The Long Line

The long line ahead. That's what you should be looking down, when you drive. Those seemingly big problems you have could just be small splatters of dust on a windshield.

They'll remain for a while. Occasionally, your eyes will wander, notice, and widen at the sight of them. As if you forgot they were there. Accept that they exist.

Keep your hands on the wheel.

Sure, sometimes there's a crack on your window. You should stop and get it fixed. Really though, cracks are rare.

It's a long road ahead. But keep seeing as far as you can see.

Trust me, it's gonna be an awesome ride.

On listening to Under the Cover of Darkness

wacky. that's how i want to be. in the kick-a-trash-can kind of way.

but i'm not like that. i just end up being silly.

i know one thing for sure. every time you're around, i know i'm at the right place. but even more, i wish i could go places with you. set ourselves free.

of course, all this is foolish talk. unless you feel the same. do you? i doubt it.

"why such thoughts? it's all sentimental bull."

you're right. just wait. i'll see the moment when it comes up.

let's go

inTENSE

As I type these words in the library, there's a man sitting a couple seats away. He types loudly, at an unnecessarily high volume. Sometimes it's like he's playing a note on the piano, in super forte. Every once in a while he sighs. Actually, he just exhales. Everyone can hear him. Well, everyone as in me and this other girl in the room. I mean, it is the second day of classes. What's my excuse? I'm typing applications for a research position. Cover letters are bitches, with resumes as their complementary pair of Uggs boots. But enough about those.

People probably find me rather odd, because I get so excited about things that seem anything but. Like this talk about mushrooms (link). Or a project (more commonly referred to as work).

I had a friend in high school who brought up to my attention one very important thing: I needed to chill. Sometimes he'd even get sick of me and shun me away. Then one time during class, I brought out an egg beef and lettuce sandwich. People turned, looked, and started asking a slew of questions. "What's in it?" "Where'd you get it?" "You gonna eat that?" And I responded "Guys, it's just a sandwich. Chill the fuck out." My friend then noted that if I of all people wanted people to chill, then people really needed to chill.

Since then, I haven't had a similar moment. It's usually the other way around. I'm frightened. I am damn well going to stay passionate. Life is awesome for me that way. But I don't want to end up like that guy, typing madly on the computer. I don't want to intimidate people with my behavior. And I definitely don't want to be the douche imposing their "passions" onto others. As much as I want other people to get excited, people should live at their own pace.

I guess I'll have to watch myself.



Fill the chuck out

Dear Miss Tiger Lady,

I have just read your article on the Wall Street Journal. Beforehand, I’ve thought about parenting in some aspects. I sometimes imagine hypotheticals. “What if my parents did this when I was four? Seven?” Your article brought into question a lot that I’ve taken for granted. The story at the end was the kicker, bringing doubt to the way I view parents. For this, I thank you greatly.

Still, I’m left to wonder how justified some of your standards are, particularly with grades. You dictated at the very beginning that your children were not allowed to get less than an A nor be less than #1 in their class. You then proceeded to interpret why Chinese parents would think in such a way.

Fallacy of composition aside, I still disagree. For one, students could incorrectly interpret it by focusing purely on the grades and not on the effort they spend or the real lessons they learn. This could result in cheating and plagiarism. Of course, the iron grip of a tiger mom may prevent the very thought of cheating. But I digress. The thing is, such a rule seems to over emphasize the results over the process, when in fact attention to process produces great results.

The bigger fear I have with this standard originates from a situation I encountered in college. During my freshman year, many of my friends started off in an introductory calculus class. Anxiously smiling, they took the first exam of their college lives under that subject. Afterwards, I heard their general consensus. “It was a massive rape.” To state the statistics, the average score on the exam was a 38% and the highest score was an 80%. This would raise many questions about the students, professors, and the whole education system. But at the end of the day, the big question is: how will students react to this? It seems intuitive that the student’s self-esteem would drop to an abyss with such previous expectations.

Let’s now put a Tiger Mother-raised student into this situation. All her life, she was told that the only acceptable grade was an “A.” A “B” would get her shouts of “Garbage!” from the phone. I won’t even try to imagine what would happen to the student who got the average score. But maybe you are suggesting that, under the expectations of a Tiger Mother, one would have the confidence to say “I can do better” and not sulk over such failures. Of course, now I am inserting words in your mouth. I would really like to know what you would say to your child, if she got a B (or dare I say it, a grade near 38%).

Best Regards,

Mr. Now Ashamed Piano Quitter