Thank goodness for hostels! They are a poor student's best friend when traveling. My version of the American dream will be fulfilled when I can travel to DC and stay in a fancy-pancy hotel like this.
http://www.rougehotel.com/
Until then I will enjoy the experience of rooming with fellow shoestring budget travelers and being close to Adams Morgan, playground of drunken college revelers and setting of ample rowdy bar hopping opportunities.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Really Now?
My mom told me a few days ago that I have "結婚運" this year because of my zodiac sign, or something along those lines. TWO independent foretellings so far...! I'm usually not a believer, especially of the superstitious, unless I see it for myself, but if this is told to me a third time I might just start believing...
Where you be at 白馬王子? Maybe he's living in a thick muddy swamp and has ugly green skin but a heart of gold. I'd hit that.
Where you be at 白馬王子? Maybe he's living in a thick muddy swamp and has ugly green skin but a heart of gold. I'd hit that.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Dads are Wise
cw
in the words of my father
it is not "impossible"
its "i'm possible"
11:14
he11o g00dbye14
lols
your dad is a wise one
11:14
cw
he actually wrote that out on paper
when my brother didnt get into good colleges
and then he put the apostrophe on the i'm
11:14
he11o g00dbye14
wow
in the words of my father
it is not "impossible"
its "i'm possible"
11:14
he11o g00dbye14
lols
your dad is a wise one
11:14
cw
he actually wrote that out on paper
when my brother didnt get into good colleges
and then he put the apostrophe on the i'm
11:14
he11o g00dbye14
wow
Sleep or Socialize? Does it Come Down to This?
I'm stretching myself t h i n with social commitments. I really want to pull my hair out right now.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Tan Hong Ming
Sometimes I wish I could keep children in a sterilized, pure, impenetrable bubble so they could retain their innocence. It has got to be one of the most beautiful things in the world.
Are my Parents Jewish?
My work is going s l o w as heck. So I thought I'd prolong unproductivity by blogging on this topic that's been on my mind for a while. I finished reading Amy Chua's book about Tiger mothering recently and I was trying to think about whether my impressions of her ideas about parenting changed since reading the WSJ article.
I still think there's an oversimplification of "Chinese" versus "Western" style parenting in the book. Although Chua tries to justify it by saying that these parenting models are not exclusive to the ethnicity to which they are titled, the propositions underlying each side are still exaggerated.
For some reason the book focused overwhelmingly on Chua's and her children's experiences learning their respective musical instruments. I thought it was going to be a story about governance over all aspects of her children's lives, from academics to extracurricular activities, to their social circles and search for self-identity. If her daughter was only rebellious in this respect (extracurriculars) then Chua would have a much easier time demonstrating the alleged superiority of her parenting model (if she'd discussed their performance in other categories).
I think it is true that many Chinese parents push their kids to their limit, whether for better or for worse. My parents were pushers--no matter how much they deny it--when my sister and I were growing up. I didn't learn to play the piano growing up like Chua's kids did--my parents couldn't afford the lessons--but my mom and dad were strategic about what they invested in. Chinese classes were a huge, omnipresent force in my life until about age 16. They pushed. And pushed. No matter where we moved, we would always find a school to accommodate us. If my mom worked on Saturdays, we would have class on Sundays. If there were no Sunday classes available, my mom would drop us off early and pick us up during her lunch break. The medical clinic she worked at became my sister and my after-school center. In academics, they made sure we achieved a certain standard. Nagged. Constantly asked about grades. Asked if we needed tutoring. Questioned us on less-than-stellar grades. Expressed concern at subpar test results. And at high school graduation and university commencement, they were beaming.
I think more generally, my parents share an immigrant mentality with a very broad community--first generation immigrants to the US. I think Chua also points this out in her book. You come here without a dime in your pocket, work your way up through the lowest of the low rung of the economic ladder, finally establish a "middle-class" life for yourself and your family, and the last thing you want is for your children to potentially lose everything you've worked so hard to provide because they don't realize the hardships in attaining a comfortable life.
When I told my parents about this particular passage--
--they agreed with Chua's Jewish husband about his conception of a parent-child relationship. That was interesting, but I guess I shouldn't find it surprising. I don't think my parents have ever raised me or my siblings with the expectation that we will pay them back by taking care of them when they reach old age. I don't really know what they expect from us besides being able to independently take care of ourselves before they can't anymore.
Overall an entertaining read. She's a great storyteller and incredibly funny in some parts. I laughed out loud. The biggest value I got out of her book, I'd say, would be how amused I was reading about her particular experience, the trials and tribulations of raising biracial children in a society with such a rich set of socio-cultural values to choose from. I give her props for sticking to her guns and having conviction about doing what she thought was best for her children. And maybe even if I don't aspire to be a tiger mom, I can strive to be more disciplined in other roles I have.
On a totally unrelated note, my mom steamed fish (I wasn't sure which type) with pepper and cheese drizzled on top tonight. The broth was to die for. I wanted to drink it like soup. The fish melted in my mouth. Happiness is rushing home from class in anticipation of good home cooking.
I still think there's an oversimplification of "Chinese" versus "Western" style parenting in the book. Although Chua tries to justify it by saying that these parenting models are not exclusive to the ethnicity to which they are titled, the propositions underlying each side are still exaggerated.
For some reason the book focused overwhelmingly on Chua's and her children's experiences learning their respective musical instruments. I thought it was going to be a story about governance over all aspects of her children's lives, from academics to extracurricular activities, to their social circles and search for self-identity. If her daughter was only rebellious in this respect (extracurriculars) then Chua would have a much easier time demonstrating the alleged superiority of her parenting model (if she'd discussed their performance in other categories).
I think it is true that many Chinese parents push their kids to their limit, whether for better or for worse. My parents were pushers--no matter how much they deny it--when my sister and I were growing up. I didn't learn to play the piano growing up like Chua's kids did--my parents couldn't afford the lessons--but my mom and dad were strategic about what they invested in. Chinese classes were a huge, omnipresent force in my life until about age 16. They pushed. And pushed. No matter where we moved, we would always find a school to accommodate us. If my mom worked on Saturdays, we would have class on Sundays. If there were no Sunday classes available, my mom would drop us off early and pick us up during her lunch break. The medical clinic she worked at became my sister and my after-school center. In academics, they made sure we achieved a certain standard. Nagged. Constantly asked about grades. Asked if we needed tutoring. Questioned us on less-than-stellar grades. Expressed concern at subpar test results. And at high school graduation and university commencement, they were beaming.
I think more generally, my parents share an immigrant mentality with a very broad community--first generation immigrants to the US. I think Chua also points this out in her book. You come here without a dime in your pocket, work your way up through the lowest of the low rung of the economic ladder, finally establish a "middle-class" life for yourself and your family, and the last thing you want is for your children to potentially lose everything you've worked so hard to provide because they don't realize the hardships in attaining a comfortable life.
When I told my parents about this particular passage--
"Chinese parents believe that their kids owe them everything. the reason for this is a little unclear, but it's probably a combination of Confucian filial piety and the fact that the parents have sacrificed and done so much for their children...By contrast, I don't think most Westerners have the same view of children being permanently indebted to their parents. Jed [Chua's husband] actually has the opposite view. 'Children don't choose their parents,' he once said to me. 'They don't even choose to be born. It's parents who foist life on their kids, so it's the parents' responsibility to provide for them. Kids don't owe their parents anything. Their duty will be to their own kids.'"--Amy Chua, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, p. 53
--they agreed with Chua's Jewish husband about his conception of a parent-child relationship. That was interesting, but I guess I shouldn't find it surprising. I don't think my parents have ever raised me or my siblings with the expectation that we will pay them back by taking care of them when they reach old age. I don't really know what they expect from us besides being able to independently take care of ourselves before they can't anymore.
Overall an entertaining read. She's a great storyteller and incredibly funny in some parts. I laughed out loud. The biggest value I got out of her book, I'd say, would be how amused I was reading about her particular experience, the trials and tribulations of raising biracial children in a society with such a rich set of socio-cultural values to choose from. I give her props for sticking to her guns and having conviction about doing what she thought was best for her children. And maybe even if I don't aspire to be a tiger mom, I can strive to be more disciplined in other roles I have.
On a totally unrelated note, my mom steamed fish (I wasn't sure which type) with pepper and cheese drizzled on top tonight. The broth was to die for. I wanted to drink it like soup. The fish melted in my mouth. Happiness is rushing home from class in anticipation of good home cooking.
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