she holds her wallet like she holds her heart
should I spend it all in one place?
thrift is the virtue between her needs and wants
or is it fear

her life savings of parcel and paper
all tender that she plans to spend on you

We went out for both lunch and dinner today and both times I asked the waiter to not bother with giving us napkins. The waitress from lunch was flustered for a moment before she decided to set the napkins down anyway (“What? Err I’m sure your family members would want them.” *runs away*).

The waiter from dinner waited until he was done with the table arrangements. Then he folded his arms on the top of the chair beside me and leaned forwards. He was openly jeering like how old men think they can towards idealistic little Asian girls: “Oh? And what are you gonna wipe your mouths with?”

I understood I was being toyed with, but I kept smiling (why do I do that??). “We bring our own handkerchiefs,” I replied (actually I’m the only one in the family who does that, and I had forgotten mine tonight. But I usually have one on me).

He was still sneering. “Yeah alright, I’ll get your napkins later,” he said and turned lazily away. I knew that was the end of that.

I come to this restaurant regularly with my grandparents and I’ve never seen this waiter as anything other than passive and unassuming. My parents hadn’t arrived yet – it was only Trumon and me at the table. I guess he was waiting until he was out of earshot of anyone paying bills before unleashing his proletariat angst.

It’s not as if you’ll be socially shunned if you have sauce on your mouth. For some reason however, you will be if you refuse to take a napkin.

Last week I was at a club meeting helping to plan for a new members reception party. I suggested that while we could still supply the usual paper plates and cups, we could send out emails asking for people to bring their own reusable plates and mugs.

Before I had finished, I saw Simon pull in his face like a lemon. “It won’t work. They won’t do it.”

“Yeah people are too passive,” chimed in L.

“I know.” I replied. “It probably won’t work. But we can try.”

I’m a freaking vegetarian (Emphasis on the freak; the fear that leaps into people’s eyes is obvious when I tell them what I eat). I’m no stranger to people telling me you can’t, you shouldn’t, what are you thinking it’s not possible. But all I’m asking is for people to try and save a bit of paper – a few napkins, a couple of plates at a time, whenever you happen to remember.

Last year I sneered openly at the entire city of Toronto as images of their summer smog blanket flashed across the CBC news. Vancouver’s too beautiful for that, I thought. That will never happen here. But that same summer, I found a way onto the SFU rooftops and from the top of Burnaby Mountain I saw the same cloud of pollution hovering over our west coast city.

The problem with the environmental movement is that the word ‘environment’ makes it sound like we’re trying to save the world. The world is too big to save, so people don’t try. But we don’t have to be so altruistic – why save an Earthful of strangers? You can preserve this planetary rock for your own selfish reasons. Do you like to ski? Snow on the Rockies will be gone in a couple decades. Do you eat sushi? Every year fewer and fewer salmon come back Vancouver to spawn. Do you have children to love? Soon they won’t have either clean air or water. I don’t understand how parents put up with piano lessons, dentist bills and RESPs without ever giving a thought to the Earth’s ability to provide for their children’s futures.

Every successive winter and summer is the warmest on record, and anyone currently living in Richmond knows exactly how quickly green space can disappear. When are we going to be scared enough to care?

Even if you don’t, why stand in my way?

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The UN has been saying for years that vegetable diets are best for the environment. I’m out of excuses for why I can’t, so I’m finally going to jump that last hurdle and go vegan.

But you don’t have to do the same in order to do your part. I encourage you all to go meat-free just one meal a week. Carry a reusable mug around with you. Eat fresh, local and organic. Save money and buy vintage from the thrift store instead of new at the mall. Take your BBT containers home for recycling. Bring containers with you to restaurants and avoid styrofoam take-out boxes in case of leftovers. Tell your waiter you don't want napkins (and if he insists on giving them to you, at least take them home for your compost/Green Can).

Everything counts. Make yourself count.

What do you do to make your difference?

the music holds you and you're holding me
when we ride those electro beats
even when you're not flitting and flutting in shimmying lights
you're always new to me

maybe it's
cause we're young like that
[you and i are what it's like to be young]

And maybe
one day
we'll fight over the remote
[because you insist on star wars]
and end up falling asleep
on the couch with the cat in my lap
and leaving the dishes until morning
and we'll have McMuffins for breakfast
because we'll both be late for work

but probably not

because you might
be the one
or you might be the 9th

but right now
you're
my excuse to
try
again

:
I'm happy, and I want to share it with you
one day I'll tell you everything, and you'll be proud of me

the night is still, and even if you were here I'd have nothing to say

You are my heart
when
it's
quiet

  

How could I forget you? Mermaids who rescues ceramic cat jars with chipped pink noses from the thrift store, who takes me to tresspass on poorly fenced construction sites at dusk. Mermaids who isn't afraid of green eyeshadow, who is both a whimsical indie artist and an unblinking businesswoman. Mermaids who won't divulge her secret Etsy identity, who pedals across the city with me in silence, who tells me to avoid the nice guys and to go straight for the rebels.

I forgot about her because she's across the country right now, and we aren't as good with email as we are when she's here with me. And I don't think of her as belonging to me in the same way that Blenz and Starr and Trumon do. She gets along with everyone, she belongs to them all. But she's so crazy and original and so unapologetically self-expressive - how can I help but be myself around her? I miss her.

I take it all back, what I said before about dating only people with whom I'm already good friends. I'm not about to go pick up random strangers, but I think it's a misconception that friendships are necessarily built on time and history, that they will necessarily advance because of it. Don't you remember those people you hung out with all throughout high school? And how upon graduating you found that was all that had kept you together?

It's counter-intuitive, but friendships actually aren't made on a time-based seniority system. It's like having a significant other; it doesn't matter if you've been together ten years or ten months. What matters is that you're in love. It's the friendship itself and not its length that matters. I haven't known Blenz or Starr for all that long, but it's something about our chi when we're together - it feels right. And I don't need time to tell me what I already know.

Love is for those brave enough to seek it. To say that I'll only date people with whom I'm already good friends - those are words of fear, words that will bind you within its walls of protective exclusivity. The likelihood of falling for someone whom I don't presently know isn't great. You know the odds. But if you're not willing to dive headfirst into the unknown, if you're not willing to comb the oceans for your one fish then you don't deserve to love.

Everything about her is so democratic. Her face is round instead of slim and pointed, and she's not afraid to scrunch her face when she smiles. I love how she has a bit of tummy in this photo.

I spent the past two days playing with my new Snowflake microphone, but I've nothing yet to show for it. I always thought I was ill-suited for classical music because it's too uncompromising and rigidly perfectionist. I desired the liberation of simple pop melodies. It never occured to me that other genres could have the same breakneck committment to quality.

I'm trying to Audacity the guitar, piano and vocals together for my new song, but aside from being a newbie singer-songwriter, I'm also having to face the fact that I am really not a guitarist. All I can do is play chords. I remember being perplexed at [Sun] telling me how he has trouble coaxing soft notes out of the piano. I had no idea what he meant - all you do is press gently right? But then I've played the piano for fifteen years. I have skills that I take for granted, ones that I didn't know I had, often until I find the need to teach them to my students.

It wasn't until I picked up the guitar did I understand his difficulty. I know the chord positions, but when I strum there are only harsh metallic vibrations. To draw your hands over the strings - it's such a simple action! But I can't make it sing. It's not music.

---------------------------------------------------------

My parents have not apologized for the things they said regarding our last big argument, but they've been begging, pleading, making deals for me to return to piano lessons. And I understand why they dare to lose face in front of me as they have never dared before; I understand their desperation. If I had worked harder and brought home the trophies and the prestige, I'd be making a lot more money as a teacher right now.

And as I inch closer to the end of my university career and watch and both me and my friends scrounge around for minimum-wage jobs, I realize that what piano's done for me is give me a fighting chance. Because let's face it: having been handed everything in life I never learnt to be that resourceful or clever. I've always done the Little Asian Girl; I'm not capable of taking care of myself. My distaste for business is too obvious; I'm too much an idealist to be good with money. The only thing I'm good at is grades, but let's not pretend - my university degree won't do anything for me. It'll be many life-draining years on a corporate ladder until I get even remotely close to what I'm being paid now as a teacher.

"Failure's hard but success is far more dangerous. If you're successful at the wrong thing, the mix of praise and money and opportunity can lock you in forever."

And I never thought I'd end up here, never thought I'd be perpetuating a system I've complained so much about. But I don't see myself doing any better anywhere else. Yes, I have dreams of becoming a journalist, a writer, maybe even a broadcaster. But until then the bills have to get paid. Sooner or later I'm going to have to go back to piano, and I'm going to have to compete again. So what if it's all just to bring home a piece of paper with my name on it? Best not to think about that. 

This isn't giving up. You're still too novel, with all the promising adventure of a wrapped birthday present that I'm peeling back bit by bit.

I still harbour my happy secret, I still obediently follow its ups and downs. It's just that I'd trip and fall all over myself if I ever tried to go after anybody. I'm too blunt and too plain. Too much heart on my sleeve to try and play games. Call me old-fashioned but I know my place. Guys and not girls should live to play chase.

It'll be like going to sleep and dreaming - watching and waiting for the conclusion but never finding the reins. Cause you say you want to take control but you know you enjoy the ride. The best stories are the ones that write themselves.

Watching, waiting, dreaming. You're my shooting Starr. 

Woke up to people yelling at me (and then being extra nice to Trumon so they can feel redeemed as parents). Watched my brother go off to school unhappy and ashamed of his family. Booked the school piano in the hopes that I could sing and play it all away but then I started to hate my own music. Wanted to meet up with friends but can't afford it / they're gone for the summer. Kept glancing at my phone but I knew another day was about to go by without a word from [Starr].

But give me a fieldfull of people and a plastic disc to chase and everything goes away (Also it helped that there were pretty boys to talk to ). I played badly at Ultimate tonight. It's funny actually: I didn't throw or catch all that well but the other team still treated me as a threat just cause I ran that much (The girls from my Thursday team don't call me Energizer Bunny for nothing!).

We played late into the night, until the loudest thing on the street were the rays of the moon. I ran, I repelled the ground, I barely felt my feet hitting earth below me.

There was only the sensation of carrying myself far, far away.