Analyze That

I keep a journal.  I'm usually very good with it and write often... except when I'm off at college.  Then life goes on and I leave it locked in my drawer.  My last entry is from March 20, 2010.  That's why it makes sense that my last blog was in November.  I apologize for my inconsistent writing.  Let's try to improve on that!  Come on, I'm a n00b and only have 3 entries!

There isn't a shortage of ideas.  Upcoming entries include "Asian Parents Don't Hug" and "Asians Can't Date" to name the next few.  Perhaps something like "Am I Racist?" for my white friends with whom I play a little game called "Oh my god, that's so white!" (It's a silly game really, but it's a moment when we take the most stereotypical things about white people and see if they're true. "Do you like, go camping? Or, like, talk to your neighbors?")

I was sparked to write again because I was given the opportunity to participate in a study.  What kind of study? I was asked about my Asian-American upbringing and the immigrant experience of my parents.  I got paid $10 to talk about being Asian!  SUCCESS!  I gave the researcher the link to this blog so she's probably going to be reading it!  HA!  (She's still looking for a handful of participants, so Facebook me if you're interested.)

It got me thinking about my parents and how much I, even as a child, was responsible for helping them.  Something I've always been embarrassed to do is argue with a salesperson.  Perhaps this stems from the fact that I had to do this quite often.  Who's in line making a return and a fake excuse?  Me.  Who's calling up cable companies and asking them to guide me through the problem?  Me.  Who's on sales calls at the age of fourteen dealing with steel vendors for my parents' company?  Me.  Okay, this last one is probably only me, but I'm sure you can identify with the other stuff!  The point is that having that skill of being able to speak good English was sometimes a pain in the arse.

I never really thought of it this way, but it definitely built my responsibility level to have to deal professionally with so many adults at such a young age. My life-skills were being honed at such a young age! A blessing in disguise, you might say. There's an extra charge on my credit card? Call it in! My computer is broken? Call it in! "I can't do it!" I remember whining to my mom (it probably sounded super whiny because I might have been like 10 years old). "LEARN how to do it." Oh shit, now it sounds like an inspirational movie.

That being said, I wonder how my kids are going to be? Certainly, I don't need them calling in companies for me because I possess the skills I need. Am I depriving them of this great experience? A rite of passage? Maybe that's pushing it. This is how I feel when I don't want my little cousins jumping around from table tops ("It's dangerous! But... I did it too...") or playing with knives (I played with knives and boxcutters and things, which sounds pretty dangerous, but I'm pretty sure I never cut anyone and I was never cut myself. My parents didn't hand them to me, by the way, I just found where they were because I was super mischievous). Part of me wants to keep them safe, but part of me wants to let them explore. I did all that crazy kid stuff and turned out fine! But I digress. Giving crazy tasks to children helps them learn and helps prepare themselves for the future.

I'm not "feelin'" this entry because it lacks structure, so let's end it now. We'll just call it my... welcome back entry! More to come quite soon, I promise!

Forever Yellow
-recycle or burn

(is this sign off racist?)