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Thursday, May 08, 2008

  • We broke up the same day he asked me out

    It was a frosty November afternoon in 2005.  He brought me to a small park by the pond asked me to be his girlfriend.  Before I could even reply, he told me that he will not stay in the country after his graduation and a long distance relationship will not be an option. 

    Essentially he was breaking up with me six months in advance.

    I told him to shut up and kiss me because at that time nothing else mattered.  We've known each other for less than two weeks and he was wasting time worrying about something half a year away.

    Our friends thought we were insane asking for an inevitable heartbreak like that.  But there was something very beautiful about a relationship constrained by time.  It was very…romantic.  Melodramatically romantic.

    I never regretted my decision to be with him.  He constantly told me how much he liked me, but never said he loved me.  If he did, I told him that I would break up with him.  But I don’t think he ever did.

    As May approached, I was dreading the inevitable.  For reasons beyond my comprehension, he didn’t want to end it on the day he left.  I suggested that we should let it happen “naturally” - we would break up on the first day it rained after his graduation.  He laughed and told me I was being a drama queen again. 

    Not only did it rain, it flooded.  Rain poured down for the next week and a half.

    After that, he untagged all our pictures together and un-friended me on Facebook, blocked me from AIM, and cut off any and all contact with me.  It was as if I never existed in his life.  Even to this day, he does not reply to any of my friendly “How are you?” message inquiries.  The last time I saw him was two years ago when he came back to Boston for a visit.  He did not contact me; we bumped into each other over an awkward 10 minute meeting.

    Today is his birthday.  And it’s raining in Boston.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Thursday, April 10, 2008

  • Ladies, stop squatting!



    I  dread using a public bathroom after an Asian woman.  No matter how grotty or classy the place is, they never fail to leave pee all over the toilet seat.  What’s even worse is when they miss the toilet entirely and spray urine all over the floor.  It’s unbearable to imagine the bottom of my pants or even the sole of my shoes soaking and touching this crap.
     
    Life would be dandy if I jumped on the squatting wagon as well, but I’ve never gotten over my fear of falling into the toilet.  When I was a little girl, I used to be terrified of using my grandparent’s bathroom in rural China.  Their version of a bathroom was really an euphemism for a giant porcelain opening dug into the floor where my little legs could barely stretch across the diameter of the hole. Hence my squatting phobia. 



    Those were the dark ages.  But in the modern era of disposable toilet seat covers and p-mate, these women have brought the barbaric practice of squatting into civilized bathrooms everywhere. 

    I hope they fall into the toilet and trip on their own pee.

Sunday, April 06, 2008

  • When the woman wears the pants

    I notice that a couple of my girlfriends earn more money than their boyfriends, and I can not help but wonder whether the income discrepancy bothers them.  By “them” I refer not to my girlfriends, but to their boyfriends.

    No matter how equal men and women are legally, tradition still bounds both sexes.  Society still expects the woman to be the housewife (in addition to what she wants to be professionally) and the man to be the primary breadwinner.  When the latter is not the case, does it hurt his pride?  There are men who chose to be stay-at-home dads, but they are still the exceptions rather than the rule.  I refer to the men who want to excel professionally but cannot match up to their female counterparts.

    Studies have indicated that this income discrepancy between the sexes could contribute to a problematic marriage.  When a woman earns more, she probably works more in the office, spends less time at home, and has a higher chance of meeting someone better at work.  In summary, the amount of hours a woman works positively correlates with (but not necessarily causes) higher divorce rates; yet the amount of hours a man works has no significant impact on the marriage.

    Some of you reading this will argue “I earn more than my husband, and I am happily married,” or “I did not marry for money,” or “Everyone helps out with the chores in my house,” etc.  But we are not arguing about your individual situations or ideals.  We are dealing with statistics, which show that on average the above scenario is more likely to happen.

    From my perspective I don’t think the problem lies in who earns more, but whether both parties earn enough collectively to sustain the relationship.  Financial problems arise because someone isn’t fairly pulling his/her weight or there’s too much pressure placed on one party.

    I was one of those women who made more than their significant others.  It never bothered me.  He always willingly paid on every date and humored me with occasional shopping sprees.  Both of us earned enough to be financially independent - which I think is the key to it all.  We are not reliant on each other for financial happiness, therefore money never got in our way of having fun.

    I once asked a boyfriend who wore the pants in the relationship.  He replied, “I do, of course. I always manage to take off yours.”

Thursday, April 03, 2008

  • Prada SS08

    My love for something never waivers no matter what form it is in.  This time it is in the embodiment of Prada’s SS08 ads.

    pradaSS08_10 pradaSS08_9 pradaSS08_2 prada 1

    It’s been a while since I was so infatuated with a piece of art.  To my surprise, I discovered that it was created by none other than one of my favorite contemporary artist, James Jean with the spirit of Aubrey Beardsley haunting over him. 


    “The image depicts an intense landscape of man-eating flowers, dragons, hybrid creatures, and eerie fairies.”



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