Too early for bread.

Go to bread.

I think few people remember the odd Simpsons quotes. Celebrating 20 years of humour. Good for them. I knew yellow people were the most hilarious. Last week, I visited one of my favourite places. Growing old and moving on reminds me that favourites definitely change. I was at a once-dying campus bar, which is now a booming fully-licensed lounge. I sang “Happy Birthday Lisa” (the Simpsons-Michael Jackson) version to a guy waiting in line behind me. It was his birthday… whatever his name was.

Now that I’m back at school, I feel like I’m obligated to type, chat, write, tweet etc. I’ve decided to toss this blog out the window and start with some fresh ideas. Writer’s block is my worst enemy. When I have writer’s block, I’ve likely not gone to the gym, and I’ve likely grown a pimple. Instead, I’m going to start a thing a day. Everyday, I’ll write about something that I saw, experienced, heard etc.

Catfish?

Eng residence pt1

A night at the Eng residence o’ fun is pretty ridiculous. There are 4.5 of us. Every day is a new adventure. A thrill ride really. For tonight, here are the characters/people/the fam jam.

Dalai Lama? Dad?

Dalai Lama’s Twin.
My dad’s a senior-ish. He turned 60 this year. A trait that has been passed down is his face. My grandfather had the face, my dad has the face, and now I possess this face. It’s no ordinary face. It’s the dalai lama’s face… but puffier. I unfortunately have the same puff-ball face features I had as a child and looking at my dad, looks like they are here to stay.

My dad has just started to bald. To protect his noggin, he wears a beanie cap during the fall, winter and spring seasons. Yes, that would be three entire seasons. It’s hideous. If you see his green Toyota Corolla (yep) driving in the middle of the road, that’s him. Say hi.

Momma.
Next, is the 80lb karaoke lover, my mom. She believes that she was born to perform. She sings alongside the television and radio. If you’ve ever heard Cantonese opera, you’d know it is high-pitched. I mean, HIGH-pitched. Windows shatter. She’s learning how to shake her booty. We once bought a hip-hop dance VHS (that’s how old it is). She still practices. One day, she’ll be the next Chinese-Canadian idol? She likes to wear my old clothes but will splurge on a designer purse or expensive something that she’ll wear once. She has a thing for massage furniture. We have two chairs AND a bed. It’s weird.

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Techie.
My brother is a techie. He built his own computer and proceeded to build me one. He has refurbished a least a dozen computers. All of which he has wanted to keep. We have a computer lab in the spare bedroom. It’s weird. My brother takes on hobbies pretty heavily. He bought a pool table when he wanted to become a pool shark. He built a gym in our basement after getting his black belt in Tae Kwon Do (all the boys do it, my dad is a quadruple kick-yo-ass). He works out for 3hrs a day and has abs. It’s also weird. He also has a knack for derogatory terms.

The Token Asian.
Not so token in a whole family full of them, but usually, I am the only asian in a group of people. Yes, Chinatown freaks me out. Too. many. asians. must. stand. out. (something about the power of conformity). I’m the youngest. I’m the only one to have gone to post-secondary education and beyond. I am the rebel. I drink alcohol, I have a tattoo, I moved away from home at 18, I refused to be a doctor. The list goes on and it’s always “aiii-yahhh” (watch this to get a jist). I act as a constant reminder of what happens when you have kids: screaming, laughing, money wasting. I studied Women’s Studies and Psychology. Big into diversity. My “speciality” (is that what I’d call it?) is LGBTQ equality and education. I believe in equal rights and freedoms. Freedom to drink, tattoo, move out etc.

Common is a dog.

LOLCAT
This LOLCAT can has cheezburger. Last is the 0.5 of the group. Common. He’s the cat. I got him as a gift to myself for convocation. He’s my first real pet (the stupid goldfish and the many dead TMNTs don’t count) and he’s awesome. He’s not the average cat, he’s more like a dog. He hates being alone but loves banging on the door when someone’s in the bathroom. He once ate a rubber band. He knows his name and few commands such as “bug” if shrieked. He is the third child I’m sure my parents always wanted and if they didn’t, well someone’s got to clean his poop.

Up next: Eng residence pt2 – the shenanigans begin.

G.L.A.M.O…..

You know the words.

This morning, on my usual drive to Humber, I popped in an old CD. I made a series of CDs two years ago for Orientation Week. Being at the all-girls college didn’t necessarily lead to the best impressions so the blaring music from our lil’ hill was a good way to omit cool down to main campus. Well, at the very least, to give us the chance to dance. Fergie’s glamourous was on the CD and it came on this morning. What a great way to start a 9:30am drive.

It reminded me of the amazing times I’ve had at UWO’s notorious O-Week. Sleepless nights, hungry bellies and cheering. Doesn’t sound like the best fun but it was. For anyone that has been apart of it, they’ll understand. Some teams get disgruntled, some become political machines, but for me, it was about trying something new. I was never the type to be involved in these sorts of things. Heck, I hated my own O-Week. I nearly peed at my interview. I still remember shaking as I presented my uber dorky “creative piece.” It wasn’t creative. It sucked. Regardless, I made the team and it changed my life.

Many people say that O-Week changed their lives but more people say that it’s overrated and that sophs are insane. Yes, sophs are but that’s the joy in it. Through O-Week, I found my best friends and more importantly, I found myself. It’s corny. It really is but it’s true. The experience and the friendships opened my eyes to the most important things in my life.

This post isn’t the best read, but it’s an online thanks to the people that mean the world to me. You know who you are.

Mullet at 23.

Being 23 and living in my parents’ house is … refreshing? That’s not the word I’m looking for.
After five years of (glorious) freedom, moving back home was easier than I anticipated but I was expecting to be a rogue demon in their usual routines. It’s sort of like that.

Turning 19 away from home, and at the University of Western Ontario must have been daunting to my parents. I had no idea what I was in for, but my many nights and mornings spent recuperating with greasy mcdonald’s breakfast says it all. I like to think that many of the most exciting times happening in the various student homes that I’ve lived. For example, I moved out of my parents’ house, barely able to boil water or cook eggs. Many would say I still don’t know how, but I survived and didn’t (always) go hungry. I’m not a chef, but give me a loaf of bread and I’ll survive. I wasn’t the wisest kid, but I had fun. Isn’t that what being young is about? And at least I’m still here with all my pieces.

Now that I’m 23 and irking closer to 24 (yikes), I’m feeling the heavy burden of responsibility. Regardless of my “fun,” I’m pretty responsible. Living under a roof that isn’t rented feels very different. I think it’s obvious since it’s Saturday night and I’m blogging in my bedroom while the cat cleans his face on my bed. I feel compelled to ask my parents if I can go out and moreover, I’ll listen to their hasty no’s. It’s guilt. Parents have a keen ability to make their kids feel guilty for living a life, or “being young.” My parents have the heightened ability to say no while having it translate to “what are you kidding? why would you even ask? are you THAT irresponsible AND dumb? cmon, did we raise you like this?” God forbid I have a beer. They call me immature the minute I crack a bottle open. I don’t even want to know what they’re thinking when I carry a 1L bottle of wine out of the house. Well, I do know. They ask me to call home at midnight.

Living at home does have its perks though. The free laundry and cleaning has turned me into a mess. I swear I had a dream about cleaning a sink or a toilet. I’m a bad helper. My mom works part-time so Fridays are often our mom-daughter days. It’s something new in our lives. When I first moved out, I was about rdy to pack my bags and move out forever. Growing older, making my mistakes and realizing what my parents have done for me has made me this big parental suck-up. I feel bad doing things they don’t approve of (though they disapprove of EVERYTHING). My dad still hasn’t seen my tattoo. He’ll slice it off my body if he does. My mom secretly told me she’d get one if she wasn’t so old…. well, and then lectured me for 20 minutes about how I couldn’t have just gotten something small, I had to get the world’s biggest tattoo. For the record, it’s not THAT big…. well. Moving on.

As much as I sometimes grunt about living here, I’m grateful for the queen-size bed, parental love and evening chit chats. Never before has my dad sat down beside me to ask “what’s up?” during my usual Project Runway marathons. I feel like I’m catching up on all the times I missed. But (there is a but), I still want to be young and to live my life to the fullest. My parents sense the rebel in me, and in most cases, they know what has happened/is happening/will happen. Living at home, at 23, is like a mullet. Business in the front, party in the back. You know what I mean.

Wake up call.

Literally. Being sick with the flu reminds you that sometimes you need some TLC to get through the day. Since LG Fashion Week, the workload has been go-go-go and there has been little time to rest, let alone breathe. I can only remind myself of the importance of a work-life balance, even at school.

In my last work opportunity at the University Students’ Council (at The University of Western Ontario), myself and the other five executives endured a rigorous transition process. One staple workshop that I will never forget was work-life balance. Why did I remember it? Because I did not want to be another executive to fall to the wayside of being overworked and overrun by students and demand. I refused to become a statistic. Work drives you. Rather, passion drives your work which drives you. Never did I want my work to suffer not myself to suffer from a heavy head. Instead, I capped my work days at 5pm and my work week within a Monday to Friday schedule. The end result was happiness. I learned to manage my time more than ever before, master the ability to work within a time frame and had fun at night. Without this, I could have easily become captive to the role.

Now, back at school after a joyous 13 months off, I’m finding it hard to keep a balance between “work” and “life.” I find it is all because of this thing called homework. Recall the Bart Simpson rebellion: Down with homework. My flu, bags under my eyes and exhausted mind all say the same thing… but I’m ready for more. Bring it on. Well, that’s what I should be saying right?

The Disclaimer

I always find it hard to start. A blank canvas offers freedom but the first mark can mean so much. I second guess myself before I put my mind to action. Once I have started, I fall in love.

I have been thinking about how to start this blog. At this time, I am currently a public relations student learning about the power of branding and an online presence. The dilemma is that I am a student with no clear direction. I know my strengths and weaknesses but I do not have a professional plan quite yet. When I was a child, I wanted to be a doctor. I never thought twice about it until I started to realize that I didn’t have a natural knack for math, an unfortunate necessity. A few years of angry parents and some spontaneous decisions have resulted in great personal decisions. Moving forward, what do I have to say about it all? Or about myself?

I think that the power in a brand comes from the power of movement, diversity and complexity. I am a complex person with a dynamic life. Nothing is static and thus, my life choices are not always as such. I want to be able to express thoughts freely without the confinement of specific topics. I am committed to maintaining who I am and I what I believe in. I want each post to reflect my personality and my interest in a variety of topics. Blogs, in my life, have become mediums for which I can share my stories with the virtual world. The power is in a freedom of expression and less the need for commentary, though it is welcomed. Reflecting on the name, a comfortable seat, my blog is simply about myself being comfortable with my seat (not literally) in the world, and for readers to catch a glimpse of my meanderings.