Stuff Frances Likes: Doing things the hard way

Or: In my defense of my actions


Perhaps the best and most recent example is manually copying pictures of various sea creatures for my students. I could have easily had them photocopied somewhere but, of course, when it comes to doing things in China, one (me) would often opt for doing things themselves rather than having to interact with a real Chinese person. I spent a good two hours meticulously tracing sharks, turtles, whales and penguins and fish onto colored paper and then carefully cutting 6-7 of each animal. There was also some home laminating going, using packing tape to "laminate" each animal and again re-cutting the animal's outline. Did my students appreciate my hard work? For a moment, until they ripped the heads off.

Another good example was my controversial (to some) move to China. I could've easily stayed back in Seattle and found a "real" job and do my part pushing papers, contributing to a retirement program and taking the occasional exotic vacation wherein I binge drink and go clubbing. Instead, I moved to China, the place where the world loves to hate, a country full of superlatives and continues to make global headlines. However, if there are millions of people learning Chinese, I must be doing something right.

Living in China has not been easy for obvious reasons- culture, language, people, climate, customs, etc. Finding an apartment, navigating public transportation, eating food or shopping all runs the risk of us being cheated or ripped off because we are foreigners. Knowing that we have overcome all of this, as cheesy as it sounds, shows the ability to overcome ambiguity. Especially if learning a second language is involved. If I can do it in China, where it is impossible to do anything the easy way with a limited knowledge of the language, I can do it anywhere!

Doing things the easy way can materialize in a certain demographic; I like to think of my peers who work to make money and spend it on frivolous things like the newest iPhone, expensive clothes, drinks at the club or vacations to Vegas (notorious for spending money faster than you earn it). At some point, they will settle down and start a family, unless the baby comes first and then the plans are mixed up. It makes me uncomfortable thinking of pursuing a lifestyle like this knowing I am capable of other things. What, exactly? That's what "doing things the hard way" is about, I guess. Something more relevant, more worthwhile and something that contributes to society, more than just the immediate economic effects that occur when I buy and consume.

Stuff Frances Likes

1. Chips

People who are close to me may have witnessed my fierce passion for all things thin, seasoned, crispy and deep fried. My relationship with chips best illustrates my lack of self control- there is no way I can eat just one. Instead, I will most likely consume an entire bag in a short amount of time. I also refuse to share. Of course I would not explicitly say it, but instead opt not to ask or simply move elsewhere to privately indulge.

Some of my favorites:

I don't necessarily "like" eating chips. Or, I do but I just feel like a monster when I do eat them. I can't ration them and save them for a period of time, considering I attempt to break world records for shoveling handfuls of chips into my mouth. Is this what the relationship between obese Americans and heavily processed foods looks like? Luckily, my access to chips has been stifled by the lack of big grocery stores and is instead replaced by barbecued kebabs, roasted duck pieces and fresh noodles. You know, real China.

Posture

We've all heard this one before: parents trying to get their children to do something to enhance their lives. The children -taking their parents' benevolence as a form of dictatorship- will do everything in their power to refuse. Their acts of protest? Crying, whining, running away and faking illness. Of course, I was that kid, truly believing I was a free thinker and exempt from "those" things. I was the prototype of a modern woman (not really). If I had listened to my mom, I could have been a Chinese speaking ballet dancer who played piano recitals on the weekends. At home, I would've been able to sew curtains, a nice party dress all while preparing a three course meal.

I've tried to make up for lost time by learning how to cook. I can still sew with a needle and thread, make a skin tight tube dress to hit up the clubs but definitely no gown for a ball. I can speak just a little Chinese and if you consider the cha cha to be similar to ballet, then I'm not so far off from those idealistic dreams of my mother.

My latest attempt at reverting/reclaiming my mom's life tips is trying to improve my posture. Lately, I've been attempting to sit up straight for as long as I possibly can but find that it is very similar to being punished or exercise, which I avoid at all costs. I like to attribute my terrible posture to the way I sleep at night. I would describe my sleeping similar to how a hedgehog might look like, curling myself into a ball as a last defense if ever someone tried to attack us at night.

When I was younger, my mom used to receive catalogues that sold those products "as seen on TV", like those magazines that sold pre-seeded mats that, when watered, would grow a beautiful flower patch (I really wanted one) or novelty clocks or utensils. While looking through this magazine, my mom used to threaten me by telling me that she would purchase this bra-type thing that somehow improved posture by keeping your shoulders back. Maybe she should've gone through with it. I could've been a Chinese speaking, ballet dancing, piano playing, excellent hostess/seamstress with good posture. What a catch!

Alternatives to the beach

After living in medium to large cities like Seattle and Beijing, I find it hard to believe that I spent a significant amount of my life on Guam. I often wonder about what I did as a kid, what did I do in my spare time on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere. People find it odd that I didn't spend my time at the beach, or hiking in the lush tropical forests or singing praises to the nature gods for a good harvest. I did, after all, live on a tropical island. Don't all island people do that? It's an island in the Pacific! 85 degrees EVERY SINGLE DAY.

It's actually more common than you think for people on Guam to not spend time at the beach and take part in water related activities. There is a fair share of old wives tales and real stories about people dying or losing limbs because of one thing or another related to the power of the currents and tides, so going to the beach was out of the question for most kids. Then again there is the case of getting dark which is absolutely forbidden for little girls, so asking to even play outside before 6pm was considered suicide. Remember, the goal is white porcelain and you, and definitely not your future husband, wouldn't want to jeopardize your future for that golden glow caused by cancer causing sunlight.

My brother and I turned to the arts when we were kids. We dabbled with landscaping, utilizing recycled (read: things we stole from the abandoned house next door) materials and native plant species, as well as interior design with again, recycled materials (cardboard boxes), and working with our client's -our mom- existing furniture to fit our small budget. One of our biggest and most successful projects was the Amazonian rainforest inspired front porch we designed and built, complete with working fountain. We've experimented in fashion design where inspiration was drawn from dominatrixes, superheroes and science fiction. I would say we were very minimalistic in our approach, only using scissors (think of a lot of tearing with our hands), recycled clothing (have you noticed a trend here?) as well as random pieces of fabric intended for curtains that we stole from our mom to create a look. Many of the outfits that we've produced were one of a kind pieces, often being constructed to fit the body, or Barbie's body, perfectly and is intended to be thrown out afterwards. Our venture did not last long due to the lack of public interest, considering Barbie and I were the only clients. I'd like to think it was because my brother was too much of a forward thinker in his vision and the public was not ready for it.

We also made home movies, specializing at both live action and stop and go animation. Some of our work includes a live action remake of The Little Mermaid, with Ursula recast as an evil and larger than life bulati (sea cucumber) and short film of a day in the life of Barbie and Ken which was probably one of the most difficult movies to produce. Probably the most work intensive and most rewarding of all is Faces of Fri, which is the only film that is available for viewing today, only in VHS form. Written, directed and produced by my brother and starring me (as all roles), Faces of Fri is a three part short film series of a trio of friends -Susan, Roman and Faludi each with their own "unique" personalities. Susan is the aspiring model, Roman is the academic, and Faludi seems to be the empowered female with an agenda. The film follows the girls on seemingly normal adventures- sleepovers, meeting a new friend and a day outside in the yard- but things go awry when they discover that the house is haunted which, for some reason, gives them special powers, the new friend is an English bitch and playing in the yard is actually more dangerous than you think. The film was produced on a very low budget but my brother did a remarkable job filming and editing and I am still impressed with the quality of the film.

While my landscaping, interior design, fashion design, and movie making would be nothing to write home about today, I believe I was at my creative peak at eight years old. Maybe the island was my muse and if I head back then I could channel some of that creativity again. I'd rather not take that chance though. It's an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for crying out loud.

Dreams about my old house (on separate occasions)

A freewrite

One

The house looked like this in my dream, except that it was located in a dense neighborhood, where you could see into people's houses from one's window. My family was moving back in, but while they were transporting things, I had to stay and wait in the house by myself. The house had no doors or windows and plants were growing into the house. It was a little scary, so I called my friend Tom to come stay with me while my family was away. Tim and Liz were my neighbors -they called me from their window- and they told me I could stay with them until my family got back, and that they had eggplants growing (the thing about this detail is that Tim said that they had "qiezi", which is what "eggplant" is in Chinese) and that I could eat with them.

Two

I came back home for vacation. I remember the people next door -when I was growing up- had a nice, big yard. In my dream, the people next door had a huge swimming pool in their backyard. Instead of twins (who were my neighbors in real life), they were some kind of Western European expats. There were several kids, and they all had blonde hair. I later discovered that my mom had become some kind of animal enthusiast while I explored my house -the house was huge and castle like for some reason. She had an indoor pool dedicated to aquaculture. Our yard was a complete opposite of the house next door with their clean pool and well manicured grass- it was an "organized jungle" with distinct areas for plants and garden sculptures. There were exotic big birds in the yard, and even monkeys. I remember finding some kind of animal -I think it was a dog- that was hidden in plain view, like it was camouflaged in the foliage, because my mom wanted to hide it. I kept thinking how surprised I was that my mom changed her opinion in regard to animals (she never really liked keeping them). The next door neighbors came over and we all explored the house together. My room was in the basement (which we didn't have).

Three

There were kids with me (maybe around 9, 10 years old) in the house. Our family had moved out of the house, but for some reason I came back with these kids. I think we were going somewhere. Or meeting someone. Being back at the house happened by chance, and I was excited to tell the kids about it. I told them about all the secret rooms in the house, which weren't really secret, like the 1/2 bathroom downstairs that we never used (in real life, we never used the downstairs bathroom, I don't know why). The pantry (which we never had), was blocked by a desk of some sort. I needed to move it so we could get to the food inside. I remember opening it and seeing a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese.

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Why have I been having all these dreams about this house? This house was always special to me because its the one place where my family lived in the longest. My brother and I filmed many home movies here, unfortunately only one -Faces of Frances- survived. I am convinced it is haunted (a story for another time). It makes me sad to see it in this state.

The Loft

When my brother moved away from Seattle, he was unwilling to let go of his catch of an apartment. Like a prized heirloom, he wanted to keep the place in the family. Luckily for him I needed a place to stay once I got back from China. After graduating from the UW dorms and a brief stint in First Hill where I lived in fear that I would be abducted by the homeless people living in the camps by the freeway every night, my brother's apartment was the Renter's version of the American Dream. The apartment was two story one bedroom loft with huge windows facing 15th Avenue on Capitol Hill. The neighborhood was super hip and comfortable. Aside from that, I won't get into details and specifications of the apartment and neighborhood because it will just emphasize how much I didn't deserve living in that apartment. Also, I do not want to instill feelings of resentment and bitterness towards me.

Because of the way the apartment was laid out, I couldn't really have any roommates, or I could except that I would have no privacy. I opted for privacy. A lot has been said about a person being by themselves, and so of course hilarity ensues. I stopped working because I started taking 18 credits a quarter, which meant I spent more time at home. I confined myself to my bedroom upstairs, except for the occasional back to back Seinfeld and Frasier from 10-12pm. I bought plants (for decorative purposes, not to improve the air quality) and knick knacks, in attempt to "tie the place together" and less like it was put together with clipart*.

I soon filled the place up with stupid shit like candle holders in the shape of a chicken, oil lamps, wooden fruit, excessively large glass vases and ceramic owls and fish plates. Say what you want but I didn't purchase them with the intention that they were ironically hip. Then, through a combination of reintegrating back to Seattle life and the depression that follows and the fact that I can be a little weird sometimes, I started to develop some OCD like behavior. For one, I was truly convinced that I was going to burn the apartment down somehow so everytime I lit candles, blowing them out wasn't enough so I would put them in the freezer, of course, making sure that they were really out and not one of those trick candles that lit up again. If I had used the heater the night before, I would check the thermostat before leaving the house, which meant that I would be at the door and wasn't quite sure if it was off so I would go upstairs and check it again. The same went for checking to see if the door was locked. All the freedom and luxuries of living by myself was lost because I felt that everything I did would destroy the apartment, including turning the volume up on my speakers.

In retrospect, I wish I had moved out of the place. I would've saved a lot of money, and would have probably had one of those enriching college-aged experiences through interacting with real people. Then again I wouldn't have a fun story to tell.

*We accumulated a lot of furniture from various people -other college students- and places so nothing really matched. It was a very utilitarian aesthetic.

Beijing Subway

Wudaokou is one of those places that one never has to leave. Fortunately for me, I have to leave this (practically) Western sanctuary for work and venture out into the unknown of Beijing sprawl. To do this, I spend a lot of time on the Beijing metro and it encompasses all the elements of a love hate relationship. It is an incredibly cheap form of transportation, costing only 2 yuan (or $.30) a trip to anywhere in the city. The extensive and efficient system allows me to rub elbows (and even more than that during rush hour) with a decent sample of Beijing- migrant workers with their dusty toolboxes, highschool students in their matching jump suits, hip kids with big hair and studded boots, white collar workers, etc. And everyone, of course, is on their cellphone. Texting, sexting, playing games, watching movies, anything a cellphone is capable of doing. Transfers from one line to the other act as a form of exercise for me as I find myself going up and down stairs, speed walking to avoid the impenetrable wall of people and the occasional use of brute force -think of football training- attempting to enter and exit a crowded compartment (it gets really crowded). The experience is also a time for me to exercise my underutilized brain by listening to podcasts or doing some crossword puzzles. Since Chinese people often think I am also Chinese, I get a lot of curious stares when they see me writing or texting in English (because it is both crowded on the train and Chinese people have no shame about snooping). On days when I am tired and search of a rare, coveted seat, I gauge each seated passenger's likelihood of getting off at the nearest stop or transfer and hover over them in hope that I was right and they leave at the next stop. More often than not I am wrong and spend the entirety of the trip bitter and angry. Maybe I shouldn't look so eager when I hover.