Tonight I ate dinner kind of late for me—almost 9:00 p.m. by the time I put the first grain of rice in my mouth. And because I’ve gotten into this pattern of not sleeping well on a Sunday night, my Mondays are usually hectic and sleepy. Driving home is the worst. Feeling the heat of the sun through the glass only increases my sleepiness and I nod off at the wheel. It’s amazing I’ve made it back alive each time! (I better not jinx myself now. That wouldn’t be good! :() The thing is, the heat and the sleepiness makes my head hurt, combined with feeling hungry, everything feels like one big mess, tired and confused. Then I try to make a nice home-cooked meal, but the preparation is usually long, thus, I end up eating late.
This is why it’s amazing, though, that as soon as I start filling my belly, the headache starts to subside, I wake up a little bit and suddenly I’m in a better, happier mood. (Turn that frown upside down!) That’s when it hit me. I’ve been trying to figure out for a while now what my “life’s mission,” if you will (what does that phrase exactly mean anyway?), should be. By “life’s mission” I’m talking about what cause outside of my little world (if you really think about it, we all live in tiny worlds) I should dedicate my life to.
Hunger. For some reason that is one I can’t seem to rid of. I like to eat. OK, I lied. I LOVE to eat. I’ve always loved to eat, especially as a teenager. If I’m not eating, I’m thinking about eating. It breaks my heart thinking about those who deal with the hunger pains on a daily basis. Or the kids who go to school fed, but are unfed once they go home for the weekend or when school lets out for the summer. Just look at how I’m one hot mess when I’m eating late! And that’s still knowing that at some point I am going to be eating something.
For starters, I think people need to stop breeding. (That’s probably another issue altogether, but I just had to throw that out there.) But since that’s not happening any time soon, I want to be part of the movement that makes a change in regards to hunger pains.
I used to tell people that I have ten years of experience in playing the violin. Now I feel like if anyone asks, I have to tell them none. Not because those ten years never happened—they did. But because it just feels like a lie since I haven’t really played for the past eight years. Eight years feels like an eternity when you’re speaking in playing an instrument terms. Eternity is an awfully long time—just ask Peter Pan.
It makes me scream inside that I’ve neglected to play for that long. But the truth is, I never wanted to make musician my career and I’m not. And because of this, I haven’t played in so long. It’s just been sitting there in its box, bending to the temperature changes and trying not to rot. I bet it sighs all day long while I’m away.
Actually I just remembered it’s not an It. Her name’s Vanessa, after the Carlton. Now that would be what the violin would be good for—an artist just like Vanessa Carlton. The girl is classically trained (at least I think so) and she writes her own songs, plays piano, sings and dances ballet. That is talent. I miss talent like that on the radio. 😦
This morning a manager was talking about her big family–her cousins, their kids, and more. That got me thinking that she’s lucky her whole family is here in America. That’s how it is with many American families. But it’s different with mine. My immediate family immigrated here a long time ago and besides one cousin here in the States, the rest of my extended family is back home–China. Growing up, my friends were fascinated with this fact about me and would sometimes ask me questions. They didn’t mean any harm and I was never left with a bad feeling, but I do remember sometimes feeling a bit angry thinking about it.
Thanksgivings and Christmases, it’s always me, my mom and my dad. Everybody else comes back from holidays with stories about aunts (by the way, an ant is a bug and an aunt is a relative) and uncles and cousins and grandmas. I would get jealous that everybody else could see their crazy family whenever they wanted (maybe not whenever, but pretty much when the other option is having family overseas) and my parents would have to wait until it’s daytime over there to make an international call to siblings or parents.
I don’t know when was the last time my parents got to celebrate Chinese New Year the right way in China. And I was so young when I left that it’s basically like never experiencing it at all.
I just hope that whoever has family here appreciates the closeness, even if your family is crazy and loud and obnoxious.
I do this thing where I’ll be doing something and then my brain, like thought vomit (I like how we add vomit at the end of words ever since Mean Girls came out in 2004 and coined the phrase ‘word vomit’), will bring up old, embarrassing memories as soon as I hear a word or phrase or something that reminds me of that moment. It’s not just random memories. It’s always the embarrassing ones that make me cringe and I’ll start burning up again like it’s happening and someone is pointing and laughing.
Then I lose my place for a second and I am forced to think about this embarrassing moment from my past for a few minutes. I feel embarrassed all over again and sometimes this “second time embarrassment” makes me angry. I may uncontrollably exclaim something and then immediately want to cover my mouth (especially if I do this in public). I can’t seem to stop this thought vomit either. I just know that I don’t like it.