So, Shakira has a song, "Las de La Intuicion"[English: Pure Intuition], and it's great. I've listened to it like eighty times in the past two-three days.
I'm kind of pressed for time, I'll be getting lunch in like 10 minutes or so. But I had some things on my mind that I wanted to get down into an entry.
1. I am extremely tired of English.
Who am I kidding: i love English. It's the best language ever, after Japanese. [And probably Arabic] But I feel as if I fall back on it so much-- when I'm learning Chinese-- I use English translations to understand grammatical concepts. Ditto for when I'm learning Japanese and Spanish. So, I was wondering: is there a way that I can get rid of English?
I feel like, even in China, I use it so often: I use it to communicate with my American classmates here, when I browse online, I read English articles, my blog is in English, lately I've been listening to more music in English.
Now, I'd guess it's impossible to get rid of all of the English in my life. But, for the little bit that I can change, I'm going to work on.
My blog will stay in English, haha. But I think I may actually take a serious language pledge this time-- no conversations with my classmates in English unless it's necessary.[And, there are times, ie. during our mandatory culture classes, conducted in English] No more music in English.[Not so hard.] And as little English internet use as possible.
This also has to do with my feelings about Spanish-- like, I could be so close to being fluent, but for my laziness alone, I'm not. Compared to Chinese, Spanish is like a breeze, like learning a different dialect of English, haha. I'm reading El Alquimista/The Alchemist right now, and while I've forgotten a lot of stuff, it's getting very easy to recall words I've forgotten. And, in general, the gist of what's being said comes very easily. So, I think I just need to add a bit more work, and I could definitely get good with Spanish. Japanese is in a similar position, but I use it more often, so I'm a better Japanese speaker...probably. Which is funny.
That's one thing that bothers me, my Spanish speaking ability. My reading and hearing are both far above my speaking. So, another target.
What else. Oh, there's a whole bunch of Pablo stuff, that thankfully reached some sort of resolution, but that's probably another update. I also did take the pictures I said I would, but again, next update.
Later.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
"I was not sorry when my brother died."
And that, my friends, is the first line of a really great book called Nervous Conditions.
It's pretty amusing that I'm STILL READING The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, even though I finished Oracle Bones, which is probably around the same length, in about three to four days. I started Nervous Conditions, which is around half the size, on Saturday, finished it the next day. I've been ready The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle for at least two months.
It's an amazing book, so it's not because Oracle Bones is a better/easier read. TWUBC shits all over Oracle Bones. As much as I hate to admit it, it must be because despite the fact that I can find eBooks for...well, free, they are still not easy for me to read, compared to their physical copies. Bummer. [To be fair, I also rarely have time to give TWUBC the dedication I gave to the other two. My laptop rarely leaves my room, so I only read TWUBC when I'm here, which isn't too often. I can take regular books anywhere, and usually do-- dinner, class, wherever.]
But as I was saying, Nervous Conditions is an amazing book. I would like to say it reminds me of Jamaica Kincaid's "The Autobiography of my Mother" but the comparison might not actually be very fitting aferall. The only similarity that I can think of is that they're both black female protagonists with semi-similar personalities...maybe. But the settings of each novel and the voices used by each author are completely different. If I remember correctly, The Autobiography of my Mother takes place in the Caribbean, whereas Nervous Conditions happens in Rhodesia, or colonial Zimbabwe, in the 1960s. Further, while I got the distinct impression that Kincaid was a poet first and a novelist second, Tsitsi Dangarembga, the author of Nervous Conditions, doesn't give me that impression. In fact, she kind of reminds me of a Black female Nathaniel Hawthorne, if only in that her sentences are pretty long.[In my book, an automatic plus-- Hawthorne-iness is as close to godliness as most can get ] But both protagonists are kind of fierce, or at least Tambu, Nervous Conditions' protagonist, is. If the first sentence didn't demonstrate that she's a sort of tough cookie.
The book is pretty heavily feminist, I'd say-- perhaps only second in focus to race in the novel. The author also says so in an interview in my edition of the book, I think. There are a lot of bad men in this novel, from Tambu's father on up-- bad women too. But Tambu is a very strong character, and though I think I remember being bothered by her at times, I really was rooting for her the whole way through. She has to go through a lot of mess.
This is seriously one of the best books I've read in a while. I feel like I read a lot of crazy books most of the time, or at least books that aren't very connected to my life or anything that I can relate to-- stuff from Victorian England, Japanese Post-Modernism, what have you. But, as a young black person I guess, I really related to this book. And even if you're not young or black[if you're not a person...we'll probably have issues], there's still a lot to gain and a lot of struggle to relate to. And it's extremely well-written. Probably one of my favorite books of all time.
I'll try to write an actual review at some point-- it deserves one. Unfortunately, this isn't my book-- I borrowed it from a friend,. So I should probably write it soon, before I forget most of the details[too late?] or before someone else wants to borrow it.
Speaking of Victorian England, I've really got an urging to reread some Proust. That's another writer I like-- he's French. He's amazing. If you like old, stuffy writing, then you will probably love Proust, if you don't already. He wrote Swann's Way/A Rememberance of Things Past/Whatever's the Current translation for his trilogy.
So, that's what I've got to say about books.
Otherwise, things were fine-- my week always sucks on Monday[class from 8-7:30...that's right], sucks less on Tuesday[Class from 1-7:30], and starts getting great from Wednesday onwards. And it's Wednesday night so...holla. Went to class, hung with the classmates/friends, typical stuff.
Also, this typhoon business is done now. And somehow, when I woke up this morning, all of the water was completely gone-- I have no idea where it went, but I can only say that Chinese sewage systems must put American sewage systems to shame. Back in Jersey City, were we to get as much rain as we just did over here, we'd have water in the streets for years. I like to think there are some elves trapped away at this school and they all whisked the water away in their fancy boots.
Otherwise I, predictably, decided I wanted to censure my previous entries about Pablo. I'm not sure if I'll go in and edit. Maybe, probably not-- they were my honest thoughts for the most part, afterall. But the reasoning for this censuring is that I think I've regained some of my confidence and sanity. I don't know what it is about boys that makes me turn into a neurotic ass-- I was reminding myself of all of my female friends, combined into some homotional monster, haha. "Why is he texting me? What does he want from me? Should I say that-- what if I come off too obsessive? Why didn't he text me back-- it's been three hours." My goodness. It's such an odd position to be in.
So, to fix the situation, I decided to watch Noah's Arc and Queer as Folk. QAF really did the trick-- as much as Brian grosses me out, he is such a pimp. Such a true pimp.
Anyway my head is back on straight, I think-- one boy is rarely worth that much stress. In fact, I'm pretty sure I just haven't been using my time well enough, which is why I always seem to have the time to think about him. So, I decided I need more stuff to do.
I kinda forgot about my goal to step my reading into overdrive, so that will be back on. Also, one of my friends was thinking of running a marathon, and I think that's a great idea. So I think I decided I was gonna start training, Steven-style.[Which really means running on the track with incremental increases.] Plus, I really need to focus more on Chinese-- I speak with people and do my homework, but I don't think I'm doing the most I can to improve. So there's that.
I also decided I should probably get other prospects/hoes so that I'm not thinking about Pablo so often. I will keep you updated.
That's about it, for now. I'm pretty tied as well and I want to go to the gym in the morning tomorrow, so I will be heading off to bed now.
Deuces.
It's pretty amusing that I'm STILL READING The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, even though I finished Oracle Bones, which is probably around the same length, in about three to four days. I started Nervous Conditions, which is around half the size, on Saturday, finished it the next day. I've been ready The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle for at least two months.
It's an amazing book, so it's not because Oracle Bones is a better/easier read. TWUBC shits all over Oracle Bones. As much as I hate to admit it, it must be because despite the fact that I can find eBooks for...well, free, they are still not easy for me to read, compared to their physical copies. Bummer. [To be fair, I also rarely have time to give TWUBC the dedication I gave to the other two. My laptop rarely leaves my room, so I only read TWUBC when I'm here, which isn't too often. I can take regular books anywhere, and usually do-- dinner, class, wherever.]
But as I was saying, Nervous Conditions is an amazing book. I would like to say it reminds me of Jamaica Kincaid's "The Autobiography of my Mother" but the comparison might not actually be very fitting aferall. The only similarity that I can think of is that they're both black female protagonists with semi-similar personalities...maybe. But the settings of each novel and the voices used by each author are completely different. If I remember correctly, The Autobiography of my Mother takes place in the Caribbean, whereas Nervous Conditions happens in Rhodesia, or colonial Zimbabwe, in the 1960s. Further, while I got the distinct impression that Kincaid was a poet first and a novelist second, Tsitsi Dangarembga, the author of Nervous Conditions, doesn't give me that impression. In fact, she kind of reminds me of a Black female Nathaniel Hawthorne, if only in that her sentences are pretty long.[In my book, an automatic plus-- Hawthorne-iness is as close to godliness as most can get ] But both protagonists are kind of fierce, or at least Tambu, Nervous Conditions' protagonist, is. If the first sentence didn't demonstrate that she's a sort of tough cookie.
The book is pretty heavily feminist, I'd say-- perhaps only second in focus to race in the novel. The author also says so in an interview in my edition of the book, I think. There are a lot of bad men in this novel, from Tambu's father on up-- bad women too. But Tambu is a very strong character, and though I think I remember being bothered by her at times, I really was rooting for her the whole way through. She has to go through a lot of mess.
This is seriously one of the best books I've read in a while. I feel like I read a lot of crazy books most of the time, or at least books that aren't very connected to my life or anything that I can relate to-- stuff from Victorian England, Japanese Post-Modernism, what have you. But, as a young black person I guess, I really related to this book. And even if you're not young or black[if you're not a person...we'll probably have issues], there's still a lot to gain and a lot of struggle to relate to. And it's extremely well-written. Probably one of my favorite books of all time.
I'll try to write an actual review at some point-- it deserves one. Unfortunately, this isn't my book-- I borrowed it from a friend,. So I should probably write it soon, before I forget most of the details[too late?] or before someone else wants to borrow it.
Speaking of Victorian England, I've really got an urging to reread some Proust. That's another writer I like-- he's French. He's amazing. If you like old, stuffy writing, then you will probably love Proust, if you don't already. He wrote Swann's Way/A Rememberance of Things Past/Whatever's the Current translation for his trilogy.
So, that's what I've got to say about books.
Otherwise, things were fine-- my week always sucks on Monday[class from 8-7:30...that's right], sucks less on Tuesday[Class from 1-7:30], and starts getting great from Wednesday onwards. And it's Wednesday night so...holla. Went to class, hung with the classmates/friends, typical stuff.
Also, this typhoon business is done now. And somehow, when I woke up this morning, all of the water was completely gone-- I have no idea where it went, but I can only say that Chinese sewage systems must put American sewage systems to shame. Back in Jersey City, were we to get as much rain as we just did over here, we'd have water in the streets for years. I like to think there are some elves trapped away at this school and they all whisked the water away in their fancy boots.
Otherwise I, predictably, decided I wanted to censure my previous entries about Pablo. I'm not sure if I'll go in and edit. Maybe, probably not-- they were my honest thoughts for the most part, afterall. But the reasoning for this censuring is that I think I've regained some of my confidence and sanity. I don't know what it is about boys that makes me turn into a neurotic ass-- I was reminding myself of all of my female friends, combined into some homotional monster, haha. "Why is he texting me? What does he want from me? Should I say that-- what if I come off too obsessive? Why didn't he text me back-- it's been three hours." My goodness. It's such an odd position to be in.
So, to fix the situation, I decided to watch Noah's Arc and Queer as Folk. QAF really did the trick-- as much as Brian grosses me out, he is such a pimp. Such a true pimp.
Anyway my head is back on straight, I think-- one boy is rarely worth that much stress. In fact, I'm pretty sure I just haven't been using my time well enough, which is why I always seem to have the time to think about him. So, I decided I need more stuff to do.
I kinda forgot about my goal to step my reading into overdrive, so that will be back on. Also, one of my friends was thinking of running a marathon, and I think that's a great idea. So I think I decided I was gonna start training, Steven-style.[Which really means running on the track with incremental increases.] Plus, I really need to focus more on Chinese-- I speak with people and do my homework, but I don't think I'm doing the most I can to improve. So there's that.
I also decided I should probably get other prospects/hoes so that I'm not thinking about Pablo so often. I will keep you updated.
That's about it, for now. I'm pretty tied as well and I want to go to the gym in the morning tomorrow, so I will be heading off to bed now.
Deuces.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
I guess that's just the way the cookie crumbles.
I'd like to say I've been on a Lily Allen kick, but it's really that I've been watching too much Noah's Arc[again] and one of her songs was in it.
Hi y'all. I'm a mess.
There's a lot that's happened and I feel pretty bad for not even trying to keep regular updates. I'm gonna try to get everything together starting now.
I'd normally try to recap EVERY MAJOR THING that has happened since my arrival into the big Chi-Na, but I think I've decided that it'd be easier for me to do things little by little as my memory returns.
So, some major points.
1. I am twenty.
Today, October 7th, marks the day that my mother popped my fatass head out of her birth canal and brought me, Steven, into this world. It's pretty exciting. Most people who know me well have probably heard me say some pretty fearful statements about reaching thirty, but I think I'm actually getting over it. Don't fear death; embrace it.[Not that thirty is death or anything...it just feels like it.]
My mom should be calling me tonight. Now I can finally open the gift my grandmother gave me in AUGUST.[Haha, I'm proud of myself for not opening it until now.]
So, what did I do for my birthday? I went to the local gay club[which is fairly whack, btw], of course. And I met some Argentinian boy named Pablo, 24, who happens to be studying at my university as well and...blah blah blah.
To be frank, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about the whole matter. I decided recently that as noble as I think celibacy is, I'm also a19 20 year old man. I want to be reckless. Maybe I'll reconsider celibacy later on, but as for now, forget it.
But even so, I just don't know where this is supposed to go. I'm gonna try to just stay with the moment, I guess.
Anyway. The greatest part of the night was making out with Pablo on the dance floor. I felt like it was Queer as Folk or some shit: dancing and getting all close on the floor, having everyone look at us.[Minus a subsequent gay-bashing/bat to the head in the parking lot, of course] I really could have had the night end right there; it made my night. He's very beautiful; I'll try to snag a picture if we meet up again. The whole situation was fairly bizarre: he was the first person who talked to me when I walked in. I thought it was just the instant-foreigner connection, if only because he's' prettier than me. And so I thought we'd just chill, drink beers together. And suddenly we're getting all close. Oh well.
It's just funny, 'cause earlier this week I was complaining about how I missed black/hispanic guys.
We also met some lesbians, they were cool. I love lesbians. They were a little old and dry, though.
2. Now that boy mess is out of the way...
I am an environmental threat.
That's right. A few days ago, Friday I believe, I ate a cicada. That's right. I have gone crazy.
I'll try to put pictures in the photoblog that will be started shortly.
It actually wasn't that bad; it was like beef jerky. With legs. Who am I kidding: that mess was gross to the max. I was peer pressured into it by my classmates.
Next, I killed a chicken. Took a fairly dull knife, and sawed its head right off.
The context is that we were enjoying the national holiday, which has been going on since October 1st to today, October 7th. We were near Lishui, a city further south in Zhejiang Province, and visitng the Shir people's village. The Shir people are a minority in China.
So, while we were in the village, we had to participate in a marriage; my classmates and I elected who would be what. And I was elected to be the bride's brother. Or uncle. I'm not sure myself, actually. Whoever I was , I had to kill the chicken.
And the rest is history. It's a pretty odd feeling, though, bearing the moral culpability in my own hands. It's certainly easier just to go to McDonald's and order some Chicken McNuggets. People kept calling me a killer/murderer.[Aren't we all?]
3. I'm tired.
I'm pretty proud of myself for doing this much. Of course, I can still write about random Chinese kids people thinking it's okay to touch my hair and rub my skin ...or Korean people asking me if I play basketball. Or people telling me I resemble Kobe Bryant[haha, child please, let's forget the two foot difference]/assuming I'm African/whatever. But I can do those later.
What was the final push to get me updating was Steven Emmanuel/Queer Kid of Color, I think; I was reading Clik, specifically his interview of Jonathan Perry, and I was reminded of how much I love people. black people. black gay people. and everyone else. haha. And so, I just had to get my head out of my ass and get my shit together.
Deuces.
Hi y'all. I'm a mess.
There's a lot that's happened and I feel pretty bad for not even trying to keep regular updates. I'm gonna try to get everything together starting now.
I'd normally try to recap EVERY MAJOR THING that has happened since my arrival into the big Chi-Na, but I think I've decided that it'd be easier for me to do things little by little as my memory returns.
So, some major points.
1. I am twenty.
Today, October 7th, marks the day that my mother popped my fatass head out of her birth canal and brought me, Steven, into this world. It's pretty exciting. Most people who know me well have probably heard me say some pretty fearful statements about reaching thirty, but I think I'm actually getting over it. Don't fear death; embrace it.[Not that thirty is death or anything...it just feels like it.]
My mom should be calling me tonight. Now I can finally open the gift my grandmother gave me in AUGUST.[Haha, I'm proud of myself for not opening it until now.]
So, what did I do for my birthday? I went to the local gay club[which is fairly whack, btw], of course. And I met some Argentinian boy named Pablo, 24, who happens to be studying at my university as well and...blah blah blah.
To be frank, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about the whole matter. I decided recently that as noble as I think celibacy is, I'm also a
But even so, I just don't know where this is supposed to go. I'm gonna try to just stay with the moment, I guess.
Anyway. The greatest part of the night was making out with Pablo on the dance floor. I felt like it was Queer as Folk or some shit: dancing and getting all close on the floor, having everyone look at us.[Minus a subsequent gay-bashing/bat to the head in the parking lot, of course] I really could have had the night end right there; it made my night. He's very beautiful; I'll try to snag a picture if we meet up again. The whole situation was fairly bizarre: he was the first person who talked to me when I walked in. I thought it was just the instant-foreigner connection, if only because he's' prettier than me. And so I thought we'd just chill, drink beers together. And suddenly we're getting all close. Oh well.
It's just funny, 'cause earlier this week I was complaining about how I missed black/hispanic guys.
We also met some lesbians, they were cool. I love lesbians. They were a little old and dry, though.
2. Now that boy mess is out of the way...
I am an environmental threat.
That's right. A few days ago, Friday I believe, I ate a cicada. That's right. I have gone crazy.
I'll try to put pictures in the photoblog that will be started shortly.
It actually wasn't that bad; it was like beef jerky. With legs. Who am I kidding: that mess was gross to the max. I was peer pressured into it by my classmates.
Next, I killed a chicken. Took a fairly dull knife, and sawed its head right off.
The context is that we were enjoying the national holiday, which has been going on since October 1st to today, October 7th. We were near Lishui, a city further south in Zhejiang Province, and visitng the Shir people's village. The Shir people are a minority in China.
So, while we were in the village, we had to participate in a marriage; my classmates and I elected who would be what. And I was elected to be the bride's brother. Or uncle. I'm not sure myself, actually. Whoever I was , I had to kill the chicken.
And the rest is history. It's a pretty odd feeling, though, bearing the moral culpability in my own hands. It's certainly easier just to go to McDonald's and order some Chicken McNuggets. People kept calling me a killer/murderer.[Aren't we all?]
3. I'm tired.
I'm pretty proud of myself for doing this much. Of course, I can still write about random Chinese kids people thinking it's okay to touch my hair and rub my skin ...or Korean people asking me if I play basketball. Or people telling me I resemble Kobe Bryant[haha, child please, let's forget the two foot difference]/assuming I'm African/whatever. But I can do those later.
What was the final push to get me updating was Steven Emmanuel/Queer Kid of Color, I think; I was reading Clik, specifically his interview of Jonathan Perry, and I was reminded of how much I love people. black people. black gay people. and everyone else. haha. And so, I just had to get my head out of my ass and get my shit together.
Deuces.
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