Xiao! Wang Jing

“Wang, duck down a bit.”

“W…What? Why should I? Where am I? Where’ you guys bringin’ me? Please let me go I gotta go and finish my Common App tonight.”

I refused to move despite the rigid hand tugging on my arm, forcing me to keep on walking. The hand of the person that tied this annoying cloth around my eyes, probably that of Franky; it sounded like him, felt like him, and most of all, smelled like him. Well, I obviously knew that there had to be many others involved in this besides him. Not only could I smell a crowd around me, but I also heard the mocking giggles that have been irritating me ever since they “kidnapped” me in front of the Yoga house. The group mainly consisted of my homeroom classmates but with Liz missing. Liz and I have been together for 3 years; I recognized her scent within the radius of several yards. Unlike me, Liz was an outgoing, active girl, and it was quite strange to not have her participate in a prank played, especially, on her own boyfriend.    

 

“Chai hong Yoga house”, as its name suggests, is a small yoga academy located on Millwood Avenue, the main street of China Town Virginia, where my mom gives yoga lessons during weekday evenings to most of Virginia’s bourgeois housewives. It was awkward to have 15 “elegant” female Anglo-Americans gliding through china town in their silver Audi’s but my mom’s fancy resume of being an Olympic bronze medalist kept luring them in to this shaggy neighborhood for over ten years.

 

Barely ten minutes ago, was I there on the shaggy road, to pick up mom’s unlaundered yoga outfit. Now, I’m headed into some kind of a naughty mischief my friends prepared for me. I felt bad. And I meant it. Tonight was the perfect chance to finish my grand experiment with the perfumes. I’ve been working for almost 3 years now, to make the perfect scent for Liz’s graduation gift and I had only 2 months left until I finish it, give it to her, and finally enjoy myself cuddling with the perfect girl perfumed with the perfect scent. Even mom said she’ll be working late at dad’s restaurant, helping with the group reservation, or some teens having a birthday party. That bought me a ton of private time. I had no time to waste; my clock was ticking away. Whoever it was that was playing this time consuming prank on me, I would most certainly take revenge on as soon as it ended.

But for now, Franky was my one and only guidance, preventing me from bumping into stuffs. I could identify people, food, and the overall atmosphere by simply sniffing the mid-air, but not walls and ceilings. Some smelled like wet fungi but usually they smelled like nothing. 

“Ouch”

“See? I told you to duck down. It’s in part your fault. Who told you to be so tall?”

 

Okay. The first one on “People to Revenge” list was definitely Franky. My forehead began throbbing. I get the feeling it’s going to bruise tomorrow. I tried to take my attention off from the pain and on to something like “Where was I going?” My forehead told me that I was indoors, just past some kind of an arch-shaped entrance, and for the rest, my nose went on doing its job. With the eyes disabled, my nose became extra sensitive.

 

“Sniff”

 

Yuan xi, or Chinese parsley. Followed by sesame oil, rice, pork, ginger, garlic, spring onion, pepper, chilly, soy sauce, oyster sauce all blended and complementing each other as if… As if it was it was the smell of my father’s apron I remember as a child. The apron of a head chef in Beijing’s largest hotel always smelled like a mouth watering Chinese dish garnished with freshly chopped Yuan xi, in it catching the story of the chef’s hard day and telling it to his son. Cilantro, or Yuan xi, for me, was the smell of my dad with his generous smile, smell of home back at China, smell of warmth, smell of all things that were taken from me on that plane here to America. Tabooed from coming near their restaurant, attending boarding school, and being forced to become an “Intellect” unlike them for 12 whole years, I had almost forgot the scent of it. The piercing scent of cilantro grasped my fading memory of comfort; comfort that existed before our family was flew out of China in search for the American dream, while sitting on an intractable amount of debt. For the first time in 12 years, I felt warm, and then I realized that for the first time in 12 years, I had stepped in to a Chinese restaurant.

 

“Surprise!”

 

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the brightness it had been missing for an hour. Then first came the sight of Franky, then my friends, then the scene of a Chinese restaurant….Then mom? She looked shocked just as much as I did. A brief sense of empathy came across me, then in a matter of seconds; however, a gush of anger had swept it off its feet.

 

“What the hell??”

 

I could hear my heart pound in my ears.

“Tada~ It’s your Birthday Wang Jing!”

 

There was a cake on the table, and their eyes were full of silent pride of accomplishment. They did indeed succeed in surprising me. They had just broken my, no my family’s life-time taboo. And now, it was MY turn to show them what they had just done. The quiet, introverted Chinese nerd was off the leash. I grabbed Franky by his hair.

“What are you doing! Wang Jing Stop!!”

 

Just before I banged Franky’s head against the table, I saw the menu chart fall from my mom’s trembling hands, on to the floor. And that was when the time halted.

 

“……..”

 

Not a sound was made, nor a breath was taken. I let go of the hair. A handful remained in my fist, Franky screamed a scream of a pig and people started screaming along, but I couldn’t feel nor hear any of it. I read the title out loud.  

“Xiao Wang Jing”

My father came out of the kitchen with a rather embarrassed smile on his face as if I had discovered his little secret he had hoped to keep to himself. Or of naming the restaurant in the name of his son “The smile of Wang Jing.”

 

Suddenly, my senses came back with the olfactory sense reacting as the first. The soothing aroma of cilantro took me down. The anger, the shock, the confusion were all malfunctioning. I felt high in the scent of yuan xi, the Chinese restaurant, my father’s apron, and of my childhood comfort.

 

That night I was half out of mind, I didn’t do anything, say anything, not eat anything until I stood in front of my perfume collections,madly searching for the last scent that would satisfy the lacking 2 percent of my grand project. I carefully took the spoid, on the verge of going mad with excitement, and perfected the aroma of my memory. Basking in my own glory, it was only after I had put on the lid written “Yuan xi” back on the bottle, that I realized I had created a cilantro-scented perfume for my girlfriend.        

Me Nam is Didi

 

In a classroom dimly lit by thin streaks of sunlight coming from the glass-less windows and ventilated by two wooden fans barely hanging on to the ceiling, awaited fifty pairs of eyes glistening with reserved excitement. For the first few days of class, I was simply the new “miss.” From the morning greetings of “Good morning miss” to common questions such as”You nam (name in Hindi) miss?” despite my efforts of crying out “Me nam is Min!” the replacement of the two “ss’s” with an “N” seemed nearly impossible.

Of all the classes, the Bengali class 7 and 8 was the shiest, yet the most diligent, and eventually the most memorable. To be honest, after the first class, I secretly hoped to change classes to that of a lower grade; I had dreamt of something less quite, more aggressive, and fun. Then on the next day, I dragged myself into the same class, wishing that it would end even before it started, frustrated already at the thought of being called “miss” all day.

I carelessly started handing out two sheets of colored papers, not really minding what pair of colors left my hand. Everybody seemed happy with what they got, pink and yellow, purple with light green, blue and red, but except for Pinky, who kept on looking down at her papers in an attempt to hide the disappointment in her face. And not thinking much about it again, I switched one of her two brown papers with a pink one; she was“Pinky” after all. “Tangku miss” she replied to me with such an over-sized smile that it almost embarrassed me. So everyone was satisfied in the end, excluding myself, working on their “bird in the cage" eye illusion crafting where you draw a cage on one paper, a bird on the other, and spin to see the “bird in the cage.” I was so bored I could almost hear a clock ticking over the dull, monotonous sounds of pencils scratching.

Another 40 minutes seemed to have somehow crawled past me without any deviations. However, just like any other surprises, mine also came at the very end. 5 minutes remaining for class, I was going around taping the two papers on to a stick so I could finally wrap up my boredom. It became Pinky’s turn to give me her papers for taping but instead of handing me the paper, she told me to lean over the desk and bring my ears closer as if she was going to whisper a secret to me. A bit annoyed, I did as she told me, I leaned over the desk to hear her little secret in an exaggeratedly enthusiastic manner. Fortunately, she didn't seem to care nor be suspicious, with her simple hesitant action, she just left me in a state of sudden shock. For the first time something deviated from my expectations, for the first time in India I was called by the name“didi” and for the first time ever in my life, kissed by a girl on my cheeks.

 

From that day on, I don’t know what Pinky did to her classmates, but class 7 and 8 certainly became my favorite class. They seemed to be thankful and happy even of the most minor things we did for them; for example individually asking their names and telling mine in return. All of the girls started calling me “didi”, we held hands when walking on the same direction on the street, and on the last day of class, Pinky brought her hair bands to braid (braiding the hair in two strips is the most signature hairstyle in school) my hair just like she braided hers. Even until the day I left India, the class stayed quite, gave me a bunch of bashful smiles and was not exactly referred to as “Min”. But rather, something more than just “Min” and I guess for them, that was a sister or “Didi” as they used to call me.   

 

 

 

The Picture of Dorian Gray - Chapter 1

Although the first chapter may seem to simply depict the characteristics of the novels' major characters: Basil and Lord Henry, it actually bears a significant function of introducing most of the major themes of the book.

Throughout the chapter, the beauty of nature is repetitively praised an enjoyed by both the characters. Such as when depicting the atmosphere of the plot, the author uses sentences like "the heavy scent of lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pick-flowering thorn," (p5) "honey-colored blossoms of a laburnum... producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect."(p5) Also, the nature draws a parallel line with the characters' state much like "The wind shook some blossoms from the tress, and the heavy lilac-blossoms, with their clustering stars, moved to and fro in the languid air..... Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil Hallward's heart beating...."(p9) or "How pleasant it was in the garden!"(p15)

The concept of beauty is one of the issued topics discussed by Basil and Lord Henry. In the lines "But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins,"(p6) Henry suggests that beauty is the subject of intellect and thus responds to Basil: "Don't flatter yourself, Basil: you are not in the least like him."(p7) Here, Henry considers Basil, an intellectual being, not as a beautiful being like Dorian. Then, Lord Henry stresses the concept of beauty contrasting beauty and intelligence even more by saying "there is no doubt Genius lasts longer than Beauty."(p14)

Perhaps the most important theme that may continue later in the plot is "secrecy" mentioned several times in the chapter. Somewhere in his conversation with Henry, Basil refuses to exhibit his picture by saying "I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul."(p8) Basil talks of secrecy even more by admitting his desire for secrecy - "I have grown to love secrecy....The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it."(p7)

Of the last words of Basil towards the end of the chapter, there is a slight foreshadowing of what is to happen in the following chapters as Basil tells Lord Henry "Do not spoil him. Don't try to influence him. Your influence would be bad."(p16)

Other than the themes noticed above, there are still many more concepts to be discussed about in the first chapter; for instance, the hints of this novel as a Faustian tale. However, such things will certainly be carried into further discussion as the plot develops and important incidents take place.

 

Getting "Self-Catfished"

When I say "I got 'self-catfished'," a lot of people would think “Oh, she fooled herself by acting like someone she wasn’t, got in some sort of trouble, learned a lesson and finally became honest and truly found herself.” Well, I must say “Yes” and “No.” Yes, I fooled myself, but not by making myself fake, but by making up and believing in nothing but the “fake figures” of people around me. As for Vince Pierce, the catfish is needed for such reasons. 

“And I thank god for the catfish 

because we would be droll, 

boring 

and dull 

if we didn't have somebody nipping at our fin."

 As for me, I couldn’t treat others without making them all into a bunch of catfishes.

 The first person I catfished was my sister. Not only was she the first, but she was the most ideal, and the most perfected person that I had made up. Having long, boring train trips every weekend, my sister and I had no other friends than each other to play with. (My mom and dad were weekend couples) And as a kid, my 3-year older sister was a little hero to me. To me, she was the best among her age, very pretty with long silky black hair, but at the same time very strong with the firmest fist (she had a black belt in taekwondo). She also read really thick books and solved the most complex mathematics. However, the “perfect figure” of my sister shattered when we came back from the United States. My sister applied for “Chungshim”, a foreign language middle school, and actually got rejected from their interviews. As a fifth grader, I felt betrayed because as a “straight A” student, I couldn’t believe that she didn’t do well enough to get accepted. I felt catfished by the catfish that I, myself, had created upon my sister.

 For a while, I was too disappointed to face my sister like I used to. All my respect and expectations were gone with the “betrayal.” One after another, I started examining more and more flaws of hers. She actually was really bad at math, her long silky hair was not so much silky after all, and she was no longer stronger than I was. In the end, I obviously had to accept her flaws as she was my own sister and the fact that I loved her didn’t change no matter what. But still, it was a very big impact that enlightened me to see how I easily “get catfished by making others into a catfish.”

 Although you can’t particularly say that I got in a trouble for getting catfished, but I certainly learned a lesson from it. And yes, I still have a small tendency to set up “figures” in my minds for those around me and get disappointed every time somebody deviates, but at least now, I have my eyes and ears wide open to flaws I can find.

Perhaps, I clearly explained it now. How to get “Self-Catfished.

Parenting

“Mommy! We’re done brushing our teeth”

excitedly cried out the two little girls in their pajamas.

“You sure?”

asked the mother with a suspicious look.

The four little eyes trembled for half a second but once again they answered

“Yes. We did!”

back at their suspecting mother. The two girls happily went to bed with a victorious satisfaction from having fooled their mother to think they actually brushed their teeth. When actually, all they did was vigorously scrub the tiles for 3 minutes with their strawberry flavored toothpaste.

After tucking in her girls, the tired mother let out a silent sigh and turned on the bathroom light, trying not to make any noise. It was a matter of seconds before she spotted what she was searching for. Another sigh came out as she started cleaning up the “strawberry scented” bubbles off the floor.

 

‘Oh my gosh, I didn’t know she knew’

I thought to myself with my eyes widened. Then a second later, my eyes got even bigger as I thought,

‘Oh yeah! A few days after that, my sister and I got brand new electric toothbrushes!’

It was true. The new toothbrushes with colorful Disney characters printed, that made us brush out teeth three times a day.

‘But what is going on? Why are they showing me my childhood here?’

I thought, since I was there to watch a movie. I decided to wait a little longer with patience for the “real thing” to start.

 

“I DID NOT STEAL IT!!”

Cried out of a furious rage, so loudly that it almost echoed throughout the office.

“Five of your classmates accused you of the same thing. All of them came to me and told me that YOU sneaked Jerry’s pen from his pencil case.”

The teacher now seemed annoyed; it was half-an-hour past her work time.

 “Never mind, I don’t think this quarrel with you is worth anything Sue. I’ll have to call your mom and have her come over to school tomorrow. Go home, have a good nights sleep before the parent-teacher meeting tomorrow.”

Listening to her teacher say her last words, Sue’s face now went red to purple. Sue couldn’t breathe because she felt that every breath she lets out would consist of “F-words.”

“Oh. One more question before you leave. Does your mom even speak English? Because if she doesn’t, I….”

“Goodnight Ms’Ruckert”

Then she slammed the door behind her as she heard her mother’s voice over the phone of her “so-called” teacher.

 

The girl arrived at home. She locked the door, she didn’t think about anything not talk to anybody. She just went to sleep when the clock read 6p.m. and woke up when it read 12 p.m. She burst out of bed to see if it really was 12 “P.M.” The living-room clock blinked the same number 12p.m. and the sunlight was bright behind the curtains. Her mothers’ bag was gone along with her sneakers. Obviously, she went to see the teacher.

 

Nothing happened that night. Just that the next day, all my friends came to me and apologized as well as Ms.Ruckert. I didn’t know what was going on until Ms.Ruckert called me after class.

 

“Sue. We found the real theft.”

The girl didn’t say anything.

“We are all so sorry as we said. By the way, you should really love your mom. I almost got moved by the trust your mom has upon you.”

 

Oh that teacher. She hated me for being a Korean, and I hated her for hating me as a Korean. But then again I remembered. That incident never appeared ever again in your life. Not in our supper tables or Sunday mornings.

 

Rrrrrrrr…

I burst my eyes open. It was so clear that it didn’t feel like a dream at all. In front of me, the movie was still running. A man and an woman kissing away. I paused the movie. The movie that I put on to calm down my anger. Then I remembered, I was in a fight with Jenny. Jenny, my first daughter who got grounded for having skipped her academy today. She obviously went to play with her first boyfriend. I felt so betrayed that I couldn’t think of anything else. But now having realized what a relationship of a “mother and daughter” should be like. A relationship full of suspicion, betrayal, disappointment, forgiveness, and promises. But in the end, all those were what gave tons of trust between a mother and her daughter too.

I slowly walked to Jenny’s room. I saw her sleeping on her bed frowning. I straightened her face and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead. On my way out, I found her diary wide open. A sharp temptation pierced through me. A devil whispered in my ears

‘Pick it up…Read it’

But right before I picked it up, the “strawberry bubbles” and Ms.Ruckert stopped me.

I decided to let her off the hook this time although I thought I saw, no I knew there were, some inappropriate words scribbled on there.

 

As I walked out of the pink door I thought,

 

Jenny would get over this time.

 

Then Jenny and I would share the love.

The love that my mom and I had built upon my darkest days of puberty.  

 

 

The First one to Apologize Has It All

As a child, I was taught “The one to apologize first is the one to win.” So since I was six, I became friendlier with the word “sorry” and in whatever fight I got in, the victory was mine. Well of course I didn’t apologize without any reason (that would be lacking too much sincerity), I thought apologizing was the first step in untying the knot of misconception.

For 65 years North Korea and South Korea has been wrestling, like two little kids in a silly arm-wrestling match that yields no winners in the end. After drawing a line on the waist of a tiny country, we have been threatening each other to make Seoul and Pyongyang into a “sea of flames.” However, who is "South Korea"? Is it the South Korean government?  Or is it the military, president, or the people of South Korea? There is no correct answer to this question, but I know there is something better than figuring out who “South Koreans” are. That is, to end the fight in the first place. How? By fixing the misconceptions between North and South microscopically. I think it is time for us, individuals, to change our thoughts, offer the handshake of peace, and win this game by changing South Korea inside out.  

“U.S. official: North Korea could test firemissiles at any time”- this was the title of the head article posted on the CNN website on April 10, 2013. On the same day, the day that professionals assumed most likely for the missile to be launched, I have been asked the same question from the moment I woke up, until the instant I went back to sleep. The question my roommates, classmates and teachers asked me was, “Does your dad really say there is going to be an attack today?” (My dad works for the South Korean Army) I obviously couldn’t answer any of the questions, because I never actually asked my dad, but I realized that the huge amount of questions I received told me something about our conception towards North Korea. We actually feared North Korea for their aggressive attitude and provocation.

 

However, where is the provocation exactly coming from? Is it Kim Jung Un? Perhaps the news anchors with the threatening tone? Or the citizens in North Korea? Well, I certainly think it is not the citizens we fear and hate. Therefore, there should be no obstacle in changing our perspective towards the individuals in the North. In fact, I have a personal experience of meeting one, and even building a relationship with her family.  

When I was in nine years old and living in the states, I was lucky enough to meet a nine-year-old girl from North Korea. One night, I have even been invited to her house, to join her for supper with her entire North Korean family. It was only a few months after realizing that she was not just a “Korean” but actually a “North Korean.” For about two years, we went to the same school, lived in the same neighborhood, waved hands passing by, and became close enough to call each other friends. Nevertheless, it was on the day of “International fairs”, that I figured out her nationality after saw her under the North Korean flag, selling “Pyongyang dumplings.” It took me quite a while to digest the situation but I eventually overcame my internal dilemma and decided to keep her in my boundary of close friends. As close friends, we had “sleep-over” at each other’s houses’, our mothers arranged play-dates together, and we shared homemade dishes at potlucks. In addition, there are so many other memories, all of which switched an enemy into a potential friend.

         The most common misconception, perhaps, towards the North Koreans is that the people are all brainwashed by the government. Therefore, they can’t consider the South Koreans or any foreigners as friends. However, there is a counter example to this claim. The most famous case is that of James Joseph Dresnok, American defector to North Korea who defected at the age of 21. The documentary film “Crossing the line” shows Dresnok’s life in North Korea as an American. Here in the documentary, Dresnok introduces his North Korean “buddies” with whom he enjoys fishing and smoking together with.

         I remember watching a TED video in class, about an Israeli poster designer who was issued for uniting Israel and Iran with a poster saying “WE Israelis love Iranians” As an individual, he managed to open the gate of communication between the people of the two fighting countries, and all he did was post a poster on Facebook . Due to this, enemies started contacting each other one-to-one, chatting online, and becoming friends, clearing out misconceptions and hatred they have had for such a long time. 

Although directly communicating with the North Koreans through Facebook doesn’t seem realistic, changing our perspectives or clarifying the misconception we have with the North Koreans is just about enough for now. Henceforth, South Korea will start changing inside-out, and when the change turns out successful, we can consider changing North Koreans inside-out as well. As I said in the beginning, even a kindergartener knows better than to fight with friends and not apologize. So I suggest that we win this. Be brave to step forward and say “Let’s be friends again.”

Dilemma

You encounter a dilemma. Would you appeal to the authority? Or would you appeal to your loved ones? Here, by “appealing” I mean simply, smiling to them more often, putting more of your effort in making them feel better whenever they seem down, and wishing to show them only the best of yourself.

 The authority could come in many different forms. It could be your seniors (compared to juniors), teachers (opposed to friends), and the crowd (rather than an individual). Now it seems like you have a bunch of dilemmas to solve. But we all know that the “authority” comes in one big group, and the “loved ones” in the other. We also acknowledged that it is not easy to choose one, perhaps the “crowd”, from this group, then another separately, maybe your “friends”, from the other group.

 Both choices brings side-effects. Therefore, the smarter ones will choose whatever brings them less pain in the end.

 I once had a friend who gave me the answers to end my dilemma. To be straight forward, she was the one who chose the authority over her loved ones. She would be rather an outcast among her grade, but the “memorable” kid among the upper graders. She would treat you like an invisible person when alone with just the two of us, but as soon as the crowd walks in, she would suddenly put on a smile as if it was there the entire time. She would never appear on individual chats, but put much effort to attract everyone’s attention on group chats. As a result, most teachers and seniors praised her for always being bright, hard working, but at the same time, being the top student in class. Even those of the same grade got successfully fooled, but actually her closest people, including myself, started to get hurt, tired, and betrayed by her “show.” I myself, who believed me to be one of her “loved ones” eventually, turned my back on her as well.

She lived a one efficient life, and to that, we all can’t disagree. Perhaps up to a certain point, she might be satisfied at having become the top student, the most famous student, the club leaders, and so on. Killing three, four birds with one stone. However, she’ll realize by the end that the one thing she missed out on was worth more than all of the others put together.

The side effects of not appealing to the authority are obvious. Not becoming the most popular student, failing to get chosen as the leader, and the list goes on. You might not be able to become the top student even, because appealing to your “loved ones” requires time, effort, and most of all, your honesty, which might leave you with less time to focus on other things.

 Now, weighing the pain of the each side effect, I’ll have to leave it up to you.