Tag: halfie stuff (Page 2 of 5)

Week in review (Dec 14, 2014)

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  • I actually bought 1989 like three weeks ago, but I forgot to include it in a Week in Review post at that time. Whatever. It takes me a while to figure out how I feel about songs/albums anyway. At this point — after many, many listens — I can safely say that 1989 is pretty good and a lot of fun. I really admire Taylor’s artistic instincts, and her desire to push herself into new, unfamiliar territory. (That said, I think Red was the sweet spot for her, both lyrically and musically. I’d love to see her return to that style/sound someday.) The only 1989 songs that I don’t really care for are “How You Get the Girl” and “Wonderland.” My absolute favorite is “You Are In Love.” Taylor wrote it about the relationship between Jack Antonoff and Lena Dunham (who are her friends), and it’s just so stripped down and genuine — and reminds me of my relationship with Andy — that it hits me right in the feels every time.
  • I’m really into PT Serif right now. Yes, I am a font nerd. I’m also a pen nerd, and fonts are the computer equivalent of pens. I still remember doing my homework in high school with a rainbow of Pentel RSVP pens (.5 mm). There’s just something about a good writing instrument that makes you want to write more, and good fonts are the same way.

Blue Lily, Lily Blue (The Raven Cycle, #3)

  • At long last, I got to read BLUE LILY, LILY BLUE, the third book in Maggie Stiefvater’s Raven Cycle series. Stiefvater’s writing is so magical — and not just because she writes fantasy. She has an amazing way with characters and setting and mood. The second book (THE DREAM THIEVES) is still my favorite in the series so far, but this one was great. I won’t say too much about it, for fear of spoilers, but I will say that I was moved to tears by the courtroom scene. More than anything, these books are about the bonds of friendship — one of my favorite themes.
  • Last but not least, I’ve been spending a lot of time researching Taiwan. I’m going back next year for the first time in over a decade, and I’m a mess of emotions about it. That’s probably a whole post on its own. For now I’ll just give a shoutout to two tools that I’m using to improve my (toddler-level) Mandarin:
    • Chinese Skill, an app modeled on Duolingo (which was started at Carnegie Mellon!)
    • “Love Myself or You,” a cute little Taiwanese drama about two chefs and a lot of misunderstandings (which I am watching via Drama Fever)

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Rethinking failure

In a recent post, Chuck Wendig encourages writers to “fail without fear.”

We don’t learn a lot through success by itself. That sounds strange, but it’s true. I throw a basketball at a hoop and – swish — first time in? I don’t know what the hell I did. But I get one shot in and nine missed, I start to see how I can do that better. And suddenly, I start making more baskets. We make sense of our efforts through failure.

Failure is a word/concept that I think many of us are afraid of — but what if we just thought of it as a code word for rough drafts and imperfection? What if failure became a temporary stop on the road to success, instead of a final destination?

The other day, I had to get something engraved. (A trophy for Andy’s fantasy football league. Yes, they are that dorky about it.) I ran around town looking for a shop that would do this little one-off job, and finally found a really nice guy who was happy to take care of it right away. While he set up the machine, we made small talk. When he learned that I was a halfie, he started spitting out Chinese phrases he had picked up during his time working with Asian doctors in a laboratory. Ni hao ma. Ji cao fan. Xie xie.

His pronunciation wasn’t great, but he didn’t care. He wanted to connect with me, and he wanted to be corrected. He wanted to learn and improve.

Meanwhile, when I go to Chinese restaurants, I’m embarrassed that I can’t order in my mother’s native tongue. When I meet Spanish-speakers, I always downplay my fluency, because I know I’m rusty and don’t want to look stupid.

But I didn’t think this guy was stupid at all. I thought he was brave. I admired his hunger for knowledge and experience. His wide-open spirit. His willingness to embrace imperfection and to fail without fear.

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#WeNeedDiverseBooks (and diverse everything else too)

In case you missed it, the YA community is spearheading a charge for increased diversity in contemporary literature. The #WeNeedDiverseBooks campaign is amazing, and you can find out how to participate here.

For my part, I’m tweeting and re-tweeting, and I’m writing diverse stories, and I’m now (as ever) sharing my own personal thoughts and experiences.

Last night, I caught a rerun of the 60s television show Bewitched, which I used to love as a kid. The hijinks of a witch and her ad exec husband — what’s not to like? Best of all, they had a kid. A HALFIE kid. Like me. And even though little Tabitha didn’t do a whole lot in the story, I adored her. She was one of the few “biracial” characters I knew growing up.

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Other favorites included Evie, the half-alien star of Out of This World, and Deanna Troi on Star Trek: The Next Generation, who was half-Betazed. Noticing a pattern, anyone?

There’s more. My favorite Disney princess was Belle, a brown-haired, brown-eyed book lover, and my favorite anime character was Sailor Jupiter, a brown-haired, brown-eyed tomboy. No matter that they were French or Japanese, respectively. I was looking for myself in stories, and these were the closest resemblances that I could find. Not precisely right, but better than nothing.

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Now imagine a kid who can’t see herself anywhere. Not even in these pale approximations. The idea of that honestly makes me cry.

We need diverse books — and movies, and music, and teachers, and business leaders, and politicians, and everything else. We need them, and we shouldn’t have to justify why. The reasons are pretty evident.

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Being different doesn’t have to mean being divided

Today I’m over at DiversifYA talking about my experiences as a halfie, as well as my advice on how to write diverse characters. I’d love for you to check it out!

Also, this opportunity came about after I commented on my friend Jasmine Warga’s great interview there. She had a lot of smart and eloquent things to say about her Middle Eastern heritage, and about people’s (mis)perceptions of that region (i.e., Aladdin, terrorism, and being “untouched by time”).

I’ve learned to embrace my background. It’s sort of the old adage that when you’re younger, what makes you different makes you embarrassed, but as you grow up, you learn that what makes you different makes you unique, makes you, you.

We’re all human with our own separate affinities, opinions, and interests. As important as I think it is for people to talk and discuss diversity, I want there to be a greater focus on what makes us all similar, as opposed to what divides us.

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Clothes for an empress

1.

I duck into a circular rack of clothing, a giddy smile on my face. Soon Mommy will notice that I am not by her side. She will, at least for a moment, panic. She will think that I have wandered off and gotten lost, or maybe even been kidnapped.

But then Mommy will come to her senses, calm down, and search for me. She will call my name in a sing-song voice and bend down to peek under the clothes.

I pick up my feet and tuck them onto the bars. Now I am invisible. I am a monkey nestled into a tree. I am a chameleon blending into my surroundings.

Still, I know somehow Mommy will find me, and I will shriek with glee. Then we will go to the next store and play again. This is my favorite game.

2.

My mom’s closet is a treasure trove. Sometimes when I am home alone, I go inside and rifle through all the sweaters and dresses and shoes. There are jackets with shoulder pads from when she worked in an office. There is a thick winter coat from when she went to school in Philadelphia. There are even skirts and shorts from when she still lived in Taiwan.

My all-time favorite thing in my mom’s closet is her bright red qi pao. Long and silky, embroidered all over with blossoms, fastened from ribcage to collar with delicate butterfly clasps. It is the most beautiful, regal thing I have ever seen. A Chinese princess dress. And it belongs to my mother.

The first time I put it on, I am too small in every way. A few years later, I try again, but I am still not quite there. Finally, in high school, the hem falls to my ankle as it should — but the sleeves and chest are tight, and the stiff high collar won’t even close around my neck.

Wistfully I realize that I have outgrown my mother. I will never fit her qi pao.

3.

In my own closet, there are a number of items I should probably get rid. Star Trek t-shirts, all XL, because as a kid I hid my body. My dance team uniform, stiff and cliché, but a reminder of the joy you can find in stepping outside your comfort zone. And way in the back, two tiny dresses that I loved in pre-school, one handmade by my best friend’s mother, the other frilled and polka-dotted, affectionately dubbed the Blueberry Dress.

I will never wear any of these things again, but each one tells a story about who I have been. About who I am. And maybe someday I will have a daughter who hides between hangers or presses her nose into the mothball scent. Maybe she will want to read my life in my clothes or try them on for herself. Maybe she will be fascinated by that “otherness” in me and want desperately to connect to the “otherness” within herself.

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