 |
Music •
Biography •
Press Kit •
Randomness •
Lyrics Gigs • Photos • Writing • Fun Stuff • Links • Contact |
Sunday, December 28, 2003 C'est ma vie? Continuing the trend of creative snippets, here's a piece of a story I abandoned but am planning to start working on again (though I just realized that I stole a few sections from it for another story I've been rewriting--is it valid to put the same paragraph in two separate short stories?). Yes, it's fiction, though this chunk is rather autobiographical (no, I'm 22 now, not 19): My life. Born in Singapore, relocated at five, trapped in suburbia, in Redford (Deadford), Michigan. Chinese-American girl, nineteen years old, practically white (in skin tone and in action), to the amusement of my white friends and the horror of the Chinese. Not that I ever spend much time with the Asian kids--they’re so different from me. I completely avoided all of the APA groups on campus, and part of me wonders why. Why am I so scared to join them? Why do I try so hard to disassociate myself from all the stereotypes? I cringe mentally, just a little, when I’m in class and realize I’m surrounded by Asians--the studies say that ethnicities tend to group together in social settings and I’m determined not to fall into that trap, determined not to be another statistic proving how the university needs more integration. I’m desperate to break out of my type. To that end, I’m a theatre performance major, more-than-slightly-obsessed with England, with Europe in general. Funny, I never vocalized my neuroses until I got to college. Funny what those race/ethnicity classes will do to you. Funny how conscious you become of things hidden beneath the surface, things I long suppressed to voice. But none of that mattered in that moment, and I couldn’t find the language to describe all the thoughts I hide, hide from everyone. Right then, only a phone call mattered, a phone call awaiting an answer. I told Kristin about a call that morning from my mom. ^ Top | 11:40 PM | | | 
Saturday, December 27, 2003 A little piece of writing Patrick discovered in my notebook; I'd completely forgotten about it. Clichés She stares at the blank page and turns to old words for inspiration. The poetry is exhausted, mediocre, received and the page remains white. So she lets her eyes wander past the bookshelves and onto the stacks of CDs that will no longer contain themselves in the rack--after reading a few inserts, lyrics from her favorite bands, musicals, artists, she returns the sleeves to their homes. And the page remains white. What she wishes she could play she cannot write--and the cello holds no solace tonight. It sits in the corner, alone. To write would be to create reality, a reality that cannot exist. Will not. Choice. Why? It was a painful conversation, but he’d said it and she’d agreed. Or seemed to. Yet he was the first in two years of contentedness to make her wish for another. For starry nights and drippy candles and roses and clichés. ^ Top | 12:58 AM | | |
Thursday, December 25, 2003 Joyeux Noël The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. For those who lived in a land of deep shadows--light! sunbursts of light! You repopulated the nation, you expanded its joy. Oh, they're so glad in your presence! Festival joy! The joy of a great celebration, sharing rich gifts and warm greetings.... For a child has been born--for us! The gift of a son--for us! He'll take over the running of the world. His names will be: Amazing Counselor, Strong God, Eternal Father, Prince of Wholeness. His ruling authority will grow, and there'll be no limits to the wholeness he brings. He'll rule from the historic David throne over that promised kingdom. He'll put that kingdom on a firm footing and keep it going with fair dealing and right living, beginning now and lasting always.... --Isaiah 9:2-3, 6-7, The Message It's not just about the presents (though I'm thrilled because I finally have a working computer now) or the food (though the turkey was excellent) or even the friends and family (though I appreciate those too). It's about a love so great that it could not bear to keep apart from us, a God so humble that he would give up his glory to be born in a stinky stable, the son of a common man. A God who reached out to us when we couldn't help ourselves, a God who would die for us. Merry Christmas. A gift for you; as Tait said, it's "terribly funny." ^ Top | 7:41 PM | | |
Sunday, December 21, 2003 Lessons from Anne I'm sitting in front of the computer in Tait's room in Grand Rapids (yes, I did just use "in" three times without even finishing my sentence) wrapped in two blankets (partially cold, partially comfy), enjoying being away from both Ann Arbor and Redford for a weekend. With Tait and his three brothers, his older brother's friend from Japan, a neighbor (at least I think he's a neighbor kid) and myself running around the house, things seem like they should be crazy but it's surprisingly calm. Last night we watched the first part of Anne of Green Gables, which I hadn't seen in years. I'd forgotten the similarities between Anne and myself; in addition to an overactive imagination and love for books, she hates her name and appearance--namely her red hair, skinny limbs, and freckles. While I don't hate the way I look, I've spent my fair share of time disappointed with a too-wide face, large nose, etcetera etcetera etcetera. But watching the film, I realized that it's ridiculous--Megan Follows as Anne Shirley is cute, and not in a patronizing way; there's nothing wrong with her physical appearance. The problem lies not in her looks but in her perception of herself--ironically, a issue that someone lately has made it his mission to make me recognize in my own thoughts. Funny how a movie can force you to see truths that you couldn't believe otherwise. ^ Top | 1:35 PM | | |
Friday, December 19, 2003 Conversation on Instant Messenger Better than a script. And yes, I'm resisting the urge to spend an entry filling out one of those ubiquitous surveys that have invaded everyone's blogs during the last couple of days. Patrick: beer, pasta, and A Charlie Brown's Christmas Dawn: Charlie Brown!! Patrick: aye. are you on the phone with tait? [who, incidentally, was in the room next to his] Dawn: yeeeesh Patrick: ask him if he wants to watch it with me Dawn: I want to watch! Patrick: buy a car. now. and then drive here. Dawn: need.money.now Patrick: steal money. now. Dawn: right Patrick: come on...by the time they catch you you will have just been able to watch Charlie Brown The truly funny part about this was the fact that Patrick and Tait ended up having an conversation using myself, 45 minutes away, as medium with the aid of AIM--and their house is small enough that if they'd just spoken loudly, they could have talked to each other without my help. Ah, technology. ^ Top | 8:39 PM | | |
Sunday, December 14, 2003 La nature de la poursuite I want to marry a man who is a leader, who takes charge and who goes for the things he wants. I don’t ever want to have to ask myself, “Would he have come to me on his own?” --Lauren Koffler I recently ran across this article while browsing through Relevant Magazine and found it--and the mass of comments posted by readers underneath--rather interesting food for thought. Although I don't have any problem taking the initiative in friendships and think it was silly of the author to have been so hesitant to call or talk to the man she found intriguing, Lauren Koffler does touch on some truth: most women, even independent, headstrong types, do want men to take leadership. For me--and I know I'm not the only one--it's something of a counter to my tendency to take over. I don't like being in charge all the time. (Really? Yes.) Admittedly, I don't know how this idea plays out for less stubborn types, but a relationship should be a partnership and when one partner domineers things can get sticky. A male friend asked me why girls enjoy being pursued; besides the obvious--that it's flattering to have someone notice you--I couldn't give a ready answer. But as I've thought about it, a few come to mind. (However, guys take note that some of you need to learn how to relax, because there's a line between pursuing and annoying that you should not cross.) We want to know that we are treasured, that we are important, that we have worth; or as one anonymous poster wrote, "I want someone that wants me enough to take a risk. We are talking about the person we are going to spend the rest of our lives with. I need to be sure of his commitment to me." As Niles on Frasier said, "Women want men of action." Maybe this is because we want to be protected, safe--even if we would never choose a "safe" life (quite frankly, the thought of waking up one day and finding myself in suburbia driving the kids to soccer practice scares the heck out of me). But there's comfort in knowing that your husband could and would confront the belligerent drunk harassing you, that he would give his life to protect you. We're still looking for those knights in shining armor, even if they don't exist. (Note: This blog was likely the result of hearing about too many weddings happening this year or the next. I lost count at 24, and we're well past that now....) ^ Top | 10:55 PM | | |
Thursday, December 11, 2003 What would you do if I bit you on the shoulder? Probably the strangest blog I've written/dictated--hey, it was late, we were slap-happy. Co-authored by Tait. It's worth clicking on the link; read it! ^ Top | 12:25 PM | | |
Saturday, December 06, 2003 Christmas and Wierd Gifts Check out my Amazon.com Wish List. Buy me a Christmas present! :-)  Speaking of Christmas presents, you've got to see this to believe it: a company is now marketing a "Baby Jesus Doll." Yes, you read that right. The doll comes with a glow-in-the-dark halo and since "Jesus loves all children regardless of size, color or creed, we are offering our dolls in Anglo, African American, Dark Hispanic & Latin." But unless I'm on crack (possible), the African American and Hispanic dolls are exactly the same... and the only difference in the other two is eye/hair color. That's pretty pathetic. Couldn't a white person have dark hair and eyes too? And what about the Asians? I want an Asian Jesus doll! [/end rant] Actually I don't, but the fact that it's missing is annoying.
Final wierdness on the doll: it comes with a card that reads: "I don't talk, I just listen... I don't cry, but please hold me... I don't walk, so please carry me... I love you, please love me... My name is Jesus." I won't even start on the potential problems with that. "The 'BABY JESUS' DOLL© helps a child to remember that Jesus is not just for Christmas but for everyday of our life." Nice aim, but scary product. Word of the Day: Frowzy, adj.: 1. Unkempt; slovenly. 2. Having an unpleasant smell; musty. ^ Top | 12:27 AM | | |
Wednesday, December 03, 2003 Music and Ramblings We try to write tunes capable of whispering to a sleeping child that in spite of everything, somehow all is well. We try to write words that help us learn to tell the truth to ourselves and others. --Linford Detweiler That probably sums up much of what I hope my music is or will be. I caught Over the Rhine for the first time on Sunday night, and they were even better than I expected--not only is their music intelligent, melodic, and literary, but their live performance is inspiring, comforting. Linford and Karin seem like people who'd make great friends; they both smiled often and easily and left pretensions aside. They are living my dream: performing, reaching people with their music, making a living--albeit a modest one, judging from their comments--doing what they love. But who needs tons of money if you have enough to pursue your passions? We don't need a lot of money. / We'll be sleeping on the beach, / keeping oceans within reach. / (Whatever private oceans we can conjure up for free.) / I will stumble there with you / and you'll be laughing close with me, / trying not to make a scene / etcetera. Whatever. I guess all I really mean / is we're gonna be alright. / Yeah, we're gonna be alright. / You can close your eyes tonight, / 'cause we're gonna be alright. You can't leave their show without feeling the urge to create yourself. Which was needed in my case--lately I've been feeling uninspired to practice my older material; I've been writing new songs but barely touching anything from my sizable catalogue. I'm a little afraid that someone's going to ask me to play and I won't remember at first how to play songs even from the ever-unfinished CD. The last couple of months I've been writing on the piano but doing little else... and my guitar work has been sorely neglected. I suppose I just need to kick myself a little and start practicing, though since there aren't any gigs lined up I guess I haven't felt the urgency of doing so. But it's always dangerous to neglect songs, especially since I don't have even rough recordings of most of them and often don't write down chords; without constant practice, it's possible for them to disappear back into the void from whence they came. While waiting for the CD's completion, I haven't performed lately either... perhaps I need to get myself to an open mic, and soon. Well, I dare not allow myself any illusions, and I am afraid it may never happen that Father and Mother will really appreciate my art. It is not their fault; we do not see the same things with the same eyes, or have the same thoughts raised in us by them. They will never be able to understand what painting is. --Vincent Van Gogh, Dear Theo ^ Top | 12:28 AM | | |
Tuesday, December 02, 2003 Written specifically for the Christmas service at URC on Sunday at 7pm. Come and hear me play it... is it wierd to write a song with two key changes? Still tweaking.... Noel Don't be afraid Your Savior is come The words through the prophets made true A child will be born of virgin's womb Joyeux Noel, Noel Born Immanuel Joyeux Noel, Noel Born is the King of Israel Through Him I'll release them from death and the darkness The grave will no longer them rule My people, they've waited for freedom, salvation Covenant, Promise fulfilled But He will be scorned, despised and rejected A man without home or a bed His blood will buy them life everlasting Indelible love call them by name ^ Top | 12:41 AM | | |
|
