep in classes, and I even missed one shift in the cafeteria because I couldn’t wake up (yes, it’s the 7am one. Worst decision I’ve made so far, taking that shift). The worst part is that the more I’m stressed, the more I don’t want to do work. And when I have uncompleted work, I go berserk. It’s a vicious cycle.

“I just want to sleep, you know.” I’d say to myself, near tears. The blank page in Microsoft Word would mock me with its glaring brightness.

And then the walls would start laughing and calling me names, saying I’m crazy for talking to myself. Then I’d defend myself, you know, because the wall was talking to itself as well, talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Or stainless steel. But apparently they were talking to my dresser. And that’s when I knew I had gone bonkers, because the dresser is usually silent.

Maybe my past self did something right for once – she foretold my mental breakdown and signed up for a session with a dog in the UBC Wellness Center in Irving.

Now, Wednesdays are intensely busy for me. When I don’t oversleep, I wake up at 6.30am, work, have an hour’s break, and head to back-to-back classes until 4. The dog visits are only between 12 – 1 on Wednesdays, and that so happens to be the same time as my Sociology class. But screw that, I thought. I want to see a dog. You have no idea how much I love dogs. Every time I see someone walking their gorgeous little pooch on campus, I want to run up and play with them, and it takes all of my energy and lots of squealing just to restrain myself. So boo to Sociology.

(Disclaimer: This is not the right attitude to have towards your classes. Please attend lectures diligently.)

(If you’re my prof or TA and you’re somehow reading this AND know who I am… I’m sorry.)

In case you didn’t know, you can sign up to play with a dog for 10 minutes every day in the Wellness Center. You can get more information here.

This is Jasmine

This adorable little cockapoo nearly licked my hand off. I was so overjoyed to be able to actually play with a dog for once that I flew into that room and went all maternal and started speaking in my doggy voice.

“Who’s a good girl? Who’s a good girl?”

The essays and readings may be piling up, but don’t forget to take some time to relax. Maybe you like to jog (which is something I cannot identify with at all, I’m sorry), or maybe you like singing at the top of your lungs or killing pixels in the shape of humans (this I identify with). Being 20 minutes late to Sociology and busting into the lecture like James Bond, and having people give me dirty looks was completely worth spending time with Jasmine.

What do you like to do to relax?

(I like to eat to de-stress, which just ends up making me depressed and angry when I gain weight, which makes me want to eat again…. )

10/18/13

Friday Nights

Parties. Alcohol. Music. Dancing.

 

Not for this girl. For one, I am not good with alcohol. Before you go gasp alcohol taboo topic what what what, alcohol consumption is a real thing among first year students in residence, and I think it’s common knowledge that many underage students here at UBC drink. YOU MUST FACE REALITY. Plus, I am actually of age back home, so I could potentially chug gallons of it if I wanted to. Just not here. But a sip of vodka or beer or wine or whatever leaves me choking and near tears. Contrary to an earlier post, I am not that masochistic.

On the other hand, I don’t like parties. I’ve experienced some raised eyebrows in my direction when I mention this sometimes, which just makes me a little mad on the inside. Some people like fish, and some people like chicken. Some people like parties, and some people just don’t, you know.

It’s okay if you do, really. I can see the appeal… maybe. I went to two frat parties and I had so much fun. So much fun that I never went back again. I get really persnickety about physical proximity and gestures of affection with friends – I only feel comfortable being touchy-touchy after I hit a certain point in my friendships, so I honestly don’t see how I would find grinding with strangers fun. I mean, I’m the kind of person who finds mindless small talk extremely boring and taxing. Heck, I’m not even good at pretending that I’m good at it. I ended up standing in a corner of the dance floor, live-tweeting the frat party to my friends from across the world. Yeah. I’m that girl. Sorry.  

My idea of a fun Friday night just happens to be locking myself up in my room, and going on the internet, watching bad Korean dramas, random videos, and stuffing my face with snacks. That doesn’t mean I don’t like going out with friends or being obnoxiously hyper. I’m just a tad reserved and a little bit introverted, that’s all. I just need a lot of time to myself.

So if you spend your Friday nights indoors, or taking walks by yourself (and meeting drunk people who mistake you for a thug and challenge you to a fight.) (That really happened) (really), or just meeting up with a good friend, you are not alone. If you like gorging on Ben and Jerry’s or whatever, catching up on television shows or whatnot, you’re not the only one. There are more of us out there. We’re just probably not going to meet each other anytime soon, because we’re all cooped up in our rooms.

10/11/13

The Drop

Hello muchachos!

I have pretty much settled into a routine now. Not to say that I wasn’t used to university and being in a whole new environment, yadda yadda yaaa, but I now have a routine that I abide by. My whole life is basically just me, trying to nap whenever I can. That’s about it. In fact, I just got up from a toasty little siesta in Koerner, and another quick cat nap outside on a bench by the flag pole not too long ago.

Can you believe we’re in the middle of the term already? There’s only like a month (?) to go, which is cray. Why are university terms so short? The work has been piling up and I often find myself eating away my sorrows in the dead of the night. Pocky is my friend. Ramen is my friend. Liszt’s paraphrase of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March is my friend when I’m stuffing my face and (figuratively) crying at stupid o’ clock. I’ve only gained one pound so far, in spite of the insane amounts of sugar I’ve been shoveling into my body. Lucky me. Probably because of all the walking I do from Totem to Buchanan and the Anthropology/Sociology building. My exercise used to be rolling around in bed, trying to find a comfortable position…. That’s it.

The past week or so has been a blur. I feel like I’m in The Hangover, only there hasn’t been any drinking or parties involved, because I am one of the more subdued first years. COUGH. I recall cursing the world as I woke up at 6.30am to get ready for my 7am shift in the Totem kitchen, and I also finally met your favourite first year Blog Squadder Derrick, who, while intensely funny and adorable online, is more amazing in person. [This is a paid advertisement.] But what really happened, was that I got my assignments back.

In university, you are bound to be registered in a really weird course that turned out to be the opposite of what you expected. TABL100 – Basics of Table Manners? Cool, you think. You will probably be learning about how to be a proper lady/gentleman, and you will gain all sorts of valuable insights into the art of etiquette. A few weeks in, and you realize that you’ve been misled. What are you doing, learning about ballroom dancing and how to properly sit inside a limousine? If you’d wanted to learn that, wouldn’t you have taken SNOB 100 instead? What is this doing in your class?

Well, I have one class exactly like that (which I am not going to specify), and I recently got my marks back.

I don’t want to sound like a complete butt, but I was an extremely good student in Grade 12. Grade 1 to 11, not so much (I got 12 marks on a Physics test once… Good ol’ days). But I completed Grade 12 in a Canadian school, as opposed to the national curriculum, and I did incredibly well. I’m not going to specify how when why what, but I was a pretty damn good student.

But what I got back for that class, was easily 15 – 20 marks lower that I would have gotten just a few months ago. Sure, I could make excuses and say that the assignments were ridiculously ambiguous and abstract. Sure. It’s not even like I wasn’t prepared for this – I knew that a drop in grades was to be expected in university. I knew that getting anything above 90 wasn’t going to be a walk in the park anymore. But knowing and actually experiencing something are two completely different things.

So I experienced a little bit of a crisis for a while. What am I doing in university? Did UBC make a mistake accepting me? Where is my brain? Am I even smart enough for university? Am I going to fail out of first year? What is life? What is x when y=4? Are the hobbits going to Isengard? And when am I going to do my laundry?

I recovered quickly, though, with the help of copious amounts of chocolate bars and some potato chips. I wasn’t going to let something that trivial knock me down. I am strong. I am invincible. I am gaining weight. I would learn from this experience, and emerge as a wiser, worldly person. “Why do you look so different?” People would ask, gaping at me in wonder. They’d sense that I have changed, that something has somehow shifted.

“I don’t know,” I’d reply, flipping my hair. “Maybe I’m born with it. Maybe it’s Maybelline.”

Well, I guess that’s just first year for you. You make mistakes, and you learn from them. You fall, but you get back up. Or maybe you don’t, and that’s just too freaking bad.

 

I still have to do my laundry. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

10/2/13

Of self-loathing and decidedly athletic things

I have a complicated relationship with my past self. It’s all sorts of complicated. It’s like those relationships where sexual tension is so rife in the air, but there’s still all sorts of passive-aggressive behaviour, rampant and angsty subtweeting and intentionally vague Facebook posts about how much it hurts. I simultaneously love and absolutely detest my past self. I love her because she is (was?) me, and I am full of self-love. So full of it, that some people might describe me as being narcissistic, but the haters will continue to hate while I remain fabulous. But I also hate my past self, I HATE HER SO MUCH, because she says stupid things that make the both of us look intensely awkward and rather silly, because she does things that I wouldn’t, and because she makes the most unthinkable decisions that never affect her, but me. I have to pay for her mistakes.

An instance of this extreme stupidity would be how my past self decided to accept a shift at the Totem Caf that starts at 7am. SEVEN. FREAKIN’ AYY AM. No sane person is up and about before seven, bright-eyed, walking around with a skip in their step and a pip in their pep. People who are actually capable of that are not normal. They are secret agents from an ambiguous agency with an equally ambiguous acronym, stealthily infiltrating the very fabric of our society and threatening to tilt our world on its axis. But I digress. My past self signed up for a shift that begins at 7am. What part of that does not scream stupid?

(Yes, I work at the Totem Cafeteria. I may blog about that another time.)

So you see the crazy dynamics between my past self and I? (Actually, it seems to be more of a one-way relationship since my past self can’t interact with me, but I believe my ardour will be returned someday. *sniff*.) I was feeling the exact same way on Sunday, colourfully cursing my past self – and oh, I am pretty creative when it comes to getting vulgar – as I rubbed my numb fingers together, shivering like a jelly in an earthquake on Jericho Beach.

I know. Nice segue.

Yep. I signed up for The Day of the Longboat. Mostly because I was in the whole spirit of omg-I’m-at-university-new-beginnings-new-everything-let’s-do-new-things-just-because-we-can, and signing up for this event seemed like the obvious thing to do. Plus, I’ve always wanted to try my hand at rowing. I didn’t know where on earth I was going to find a team, because my social ineptitude and decidedly off-putting awkwardness has effectively obstructed me from becoming bosom buddies with every random stranger. But luckily for me, the RA on the second floor was looking to form a team. Sugar, spice, and red hot flames – the Shuswap Superheroes were born.

As it turned out, the weather on Sunday was pretty shi crappy, but we still braved the rain and cold to row a longboat. Remember what I said about hating my past self? Yep, I was full of self-loathing when I stopped being able to feel my fingers. I wanted to go home. Boo.

Then the race began, and I hated myself even more. Rowing takes stamina, man. I am a former athlete who has succumbed to the decadent pleasures of stuffing my face and rolling around in bed; I think that’s pretty self-explanatory. My arm hurt, our longboat was being crazy pants (almost tipping over, among other things), and my butt was soaked. Not fun.

But this story has a happy ending, like all stories involving me do. My team – comprised mostly of people who had never touched a paddle before – started moving in sync. The rain started to feel pleasant. The ache in my arm started to hurt so good. Our vessel stopped tipping from side to side and began moving like a dream. This was it.

And now I am going to ruin the climax of this story by jumping ahead and telling you that we advanced into the next heat, but we were all starving and just wanted to go home and eat. I got a cut on my thumb from vigorous rowing, but I will tell you that the adrenaline rush and the sudden euphoria that comes flooding in after I finished the course was worth the pain, the cold and earlier feelings of misery. I would be down to row anytime now. So down.

So I leave you with this: You MUST do the Day of the Longboat before you graduate. DO IT. Even if you end up not liking being in a boat and moving your arm in repetitive motions, you can brag about it to anyone who’d listen. Everyone knows that people who have rowed longboats are so fetch. It is so in.

Next up on the list… Storming the wall? Stay tuned to find out.

09/24/13

Of masochism

I have sorely misjudged myself.

How can one not know themselves, you ask? How can you not know who you are, what you like, what you don’t like, what makes you sad, what makes you want to smash walls and flex your imaginary muscles? How can you not? Apparently, you can.

See, I’ve always thought of myself as a “tough” person. I studied martial arts for about seven years, and I used to be insanely athletic before I became lazy and got fat. I also have a tendency to be sarcastic to the point of being almost mean, and some would describe me as sadistic. Really, guys. Really.

However, recent events have taught me otherwise. Apparently, I crave pain. I love it. I am almost masochistic, even. Oh how do I love it, let us count the ways.

(That was a Shakespeare reference and I hope someone caught it, because I don’t usually make Shakespearean references and it would be mighty embarrassing if it fell flat.)

1.  Fall Autumn (I am not going to conform to North American English, people. You will not corrupt me.) is here. Temperatures dropped all of a sudden. First, it was hot. Then it was cold. What the hell, Vancouver? 

Anyway, I love the cold. I love it. I go to classes dressed the way I would for summer. Pfft, who needs a jacket? You’d think that because I have lived in a tropical climate for like, oh I don’t know, my entire life, I might be wearing layer upon layer, but no. Noh. I wear flip flops too, but mostly because I am too lazy to put on real shoes. My fingers get numb from the chill and they hurt, but I love it. Oh how I love it. I revel in the feeling of the cold wind biting at my face and nipping and my fingers. I love how it hurts. So badly.

(But I will wear a winter coat when I have to. Don’t worry mom, I’m not going to die of hypothermia.)

2. I always complain about how I have so much work to do, readings that pile up endlessly and all that thinking I have to do… My brain just can’t deal.

But oh, it gives me so much pleasure. I love being busy. I love being pressured, and feeling like there’s not enough time. I enjoy how I sometimes have to stay up at night to do work, and I whine about how little sleep I get, but with each whine, I feel like my life has purpose. I feel like the god of unicorns and rainbows are smiling upon me and blessing me with the most radiant of rainbows and unicorn puke. I feel like the birds are squirrels are performing musical numbers just for me. I feel like the world is shifting into place, like there is real magic in the world, like ice cream sandwiches aren’t bad for you, like I can eat whatever the heck I want without ever gaining weight.

3. I visited the UBC Farm recently. If you haven’t, you should go check it out (and pay a visit to Menchie’s when you’re done!). The roads near the farm smell like manure and other generally foul-smelling stuff, but the farm is a pretty cool place. It also makes for a pretty sweet spot to take new profile pictures, if you ask me.

Anyway. They have chickens in the farm. Not just any kind of chicken, but FAT, FLUFFY chickens. They are some of the most ridiculously adorable creatures I have ever laid my eyes on. I am normally not a fan of chickens, because all they do is cluck around and do nothing, but UBC Chickens are SO cute.

Yeah, yeah, Jay. Get to your point. Nobody wants to read about chickens.

Well, you see, the chickens matter in this case. I whipped out my phone to take a picture of those chickens, because really guys, who wouldn’t? I rested my arms on the fence to get a steady picture and…

I got shocked by the electrical fence.

I am not kidding. I got buzzed by a fence because I was trying to take photos of chickens. Why the fudge bunnies is there an electrical fence anyway?

See, I got electrocuted, and for a nanosecond I thought I was going to die. It felt like an army of hungry people were marching through my veins, asking for bread and heading to the Versailles palace. It felt like the ground had shifted beneath my feet and I was falling into my life as a 5th grader again. It felt like thunderbolts and lightning, very very frightening.

And I liked it. I liked it.

 

I may have to rethink my life.