Of Adjectives, Expectations, and Frozen Yogurt

WARNING: I'm thinking of starting all of my posts with warnings. Anyway, this is extremely long. I hadn't realized how long until I posted it. I could go edit and cut it down... but I've been editing an essay all week, so that's not happening. I would recommend skimming. Or you could just pretend you read it and move on.

Some of you might remember my epiphany in the dandelions that came last year about how all adjectives are relative. (i've since discovered that all words are relative, but this disturbers me less.) You may remember how very annoyed I was to discover that the only way I could define myself was in comparison to other people.... which totally stinks because in comparison it is mandated that someone is the loser. And, of course, that someone is me more than I'd like it to be.

Every time I tell someone I grew up in Hawaii they say, "Why didn't you go to college there?" And I say something like, "I just thought I'd never grow up if I stayed at home." Which is totally true. Like, if I hadn't gone away to college I still wouldn't know how to use a laundromat, I still wouldn't own a wallet, and I wouldn't know how much milk costs.

(ok, we'll be honest. i still don't know how much milk costs. i haven't bought it yet. i don't drink it that much. but i know i'm a grown up because i have a wallet and keys.)

What takes more time to explain is that, cliched as it sounds, I'm curious about me.

I mean, I've been living with my for eighteen years, I kind of want to get to know me a little better. You know how you'll know someone for years, at school maybe, and then when you see them somewhere else they're totally different? I thought I'd pull myself out of the context of my life and see what I was like without it. Silly of course. I haven't left behind my context at all. I find myself giving it no matter who I'm talking to. "Back home..." "In Hawaii..." "Where I grew up..."

I thought I was escaping the labels and expectations of everyone who knew me since I was six. Everyone who sat in sunday school with me and said, "she's haole," or "smart," or "weird." I thought once I was away from all of that something would blossom in my stomach and vola! Look! So that's who I was all along. Who knew?

Actually, even thousands of miles away from my context, I'm terrified of setting it down. Because who am I without it? I'm self-imposing all those expectations on myself now and I don't even have my sunday-school mates to blame for it.

This is not where I was planning on this post going. I wasn't going to really delve into identity. (though i do have a question: is there a healthy thing to base your identity on? honestly? if i think of myself as smart and then i am disillusioned out of this and just crushed, or if it stops me from doing things i'm bad at because that makes me seem less smart, then that isn't healthy. but isn't that true about basing your identity on anything and making any judgments about yourself? now i'm just confused...) I was actually going to note a few things that I've figure out about me. 

Of course they're comparative. You see, you thought I'd entirely forgot that I'd opened with my adjective thing didn't you? Nope, see, I was going somewhere for once. I know. Weird. So, from living with people who aren't my family I've come to some (comparative) conclusions about me. Nothing real earth-shaking.

I'm actually pretty clean. I don't take any responsibility for this. I think it's my mom's handy work and is probably a bit over the top right now as I try to prove to myself that where I am living is actually my home. But still. I have compulsions to do the dishes, clean the bathroom, etc. These are compulsions that my roommates do not have and do not understand. I'm mostly cool with that, but I wish they'd let me do it. I don't need them to do their dishes, I just need their dishes done. I'm good with cleaning them, but for some reason they haven't really borded that train of thought.

I go sleep early. Really. I'm going to sleep later than I used to and I still go to bed early. Yesterday was eleven thirty-ish because I had a paper due today. It felt late then and this morning it really felt late. But try complaining about a eleven-thirty bedtime to college students. See if you get away without a social stoning. I haven't really decided what I think this says about me... but I thought I'd share it. So if you happen to be my floor mate who keeps playing the ukulele at obscene hours of the morning, take pity on the poor socially awkward girl who lives across from you and stop. Or at least learn a different song.

I am socially awkward. Which does seem sort of fundamentally unfair. I shouldn't have to be physically and socially awkward. I really must have been at the back of the line when the stars were passing out skills. Because I'm a self-justifying person, though, I have come up with a perfectly plausible reason for why I'm socially awkward. The meeting new people part is because I've lived in a tiny town my whole life, so even people I didn't know knew me. Now I'm in a place where no one knows me... and I don't know what to do. Do I just walk up to people and say, "Hey. I'm Marissa. I'm a socially awkward Asian Studies major, looking for a job and craving sugar?"

Not really, right? There is some secret to this whole meeting people thing that I am just yet to discover. Right? Like a secret password.

... Hey, guys. Now would be a great time to let me in on the secret. Just saying.

I actually have a lot to tell you. Like I bought bubbles because I decided that I couldn't live without them. And I was walking back from blowing them on Sunday and got invited in by people I'd met that day ("hey. i'm marissa....") to eat a muffin. Which was fun. I felt intimidated though, because they were talking about politics. And I know nothing about politics. I do, however, know a lot about China, and I got into a heated discussion with a Pakistani in my ward about it. I met him, told him what I studies ("i'm a socially awkward asian studies major..."), and he leaned forward said, "Do you think Mao was a good leader?" We argued about it for twenty minutes, until he had to go talk to the Bishop.

My father has mandated that my entire family will eat sugar only once a week (with the exception of holidays recognized by hallmark) and it works well. Most of the time. Everyone once in a while I just really.... need... ICECREAM. ("looking for a job and craving sugar...") Tomorrow will be my once a week, though. I'm going to go get frozen yogurt. As a treat for me doing a whole half of the things I was supposed to this week. Because I'm responsible like that.

Over.

Once Upon A Time

(Marissa)

Homecoming was this week. And because I have absolutely no school spirit I went on a walk with Katie and and watched The Pelican Brief with my family rather than sit in the football stands and let a scream of the truly devoted tear at my throat. Despite my lack of school spirit, I do hope we won. And that our field lights didn't go out this time. The excuse this is all leading up to, though, is now I am on fall break and I have no inclination to do anything even remotely productive. And writing a blog post is kind of productive.

So I've been procrastinating. But the biggest reason I haven't written is I don't have very much to say. Which, believe me, is unusual. Usually I can go on and on. I drone with the best of them. If talking was an Olympic sport, I might actually have a chance at meeting Kim Yu Na

and telling her how amazingly awesome she is. The point being, I usually don't struggle with posting.

This weekend, however, all ideas have deserted and left me high and dry with a soggy handful of words.

So...

I'm going to make fun of early Disney fairytales! That seems pretty foolproof. If you are one of those people who holds Disney sacred then now might be a good time to stop reading.

I did not grow up with Disney. In fact, my mom did almost everything in her power to make sure that I did not identify with Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty. (She also dressed me in the scratchiest pink overalls in all of history from which I'm still recovering, but that's besides the point.) I couldn't tell you what exactly went against her grain about the Disney Princesses, but I can tell you about mine:


1. Their voices. Think

"Some day my prince will come..." Shivers, people, and not the good kind.

2. General motivation. Let's consider Ariel. She has everything. She's beautiful. Her hair is red. She can sing (much, much better than Snow White), everyone loves her and her best friend is a fish (which might not technically be a good thing, but it seems to work for her). This is not enough, though, and after one fated encounter she has to be with

our prince charming (oh, believe me, we'll talk about him in a minute). And now the only thing in the whole wide world that she wants is to have legs. So she puts at risk not only everything she owns, but also pretty much everything under the sea so that she can go hang out with her buddy on land for a bit.

And apparently karma doesn't apply to princesses, so despite all of this she still gets her happily ever after...

This is obviously the kind of show that we want our young children to find morals in. (Like Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer. Run that song through your head. You know what the main idea is? If you're popular everything is good.)

3. The prince charmings are generic. For a while I thought they were clones, but then I went to see Into the Woods and I figured it out. In Into the Woods you get two princes who are brothers. In the first act one of them marries Cinderella and one of them marries Rapunzel. In the second act both of them, in the midst of marital problems that they blame on their hormonal wives, they wander away from the castle... and stumble upon Sleeping Beauty and Snow White and begin to occupy themselves with them.

I was extremely angry. The feminist in me was throwing rotton fruit. And then I realized that all the princes from the fairy tales seemed the same because they were all the same. It explains everything. Except

4. Love at first sight. It bothers me. A lot. It's like the storyteller couldn't think of any reason why someone would fall in love with their character so they passed it off to Cupid. Argh.

Sleeping Beauty should have punched the prince. That would have made so much more sense. Plus it would have been much more funny.

5. Lastly, the girl never saves herself. They whither away combing their hair, entombed in a glass casket, sleeping in the highest tower, etc. It is the most obnoxious thing ever. They're not even smart. They don't follow basic sense. Like Snow White. Did she miss the part of Stranger Danger when they said not to take food from people you don't know? Why didn't Repunzel cut off her own hair and climb down it herself? And why, in heaven's name, was Cinderella wearing glass slippers? High heels have enough potential pain without putting glass into the equation.

I like strong female leads. I'll take Elizabeth Bennet, CJ Cregg, or Olivia Dunham any day. They're witty and smart or save the world from alternate universes on a daily basis. And they don't go for love at first sight. And you know what? I bet if Olivia woke up to someone kissing her she would punch him.

Over.

And You Thought Jiminy Cricket Was Making It Up

(Marissa)

A while back we were all lining up in heaven, getting our paperwork straightened out.

"No, I'm being born on the fourteenth. No, the fourteenth. Not in Bolivia! The United States! I'm supposed to live in the United States!" I picture the scene looking a bit like my first day of tenth grade.

Anyway, at some point we bounded over clouds up to a desk with several baskets on it labeled things like, "knowledge," "beauty," and "car fixing abilities (only for those living from the late 1800s up)." Behind the desk was a council of stars.

They said, "We will grant you certain gifts for your time on earth. What is your wish?"

Mei got there early, stepped right up and said, "Give me all the faith you've got." The stars liked her so much, they threw a nice handful of intelligence, kindness, curiosity and a bunch of other stuff into the bargain.

My dad stepped up and surveyed the table, looking over each one. "Hmmm..." he said. "Hmmmm..." He stood there for a while, but finally he picked out analytical thinking, courage, gratitude and mad juggling skills, among others.

My mom chose wisdom, humility, and empathy in great measures and added that to the skills she already gained in pre-earth life.

I'm not sure what I got, but I'll tell you what wasn't in my shopping basket when I walked away: Math skills.

Numbers just don't stick in my head. I quote all of Pride and Prejudice, The Importance of Being Earnest and all three Lord of the Rings, but sine? Cosine? Um... are there x's involved? No? Oh.

Graphs?

Probability?

Third grade addition?

Please! No! Don't make me suffer this way. I'm really a pretty good person. I do my chores. And yes, I'm putting off writing an essay right now. And practicing the piano. And applying for college. And memorizing what cosine and sine are. But I'm fairly responsible. And I made my little sister a tart for her birthday. Surely this counts for something.

....


I can read Shakespeare, the scriptures and Chinese. I really feel like this should be enough.

Over.

(A Very Short Post Concerning) Doubting Peter

(Marissa)

You know that story in the scriptures when Jesus walks on water? His disciples on the ship see him and all of them are scared. Who is that guy? He can't be human. It is a spirit! It's a ghost! Quick! Hide behind the mast!

Jesus calms them down, "Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid."

Then Peter volunteers to come out onto the water,  he believes that if God tells him to he will be able to walk on the waves. "Come," Jesus bids him. And Peter goes. I imagine the water cupped his feet, that it felt soft, that his steps were tentative, like walking on ice or glass. Slowly his steps strengthen. But it gets windy, the waves' crests bite into his feet and Peter is afraid. He starts sinking.

Jesus immediately reaches and pulls him up. Jesus says, "O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?"

It's a good thing I wasn't Peter. I would have said, "I'm the only one who came out here!"

I like that, though. "Wherefore didst thou doubt?"

Over.

I Don't Want To Grow Up

(Marissa)

I've been sick for four days now. I'd tell you about it, but I love you too much for that. Hey, guess how many West Wing episodes I watched this weekend?

Never mind. You don't want to know. It'd be disturbing. And your opinion of me would drop off a cliff.

You'll have to be patient, you guys. I'm still learning how to blog. I don't want to give you a laundry list of my week. I did this and this and this. I brushed my teeth and then I washed my face and... I was brainwashed out of that by a english teacher, Mrs. Jackson.

(Thanks, Jackson. You're baby is really cute, by the way. I can't wait for you to be my culinary teacher. Right now we're doing worksheets in there. My teacher says we'll be doing worksheets until second quarter. When you get there, will we keep doing those worksheets?)

I hope you stick around while I figure all of this out, but I won't be offended if you don't. Mostly because I won't know. My grandma and my mom (Hi Grandma! Hi Mom!) are the only ones I know are reading this, and I'm pretty sure they'd both keep it up even if I gave you a detailed explanation of flossing.

In other news I had an emotional break down Thursday. I cried and then I went to bed and all of my tears and other bodily fluids that had made their appearance glibly slid down to my throat and chest, rendering me incapable of breathing, singing, speaking or thinking the next morning. This substantially cut down my list of usual activities. I was paralyzed emotionally, physically and intellectually all weekend. Thus the West Wing marathon.

When I can't think about the things that normally occupy my brain like piano scales, the SAT/ACT, essays and quizzes (everyone just take a minute and admire the word "quizzes." Doesn't it look cool? Hiss it under your breath. Doesn't it sound amazing?) my brain finds itself in a yellow wood, forced to take the road less traveled by. I think about what Great Balls of Fire is actually talking about, whether or not there are mermaids on Neptune (they have seas), and why my emotions occasionally make my body deteriorate into a puddle of goo. The answer (to the last question) is Peter Pan. I completely blame Peter Pan.

I have always had a thing for Peter Pan. Always. Even back when this was Peter Pan.

And then this was Peter Pan.

Then I was a believer.

There are a couple of reasons that I find Peter Pan beyond amazing. The first is he can fly. I've had dreams where I can fly. I swim through the sky. I soar across a lake, a perfect, placid lake the reflects the night sky like a mirror and I'm caught between stars. My fingers can touch them. They feel soft and cold. My fingers ripple them. Suffice it to say, if Peter came and asked me if I wanted to fly, I would have no trouble coming up with happy thoughts.

The second reason is that he is cocky. On TV, at least, cockiness is incredibly endearing to me. I think this is a really bad sign for my future relationships, but I have more pressing concerns than my (lack of a) love life right now, so this doesn't bother me a whole lot.

The third reason, and the one that I actually want to talk about today, is that Peter Pan doesn't grow up. Ever. He is forever a happy little boy who can fly around with fairies and sword fight with pirates. He never has to confront hormones--

--well, not often anyway. He never freaks out about grades or scholarships. He knows everything he needs to know. He is content. He has nothing to worry about, except the pirates that want to kill him,

and they're easily handled.

Peter Pan doesn't grow up. I don't want to grow up. I am not sure, but I think that was the core of my emotional break down this week. I am so tired of worrying about things. And it exhausts me to think of worrying for the rest of my life. I don't want to go away to school and have to remember to cook my own food and do my own laundry. I don't want to have to deal with homesickness or bills. I never want to have to think about money. And taxes? What are taxes? I have taken fairly advanced math and no one has ever taught me how to do taxes. Or budgeting. Does that mean I can't go blow it on books and Starbucks and hot chocolate? Why?

I want to go to Never Land and fight pirates and dance with fairies and eat those clouds that look like cotton candy. And Peter Pan tells me that I can.

Peter Pan is a liar. But I love him anyway.

It's the smile.

Over.

(Deep) Thoughts in Dandelions

(This is Marissa. I will figure out a really cool way to signify this someday, but for now this will have to do.)


It is summer, which means staying up late, waking up late, wearing baggy shirts and cut off jeans, cleaning a lot, studying a little and thinking deep thoughts.

Yep, that’s right. Deep thoughts. Teenagers are capable of them too, you know.Today I had an epiphany. It came while I was walking Mocha, 

which is when I generally have conversations with people who only exist in my head, talk to myself in Chinese and tell my dog that she is a pain when she tugs me back to explore the wonderful world of dandelion scents. So in the middle of a dandelion patch, my deep, brilliant epiphany came. Of course, the nature of epiphanies, in my experiance at least, is that when you try and explain them everyone either says, "well, of course," or they have no idea what you're talking about. But I'll give it a shot...

I’ve totally set myself up here, haven’t I? I just told you that this post is going to be deep? I take it back. Take a damp rag and wipe away all expectations away from your brain. I had a thought. Just a thought. A regular, plausibly shallow thought, because I am a teenager and that’s what I do. Just be happy I’m thinking, OK?

Here is my epiphany—thought!—most adjectives are by their nature comparative. Relative. See? If I am tall, then it is because other people are short. If I’m smart, it means other people are less smart. Which means that we are defining ourselves by what we’re not.

So what?

One of my gifts is seeing the good in other people. The down side of this marvelous skill of recognizing talents, good intentions, etc. is that it doesn’t work on me. I have a very difficult time seeing the silver lining in myself. You know that line from Ever After? “First I’m arrogant, and now I have no pride. However do I manage?” That’s me. I’m proud, but I’m never really sure what I’m proud of. I have a hard time making a list of good things about me. And yes, I’ve tried.

Moving on.

Because I see so much good in other people and so little in me, it is sometimes very depressing to compare myself to others. I’m not as generous as her, I’m not as creative as him, I don’t skip that well and I’m definitely not that pretty. My GPA is 3.9 something something, not >4.0 like all of my friends. But hey, that’s OK, right?

Not really, no.

So I’ve been working on not comparing myself to other people. How tough can that be, right? In a certain way, it doesn’t even make sense. No one else is me, they don’t come from where I come from, they don’t have the same experiences or relationships that define me. And, if you’re religious, they don’t have my same spirit. To compare myself to them, to compare them to me is ridiculous, because no matter what the comparison, it’s apples and oranges.

So I’ve been working on this, but I haven’t done so well. I’m just used to thinking in terms of comparison. So what occurred to me today just after I almost got ran over by a car (I did look both ways, Mom) was that even language is working against me in this.

Adjectives make me want to compare myself to others. They are designed so that the only way I can describe something is through comparison. She’s fast because someone else is slow. She and her speed cannot stand on their own.

And in comparison someone inevitably loses. Someone is less.

Language is comparative. Which makes it very hard for me not to be. But, hey, I’ll do it. I can conquer language, right? It’s been around  for what? A measly couple thousands years?  

You and me, language. This is my glove on drawbridge. May the best entity win.