"I can't believe how casual the bride's being about everything. When I asked her how she wanted the bridemaids' hairstyles to be, she just said 'let them choose: I just want them to be happy.' Can you believe that? It's totally unacceptable."
-A lady bitching about how her bride-to-be friend is planning her wedding.
Showing posts with label london. Show all posts
Showing posts with label london. Show all posts
Tuesday, 31 March 2015
Wednesday, 11 March 2015
London Mode: Engaged
I returned to Reykjavik last Thursday. Alas, I still didn't see any Northern Lights thanks to the tricksy Icelandic weather, but I still had a great time on the Golden Circle tour and walking around the beautiful city.
By a stroke of complete luck, an old school friend I haven't seen in nine years happened to also be in Reykjavik, so we met up for lunch one day- myself with my friend Siu Yen and her with her boyfriend. We got to discussing how friendly the people are in Iceland. In fact, Iceland is sometimes also known as "Niceland"! I found myself becoming more open and friendly to strangers in general, as a result: the country made me just a little less guarded.
Fast-forward to being back home in London. This evening on the train, I stared straight past a friend from dance and only noticed her when she physically called my name and ran after me as I walked off. I couldn't stop apologising.
What happened? Well, I call it "London Mode". It's that mode that everyone from a large city finds themselves adopting sooner or later: a sort of self-defence against the endless amount of bodies and noise. I've fought it off for a long time, trying to remain in-tune with my fellow human beings. Alas, it seems that I have unwillingly mentally downloaded London Mode as a default.
A friend told me a story recently about how someone on the London Underground fell over and hit their head (my friend only learned about this after being stuck outside the closed station, waiting to be let in). The poor bastard lay bleeding on the ground for about fifteen minutes before anyone would help them. In fact, there were people stepping over him.
I don't think I'll ever get to that level of London Mode (the level at which you literally just stop caring and become numb to other people). However I think that even if I adopted Icelandic openness in London, I think I'd very quickly be taken advantage of by my brilliant, cruel city. In a city where people are increasingly afraid of making eye contact for fear of being stabbed, I'm afraid that London Mode is a fate every Londoner must adopt sooner or later.
By a stroke of complete luck, an old school friend I haven't seen in nine years happened to also be in Reykjavik, so we met up for lunch one day- myself with my friend Siu Yen and her with her boyfriend. We got to discussing how friendly the people are in Iceland. In fact, Iceland is sometimes also known as "Niceland"! I found myself becoming more open and friendly to strangers in general, as a result: the country made me just a little less guarded.
Fast-forward to being back home in London. This evening on the train, I stared straight past a friend from dance and only noticed her when she physically called my name and ran after me as I walked off. I couldn't stop apologising.
What happened? Well, I call it "London Mode". It's that mode that everyone from a large city finds themselves adopting sooner or later: a sort of self-defence against the endless amount of bodies and noise. I've fought it off for a long time, trying to remain in-tune with my fellow human beings. Alas, it seems that I have unwillingly mentally downloaded London Mode as a default.
A friend told me a story recently about how someone on the London Underground fell over and hit their head (my friend only learned about this after being stuck outside the closed station, waiting to be let in). The poor bastard lay bleeding on the ground for about fifteen minutes before anyone would help them. In fact, there were people stepping over him.
I don't think I'll ever get to that level of London Mode (the level at which you literally just stop caring and become numb to other people). However I think that even if I adopted Icelandic openness in London, I think I'd very quickly be taken advantage of by my brilliant, cruel city. In a city where people are increasingly afraid of making eye contact for fear of being stabbed, I'm afraid that London Mode is a fate every Londoner must adopt sooner or later.
Wednesday, 4 February 2015
Overheard on the Tube
"So then I flung myself on the bed and shouted 'mentor me!'"
"Haha! And did he 'mentor' you?"
"Haha! And did he 'mentor' you?"
"... No. It was super awkward."
~ A gem from the Northern Line this evening.
~ A gem from the Northern Line this evening.
Saturday, 5 July 2014
Surrounded by Weirdos
On the train. Where else?
Reading quietly in my carriage, on my way back home from my Wednesday evening Mandarin class, I distantly noticed that a man had gotten up from his seat opposite me to sit next to me. I didn't really question why he had decided to switch seats mid-journey, engrossed in my book as I was. What I did question though was the increasing cramped conditions due to his arm sneaking further and further from the arm rest (which he had taken firm command of), and over into my space. I kept shifting sideways, hoping he'd just stop, but he kept shifting even more so our bare arms were touching (being a hot summer's day, everyone was wearing short sleeves).
I considered asking him to budge up- I'm not usually one for demurring- but since incidences of violence from such 'challenges' as that have been on the up and this guy looked like the type to look for a challenge, I decided just to hold firm. It's not fair to judge on appearances, I know, but I wasn't feeling lucky.
As I became increasingly irritated at someone else's (very hairy) arm trying to get to know mine better and venturing into my ribs, the train stopped to let on another flow of people. In the now empty spot opposite me now sat a wiry, twitchy guy with very curly hair, who promptly got out an entire pre-packed pasta salad and a bottle of Mountain Dew and proceeded to have his dinner on the train.
I didn't really mind too much: perhaps it had been a long day at work and this was his only chance to grab a bite. What did start to become a bother though was when he started belching loudly and wiping his mouth ostentatiously. Bother became slight worry when he put his now-empty salad pack back in his rucksack, chucked the bottle behind his seat and began to sway a little. Was he feeling unwell?
I considered asking if he was alright, but suddenly he began to twitch and shake ever so slightly, like he was trying to shake off invisible flies. I decided to stay put. I became very glad for my decision not to interfere, because soon every so often he'd bend over, head between knees, shake his head and mumble something, before emerging with wild eyes.
Two stops later and the hairy-armed guy, to my vast relief, got off. I wasn't completely at ease though: twitchy guy was still opposite me. At least there was only one strange person to worry about, though.
That is, until a lady on her mobile phone took the place of hairy-armed guy by my side.
I didn't really pay attention to her at first. Slowly, however, I began to pick up patterns in whatever she was saying over the phone. I couldn't understand the language, but whatever she was saying sounded a little like "I'll make you soup." Slowly, I realised that she was saying this over and over again. "I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup. Aha. Aha. I'll make you soup."
And then I realised we were still underground, with no possible phone signal.
"I'll make you soup. Aha. Aha. I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup."
Twitchy guy strode jerkily off the train a few stops after, but I was alone with the lady on her phone next to me for the remainder of the journey.
I had 15 minutes of "I'll make you soup." before my final stop at the end of the line. As the train pulled into my station, I got up, and so did the lady on her phone.
"I'll make you soup. Okay, bye."
I stared after her in disbelief as she strode off.
~End~
Reading quietly in my carriage, on my way back home from my Wednesday evening Mandarin class, I distantly noticed that a man had gotten up from his seat opposite me to sit next to me. I didn't really question why he had decided to switch seats mid-journey, engrossed in my book as I was. What I did question though was the increasing cramped conditions due to his arm sneaking further and further from the arm rest (which he had taken firm command of), and over into my space. I kept shifting sideways, hoping he'd just stop, but he kept shifting even more so our bare arms were touching (being a hot summer's day, everyone was wearing short sleeves).
I considered asking him to budge up- I'm not usually one for demurring- but since incidences of violence from such 'challenges' as that have been on the up and this guy looked like the type to look for a challenge, I decided just to hold firm. It's not fair to judge on appearances, I know, but I wasn't feeling lucky.
As I became increasingly irritated at someone else's (very hairy) arm trying to get to know mine better and venturing into my ribs, the train stopped to let on another flow of people. In the now empty spot opposite me now sat a wiry, twitchy guy with very curly hair, who promptly got out an entire pre-packed pasta salad and a bottle of Mountain Dew and proceeded to have his dinner on the train.
I didn't really mind too much: perhaps it had been a long day at work and this was his only chance to grab a bite. What did start to become a bother though was when he started belching loudly and wiping his mouth ostentatiously. Bother became slight worry when he put his now-empty salad pack back in his rucksack, chucked the bottle behind his seat and began to sway a little. Was he feeling unwell?
I considered asking if he was alright, but suddenly he began to twitch and shake ever so slightly, like he was trying to shake off invisible flies. I decided to stay put. I became very glad for my decision not to interfere, because soon every so often he'd bend over, head between knees, shake his head and mumble something, before emerging with wild eyes.
Two stops later and the hairy-armed guy, to my vast relief, got off. I wasn't completely at ease though: twitchy guy was still opposite me. At least there was only one strange person to worry about, though.
That is, until a lady on her mobile phone took the place of hairy-armed guy by my side.
I didn't really pay attention to her at first. Slowly, however, I began to pick up patterns in whatever she was saying over the phone. I couldn't understand the language, but whatever she was saying sounded a little like "I'll make you soup." Slowly, I realised that she was saying this over and over again. "I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup. Aha. Aha. I'll make you soup."
And then I realised we were still underground, with no possible phone signal.
"I'll make you soup. Aha. Aha. I'll make you soup. I'll make you soup."
Twitchy guy strode jerkily off the train a few stops after, but I was alone with the lady on her phone next to me for the remainder of the journey.
I had 15 minutes of "I'll make you soup." before my final stop at the end of the line. As the train pulled into my station, I got up, and so did the lady on her phone.
"I'll make you soup. Okay, bye."
I stared after her in disbelief as she strode off.
~End~
Sunday, 15 June 2014
A Friendly DFL in Brighton
I spent the day in Brighton yesterday visiting my friend Vicky (the same Vicky I visited in Berlin during her time teaching there). The subject of what Brighton thinks of London came up when I mentioned that I liked how many of the streets shared the same name as famous streets and places in London (Bond Street, Trafalgar Street, Kensington Street etc).
DFL. Down From London. It's not generally something that's said in a positive light when uttered by Brightonians- wealthy, rude, arrogant Londoners buy up holiday homes and drive property prices up, make an almighty mess during raucous hen parties and stag nights, and generally clutter up the streets as clueless tourists during weekends. However, since I fit into none of those categories- especially not the 'wealthy' part- I'd classify myself as Mostly Harmless, like the entry on humans in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
I love Brighton. I love London as my home and territory and have no illusions of leaving, but I love Brighton as its own separate entity, with its own separate personality. It's something I never felt about Birmingham for example, despite having lived there for five years. It does have some similarities to Central London (particularly Camden Town in some areas, and Camden Town is one of my favourite places in the entire world), in terms of diversity and wonderful quirkiness. However it embraces these sides much more heartily than London rather than being politely embarrassed by them. As for the atmosphere, it's simply more pleasant. People joke about having to be a certain kind of person to be able to bear London: big, bustling, hectic, shiny, dangerous, brilliant London. Well, it's true: you do have to be a certain type of person to survive my city. I say this with a unique and exquisite mix of pride and shame.
I think you do have to have a small, bitter, hardened kernel at the centre of your heart to stand a city where millions of people are crammed into one small place, always in a rush and not allowed to look each other in the eye- or worse, smile at each other. I am definitely a Londoner: I can phase seamlessly through a solid wall of bodies on Oxford Street, mentally shut myself out on a Spam-packed tube carriage and never feel safe while feeling like it's normal to never feel safe. However, I also notice strangers that need a hand and help them, chat to sales assistants like they're human beings and, horror of horrors, smile. I think this small, alien part of me belongs in Brighton, even though the rest of me is and always will be organically Londoner. I'm not saying Brighton is without its own problems, but in any case, it's nice to know that that little part of me has somewhere to feel at home in for a while when it feels like an outsider the rest of the time.
Also, you can see the sea!!
DFL. Down From London. It's not generally something that's said in a positive light when uttered by Brightonians- wealthy, rude, arrogant Londoners buy up holiday homes and drive property prices up, make an almighty mess during raucous hen parties and stag nights, and generally clutter up the streets as clueless tourists during weekends. However, since I fit into none of those categories- especially not the 'wealthy' part- I'd classify myself as Mostly Harmless, like the entry on humans in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.
I love Brighton. I love London as my home and territory and have no illusions of leaving, but I love Brighton as its own separate entity, with its own separate personality. It's something I never felt about Birmingham for example, despite having lived there for five years. It does have some similarities to Central London (particularly Camden Town in some areas, and Camden Town is one of my favourite places in the entire world), in terms of diversity and wonderful quirkiness. However it embraces these sides much more heartily than London rather than being politely embarrassed by them. As for the atmosphere, it's simply more pleasant. People joke about having to be a certain kind of person to be able to bear London: big, bustling, hectic, shiny, dangerous, brilliant London. Well, it's true: you do have to be a certain type of person to survive my city. I say this with a unique and exquisite mix of pride and shame.
I think you do have to have a small, bitter, hardened kernel at the centre of your heart to stand a city where millions of people are crammed into one small place, always in a rush and not allowed to look each other in the eye- or worse, smile at each other. I am definitely a Londoner: I can phase seamlessly through a solid wall of bodies on Oxford Street, mentally shut myself out on a Spam-packed tube carriage and never feel safe while feeling like it's normal to never feel safe. However, I also notice strangers that need a hand and help them, chat to sales assistants like they're human beings and, horror of horrors, smile. I think this small, alien part of me belongs in Brighton, even though the rest of me is and always will be organically Londoner. I'm not saying Brighton is without its own problems, but in any case, it's nice to know that that little part of me has somewhere to feel at home in for a while when it feels like an outsider the rest of the time.
Also, you can see the sea!!
Thursday, 12 December 2013
Tube Troubles: Unsolicited Drunken Contact
The man sitting to my left reached clumsily into his trouser pocket, moving with his entire body. He somehow managed to simultaneously elbow, shoulder, knee and kick me all in one go. That was the fourth time during my short journey on the London underground.
When I boarded the train, weary from my after-work evening class, I hadn't noticed why there was an empty seat: I just saw an empty seat. I didn't register the young pinstriped businessmen sitting in the seat beside it. I should have: whereas everyone else was sitting in a prim, British fashion, he was slouched halfway down the seat, almost parallel to the floor, chin resting on chest. Somehow, this all escaped my notice.
I sat down, and was instantly hit by a solid wall of beer fumes. The drunken young businessman sighed loudly and laboriously, shifted himself into a slightly more upright position, and crossed his long, wobbly legs. This took a couple of goes before his legs obeyed him.
Me being me, I stood (or rather sat) my ground. I was sure he wasn't dangerous- just more than a little sozzled. Besides, there were no more seats, and I was exhausted. Why should I have to move?
Throughout the journey, punctuated by loud sighs, this man would slide down into his seat and then pull himself up again, only to sink back down- all in quick succession. Down, up, down, up, fail to cross legs, fail to cross legs in the other direction, down, up. His movements were jerky whenever he'd correct himself, like when your head snaps up as you catch yourself on the brink of sleep. At one point he very nearly did hit the floor- the entire carriage watched him in rapture, enjoying the 'Will he? Won't he?' pantomime. We were almost disappointed when he snapped himself back to attention. On several occasions his attempts at lucidity would result in me taking an angular limb to the ribs.
When the drunken businessman finally meandered off the train, the remaining original spectators in the carriage grinned at each other, in a rare moment of public transport unity. I think this alone was worth the experience.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This is my third consecutive post about things happening to me on trains. It's definitely not one of the only three on this blog, either. Which begs the question: what the bloody hell is it with me and trains?
When I boarded the train, weary from my after-work evening class, I hadn't noticed why there was an empty seat: I just saw an empty seat. I didn't register the young pinstriped businessmen sitting in the seat beside it. I should have: whereas everyone else was sitting in a prim, British fashion, he was slouched halfway down the seat, almost parallel to the floor, chin resting on chest. Somehow, this all escaped my notice.
I sat down, and was instantly hit by a solid wall of beer fumes. The drunken young businessman sighed loudly and laboriously, shifted himself into a slightly more upright position, and crossed his long, wobbly legs. This took a couple of goes before his legs obeyed him.
Me being me, I stood (or rather sat) my ground. I was sure he wasn't dangerous- just more than a little sozzled. Besides, there were no more seats, and I was exhausted. Why should I have to move?
Throughout the journey, punctuated by loud sighs, this man would slide down into his seat and then pull himself up again, only to sink back down- all in quick succession. Down, up, down, up, fail to cross legs, fail to cross legs in the other direction, down, up. His movements were jerky whenever he'd correct himself, like when your head snaps up as you catch yourself on the brink of sleep. At one point he very nearly did hit the floor- the entire carriage watched him in rapture, enjoying the 'Will he? Won't he?' pantomime. We were almost disappointed when he snapped himself back to attention. On several occasions his attempts at lucidity would result in me taking an angular limb to the ribs.
When the drunken businessman finally meandered off the train, the remaining original spectators in the carriage grinned at each other, in a rare moment of public transport unity. I think this alone was worth the experience.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This is my third consecutive post about things happening to me on trains. It's definitely not one of the only three on this blog, either. Which begs the question: what the bloody hell is it with me and trains?
Friday, 6 December 2013
Sarcasm Done Right: Today on the Tube
I laughed openly, and was surprised that I was one of only two that did, out of the ten people in my carriage. A third cracked a smile, but that was all. I could only guess that either the others hadn't gotten the joke, or were just being awkwardly British about it.
Just before the doors of the train had closed, the driver's voice- female and sweetly acidic- had announced over the speakers:
'To the gentleman holding the doors open: this is not the last train. I repeat, to the gentleman holding the doors: this is not the last train.'
Friday, 29 November 2013
In Which I Act Uncharacteristically Starry-Eyed
As my train pulled into Euston underground station, I stood up and made my way to the doors. The doors opened, and I found myself standing in the direct eye line of a rather good-looking guy. We stared each other for the longest two seconds ever, and quickly diverted our gazes, embarrassed. I dodged out of the way of the oncoming crowd of people who were waiting to board the train with this guy, whilst I hopped off. As I sidled past him, I stole one last glance, as if to make sure he really existed.
I caught him red-handed in his own second-glance at me, just before we were both buffeted apart by the tide of the crowd.
Utterly disorientated, I turned around, walked straight into a wall and then proceeded to walk in the wrong direction.
The train, of course, left (and a few minutes later I found myself on the wrong platform having come to from my daze).
The unusual thing about this story is that I never act like this. This has never happened to me before- even in my last long-term relationship (RIP) it took me almost a full year to fully realise that I had come to be in love my friend rather than just love him in the platonic sense. Sure I can admire good looks when I see them, but I never go ga-ga over it. I don't even this this guy was what you'd call classically handsome or beautiful, or even particularly striking. But something about this guy caught my attention a couple of nights ago, and apparently him too. I didn't even have anything on my face- I checked afterwards just to make sure.
Well, all else I can say this: even though I still don't really believe in true love at first sight, I think I'll be more lenient about the idea of attraction at first sight- and I'll carry on hoping that no-one saw me walk into that wall. Especially not that guy,
I caught him red-handed in his own second-glance at me, just before we were both buffeted apart by the tide of the crowd.
Utterly disorientated, I turned around, walked straight into a wall and then proceeded to walk in the wrong direction.
The train, of course, left (and a few minutes later I found myself on the wrong platform having come to from my daze).
The unusual thing about this story is that I never act like this. This has never happened to me before- even in my last long-term relationship (RIP) it took me almost a full year to fully realise that I had come to be in love my friend rather than just love him in the platonic sense. Sure I can admire good looks when I see them, but I never go ga-ga over it. I don't even this this guy was what you'd call classically handsome or beautiful, or even particularly striking. But something about this guy caught my attention a couple of nights ago, and apparently him too. I didn't even have anything on my face- I checked afterwards just to make sure.
Well, all else I can say this: even though I still don't really believe in true love at first sight, I think I'll be more lenient about the idea of attraction at first sight- and I'll carry on hoping that no-one saw me walk into that wall. Especially not that guy,
Sunday, 10 November 2013
Actually, I Rather Like People After All
Yesterday evening I met up with some of my fellow ex-contestants from the karaoke contest I took part in, just for a fun Japanese (and English, in my case) karaoke session together. I had great fun, and in the process got to know some new people a little better. I think my favourite moment was when I was chatting to the eldest member of the group on the way to the bar afterwards- a small, not-old-yet Japanese lady with a mischievous smile- and laughing about the sex shops we were walking past in Soho. She even quite knowingly asked me if I knew one particular shop in London aimed at ladies (to which I was just a tiny bit embarrassed and rather a lot more impressed!) She had up and left Japan at a young age, taking no friends or family with her, to start fresh in London: in fact a few others in the group had done similar, one even having lived in four different countries so far.
Recently I've been making an effort to go out and meet new people, and in the recent months I have met some awesome people and made some new friends along the way. It's occasions like this where I re-think the thing I have been telling myself pretty much all my life, which is:
'I hate people.'
Well? what does that actually mean? When I dissect it, it isn't a very nice way to go about life. I like lots of people- love them to bits, in fact. So when I used to say 'I hate people', I was directing this at the general public. In general.
But just who are the general public?
Potential friends. Potential enemies. Potential awkward but friendly chats in the queue or dirty looks after bumping into one another. A huge mix of human beings that are capable of doing the most wonderful and the most terrible things you can imagine, and every one as complex as the other.
There is a lot of cruelty in the world that I can't understand and that makes me sick, sad and angry. These things deserve hate, yes- but I believe that I've realised that it's not right to go about life hating the general public as a default. I'll try to be more open.
(Having said that, I hope I never have to work as a waitress or in customer services ever again.)
Recently I've been making an effort to go out and meet new people, and in the recent months I have met some awesome people and made some new friends along the way. It's occasions like this where I re-think the thing I have been telling myself pretty much all my life, which is:
'I hate people.'
Well? what does that actually mean? When I dissect it, it isn't a very nice way to go about life. I like lots of people- love them to bits, in fact. So when I used to say 'I hate people', I was directing this at the general public. In general.
But just who are the general public?
Potential friends. Potential enemies. Potential awkward but friendly chats in the queue or dirty looks after bumping into one another. A huge mix of human beings that are capable of doing the most wonderful and the most terrible things you can imagine, and every one as complex as the other.
There is a lot of cruelty in the world that I can't understand and that makes me sick, sad and angry. These things deserve hate, yes- but I believe that I've realised that it's not right to go about life hating the general public as a default. I'll try to be more open.
(Having said that, I hope I never have to work as a waitress or in customer services ever again.)
Monday, 7 October 2013
I Did It! The Nodojiman Karaoke Contest at Japan Matsuri London
On Saturday I got up there in front of thousands of people and danced and sung Tsukema Tsukeru ('putting on false eyelashes').
It was EPIC.
Even though nerves made my voice go horribly strained and wobbly from trying to escape my throat, I danced by butt off and felt pretty epic. I had an amazing bunch of friends cheering me on, my mum and dad looking on in pride and amusement, and the other amazing contestants lined up behind me cheering and clapping along too. Sadly my voice let me down too much to be in the running for a prize, but I didn't mind at all. The winners were incredible (the winner of the first prize had a truly jaw-dropping voice), and I felt like I had leveled up in life. I got a lot of attention outside the competitions regarding how I'd done my makeup too, which was funny (falsies- of course, rhinestones around my eyes and lots of pink and glitter).
When I posted the video on my Facebook, my friend Ruthie- who I've known since I was at school- commented:
'Wow. had strange moments of remembering how shy you were when we met...and watching this... amazing xxx'
I replied:
'This caterpillar sure turned into one crazy-ass butterfly, huh? xxx'
Honestly, if you'd have known me those thirteen years ago- hell, even as little as three years ago- I'd have never dreamed of getting up on stage in the middle of London and potentially making an utter arse of myself in front of thousands of strangers. Sure I performed all the time on the piano at school concerts all the time and one or two other things, but I always felt secure behind a piano- but even after years of singing, I never liked singing in front of people. But you know what? Saturday felt fantastic. I'm definitely going to practise so I can do a better job next year, if I'm lucky enough to be accepted a second time.
In the meantime, I feel like I'm ready to venture back into music again- I do have a dipABRSM in performance and two additional Grade 8's after all and it would be a shame to let them go to waste... if only I could find a way to squeeze it in between baking, writing and the Mandarin course and Google Analytics course I've recently taken up.
In any case, I turn 26 next weekend. Bring it on, bitches. I'm ready.
It was EPIC.
Even though nerves made my voice go horribly strained and wobbly from trying to escape my throat, I danced by butt off and felt pretty epic. I had an amazing bunch of friends cheering me on, my mum and dad looking on in pride and amusement, and the other amazing contestants lined up behind me cheering and clapping along too. Sadly my voice let me down too much to be in the running for a prize, but I didn't mind at all. The winners were incredible (the winner of the first prize had a truly jaw-dropping voice), and I felt like I had leveled up in life. I got a lot of attention outside the competitions regarding how I'd done my makeup too, which was funny (falsies- of course, rhinestones around my eyes and lots of pink and glitter).
When I posted the video on my Facebook, my friend Ruthie- who I've known since I was at school- commented:
'Wow. had strange moments of remembering how shy you were when we met...and watching this... amazing xxx'
I replied:
'This caterpillar sure turned into one crazy-ass butterfly, huh? xxx'
Honestly, if you'd have known me those thirteen years ago- hell, even as little as three years ago- I'd have never dreamed of getting up on stage in the middle of London and potentially making an utter arse of myself in front of thousands of strangers. Sure I performed all the time on the piano at school concerts all the time and one or two other things, but I always felt secure behind a piano- but even after years of singing, I never liked singing in front of people. But you know what? Saturday felt fantastic. I'm definitely going to practise so I can do a better job next year, if I'm lucky enough to be accepted a second time.
In the meantime, I feel like I'm ready to venture back into music again- I do have a dipABRSM in performance and two additional Grade 8's after all and it would be a shame to let them go to waste... if only I could find a way to squeeze it in between baking, writing and the Mandarin course and Google Analytics course I've recently taken up.
In any case, I turn 26 next weekend. Bring it on, bitches. I'm ready.
Monday, 12 August 2013
Self-Marketing: A Case Study with a Surprise
Everyone has different facets of their personality. At least, people are rarely two-dimensional, and there are lots of things that make you, well, you. However, I believe everyone has a facet that they put out there as their main USP for the world to judge them with. It's hard for me to determine what my own main USP is, but my general geekiness is definitely one that I don't bother to suppress.
This weekend I managed to bust out two almost contrasting sides of myself, one day after another: the Geeky Dorky Girl (GDG), and the slightly rarer Sophisticated City Gal (SCG) . Where GDG has a shy, slightly bashful smile, is hesitant to meet your eyes and will suddenly become comically animated when you talk to her about sci-fi, Super Mario or fantasy, SCG is confident and collected with an easy laugh.
On Friday night I was SCG, and Saturday and Sunday I was GDG.
My friend Siu Yen came to visit me in London over the weekend, and we began by going to a cocktail bar on the Friday night. We both styled ourselves with nice-but-not-too-OTT dresses, tamed and styled our hair to enhance our natural looks (sleek and straight for Siu Yen, boho waves for me), and made our faces up with careful precision (again to suit our natural looks, because neither of us likes the heavy makeup look). Still, we were pretty polished, and looking at our best for the evening.
Siu Yen and I are both slightly dorky and cute but very intelligent, and we share a very similar sense of humour and way of thinking- but Siu Yen is a little more used to dressing up and partying in the more traditional sense than I am- don't get me wrong, I love doing girly stuff, but my time is more often taken up by nerdy things like conventions and visiting places. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see me all dolled up when we met for cocktails with another friend (that's how often I go the extra mile to look nice), and off we went to hit the bar.
The first person to try to strike up a conversation with me at the bar was a man old enough to be my father. I politely chatted with him without encouraging further questions until he moved on to rejoin his group of friends, and I turned to Siu Yen and lamented at how I only ever seem to attract much older guys (it certainly seems to be true, sometimes). However to my personal quiet relief, another guy started chatting to me, and he was more my age. Thank goodness it's not only older men that like the look of me, after all! I mean I know I'm awesome on the inside, but let's face it: in this unjust world, first impressions are everything. In any case, I wasn't interested, and after a few good-natured digs at each other's choices of drinks I re-grouped with my friends.
I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if I was interested in the second guy, and I thought of how he'd probably run a mile as soon as he found out that beneath my charming, elegant exterior was hiding a slightly awkward supernerd who only properly styles her hair once every few months. I certainly found that the young professional guys during my social experiment pretty much eliminated me as a serious option the more they discovered how dorky I really am. On the other scale of things, when I'm 'off-duty' and just my normal slightly dorky self, there's still a professional,strong-willed and sharp person under that, too.
In any case, it gave me a bit of an always much-needed confidence boost. I often think that older men chat me up because they think I might be easier because I'm not as stunning as other girls in the room (I'm alright-looking, but I'm no classic Ten). It's nice once in a while when I get noticed by someone more my age in any case, even if on a selfish level because I'm not interested back. Anyway, at the end of the evening I took my SCG face off, brushed my immaculate SCG curls back into my hair's usual slightly fluffy shock of waves, and by the next day I'd morphed into GDG- my fallback facet.
I own quite a few nerdy T-shirts. A Big Bang Theory-themed one with the word 'BAZINGA' emblazoned on the front in large writing, a crossover one with some minions from Despicable Me carrying off the TARDIS, more than one My Neighbour Totoro T-shirt, one with the Thundercats logo, a pretty cool 3D effect from from Cyberdog... but my current favourite one is a picture of all the main characters of Marvel's The Avengers as cartoon cats. It's freaking adorable. This is what I wore on Saturday, with some cropped linen trousers and sandals. Not exactly 'hot girl material', but it was very me.
Ironically, I told Siu Yen about my theory about me getting more attention when I'm dressed up, but whenever I'm more like myself, no-one so much as glances in my direction. I noted how although I hate being the centre of attention and quite like vanishing into the crowd, I do feel kind of sad that the exterior of the 'real me' doesn't seem worth a bother. Does that mean that the interior that goes with it isn't worth a bother, too? That is of course ridiculous- but the problem of course is that you have to get to know me over time to realise there's more to me than that. It's the same for everybody- but alas, some people get a visual head start in life.
The irony of that conversation happened when Siu Yen and I went shopping, and I was paying for my stuff at the checkout of a semi-stylish high street store. The guy serving me at the counter glanced at my Avenger Cats T-shirt and quirked an eyebrow at me. I felt a little self-conscious, but stared back politely but defiantly. I assessed him quickly: gelled spiky hair, effortless smart-casual style, a slightly haughty stance- he probably didn't have a nerdy bone in his body.
"Nice shirt," he said, scanning the surprisingly) fashionable top I'd just bought.
"Thanks," I said, thinking he was being slightly sarcastic but deciding to play along as if he were being sincere. "Cats- awesome, Avengers- epic, can't go wrong!"
The guy grinned, and I suddenly felt slightly defensive.
"Sorry," I said, instantly mad at myself for apologising like I always do, "Super-geek."
He looked a little surprised, and then he said something that blew me away.
"Me, too. Marvel, games, Warcraft, love it."
Now I was the one judging a book by its cover. Great. Wait, Warcraft?
"World of Warcraft? I lost like, a good two years of my life to that game! I quit just before the Cataclysm expansion because I got bored of how long it took to get from level 75 to 80."
"Well I've lost eight years and counting, but I really got into it during the Wrath of the Litch King."
"That's when I started playing, but I got sick of waiting for the right gear to drop from bosses."
"I guess I got lucky, now I have three level 90 guys."
"Geeze that's dedication."
I was aware of Siu Yen grinning off to the side, a little non-plussed at the WoW talk having never played it. In the end I paid for my stuff, all the while chatting away about the nerdiest stuff ever, and left grinning like a lunatic. Finally, for once someone noticing the real (well, more genuine) me from the start! It felt amazing. Maybe I don't have to be SCG all the time to be taken seriously as a person. I spent the rest of the day in a great mood.
The next day, I came to the station with Siu Yen to see her off, wearing my BAZINGA top. When we were in the coffee shop, the girl behind the counter pointed to my T-shirt and said to me "amazing top, I LOVE that show! Where did you get it from?"
I was in a great mood that day, too.
So even I am guilty of judging people by the way they present themselves, and there are people out there that will notice me when I'm not all dolled up too. In which case, I should learn to look at people in a different way, and remember that there's more to people than what they put out there on the surface for the world to see. I know this. Everyone knows this. It's just hard to remember sometimes when you're wrapped up in your own world of facets.
This weekend I managed to bust out two almost contrasting sides of myself, one day after another: the Geeky Dorky Girl (GDG), and the slightly rarer Sophisticated City Gal (SCG) . Where GDG has a shy, slightly bashful smile, is hesitant to meet your eyes and will suddenly become comically animated when you talk to her about sci-fi, Super Mario or fantasy, SCG is confident and collected with an easy laugh.
On Friday night I was SCG, and Saturday and Sunday I was GDG.
My friend Siu Yen came to visit me in London over the weekend, and we began by going to a cocktail bar on the Friday night. We both styled ourselves with nice-but-not-too-OTT dresses, tamed and styled our hair to enhance our natural looks (sleek and straight for Siu Yen, boho waves for me), and made our faces up with careful precision (again to suit our natural looks, because neither of us likes the heavy makeup look). Still, we were pretty polished, and looking at our best for the evening.
Siu Yen and I are both slightly dorky and cute but very intelligent, and we share a very similar sense of humour and way of thinking- but Siu Yen is a little more used to dressing up and partying in the more traditional sense than I am- don't get me wrong, I love doing girly stuff, but my time is more often taken up by nerdy things like conventions and visiting places. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see me all dolled up when we met for cocktails with another friend (that's how often I go the extra mile to look nice), and off we went to hit the bar.
The first person to try to strike up a conversation with me at the bar was a man old enough to be my father. I politely chatted with him without encouraging further questions until he moved on to rejoin his group of friends, and I turned to Siu Yen and lamented at how I only ever seem to attract much older guys (it certainly seems to be true, sometimes). However to my personal quiet relief, another guy started chatting to me, and he was more my age. Thank goodness it's not only older men that like the look of me, after all! I mean I know I'm awesome on the inside, but let's face it: in this unjust world, first impressions are everything. In any case, I wasn't interested, and after a few good-natured digs at each other's choices of drinks I re-grouped with my friends.
I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if I was interested in the second guy, and I thought of how he'd probably run a mile as soon as he found out that beneath my charming, elegant exterior was hiding a slightly awkward supernerd who only properly styles her hair once every few months. I certainly found that the young professional guys during my social experiment pretty much eliminated me as a serious option the more they discovered how dorky I really am. On the other scale of things, when I'm 'off-duty' and just my normal slightly dorky self, there's still a professional,strong-willed and sharp person under that, too.
In any case, it gave me a bit of an always much-needed confidence boost. I often think that older men chat me up because they think I might be easier because I'm not as stunning as other girls in the room (I'm alright-looking, but I'm no classic Ten). It's nice once in a while when I get noticed by someone more my age in any case, even if on a selfish level because I'm not interested back. Anyway, at the end of the evening I took my SCG face off, brushed my immaculate SCG curls back into my hair's usual slightly fluffy shock of waves, and by the next day I'd morphed into GDG- my fallback facet.
I own quite a few nerdy T-shirts. A Big Bang Theory-themed one with the word 'BAZINGA' emblazoned on the front in large writing, a crossover one with some minions from Despicable Me carrying off the TARDIS, more than one My Neighbour Totoro T-shirt, one with the Thundercats logo, a pretty cool 3D effect from from Cyberdog... but my current favourite one is a picture of all the main characters of Marvel's The Avengers as cartoon cats. It's freaking adorable. This is what I wore on Saturday, with some cropped linen trousers and sandals. Not exactly 'hot girl material', but it was very me.
Ironically, I told Siu Yen about my theory about me getting more attention when I'm dressed up, but whenever I'm more like myself, no-one so much as glances in my direction. I noted how although I hate being the centre of attention and quite like vanishing into the crowd, I do feel kind of sad that the exterior of the 'real me' doesn't seem worth a bother. Does that mean that the interior that goes with it isn't worth a bother, too? That is of course ridiculous- but the problem of course is that you have to get to know me over time to realise there's more to me than that. It's the same for everybody- but alas, some people get a visual head start in life.
The irony of that conversation happened when Siu Yen and I went shopping, and I was paying for my stuff at the checkout of a semi-stylish high street store. The guy serving me at the counter glanced at my Avenger Cats T-shirt and quirked an eyebrow at me. I felt a little self-conscious, but stared back politely but defiantly. I assessed him quickly: gelled spiky hair, effortless smart-casual style, a slightly haughty stance- he probably didn't have a nerdy bone in his body.
"Nice shirt," he said, scanning the surprisingly) fashionable top I'd just bought.
"Thanks," I said, thinking he was being slightly sarcastic but deciding to play along as if he were being sincere. "Cats- awesome, Avengers- epic, can't go wrong!"
The guy grinned, and I suddenly felt slightly defensive.
"Sorry," I said, instantly mad at myself for apologising like I always do, "Super-geek."
He looked a little surprised, and then he said something that blew me away.
"Me, too. Marvel, games, Warcraft, love it."
Now I was the one judging a book by its cover. Great. Wait, Warcraft?
"World of Warcraft? I lost like, a good two years of my life to that game! I quit just before the Cataclysm expansion because I got bored of how long it took to get from level 75 to 80."
"Well I've lost eight years and counting, but I really got into it during the Wrath of the Litch King."
"That's when I started playing, but I got sick of waiting for the right gear to drop from bosses."
"I guess I got lucky, now I have three level 90 guys."
"Geeze that's dedication."
I was aware of Siu Yen grinning off to the side, a little non-plussed at the WoW talk having never played it. In the end I paid for my stuff, all the while chatting away about the nerdiest stuff ever, and left grinning like a lunatic. Finally, for once someone noticing the real (well, more genuine) me from the start! It felt amazing. Maybe I don't have to be SCG all the time to be taken seriously as a person. I spent the rest of the day in a great mood.
The next day, I came to the station with Siu Yen to see her off, wearing my BAZINGA top. When we were in the coffee shop, the girl behind the counter pointed to my T-shirt and said to me "amazing top, I LOVE that show! Where did you get it from?"
I was in a great mood that day, too.
So even I am guilty of judging people by the way they present themselves, and there are people out there that will notice me when I'm not all dolled up too. In which case, I should learn to look at people in a different way, and remember that there's more to people than what they put out there on the surface for the world to see. I know this. Everyone knows this. It's just hard to remember sometimes when you're wrapped up in your own world of facets.
Saturday, 27 April 2013
Unintentional Gluttony, Brain Freeze and Rest
I revisited one of my favourite places for cake today (which also happens to be the location that this post took place in). I always become a little over-ambitious when it comes to dessert, so I tried to go light on the drink- to no avail.
Also (see, this post isn't just a lazy repost!) the last part of this post's title should really be 'Lack of Rest'. I've been burning my candle at both ends lately, with a full-time job, writing for four blogs in total, baking and recipe-creating for two out of those four blogs, looking into more writing work on the side to build experience and looking into training and courses for myself in my spare time. Then I exercise nearly every day, and snatch a few moments here and there for other hobbies like craft and music (ah the days when all of my spare hours were spent on the piano...) There are, quite literally, not enough hours in the day.
I love being busy, but I thought I was fine with energy levels until today on the tube, when I wandered onto two wrong trains in a row to meet my visiting friend today, and then straight away led her onto three wrong trains in different directions to a place that I go to all the time.
I think it's a sign I need some me-time. Looking at my diary, I think I can book myself a time slot for that sometime in June...
Also (see, this post isn't just a lazy repost!) the last part of this post's title should really be 'Lack of Rest'. I've been burning my candle at both ends lately, with a full-time job, writing for four blogs in total, baking and recipe-creating for two out of those four blogs, looking into more writing work on the side to build experience and looking into training and courses for myself in my spare time. Then I exercise nearly every day, and snatch a few moments here and there for other hobbies like craft and music (ah the days when all of my spare hours were spent on the piano...) There are, quite literally, not enough hours in the day.
I love being busy, but I thought I was fine with energy levels until today on the tube, when I wandered onto two wrong trains in a row to meet my visiting friend today, and then straight away led her onto three wrong trains in different directions to a place that I go to all the time.
I think it's a sign I need some me-time. Looking at my diary, I think I can book myself a time slot for that sometime in June...
Monday, 25 March 2013
I'm Not Wealthy, but I'm Rich all the Same
(A follow-on from A Mixed Bag of Nothing):
A couple of days ago I was sitting in a café in London, looking out of a window that faced outwards into Chinatown. Behind me and to the side of me were lots of white and European people- in front of me outside were lots of Chinese people- and there I was, both physically and metaphorically smack dab in the middle of both sides. It gave me the warm fuzzies.
Tonight marked the first night of Passover and my family and I held the Seder night together. At the end of the service, as I cracked out the traditional Jewish sweets I had baked the day before, my mum told me:
"It's not so long ago we were celebrating Chinese New Year, you know. Tash, you have no idea how rich a background you come from."
Oh, I know, Mum. I know.
~Fin~
A couple of days ago I was sitting in a café in London, looking out of a window that faced outwards into Chinatown. Behind me and to the side of me were lots of white and European people- in front of me outside were lots of Chinese people- and there I was, both physically and metaphorically smack dab in the middle of both sides. It gave me the warm fuzzies.
Tonight marked the first night of Passover and my family and I held the Seder night together. At the end of the service, as I cracked out the traditional Jewish sweets I had baked the day before, my mum told me:
"It's not so long ago we were celebrating Chinese New Year, you know. Tash, you have no idea how rich a background you come from."
Oh, I know, Mum. I know.
~Fin~
Saturday, 23 March 2013
You Made my Day
Dear Tall Guy,
Thanks for catching me when I nearly wiped out on the tube, today. I did thank you at the time (albeit in a flustered, grinning 'ohmygoodnessthatwasembarrassing' kind of way), but I thought I'd say how much that little gesture meant to me, because it went against the usual big city 'People Don't Care' attitude. You probably saw me in front of you, reaching out but unable to grab at any of the holding bars because of this other guy who refused to budge up, and knew I was going to tumble backwards as soon as the train pulled off- and if you didn't see it coming, my imaginary hat goes off to you for your ninja-fast reaction.
You probably didn't think twice about such a small thing. I know I don't when I occasionally get to help out a random stranger. However, I've never myself experienced that sort of common decency from a member of the general public before.
Hell, the last time I fell over on a train, everyone around me in the carriage actually backed away from me in order to give me a clear shot at the floor. The worst incident was when I was at the top of the stairs on a double decker bus and the driver braked sharply, causing me to fall down the stairs in a heap: everyone made a point of looking away, and no-one asked if I was okay, let alone came to help me.
Over the years I've become quite disenfranchised with the general public, and I've been getting to the point where I've been considering giving up on being someone that looks out for others. But you reminded me today that not everybody is only out for themselves, and that there are still a few people left that give a damn, even if just a small damn. Even through it's not many, it's not nobody- and the world needs all the people who are willing to catch a falling stranger it can get.
I wouldn't say you've restored my faith in humanity- I still think we suck in general- but you've definitely restored my faith in the importance of looking out for your fellow man (or woman). So, thanks.
Yours sincerely,
Toppling Girl
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Afterword
Maybe I should be sad that something that should be seen as (and was, once up on a time) 'common decency' has been elevated to 'an act of kindless'- but it just made me happy that there is any common decency left in the first place. A sign of the times? Yes. A sign to give up? Not today.
~Fin~
Thanks for catching me when I nearly wiped out on the tube, today. I did thank you at the time (albeit in a flustered, grinning 'ohmygoodnessthatwasembarrassing' kind of way), but I thought I'd say how much that little gesture meant to me, because it went against the usual big city 'People Don't Care' attitude. You probably saw me in front of you, reaching out but unable to grab at any of the holding bars because of this other guy who refused to budge up, and knew I was going to tumble backwards as soon as the train pulled off- and if you didn't see it coming, my imaginary hat goes off to you for your ninja-fast reaction.
You probably didn't think twice about such a small thing. I know I don't when I occasionally get to help out a random stranger. However, I've never myself experienced that sort of common decency from a member of the general public before.
Hell, the last time I fell over on a train, everyone around me in the carriage actually backed away from me in order to give me a clear shot at the floor. The worst incident was when I was at the top of the stairs on a double decker bus and the driver braked sharply, causing me to fall down the stairs in a heap: everyone made a point of looking away, and no-one asked if I was okay, let alone came to help me.
Over the years I've become quite disenfranchised with the general public, and I've been getting to the point where I've been considering giving up on being someone that looks out for others. But you reminded me today that not everybody is only out for themselves, and that there are still a few people left that give a damn, even if just a small damn. Even through it's not many, it's not nobody- and the world needs all the people who are willing to catch a falling stranger it can get.
I wouldn't say you've restored my faith in humanity- I still think we suck in general- but you've definitely restored my faith in the importance of looking out for your fellow man (or woman). So, thanks.
Yours sincerely,
Toppling Girl
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Afterword
Maybe I should be sad that something that should be seen as (and was, once up on a time) 'common decency' has been elevated to 'an act of kindless'- but it just made me happy that there is any common decency left in the first place. A sign of the times? Yes. A sign to give up? Not today.
~Fin~
Sunday, 10 March 2013
A Mixed Bag of Nothing
A direct quote from one of my other blogs, Where I Like To Eat:
'...I am in fact Jewish, as well as being half Chinese. An unusual mix, granted, and indeed when with either side of my family I feel neither Jewish enough nor Chinese enough- but at least that makes me exotic and interesting (at least I like to think so!)'
I've never had a problem with being a mixed bag of blood (specifically half Chinese with Russian and Polish blood from the Jewish side). In fact, I've always thought of my mixed background as pretty darn cool: I get the elegant mystique of the Far East along with the proud grittiness of East Europe. I can handle both my stinky fermented tofu andmy drink my chopped liver like a pro. I've never felt a crisis of identity, or an insecurity in who I am, or a feeling of not belonging. I've always felt that I belonged everywhere, and that anywhere could be home.
That is, until relatively recently.
It all started about a month ago, on the week of Chinese New Year (just to clarify, I've always found myself identifying with my Chinese side a tiny bit more than my European side). A colleague of mine brought in some oranges to celebrate. Later on I caught her by the printer, an orange in my hand, to thank her. I laughed that I was glad to have some fruit, after having way too much nian gao (new year sticky rice cake). My colleague gave me a funny look.
"Nian gao..?" She asked.
"Er... yeah, you know- sticky rice cake. I bought one of those cute fish-shaped ones," I added helpfully. My colleague gave me an uncertain smile.
"Natasha, you're not Chinese are you?"
I suddenly felt uncomfortable- it's not the first time it's been noted that I look extremely un-Oriental, but it was definitely the first time I felt almost caught-out. I explained I was half, and conversation awkwardly petered out.
I made my way back to my desk and had a sudden flashback, back to when I was at school:
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I was walking down the hallway with a Chinese friend, and she was talking about setting up a club for the Chinese pupils of the school. I said I thought this was a great idea, and I'd love to help out and join. My friend laughed.
"You're not really Chinese though, are you?" she said.
I was unfazed. "'Course I am! I mean I may not be 100% Chinese, but I have enough Chinese DNA to count I think."
"Oh Tash you know what I mean- I mean you're not Chinese enough."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Not Chinese enough.
At the time I was too bogged down with all my musical extra-curricular activities to care much that I didn't have another to add to my list, but I find myself caring now, after about a decade.
On a similar vein, I was thinking of giving dancing a whirl, recently- for fitness, and because I believe in completing things on your bucket list well before you'd normally consider having a bucket list (I'm just that organised in life). I thought of how cool it would be to do some traditional Chinese dancing- with fans and ribbons and whatnot. So I did some Googling and found a group that do adult workshops in London.
My usual devil-may-care confidence went a bit wobbly when I saw the photos of the willowy, beautiful, extremely Chinese ladies practising in their qipaos. And here's me, with my European curves, unremarkable features and distinctly un-Chinese face, hoping to join them.
I'd be like a goose amongst cranes.
Another spanner in the works is my shoddy grasp of the language- despite having studied Mandarin as a side-module at university for two years. It doesn't help that my Chinese friends have all been Cantonese-speakers and the Chinese side of my family speaks Hakka rather than Mandarin, but it's a poor excuse, even so. In fact, I studied Japanese for one year and for some bizarre reason excelled at it, while two years studying my heritage language bore slightly weaker results.
So here I am, wanting to be more involved in my own culture- but finding out that it's not my culture, after all- not really. In fact, it's starting to occur to me that my Chinese friends and family- or at least the people in Chinatown, Wing Yip or other places I frequent with a Chinese community- might actually see me as a bit of a White Girl Wannabe.
Only even without the Chinese side, I'm not really a White Girl, either.
So where the bloody hell do I belong?
I'll never find a community I can fully fit into- it's in the nature of being mixed race, after all, and I think I've forgotten this somewhere along the way. In the meantime, I'll continue to enjoy eating lots of different types of food and learning about my different heritages: and every time someone finds out for the first time that I'm half-Chinese and that my middle name is Ching, and responds with stark disbelief, I'll just have to get over it.
Perhaps I will ask about that dance group- perhaps not. I definitely want to take up Mandarin again (and Japanese while I'm at it- no sense in letting my knack for it go to waste...) I just wish I were as blissfully unaware of my 'unwholeness' as I was before. I suppose I'll just have to find a new level of accepting myself, and not caring about what other people think.
And yes, my middle name really is Ching.
~Fin~
'...I am in fact Jewish, as well as being half Chinese. An unusual mix, granted, and indeed when with either side of my family I feel neither Jewish enough nor Chinese enough- but at least that makes me exotic and interesting (at least I like to think so!)'
I've never had a problem with being a mixed bag of blood (specifically half Chinese with Russian and Polish blood from the Jewish side). In fact, I've always thought of my mixed background as pretty darn cool: I get the elegant mystique of the Far East along with the proud grittiness of East Europe. I can handle both my stinky fermented tofu and
That is, until relatively recently.
It all started about a month ago, on the week of Chinese New Year (just to clarify, I've always found myself identifying with my Chinese side a tiny bit more than my European side). A colleague of mine brought in some oranges to celebrate. Later on I caught her by the printer, an orange in my hand, to thank her. I laughed that I was glad to have some fruit, after having way too much nian gao (new year sticky rice cake). My colleague gave me a funny look.
"Nian gao..?" She asked.
"Er... yeah, you know- sticky rice cake. I bought one of those cute fish-shaped ones," I added helpfully. My colleague gave me an uncertain smile.
"Natasha, you're not Chinese are you?"
I suddenly felt uncomfortable- it's not the first time it's been noted that I look extremely un-Oriental, but it was definitely the first time I felt almost caught-out. I explained I was half, and conversation awkwardly petered out.
I made my way back to my desk and had a sudden flashback, back to when I was at school:
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I was walking down the hallway with a Chinese friend, and she was talking about setting up a club for the Chinese pupils of the school. I said I thought this was a great idea, and I'd love to help out and join. My friend laughed.
"You're not really Chinese though, are you?" she said.
I was unfazed. "'Course I am! I mean I may not be 100% Chinese, but I have enough Chinese DNA to count I think."
"Oh Tash you know what I mean- I mean you're not Chinese enough."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Not Chinese enough.
At the time I was too bogged down with all my musical extra-curricular activities to care much that I didn't have another to add to my list, but I find myself caring now, after about a decade.
On a similar vein, I was thinking of giving dancing a whirl, recently- for fitness, and because I believe in completing things on your bucket list well before you'd normally consider having a bucket list (I'm just that organised in life). I thought of how cool it would be to do some traditional Chinese dancing- with fans and ribbons and whatnot. So I did some Googling and found a group that do adult workshops in London.
My usual devil-may-care confidence went a bit wobbly when I saw the photos of the willowy, beautiful, extremely Chinese ladies practising in their qipaos. And here's me, with my European curves, unremarkable features and distinctly un-Chinese face, hoping to join them.
I'd be like a goose amongst cranes.
Another spanner in the works is my shoddy grasp of the language- despite having studied Mandarin as a side-module at university for two years. It doesn't help that my Chinese friends have all been Cantonese-speakers and the Chinese side of my family speaks Hakka rather than Mandarin, but it's a poor excuse, even so. In fact, I studied Japanese for one year and for some bizarre reason excelled at it, while two years studying my heritage language bore slightly weaker results.
So here I am, wanting to be more involved in my own culture- but finding out that it's not my culture, after all- not really. In fact, it's starting to occur to me that my Chinese friends and family- or at least the people in Chinatown, Wing Yip or other places I frequent with a Chinese community- might actually see me as a bit of a White Girl Wannabe.
Only even without the Chinese side, I'm not really a White Girl, either.
So where the bloody hell do I belong?
I'll never find a community I can fully fit into- it's in the nature of being mixed race, after all, and I think I've forgotten this somewhere along the way. In the meantime, I'll continue to enjoy eating lots of different types of food and learning about my different heritages: and every time someone finds out for the first time that I'm half-Chinese and that my middle name is Ching, and responds with stark disbelief, I'll just have to get over it.
Perhaps I will ask about that dance group- perhaps not. I definitely want to take up Mandarin again (and Japanese while I'm at it- no sense in letting my knack for it go to waste...) I just wish I were as blissfully unaware of my 'unwholeness' as I was before. I suppose I'll just have to find a new level of accepting myself, and not caring about what other people think.
And yes, my middle name really is Ching.
~Fin~
Saturday, 2 February 2013
Moments with Friends- Part 1
I wish I could write down every single special (in every sense of the word) moment I share with each of my friends to keep for ever and ever- it's possibly a bit late to start now, since so many have already been all but forgotten.
Like the time Ruthie and I bought some snacks and were deciding who's bag to put them in, and a total stranger (a guy, for the record) walking past quipped to Ruth 'Put it in yours, totally.'
Or another time when Siu Yen, Josh and I were attempting a trio self-photo when a guy suddenly jumped over the fence behind us, exclaiming 'Yeeeah picture time guys, this is great!', got his phone out and self-photo-ed himself with the three of us before disappearing. (All three of us assumed that the other two of us knew this guy. No-one knew this guy.)
Or the time Toria and I were at Sidmouth folk music festival and she pulled me out of being run into when I blindly walked into a circle of Morris men weilding sticks about to start dancing.
Or even the time Lucia and I spent a good amount of time hand-making dryad costumes for a 'The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe' costume party, painting on our faces and putting streamers in our hair and everything, when everyone else turned up looking normal (save for one rather half-arsed Lion and one guy who wore a box marked 'Wardrobe').
I think I need to start capturing more of these, starting from now.
Today, Siu Yen and I went on an afternoon tea cruise on the Thames. (Tea and cake on a boat- what's not to like?) We had about half an hour of a guided tour down the river just before food was served, and although a lot of other people were just talking through it, Siu Yen and I were paying attention. Mostly, anyway.
"Where's the dog?" Asked my friend.
"What dog?" I asked, frowning.
"He (the tour guide) just said: 'And on the right you'll see a wet dog.'"
"Siu Yen, I think he said 'wet dock'."
"Ohh! I did think that was a weird thing to point out."
Later on, we were trying to decide who wanted which macaron (there was a chocolate one, a vanilla one and a strawberry one): I find this sort of uneven rationing of food slightly irritating, and usually solve it with a game, wager or a song depending on the situation. Since neither of us particularly wanted one over the other, I went for a song. I pointed my finger at the closest morsel, and sang under my breath 'My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean', jabbing at each macaron with each syllable until the song had finished and I landed on the one that I'd end up eating.
As I landed on the final one ('Oh bring back my bonnie to ME') and plucked it from the tray, I caught my friend staring warily at me.
"Er... what?"
"What on Earth was that?" Asked my friend.
"What?" I asked again, macaron still hovering in mid-air halfway to my mouth.
"That song, what was it? It was a little creepy!"
"You've never heard of My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean? Old folk song, men going off to war, the women sing about it and the like?"
"Nope. But I'm glad it's 'Bonnie'. I thought you said 'Body'."
~Fin~
Like the time Ruthie and I bought some snacks and were deciding who's bag to put them in, and a total stranger (a guy, for the record) walking past quipped to Ruth 'Put it in yours, totally.'
Or another time when Siu Yen, Josh and I were attempting a trio self-photo when a guy suddenly jumped over the fence behind us, exclaiming 'Yeeeah picture time guys, this is great!', got his phone out and self-photo-ed himself with the three of us before disappearing. (All three of us assumed that the other two of us knew this guy. No-one knew this guy.)
Or the time Toria and I were at Sidmouth folk music festival and she pulled me out of being run into when I blindly walked into a circle of Morris men weilding sticks about to start dancing.
Or even the time Lucia and I spent a good amount of time hand-making dryad costumes for a 'The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe' costume party, painting on our faces and putting streamers in our hair and everything, when everyone else turned up looking normal (save for one rather half-arsed Lion and one guy who wore a box marked 'Wardrobe').
I think I need to start capturing more of these, starting from now.
Today, Siu Yen and I went on an afternoon tea cruise on the Thames. (Tea and cake on a boat- what's not to like?) We had about half an hour of a guided tour down the river just before food was served, and although a lot of other people were just talking through it, Siu Yen and I were paying attention. Mostly, anyway.
"Where's the dog?" Asked my friend.
"What dog?" I asked, frowning.
"He (the tour guide) just said: 'And on the right you'll see a wet dog.'"
"Siu Yen, I think he said 'wet dock'."
"Ohh! I did think that was a weird thing to point out."
Later on, we were trying to decide who wanted which macaron (there was a chocolate one, a vanilla one and a strawberry one): I find this sort of uneven rationing of food slightly irritating, and usually solve it with a game, wager or a song depending on the situation. Since neither of us particularly wanted one over the other, I went for a song. I pointed my finger at the closest morsel, and sang under my breath 'My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean', jabbing at each macaron with each syllable until the song had finished and I landed on the one that I'd end up eating.
As I landed on the final one ('Oh bring back my bonnie to ME') and plucked it from the tray, I caught my friend staring warily at me.
"Er... what?"
"What on Earth was that?" Asked my friend.
"What?" I asked again, macaron still hovering in mid-air halfway to my mouth.
"That song, what was it? It was a little creepy!"
"You've never heard of My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean? Old folk song, men going off to war, the women sing about it and the like?"
"Nope. But I'm glad it's 'Bonnie'. I thought you said 'Body'."
~Fin~
Thursday, 15 November 2012
QUEST! The Mystery of the Lost SD Card
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| Has anyone seen any of these guys before? |
My friend Gurpreet visited from Birmingham last weekend and found an SD on the tube with 421 of someone else's holiday images on it, and now he's trying to find the owner to return the card to them- aside from sharing and passing on this photo on Facebook (hoping the whole seven degrees of separation thing works somewhere down the road), here's m contribution to his quest.
A little background on Gurp- crazy things happen to me weekly. Positively insane things happen to Gurp almost every day. One of my personal favourite stories of his is the time he accidentally ingested antifreeze, managed to stagger to a wedding without dying, and accidentally found out at the wedding that whisky is a legitimate cure for antifreeze poisoning (no joke- but don't try it at home, kids). Just before he visited we were joking that with the two of us in the same place in the same time, something mind-blowing was bound to happen. In fact within the first five minutes of us and a few other friends meeting up a cash management van drove straight into a set of traffic lights right next to us.
Anyway, let's continue with the real story. It was after lunch, and five of us, mostly of battle reenactment stock, were strolling down Carnaby Street.
"Tash, did I tell you about the SD card?" Asked Gurp.
He, Drefan (otherwise known as Adam, and another friend I met through battle reenactment society- another story) and Drefan's girlfriend Julia were on the tube from Tooting Broadway to Leicester Square, on the northern line, when they found the SD card. We were all pretty excited, trying to guess what was stored on the little memory card- we decided that the most likely ones were definitely either holiday snaps, or a secret government mission that we'd have to take up on the demise of the previous owner/ secret agent and then the card would self-destruct as soon as we'd received further instructions.
Gods, we really hoped it was the latter.
When Gurp returned home he popped the card into his camera (reasoning that it was less likely to corrupt and destroy his camera than his computer if there was any bad software on the card), and found over four hundred photos. Gurp being Gurp, and never one to back down on a quest, began his detective work (which has already proven successful in the past when it comes to random lost items).
After looking through the photos for clues, landmarks and signs, he managed to deduce the following things:
-The photos were of a group of people backpacking in Venezuela
-The group of people seemed to range from 18-25 years old
- At least one of them belongs to C.U.L.N.C, the Cambridge University Ladies' Netball Club
- The SD card was (as mentioned) dropped on that Northern Line train
So. If anyone reading this happens to know anything, please tell these people to get in touch so we can return their awesome-looking memories. If you're the owner(s) of these pictures, so sorry we looked through them and I hope you don't mind me posting these two photos- I hope we can get the pics back to you!
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