Don't FRO Around

What can I say about myself that would actually interest you? I’m shy when I first meet new people; I really don’t know what to say.  Everyone says that they’re outgoing with the people they’re comfortable with, so what am I supposed to do? Sit you down and tell you my whole life story until I feel comfortable with you? That’d be pretty boring, not saying I have a boring life. Instead, I’d rather tell you a little bit about myself that you wouldn’t know right off the bat just by seeing me sitting in your classroom. I can’t live without my phone. Ever since I got unlimited texting in high school, it’s been a necessity for me. I bring my phone almost everywhere, and if I don’t have service, I’ll go crazy looking for it. Um, what else. I’m a creative person. I’ve done painting- acrylic and watercolor, sketching, paper carving, graffiti, collages, etc. I don’t like going to art museums though. It’s really boring. I love dogs. I have a Cocker Spaniel in Malaysia, but no dogs here though. My mom claims she’s allergic to them but yet we have a dog back at my grandparent’s house. Funny. The only dog I get to be around now is my boyfriend’s dog, Tom, a Morkie. He’s so cute and fluffy, I love him. Er, what else. I admit I’m a nerd. I study and work hard, because I really want nothing lower than a 100. Nineties are okay, eighties are a no-no. I guess I’m like this because I was brought up like this by my parents. I’ve never missed a day off from school even if I was sick. I remember this one time where I had a doctor’s appointment in kindergarten, and I think it’d be okay to let your child miss a day off.  It’s only kindergarten right? Wrong. My mom wouldn’t let me stay home and watch Pokemon. She made me go to school, take attendance, go to the doctor’s, and then return back to school for the remaining few hours. Pretty annoying, but I got use to it over the years. Instead of bedtime stories when I was little, I use to get lectures from my dad before I went to sleep. “Work hard, play later.” What he says is true, but sometimes a girl needs a break. Hopefully Baruch will be a break for me. All the free time I have, I’ll spend with my friends and boyfriend. I’ll finally get to go shopping anytime I want, and maybe catch a movie. Yay me!

I grew up with Star Trek and The Sound of Music. And it shows. I love to sing, I love to dance. I love space, I love science (chemistry aside), and, caution aside, I love exploring the unknown — things that both mediums share, whether it be the unknowns of the universe or the unknowns of a life and love beyond a little church, in the arms of a captain of the navy and his seven children. As silly as I’ve always thought this sounded (because I believe things will only influence you if you let them) this show and this movie really did affect who I am, who I became, before I even knew there was anything beyond a movie or a show’s purpose to tell a good story. Before I knew about the psychological power of television and the big screen. And these fandoms are still affecting what kind of person I am turning into. What kind of person I want to be. Though, to be honest, I really don’t know who that person or what kind of person that future me is. I don’t know what I want yet, not completely. But maybe that’s the beauty of it, that you’ll never be completely satisfied. That there will always be something more to want out of life, something more to strive for.

I write, but I could never be an artist. I want stability. I can work 16 hour days, but I cannot face the prospect of not having work every single day for the rest of my life. The uncertainty of being able to provide for myself is just too much, even though I know that is an uncertainty everyone faces every day. No one is safe, but working a 9 to 5 job plus 10 hours of overtime in a cubicle, inches you just a little bit closer to that illusion. That oblivion, that routine. I could never resent routine; routine, to me, is a necessity. And I suppose my lack of routine now is why I feel like my life is compressing into one small unaccomplished blob.

But then there comes the want to do what I love, and that is to write. That is to direct people. To not be chained to a desk. To travel all over the world, with a presence as powerful as a Starship Captain and an appearance as captivating as The Baroness. I want my feet dying in 5.5 platform Gucci heels, and my Chanel suit slightly wrinkling from daily 12 hour flights between Asia and New York; my Louis Vitton luggage and Hermès carry-ons heavy with paperwork and successful advertisement pitches; my caffeinated brain confusing the American security guard because I’ll forget that he doesn’t speak Tagalog, Mandarine, Japanese, or Korean. I want to work with all different kinds of people in the creation of a vision of beauty – a beauty like the beauty captured in romances like The Sound of Music or imagined in fantasies like Star Trek; a beauty that is immortalized by its ability to teach and inspire.

Well, my life is just starting (it’s been starting since the moment I entered my high school four years ago) and now that I am in college, the best I can hope to do is keep walking. Yes, keep my eyes peeled for road blocks or required changes in direction. But ultimately: just keep walking.

Because getting lost in space or the hills of Austria is still just part of the journey.

Is he serious?

He really had the nerve to just walk by.

He didn’t even say one word.

That’s all I was looking for anyway.

One word.

A simple “Thank you.”

It’s cold and it’s raining and I held the door open for you.

You acknowledged what I did, looked me in the face, and kept walking.

How hard is it to open your mouth, vibrate your vocal cords, and move your lips?

I’m pretty sure it’s easier than holding the door open in the rain for a stranger.

People have such nerve.

It’s one thing if his umbrella was in the way and he didn’t see me.

But he looked me straight in the eye.

The least he could have done was smile.

That way I wouldn’t still be thinking about this.

Now that I think about it.

I’m the one who was holding the umbrella.

His hands were free.

He should have held the door open for me!

I bet he goes home and calls himself a gentleman.

Poser!

Wait.

Maybe he doesn’t speak English.

Maybe he didn’t…

Oh, who am I kidding?

I wish I smacked him the face.