人間

Venturing about.

Return!?

My prayer tablet from 2007 is in there somewhere,

with the usual wishes written upon it:

stay healthy,

do well in school,

protect my family,

meet a nice boy,

and return to Japan someday.

I knew the first three were likely to happen, but I never imagined the last would!

Well, not so soon, anyway.

9 more days.

Revisiting old friends and nostalgic places for ten days, and then visiting the sprawling metropolis of Tokyo and my friend Kinuko for another ten or so.

This, combined with Christmas, is making me feel elated beyond belief. I am so excited for both that I can hardly contain myself. I think one of these is appropriate:

^_____^!!!!

---

I had been wandering through the snow for quite some time. It was cold, but not unpleasant...comforting, really, in a numbing way. There were indents in the soft sheen of ice, freshly made by the careful steps of my predecessor. The prints diverted off the slick road I had been traveling, off into a set of ominous looking trees growing nearby. I wanted to stick to my initial path, but I knew that this divergent road would eventually converge back into the one I had started on. It did not hold the appeal of safety the main road did, but it offered a lure that little else ever had.

You know what really grinds my gears?

You know what really grinds my gears? People who constantly use other peoples' ideas to project what they think their personality, interests, and thoughts are or should be. I know that everyone has idols they are inspired by, and that everyone, regardless, borrows ideas from somewhere or another. But the fact that some people just constantly barrage you with works and ideas that are not their own to "express themselves" is irritating. I like people with diverse interests and knowledgeable backgrounds about this and that, but if when it comes down to it they have no real thought processes of their own, it is frustrating and disheartening.

I remember reading in Invisible Monsters the quote "I am the combined effort of everyone I have ever known." I instantly liked this idea because I thought it true: it is. Work to change that. Throw your own effort into that mix, and make it the dominant force. Take things that you admire or believe and challenge them, draw your own conjectures, and change them as you see fit. Never stick to what is safe. Be able to apply your beliefs and knowledge in different contexts. Perpetuate a cycle of being inspired, inspiring others and inspiring yourself.

Misanthropy.

Julie sits outside of the large Humanities building, on a wooden bench underneath one of the less occupied tree covered areas. From where she is sitting, she can see a number of students lounging around as well as hurrying past.

College students... what interesting and disgusting creatures, she muses as she pretends to be texting on her iPhone - an activity that she finds herself doing to look occupied, partly out of an unremitting need to fidget, and partly out of the need to ward off strangers.

Every morning when Julie initially wakes she feels caught between the desire to love the world and to hate it. Usually, about an hour into the day later, she finds a happy balance nestled among a daily schedule, cup of coffee, and texts from her friends.

Naturally, sitting there and noticing an equal amount of negatives as positives concerning her peers makes her feel like a bit of a misanthrope. Hate the world. Hatehatehatehate. Initial guilt about negative similarities quickly dissipates and the elitist attitude sinks in.

Then why, why dear god, does Julie want to "help" people? If she detests the general public at all, why want to work with them? Why with children of all populations?

The only answer I can think of is this: a healthy dose of misanthropy inevitably drives those with a good-natured, caring disposition to want to do something to improve or mend broken humanity.

Why children? Well, because...because every time Julie meets an adult with "issues", every reason for the way they are is a downward of trajectory stemming from their past. Get 'em young! - they say and all that.

Julie is no fool. She knows she cannot help nor improve humanity significantly. To her, though, if she can really, truly help but one or a few vulnerable beings it makes it all worth it.

It is bizarre how this desire to help is a viable partner to the tendency to dislike.

That's all, folks.

Hapaness & Cultural Identity.

So today I am going to be ranting about being multiracial. I know that in a sense, almost everyone is multiracial and not 100% a particular race, but I am talking about being multiracial in one's own cultural and immediate family background.

The term "hapa" literally means fragment, part, portion, etc. It originally came from Hawaii and was used to describe a person of mixed Asian or Pacific Islander racial/ethnic heritage. In more recent years the term has been applied to anyone of significant mixed heritage, not just Asians. However, the term is most commonly applied to Asians who are mixed with non-asian blood, usually those who are half-and-half. The reason the term has been chosen to be applied this way is probably due to the growing amount of Asians marrying non-Asians in the U.S. and other countries.

I have never really had a solitary ethnic background to identify with. Those forms with the little checkboxes that wanted you to identify your race were always very confusing to me. Am I "Caucasian", "Asian", "South East-Asian", "Filipino", or "Other"? I usually ended up checking the "Other" box to simply negate thinking about it.

MOM (Late 20's)

My Mom was born in the Philippines and came to the U.S. to be a nurse when she was in her late twenties. Like many other Filipinos, her family has a background of Chinese blood, but it was never tied to her lifestyle there.

DAD (Early 20's)

My Dad was born and raised in California to a father whose parents immigrated from Germany, and a mother whose parents immigrated from Austria.

RESULT: JULIANNA (20)

When people ask me, "So do you feel more Filipino or White?" The first thought that instantly pops into my mind is "Filipino!" I always thought that I probably felt that way because I visually look more Filipino than Caucasian. In truth, though, I've always felt closest to a Filipino that was born and raised in the U.S., minus the paternal culture factor. My father has no White relatives except for my Grandfather, who I only visited once or twice a year while I was growing up. My mother, however, is one of six. Two of my aunts live in the U.S., and the rest back in the Philippines. Lolo and Lola, my maternal grandparents, lived with my family and raised me and my siblings up until I was about six. They moved in with my Aunt when my two cousins Mei-Mei and Cyril moved to the U.S.. I spent a lot of time at my Aunt's house with my cousins and Grandparents until they moved back to the Philippines when I was ten.

Growing up, I attended many Filipino family parties and reunions. I always felt like I fit in there, and in fact, many of my mother's friends doted over me because of my white heritage (in Filipino culture the fact that you're mixed means instant beauty). I visited the Philippines and my family over there four times for weeks at a time throughout my youth. I ate lots of Filipino cooking, heard Tagalog quite often (though I never learned it thoroughly, something I regret), and knew of all the cultural jokes, practices, and expectations. I've always felt closer to my mother than my father. My Dad was born in 1946 and has a very 50's/60's mindset of what marriage and having children should be like. His interests consisted of surfing, cars, traveling, bars, and Asian women (har-har). For these reasons and many others, I've always felt tied to my mother's culture.

Taking into context where I grew up it really is no surprise. The population of my hometown consists of a striking majority of Asian and Caucasian people. All of my best friends in elementary school - save for one - were of Asian decent. It's odd, though, when I look back and at those years. From about fourth grade and on, I had this idealization of what I wished I look like: blonde, blue/green eyes, perfect ski-jump nose, pale, and thin. I always wished I looked more like my father, who I only resemble in height and weight. I'm pretty sure growing up in the O.C. played a big role in that.

Once I hit middle school, I soon found that hanging out with the white crowd was perfectly fine, but I still felt there were some things they didn't understand. I shifted to hanging out with the AZNs and found that though I could identify easily with them, I still sometimes felt like an outsider. Being half-and-half in itself was kind of interesting, but the fact that I was half Filipino made things even more complicated. Is a Filipino even considered Asian? South-East Asian? Pacific Islander? It's amusing how there is even racism and a stereotyped hierarchy amongst Asians.

Urban Dictionary:

2. Hapa girls and guys are more likely to be good-looking than any other race. Nonetheless, it does not mean that all of them are either handsome or hot, but they are just more likely to be.

And then I discovered the stereotype that many people have: half Asians always turn out beautiful! They're so cute! Ouch. That was a hard stereotype to own up to. I have always had low self-esteem, and that just made me feel unworthy of being a "hapa" or a "half asian", something that I inevitably was anyway. I went through thought cycles of idealizing "what if's" of my genetic heredity. I never considered my parents bad-looking, and once adolescence hit it was, "Oh, if only I had gotten my father's straight nose, hazel eyes, narrow face and height mixed with my mother's almond eyes, full lips and high metabolism! Why couldn't it be that way!?" I'm a lot better now, but I am still in the process of coming to terms with that which cannot be changed.

In the end, I feel like this pieced together conglomeration of American, Asian, and Filipino. I have finally somewhat mastered the skill of bringing out the strengths of each in different situations, and I've developed a pride rather than an ambivalence towards my background. I'm grateful for my heritage! It has made me open to and knowledgeable about many other cultures, and I wouldn't have it any other way.