Busy

It's been a pretty insane week for me. Let me list what's been going on (and what's coming up) for those who are less than well-informed as to my antics.

Saturday July 21: release of Harry Potter 7
Sunday July 22: my sister arrives for a week-long visit
Monday July 23: the usual trip to Zapata's for free booze with my sister in tow
Tuesday July 24: my birthday!
Wednesday July 25: finalizing my costume for Friday
Thursday July 26: arrival of my old friend Cheryl and preparations for Friday
Friday July 27: my last day at work, Michelle's birthday, our joint birthday party
Saturday July 28: one hell of a hangover followed by volleyball with the sister
Sunday July 29: Michelle's birthday brunch
Monday July 30: sister's departure, preparations for my new job, and Zapata's again
Tuesday July 31: transportation test run for my new job
Wednesday August 1: first day at the new job

It's a pretty well-booked calendar, if I do say so myself. For today's long-winded post, however, I will focus on just one thing: today is my last day at my current job.

This is the first full-time job that I've ever had, and I've been floating around in a surreal bubble of indifference ever since I turned in my resignation letter one month ago. Some that has to do with the fact that I can no longer stand this job, but most of it is to do with the fact that, for the last month up until today, this moment always seemed so far away.

Now it's hear, I've got a duffel bag in the corner of my cubicle, ready to pack up and leave for good.

This all hit me as I was walking up to my building and glanced up at it, realizing that, wow, this the last time I will ever make this trip to this office.

It's a bit of a sad thought, I know, particularly when you never know what will bring me back to these hallowed halls for whatever reason; if there's one thing my parents always reminded me, it was to never underestimate the power of your network of business contacts.

Still, I don't know if I will be coming back any time soon, if at all, so I must say that it is a bit overwhelming, and I'm not even sure if everything I have in the office with me will fit in the duffel bag!

Two years ago, I came to this office to help organize their Global Management Committee Meeting here in Shanghai, a meeting that is held every quarter and that brings the group's CEOs from around the globe to one city for a two-day meeting. It was following this two-week stint that I was offered a permanent position here at the company.

The company was new at the time, so they couldn't hire me right away because I'm not a Chinese national (being British by passport and Hong Kong ID by birth, I needed a work permit, which they couldn't apply for because they had not yet received their full operational license). As a result, I worked at the office's Asia Pacific counterpart Hong Kong for three months, working long-distance on a project for the China office.

November 19, 2005, I arrive in Shanghai, looking for an apartment with my mother and father helping me along. November 23, 2005, I come to the office to report for my first day at work.

What followed was 20 months of what can only be described as an experience I will never forget. From running translations to project management to sitting around being bored out of my mind, this job was quite the learning experience. When it comes to the inner workings of Chinese management and the Chinese market, I gained a lot of very unique insight that I am sure will be invaluable as I continue my foray into China's expatriate workforce.

Even if I'm eager to get out of here and not look back, my heart still finds itself heavy with the sense that I will miss this place and the people in it. The job was never all bad. Indeed, there were days where I came in and left with a smile on my face, enjoying the work I was doing. I do like that the internet's routed through Hong Kong, granting me access to Livejournal and other websites deemed "inappropriate" by the Chinese government. The ease of getting to work, which was a straight shot for me on the subway. The accessibility of cheap places to eat. The fact that, at a glance, no one has any clue that what I'm doing isn't actually work.

I know that, to most people, I'm blowing this way out of proportion, but I feel like a chapter of my life has ended. It was my first job, my first step into working for myself by myself, and I survived and came out on the other end a better person, ready for what comes next.

I'm both excited for and terrified about my new job, one that will eat up a considerably larger chunk of my time, but I think I'm ready for it. Nothing good ever came from wasting away in front of a computer for 8 hours a day. Plus, I'm a fast worker in general…I don't see free time as being too big a problem for me.

So, here's to my old company, with great thanks for everything that they have taught me and all the opportunities that they have afforded me. It has been an unforgettable experience.

I will recount my birthday week after the party tonight, which promises to be incredibly interesting. Cameras at the ready, because it will be a night that I will not likely remember.

Okay, no, that's a lie, I actually don't plan to get THAT trashed, if only to keep from making a total ass out of myself (again). All the same…it will be fun.

(Here's to the Irish!)

Why I'm Awesome (Part 4 of 7,412): L2SPELL

I believe in kids.

This may come as a surprise, but I strive for excellence. I am not a perfectionist, but I believe that if you do not give something your all, you might as well not bother getting involved in it at all. Why do things half way? Why try for a B instead of an A? Why settle for a 3.5 instead of shooting for a 4.0?

When did it become all right to be average? To be mediocre? When did a C become acceptable? Why do the people who get straight A's get ridiculed? Why do those who devote themselves to doing the best they can end up with nothing more than a nod?

Now, before the jocks of the world yell at me, I do not mean this in just a grades-based sort of way. I mean excellence in anything that you set out to do. If you want to play a sport, give it your all. If you want straight A's, give it your all. If you want to write, give it your all.

I would, however, like to focus this particular discussion (at least at first) on a single facet: spelling and grammar.

My fellow SE++ers snicker, as they know exactly what drove me to write about this particular topic. (No, it's not you, Chuck, you know I have a deep affection for you and your spelling habits.)

What I am, my friends, is sick and tired of hearing about people getting off easy for bad spelling and bad grammar. I don't even mean teachers letting these kids get away with it. I mean the language itself being changed to accommodate kids who are just too plain lazy to learn how to spell properly.

"It's too hard to remember," they whine. "Everyone spells it THAT way so I'm going to keep spelling it THAT way (even if it's wrong)." "I've only ever seen it spelled that way." "More people spell it this way than that way." "This spelling makes more sense to me."

Fuck you all.

I and countless other non-native English speakers have worked our asses off to get good at your fucking language…and meanwhile you're going to sit there and whine about how "hard" it is for you to learn when you are surrounded by it every moment of your waking life.

Fuck you and your mediocrity.

When did it become okay to be "mediocre?" When did these standards lower to accommodate people who are simply too fucking lazy to do the work? I blame the baby boomers. My parents were part of that generation, as are most individuals who are now in their 50s and 60s. You had shit handed to you on a silver platter and now you can't stand to see your kids suffer.

When your kid gets a D, you don't yell at your kid. You yell at the teacher for being a rotten teacher. You're happy with just a C because it's considered "average" and you're happy that your kid is just "average." You don't let your kids do the International Baccalaureate program because it's "too hard" and "too stressful."

Never mind the benefits of pushing your child to strive for excellence. Never mind the benefits of putting them to the test when they still live under your own roof, where you are able to hold them up when they fall or guide them when they need it. No, never mind any of it. Let's just say "it's too hard for my C-student, I don't want them to stress themselves out." Lower those expectations, mom and dad, because heaven forbid your child face a single goddamn challenge in his or her life while you are around to help them through it.

Yes, some kids are not A students and they are excellent in their own ways, be it as an artist or an athlete or something else. I respect that. I have mountains of respect for kids who are well-rounded, able to excel in more than one pigeon-holed area of expertise. I myself am very capable of singling out an individual's strengths. It's why I am such a fantastic person to come to when you need an ego boost.

Honest to god, I hate the idea of lowering expectations just to accommodate an unwillingness to challenge oneself. The English language has been mastered by people long before this generation. Why now do you change it and simplify it? What's wrong with this generation, now, that makes it impossible for THEM to learn how to spell properly when all generations before it seem to lack that problem?

Blame the internet. Blame computers. Blame television. Blame ADHD. Blame whatever the fuck you want, but placing blame doesn't change the fact that all you are doing is making it okay for kids to just stop trying. You are making it okay for them not to do the work. You are making them think that the second they face an obstacle, it's okay to ignore it instead of overcome it, because they're going to go ahead and believe that, eventually, someone will remove it for them.

If they suck at spelling, fix the fact that they suck at spelling. Don't fix the language they're trying to spell in. Challenge them. Bring them up to the standard, bring them up past it, don't bring the standard down.

The kids can do it. The only reason they think they can't is because everyone is too busy making excuses for them. Push them, and kids will always fucking surprise you. Parents, do you really have that little faith in your own ability to raise a child that you don't think they can handle something like the IB? Sure they'll bitch and complain that it's hard, but that's why you're there. You're supposed to tell them they can do it, that they have the ability to do it. You're there to show them that yes, it's hard, but when they finish it, they will finish it as a stronger person, better prepared to face what comes next (in the case of the IB, that would be college).

One day, life will throw something nasty in their face, and you won't be there to help them through it. Do you really want that kind of situation to be the first time they feel like they can't take something on? Help them now, support them now through their challenges so that when you're gone, when they're out of the nest, they are better prepared, better armed to tackle life's bullshit.

Huh. Talk about a passionate and preachy digression. My apologies. I know I sound elitist in those previous paragraphs, but this is what I will tell anyone who thinks their kid "can't hack it." I believe in your kids. Why don't you? But back to the topic.

Sure, spelling is a small facet of a much larger issue, but it alone is a stellar example of the kind of thing I'm talking about. No one asks for A's. It's okay to be second instead of first.

As long as you gave your best, sure, you can be proud of that. But you better swear that you did in fact do your best, that you did in fact give it your all, before you look at that silver medal with pride.

Saying that you did your best, that you did everything you could, is a pretty far cry from actually doing it.

Nothing, nothing worth having ever comes easy. I don't want to think about what the next generation will be like if they believe otherwise.

Aqua

I am in a very strange mood today. One might call it an almost ethereal apathy, where I have a hard time caring about anything but in a much deeper way than the statement itself suggests. I'm not just separated from everything, but I am, essentially, completely insubstantial to the things that are around me. I'm not sure I've ever felt this way before, but basically it involves me spacing out frequently, not really listening to what the people around me are saying, having no opinion on the subjects at hand, saying very little, and speaking very softly.

It's pretty much the anti-Vivienne, right there.

Needless to say, this serene state of indifference does not last very long. It was over pretty much the moment I stepped on the subway this morning.

What does it take to spawn the anti-Vivienne? The Nikki to my Jessica? The Sara Kerrigan to my Queen of Blades? The Jekyll to my Hyde? While you may sit there in your throne of literary superiority and point out that Jekyll and Hyde were not "good and evil" (respectively) so much as they were simply two extreme representations of the same man, I'll simply say that, um, yeah. Get out.

On a very pleasant Sunday morning, I awoke at the alarming hour of 9:17 am. Being that I had not gone to bed until 4 am after another typical Saturday (even though there's nothing typical about seeing the Transformers movie a second time), this was disconcerting to me…until I noticed the brilliant sunshine beaming through my curtains.

Instantly, I picked up the phone and sent a text message to Michelle and, for the first time in known history, woke her up instead of the other way around. This message asked if she'd be up for going to a place called Mandarine City (no, there is no spelling error there, that is what the place is really called). She told me she wouldn't be able to join me until later, but sent me the address and all that fun stuff like the excellent friend that she is.

What followed was an ill-conceived mass text-messaging of most of my regular crew members, many of whom were either still asleep or already at work and thus unable to call in sick on such a rare, beautifully sunny Sunday in Shanghai.

I snuggled in bed a little while longer, enjoying the sunshine, then got up and proceeded to deplore how my outfit for the day looked on me. It was, suffice to say, a less than glorious sight…but it would be well-hidden.

At 11:55 am, I was in a cab with Mylynn, the very first person to text me back with a reply. Being that we live five minutes away, we shared a cab and went west in Gubei for approximately 38 yuan. At about 12:25, we arrived at the Mandarine City outdoor pool.

As some individuals from SE++ and elsewhere know, likely via the AIM attack I received shortly after waking up that morning, that day was my first day in a bikini. It was, simply put, a mind-bender of a self-esteem issue for me, what with my self-consciousness consuming me from all angles at once, forming a veritable, collapsing vacuum around me. It took a lot of effort and distraction for me not to change into my usual one-piece bathing suit instead of the bikini.

The reason why I've never worn a bikini until now, if you are curious, is more a practicality issue more than a self-esteem one. I was a competitive swimmer for about 15 years of my life, so whenever I hear "pool" or "beach" I think "swimming!" A bikini is not exactly the most practical item for the job.

Mylynn and I arrived at the pool, bumping into a friend of hers on the way in, and already there is my ever-faithful favorite, Mr. Romain Hefti himself, already enjoying the water. For several moments I stood by our table, hesitating, not really wanting to take off my T-shirt or undo my sarong, but at length decided to just rip it off like a too-sticky Band-Aid. Within 30 seconds of the removal of said outer armor, I hopped into the pool.

It was glorious. Prior to that moment, it had been upwards of about two years since I was last in a real pool, and I had forgotten just how happy being in the water makes me.

Many people, I have heard, tend to identify themselves with a single element more than others…possibly Captain Planet style sans the superpowers and screwed-over-South-American. Mine is undoubtedly the water. As I said to Romain yesterday after admissions that it was gonna sound "really cheesy," in the water is where I belong, and realizing that at a time where I am finally happy with the kind of person I've become…it's a lethal combination that throws a rather large boulder of regret right into the pit of my stomach that whispers, "you should've gone with your first instinct and been a marine biologist or an oceanographer."

I cannot tell you how amazing it was to be in the water again. I felt at home, I felt safe, I felt powerful. Within an hour I completely forgot I had previously been in a state of self-conscious anxiety and just enjoyed the water. Being underwater, feeling it hold me tightly yet gently, the way nothing else ever could, brought me an inexplicable feeling of tranquility and happiness.

As I repeated several times that day: "do not underestimate how much I love the water."

(To some extent, it is also the reason I love rain, be it a drizzle or a thunderstorm. I love the ocean for a myriad of reasons, one of them being that it is essentially a massive body of water.)

In the water, I am far from master or commander, but I can hold my own. I am an excellent swimmer, though years of neglect have caused my lung capacity to shrivel somewhat from its former asthmatic glory (little known fact: I was asthmatic when I was younger and I basically beat the crap out of that infliction by swimming it to death), so I can't swim with nearly the speed or power that I could before. My form, however, is pretty much just the way it used to be, though with some additional drag since the girls were not restrained under the cover of a one-piece bathing suit.

We spent about 5 hours at the pool (Remy and Melanie joined us a little bit after we arrived), with me being in the water for at least 4 hours and 45 minutes of it, only getting out to check my cell phone. I used the excuse that I wanted to hide my hideous abdomen from the world, but really I just wanted to stay in the water as long as humanly possible. I will admit that even when the others were ready to leave, I was not…I wanted to stay much, much longer.

It was with a heavy heart that I departed, and once I stepped out of the shower and sat on my bed, I felt a wave of depression wash over me. I know it's weird beyond even my own standards, but I can't explain it. I wanted to go back and jump into the water for just a while more.

Following the depression came this sense of great detachment described in the opening paragraphs of this too-long rambling. All through dinner, at which I met up with my friends once more, I was removed from the conversation…aloof, wistful, as it were.

I just really miss being in the water, being in a place in which I feel safest and most alive. I can't wait to go back.

Why I'm Awesome (Part 3 of 7,412): BITCHES

My family is why I'm awesome, but apparently not everyone seems to think so. It has recently come to my attention that some people think that my mother is a bad mother. These people are, allegedly, expatriate mothers who live in Beijing and whose kids attend international schools in the city (not unlike the one from which I graduated).

While I was advised by my very wise and mature sister to just "let it go" because our mother doesn't give a rat's ass what these people think, it's been burning a rather large hole in my confrontational, too-large brain.

Let me fill you in on exactly why they think my mother is a bad mother. Ready?

BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T FOLLOW MY SISTER OR ME TO COLLEGE.

When my sister told me this I did a very loud "wait, WHAT" into the phone that I think scared my neighbors.

Excuse me, holier-than-thou judgmental floosies who spend all their time shopping while their husbands work and their ayis do all the cleaning…when was going to college with your kids the mark of good motherhood? Because I'll tell you what…it sounds like the mark of good apron-strings-getting-a-bit-tight-around-that-neck-there-hood.

Yeah. You wanna judge MY family? Here's a little of your own fucking medicine.

If my mother went with me to college (which basically means she moves into the city I'm studying in and lives there…or that she visits me every damned month or something), you know what? Then I WOULD call her a bad mother because she won't GIVE ME MY GODDAMN SPACE.

Seriously. Is this mentality prevalent? Because it would drive me up the fucking wall if my mother lived in the same area as me while I was studying abroad for college. That's where you learn to take care of yourself, to be independent…not to mention participate in certain activities that mommy and daddy just don't ever need to know about.

I went overseas to do something for myself, and I did it all on my own, and the feeling that I know I did it on my own is priceless. Are you really going to rob your own children of that feeling of self-accomplishment?

So Beijing expat mothers, while you ladies have your kids living in your basements at age 30 because they never learned to feed themselves or pay their own rent, or leeching off of husbands to survive…I will be living on my own somewhere in the world, emotionally stable and independent, and I will fly my mother out to visit me wherever I am, or I will visit her wherever she is, and it will be a kickass time because she will know that every accomplishment I ever managed to pull off was thanks to her.

My mother knew when to let go. Just because you don't know when to do the same does not make her a bad mother and hand to god if I ever hear of anyone ever telling her so again you are going to hear from me.

In the meantime, I pity your kids, because they probably hate you for always being in their space and not letting them go and live their own goddamn lives, free of your coddling and stifling and selfishness.

Let them the fuck go. God. It's no wonder there are so many pussy momma's boy men running around nowadays.

To wrap up, let me reiterate.

To any mother that thinks my mom is a bad mother: here's a giant FUCK YOU, keep your judgmental bullshit to yourself. My sister and I turned out fantastic. Why? Because instead of worrying about how OTHER parents raised THEIR kids, our mother worried only about raising HER OWN kids to the best of her ability.

Which I imagine is far superior to anything a whiny little expat wife can manage when all she's gonna do is sit around and act like a self-righteous bitch.

Fuck you.

Why I'm Awesome (Part 2 of 7,412): ABCs

A - merican accent
B - ritish passport
C - hinese face
D - cup
...
E - xplosive
F - rugal
G - amer
H - ong Kong-born
I - nternet junkie
J - etsetter
K - ittens!
L - ush
M - ultilingual
N - arcissist
O - bstinate
P - ersuasive
Q - ueenmother of dorks
R - ayne Heartsong
S - exual deviant
T - hird Culture Kid
U - nreticent
V - olleyball!
W - ordsmith
X - men fanatic
Y - our bestest friend ever
Z - esty

No this wasn't some lame-ass meme. I seriously sat down and just came up with it. The one that took me the longest was Y.

Why I'm Awesome (Part 1 of 7,412): TALK

If you've spoken to or interacted with me for longer than 10 minutes in just about any setting outside of business, then you've undoubtedly heard me boast, ruthlessly, about the perfection of my hair. It really is the most gorgeous thing ever. I can't even mess it up without my hair returning, of its own accord, to its silken state.

Now, that is the only thing I am particularly vain about, as it is the only part of my body about which I have never been insecure. I love the shit out of my hair. Most of my physical vanity comes from my hair. Sometimes I'll hate my face or some other aspect of my body…but my hair has never been on that list.

As for my personality, there are only two things that I know are my biggest strengths. The rest…well, let's say that even on my best days I can feel shitty about some of the things I say and do.

One of the strengths that serves me best is my ability to verbalize just about any thought, emotion, or idea. That is, I am very capable of putting things into words, whether spoken or written. I think I have my outspoken nature to thank for that. I have always been very good at expressing myself, though I never really noticed until recently, when I was told by business contacts and relatives alike that I am very good at getting my point across.

A lot of it, apparently, has to do with the fact that I love to talk and write. On top of that, I have also had the privilege of communicating with people from a wide variety of backgrounds (socioeconomic and cultural alike). It becomes easy, then to shift and adapt my intonations, slang, vocabulary, and humor to best accommodate the people with whom I'm communicating.

The strange thing is that because I am capable of making this shift, people accuse me of being fake…because I act differently in front of different people. Here's the funny thing, dear naysayers of mine: you will often find that it is not only necessary, but prudent to approach different people different ways. I am still me, across the board, I am just finding different ways of expressing my one personality.

I used to hate the fact that you have to change the way you express yourself depending on the setting, because I used to believe that you should be able to be yourself in the purest form. I no longer believe this. I now believe that your personality encompasses how you present yourself to different kinds of people…in fact, in front of different people, a specific method of communication can actually get your personality (i.e., your beliefs, ideals, behavior, sense of humor, likes, dislikes, nature, etc) across even BETTER than another method.

I'm not saying that I enjoy saying things I don't think or support. Like most people out there, I hate saying things I don't mean, whether it's sucking up to a boss or agreeing with a business partner on something just for the sake of getting the deal through…or saying certain things just to impress someone. This is NOT what I am talking about here.

What I am talking about is your presentation, intonation, approach, word choice, and diction. The way you communicate, in other words. You can have a single personality while communicating in a variety of ways with a variety of people.

It is because I am capable of this adaptation, of identifying when and how to get my point across in the most efficient possible in any setting, that I would say that, yes, I am very, very good at expressing myself. My personality is very much the same across the board…it's just HOW I choose to show it off that's different.

Of course, it helps that I am articulate and have a well-stocked vocabulary, but even in Chinese, a language in which I find myself limited in terms of spoken communication, I am still able to express my meaning through a combination of intonation and body language.

No matter the form of communication and no matter the person with whom you are trying to communicate, there is always a combination that works best.

I firmly believe that in any exchange, the burden falls to the person speaking to properly send out the message. Sure, some of the responsibility falls to the listener to pay attention, but most of it comes down to how the person speaking chooses to get the message across (including managing to maintain the audience's attention).

My other strength, I'll talk about some other time…sometimes it's nice to ponder just what it is you're good at, because more often than not I find myself focusing a bit too much on the things that could be improved or the things that I outright dislike about myself.

Ah, self-therapy.