Things I Have Learned (While Abroad)

I was going to make a list, you know, of "things I have learned".  I would have been not unlike a fifth-grader at the end of a school year standing in the front of the classroom, with droplets of sweat clinging to the back of her neck while staring at piece of paper veined with thin blue lines and covered in smudges.  Her classmates would be squirming in their seats anxious to tear down the hallways and into the sunshine that beckons through the dirt-streaked windows.

But this is not fifth grade, is it?

The truth is I can't articulate exactly what it is I've learned in my time here.  I've done all those stereotypical things that people "do" when they are abroad: strengthened my language skills, made new friends, pushed myself beyond my comfort zone, etc, etc.  But there has been more to my experience than these things.  There were definitely times when I was so overwhelmed I felt I couldn't adjust anymore, and I didn't feel like I needed to.  I observed that some of my fellow exchange students got stuck in ruts: the going to clubs four times a week rut; the buying cheap shit rut; the I-hate-Taiwan-rut. (full disclosure: I was stuck in all of those ruts at one point or another this year.  Mom--I never went out four nights a week.)  It was extremely painful to leave those ruts, but when I did, I always learned more about myself and the world became a richer place.  And I will always be grateful for finding the courage to leave former, less than beautiful versions of myself behind.  It meant saying goodbye to ways of thinking, people, and habits that were no longer in my best interest.  But the people I have met, the new opinions I have adopted and the new things I am doing are fulfilling beyond my wildest expectations.  This year, while it had its ups and downs, was a gift.

 I am grateful for who I have become and the people who have accompanied me thus far.  If you're reading this blog, then that means you.  Thank you for coming along with me on this journey.  I look forward to the many places we'll go together.

Sincerely,
Marjorie

P. S.  I can change!  I can take a picture with Hello Kitty paraphernalia and not puke.

Writer-Blogger Thursdays: Why I Will Never Make Fun Of Nicholas Sparks Again

I've made up my mind to never make fun of a commercially successful author for as long as I live.  Barring the exception of their showing up at my house in a Barney costume and yodeling, I'm not gonna do it.  Even if their writing sucks.  Even if it really sucks.

Why?  Because they've earned their success.  They really have.

I used to think that all mainstream audiences were manipulated by a Jabba the Hut-like mastermind who paid  talentless hacks ghastly sums of money to churn out fodder for the masses, inoculating them against the works of gifted writers trying to make their way in the world.  I believed that only way to be successful was to write about sparkly vampires in high school and their angsty girlfriends.  Or be Stephen King.

Then I took a peek at Nicholas Sparks' website.  In case you haven't heard of him, many people with good taste  in books accuse him of writing the same book over and over.  I loved to use his name as a punchline for every joke I made about bad writers.

Until two days ago.

I looked at his Writing Advice section and found what he had to say made a lot of sense.  His writing advice didn't differ that much from the advice of other writers whose works I enjoy.  (Read a lot, write a lot, learn the industry, be professional, etc., etc.)  And you know what?  He's found what works for him and he sticks with it.  He's got an audience who loves his books.

But, as I learned from reading about his personal journey, he worked very hard.


The question of his talent, while debated in some literary circles, is negligible at this point. He worked his butt off, paid his dues, and now he's enjoying the rewards.  I can't begrudge him his success.

I've been worrying if I am inherently good enough to pull off being a writer.  There are voices in my head screaming that what I'm writing is garbage, because I compare myself to others.  This past weekend I was tempted to curl up in a ball and give up on my work in progress.  Especially after such a tiring weekend at the spa.

But I didn't give up.  Instead, I pounded out 2,500 words.  Because I am a writer, and this is what I do.  Writing is a calling, but it's also a job.  I get to do it, no matter if I think I'm good enough or not.  There are plenty of immensely talented artists out there, and they miss out on opportunities to be more successful because they're hanging around complaining about how the movie/writing/art industry is corrupted beyond salvation.  While they're moaning that no one will appreciate their work, another artist who may not be as good will land a multimillion dollar after toiling in obscurity for years.

Don't be the whining artist.  The world needs your creation, not your complaining.


And don't stop making art, no matter how bad you think it is.


If you are true to yourself, and write that book sitting inside you, and revise like a super ninja on steroids, then the universe will break itself open for you one day, because fortune favors the hardworking and the fearless.

Also, you can't give up, no matter how many people slam doors in your face.  Just in case you were wondering if I forgot about to mention that part.  I didn't.

Happy Thursday!

P. S.  A-Z challenge starts tomorrow!  Who's excited?

Writer-Blogger Saturdays

I've signed up for this:

and if you haven't already, you should, too.  They've already got more than 500 bloggers and are still going strong.  Official start date: April Fool's Day.  The idea is to post every day except Sundays for the month of April, for a total of 26 posts.  Every day you are expected to post something relevant to the alphabet, so on day one post something related to A, on day two B, etc., etc.,

The challenges have already begun; this week, the participants were challenged to write a press release promoting ourselves and the A-Z challenge.  I didn't do it.  I didn't think that I could, or that a newspaper would be remotely interested in my blog.

But someone got published.  Someone wrote a press released and got published in a local newspaper.  And it was a good press release, too.

I realized that not everyone was talking themselves out of their potential.

I'm making a lot of decisions this week that I'm not at liberty to discuss in a lot of detail here, but suffice it to say I'm no longer allowing circumstances to dictate what I can and cannot do, including feelings of self-doubt and insecurity.  Ever since I was a little girl my elders inundated me with the message: "Never give up on your dreams!  You do anything you set your mind to do!  You are a special little star twinkling in your own universe!"

I thought these people were at best misinformed optimists, and at worst willful half-wits.

Trust me, there are times in everyone's life when your dreams seem out of reach.  You get laid off.  Your mom gets sick.  Your childhood memories are riddled with craters of loneliness where there should have been love and support.  Your spouse/significant other/boss/friend is undermining you.  You're broke.

But as the saying goes, "Everything works out it the end.  If it hasn't worked out, then it's not the end yet."

Just because someone is out there being successful, doesn't mean you can't be successful too.

If you know you're supposed to do something, and you know it on so many levels not even Christopher Nolan could make a movie about it;

If your Golgi apparatuses are telling you you're a writer, and your mitochondria are telling you not to give up;

If your electrons are so burger flipping excited they can't sit still at the prospect of you going after what you're passionate about;

If space rocks have spelled out your destiny in the heavens;

If the writing on the wall, your palm reader, your pastor, your rabbi, your Buddhist monk, have confirmed that you're on the right path;

Then you can't give up.

You can't.

You.  Cannot.  Give.  Up.

You and your dreams are all you've got.

Don't let anyone talk you out of what you know you're supposed to do.  Don't let your bank account dictate your actions.  Don't let your fears and you past define your present course.  Yes, it's scary.  Life is often uncertain.  But you're not doing this alone.  We're all blogging and writing and dreaming and trying together.

You are mighty!  Now go and write mighty works made of mighty words.

Have a good weekend everyone.

A Word About Japan

A few of you have been asking me if I've heard about the earthquake in Japan.  (Also, thanks to those of you who've asked if I'm okay.)  I'm on this side of the world, and I'm twelve hours ahead of most of you who read this, so, yes, I have.  I've steered clear of the news this weekend because I knew it was bad, and I didn't want to focus on how bad it was.  I was in New York on 9/11, and people talking about how unthinkable it was that someone would fly planes into buildings didn't help any: nor did repeated news clips of the Towers buckling underneath plumes of smoke.  You know what helped?  People who sent their thoughts and prayers our way and found ways to actually help.  For a few brief moments, the city came together in a spirit of mutual solidarity that transcended any religious sect or political agenda.  Then the media stuck its big nose in it and we got back to our paranoid bickering.

Japan's got it way worse right now.  So instead of watching the news on the Internet and getting sucked into the morbid voyeurism, donate.  And send your thoughts and prayers.  I don't care if you're an agnostic, atheist (I won't tell if you won't), Buddhist, Muslim, Jew, Christian, or Sikh.  This is not about religion; this is about the people of Japan.  They need our help.  As much as you can spare.  Sending a little unselfish love in their direction, no matter what color, class, or creed you are is the least we can do as human beings living together in a world that can go bananas at a moment's notice.

Which brings me to another reason I'm not watching the news: the media is generally not good at representing the massive amounts of love that emerges when a disaster strikes.  For every news story about the mother who can't find her children, there are many, many more about someone who sacrificed his life for someone he/she didn't know, or someone who against all odds survived beneath the rubble while volunteers dug him/her out.  There are volunteers on the ground right now, and more on their way.  Some of their stories of courage and selflessness will pop up here and there; others won't.  But it's important to remember that while the damage seems colossal--and it is--we can either focus on how much has been lost, or we can pitch in with the ones who are actually fixing this mess.

Let's stop talking about the problem and be a part of the solution.  For Japan's sake, and for ourselves.

We all need romance sometimes.

Here is a portion of the climax scene of my work in progress, in the spirit of Valentine's Day.  Whether you're single, married, divorced, dating, engaged, or recently broken up, I wish you romance and love.

I got down on my knees.  A word of advice to you guys who are proposing: when you kneel, do it slowly.  I dropped all my weight to the floor at once, and I almost busted my kneecaps.

            “You would make me the happiest man on earth if you’ll marry me,” I said.  “But if not, I will spend the rest of my life seeing to it that you’re happy.  If you need me tomorrow, next week, a year from now, ten years from now, I will be there for you.  You wanna marry someone else?  I’ll be first in line to shake that lucky bastard’s hand, right after I cut my heart out with a spoon.  Because your happiness means more to me than anything else.”

            Connie’s eyes misted over.  More people were congregating in the lobby.  They formed a half circle around us. 

            “I don’t have that much to offer you,” I went on.  “I’ve got an incredible little girl who needs a mom, and I can paint so-so. But I will spend every second of the rest of my life thinking about you and wondering if you’re okay, whether you’re in my life or not.  I’ve spent the last twenty-seven years feeling sorry for myself, and I’m not going to waste one more moment thinking about my miserable life.  My life is yours now.  You can take it or leave it, but it will always be yours.”  I took a deep breath.  “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

            A few tears dripped down Connie’s nose.  She squeezed my hand.

            “For God’s sake, say yes!” an older woman cried.  I held my breath.  Everyone else seemed to be, too.

What would you say to this proposal?

Thank you

"The reason why you are depressed," my mother said, "is because you are not grateful for the things you have in your life."

It was winter of 2008, my freshman year of college.  I was on academic probation and weeks away from taking medical leave.  The way I saw it, I'd been holding in negative emotions for six years due to crappy stuff that had happened to me, and those feelings had finally reached the surface and were ripping me apart.  The way my mother saw it, I was an ungrateful brat who wasn't taking care of herself and didn't want to go to class.  I preferred my version of things.

After taking incompletes for all of my classes, I left college in February 2008 for two semesters of medical leave.  I'd like to say that I spent that entire year getting my act together and everyone else was magically fixed when I returned to college in January of 2009.  That's partially true.  I spent that year in therapy and worked a couple of jobs.  One was as a canvasser for a grassroots political campaign, and the other was at a women's clothing store.  I met a lot of interesting people at both of those jobs, and I learned what it meant to have a real (read: crappy, minimum wage) job.

My grandmother was living with us at the time while she received treatment for cancer.  She passed away in February of 2009, a few weeks after I returned to school.

Sophomore year was substantially better.  I moved to off-campus housing, made some really great friends, and began taking writing (and my studies in general) more seriously.  Still, that year was tinged with two heartbreaks--one small, one massive.  I longed for a new environment, a chance to start over.  I filled out an application for a year-long study abroad program in Taiwan...and the rest as they say, is history.

The last week has been a major perspective shift for me.  I tend to get down on myself easily, and with the frustrations of living in a different culture and the weather (we haven't had any sun in about a month in Taipei) has made being happy a struggle.

The final straw came on Friday, when I spent six hours running around trying to process my visa.  I wanted to give up.  But then I remembered my life.  My mom, my friends here and back home, and my new blog followers.  And I've been reading Tahereh Mafi's blog, The Rejectionist, Single Dad Laughing, and my lovely new followers' blogs.  These people (and you all) have inspired and challenged me and forced me to dig deep about myself, this blog, and my life.  And I've realized something:

My writing is not for me.  This blog is not for me.  It's for you.  It's for the visitors and followers who haven't arrived yet.

I've spent this week coming up with a list of things that I really, truly, am grateful for.

There's the obvious ones, like my family, my friends, and my health.

But there are also things like: The Jim Henson Company, The Walt Disney Company, and Pixar Studios.  Kermit the Frog and "The Great Mouse Detective" helped make my childhood magical.
Eggs.  Eggs are delicious.
The internet.  It has allowed me to start this blog, read your lovely blogs, and talk with my mom on Skype.
Oh.  My. God.  BOOKS.  So good.
Music.
The understanding that every day is a chance to get it right.

I am grateful for these things, and all of you.

Have an amazing week, everyone!

I can write short posts, too.

I was feeling a bit gray today, so I decided to do the following:

-Treat myself to a French toast brunch/dinner.

-Buy something to make me smile.  I gave myself one rule:  the thing I was buying in question had to make me happy.  It didn't have to make sense or necessarily be useful.

So after eating said comforting French toast, I bought the following things:

-A purple pig lamp
-A sinister Hello Kitty pin.  (I believe this is the REAL Hello Kitty.  Why else would she have taken over East Asia if she didn't have an agenda of world domination?  My theory: she's stocking up a pile of pink missiles somewhere.  Guantanamo?)
-A Snoopy-themed hanging organizer.  I'm going to add it to the pile of crap on my bed and hope it all sorts itself out.
-A New Year's card that I am going to give to myself.  IT IS PRETTY AND HAS A GOLD FAN ON IT.
-A pair of shiny new headphones that has removable colors that I can mix and match.  Seriously, who wants to wear headphones that are the same color?  (Currently wearing silver and blue.)

It's New Year's next week (they don't call it Chinese New Year here, just New Year) and it's the Year of the Rabbit.  I'm hoping to go to the south of the island if all the train and bus tickets aren't booked (they most likely totally are) and the hotels aren't reserved up the wazoo.  I have a sneaking suspicion I'm going to hear a lot of mei you ban fa, but I'll see what I can come up with.

Happy Rabbit Year, everyone!

It's Not New Year's Until I Say It Is: Part 1

Happy New Year Everyone!

I ushered in the New Year in a Buddhist temple in the Northern End of Taipei, high above the city.  I spent the last moments of 2010 meditating, sending myself, you, and all sentient beings love and forgiveness, then went outside and watched a fireworks display from Taipei 101.  I had a great view of the skyline, and while watching explosions of colored fire scatter over the horizon, I felt a fundamental peace that I believe has sprung from practicing being in the moment.

This year is technically Year 100 because in Taiwan the calendar starts from the founding of the Republic of China after the overthrow of the Qing Dynasty in 1911.  (Quiz: what year were you born in, according to the Taiwanese calendar?)

I seem to have hit a sweet spot recently.  The same way at almost exactly two months I skidded into culture shock, at almost exactly four months (as of 12/24) I felt myself relax into my life here.  I've accepted that this is my home now, for all of its annoyances and perks.  My Mandarin has improved, which has made communicating with locals a lot easier, and the meditation practices have helped me take a step back and be more objective about situations that frustrate me.  

I'm not sure if this revelation was the cause of or facilitated by some new discoveries I made.  I've been spending more time near the boys' dorm on top of the mountain, and I found a study center with comfortable couches and a cafeteria next open late that serves my favorite Asian dish: dry noodles with vegetables and meat piled on.  In Beijing I ate a similar dish almost daily, and it is both nourishing and comforting.  In the food court section of Taipei 101, there is a stand that sells beef soup that is incredibly delicious.  The beef is tender and succulent, the broth rich enough to pass for stew.  The slippery noodles are fresh, and the bok choy crunches.  Happiness in a bowl.

It's taken me four months to find food in Taiwan that's both palatable and satisfying, but better late than never I suppose.

I've avoided blogging because I chose not to use this corner of the Internet for negativity.  Culture shock runs the gamut of emotions, not the least of which are bitterness, frustration, angst, self-pity, and depression.  These feelings, particularly self-pity, have a knack for perpetuating themselves ad nauseam.  Now that I've gotten some perspective on my feelings, though, I think it's time for me to elaborate the things I've been dealing with that used to send me spiraling into a Very Frustrating Place that required a combination of Polish vodka, deep breathing, and diaphragmatic sobbing to break me out of.

I emphasized when I began this blog that Taiwan is most absolutely and definitely not China.  I loved China--it was dirty and overcrowded and the Mandarin was sometimes usually incomprehensible, but I didn't care.  I shrugged off the merchants who shouted at me and tried to grab me, largely because the food was sumptuous.  It didn't matter if I had overpaid for a useless trinket.  I had a bowlful of noodles/dumplings/baozi* and everyone else could stuff themselves.  I never ate Western food on the Mainland.  The mere thought of New York Chinatown food made me nauseated.  In fact, when I came back from China it took me a while to acclimate to the Americanized "Chinese" takeout.

Then there were the people.  In my experience, Chinese people love to brag, tell anecdotes, and are generally friendly so it was easy to meet new people.  Sure, they were sometimes brusque...but usually something delicious to eat resulted of my interactions with them, so it was fine.  And in cities like Beijing, there is always something to do.

This lifestyle was not without its drawbacks.  Crime was pervasive; we had to sign a release form that we would never get on the back of a motorcycle.  There were no traffic lights--it was Cross At Your Own Risk.  The pollution was at times unbearable (I went to China in the summertime).  I became extremely homesick (I was fifteen).  But nonetheless, I loved just about every minute of my time there.

Fast forward five years.  Taiwan 2010.

*baozi: similar to a dumpling, baozi is a steamed bun filled with either meat or vegetables.  A particularly delicious variation of baozi is xiaolongbao, which contains hot soup inside (it's basically melted pork fat.  So.  Good.)

...Continued in It's Not New Year's Until I Say It Is: Part 2

Back from the Dark Side of...Not Blogging

Hey!

Sorry for not writing in so long.  Between Thanksgiving, the end of classes, final projects, saying goodbye (many times) to the semester CIEE students, starting a new semester, going out, running errands, and a sprinkling of medical issues have made for a very interesting--and busy--two and a half weeks.  My friends are traveling in Southeast Asia, and I have a new schedule which allows me to attend classes in the afternoon, providing me the much-needed time and space to slow down and really take things in.

I have been using the free time for reflecting and feeling.  For those of you who have had a conversation with me that has lasted longer than thirty seconds, you may have noticed I'm a bit...cerebral.  Emotions and I haven't always been on the best of terms.  I would even go so far as to say I don't like them.  At all.  They are messy and have a will of their own.  Crying?  What the hell?  I don't have time for something as banal as crying.  Don't my feelings know I am studying A Very Hard Language to become a Person who is Going Places and Making Her Way in the World?

Apparently not.

About two weeks ago I stormed into Christie's office (the director of CIEE--Taipei division) with a list of demands.  I needed help with housing.  Four people in one tiny living space was getting too much to handle, the bathrooms had long since been out of hand, and now there were rats.  Not to mention there was some kind of bureaucratic miscommunication with my winter tuition bill, and I had paid the wrong person.    Add Mandarin Chinese to this mixture.  Get a very pissed off twenty-one year old.

I had told Christie about my history of depression, but, as with most things about me that are close to the vest, I dressed it up with an anecdote and presented it with an ironic twist.  I have become quite good at this kind of disingenuous charm.  I didn't want people to think I was this vessel of melancholy petulance who spent her nights crying because she felt unloved.

Which, of course, I was.  For a long time.

The conversation quickly veered away from what I thought was going to be a "business" meeting to some of the more tender feelings that lay underneath my frustration and brusqueness (i. e. homesickness).   The next thing I knew, I was blubbering like a little girl.  In the CIEE office, of all places.

That conversation helped me pin down a specific fear: I am afraid of asking for help because I dread appearing to be incompetent to others.  She encouraged me to try to expose the emotions I was feeling to the light, because repressed feelings fester "like worms digging into the dirt", she explained.  I know this to be true from years of therapy and consulting with mental health professionals, but there is a difference between knowing something intellectually and actually being prepared to deal with it.

In my case especially, this difference is about a hemisphere wide.

Christie advised me to notice where an emotion is in my body when I feel it.  I've been taking her advice, which has forced me to slow down and pay attention to myself.  The book she loaned me--essentially a manual for feeling things--takes these guidelines further.  Does the feeling have a texture inside of you?  A color?  A shape?  One thing I have noticed is that I'm shaking a lot less, because I'm no longer forcing my feelings into a deep dark corner in my chest.  I've just been letting what rises rise, without judging anything.

Allowing my emotions to come up naturally has also opened up a Pandora's box of memories that I had stuffed away into an attic of I'm Not Going to Deal With This Ever.  But, as I've learned, pain does not kill you.  It waxes and wanes, and it's an indicator of a malady that needs attention, as with physical pain.  Good memories of myself have surfaced as well.  Memories when the world was a good place, and I was secure and happy.  One particular memory that I enjoyed was when I was about four and I was grocery shopping with my mother.  I had a pair of what I called "fireman" boots, which were black and yellow rubber boots that exactly matched the jackets of the firemen in our neighborhood.  I often saw the firemen grocery shopping, and I always made it a point to tell them that I had boots just like theirs.  And, wasn't it cool that I was grocery shopping just like them?  The fact that my mother was paying for all the food and pushing me in the grocery cart was but an insignificant detail.  I was food shopping.

And I always got M&Ms at the checkout counter.  Life was sweet (no pun intended).

This is why I've been a little out of touch.  Feeling things has been inconvenient and strange, but necessary.  My friends have also been dragging me on shopping trips and clubbing marathons to keep me from being mired in my own reveries and reflections.  And a tiny little hiccup called Advanced Chinese classes has been beckoning my attention.

So.  If you are reading this, thanks for your patience and understanding.  I told you all this wouldn't be a blog of Look At Me Eat A Piece of Exotic Food and Attempt to Speak a Foreign Language.  I'm not saying this to judge all the other travel blogs, guides, and memoirs that have this content.  I just believe in truth in advertising.


Know that I am happy and safe.  To my family back home, much love.  To my new friends in Taiwan, I look forward to spending more time together in our new home.  To my classmates who have already returned home or are returning soon, I wish you a safe trip and a restful vacation with your families.  Keep in touch.

Peace and Joy.  And a very Merry Christmas and a glorious New Year to you all.
Marjorie