I fear I have nothing to give. I have so much to lose. I have nothing to give; we have so much to lose.

I meant my most recent post as a platform for self expression and didn’t really demand or expect the response it received. But then multiple people told me how relatable the premise is—especially to college students or basically anyone without any idea of their own future.

And suddenly, this thinking about what I want has made me realize that my desires are meaningless if I am unequipped for the actual pursuit of the goals said desires (hopefully) help me set. Some of the things I want in life are pretty obviously impossible for me to achieve (i.e. Rain that is only ever warm).

But consistency, travel, self-protection, self-expression, willpower, making an impact in more lives than just my own? These I can do. Well, maybe. So here follows a list of exactly that: what I can do—what I’m innately good at; what life abroad has taught me; what university has prepared me for; anything really.

Expect a list as long, extensive, varied, and possibly mundane as the previous one. Don’t expect fact or concrete ability. “Can” doesn’t just mean something I am able to do today; it also implies future pursuits and (hopefully) successful endeavors.

I can bake. Probably better than I can cook, but I’d like to call myself a quick study so who really knows?

I can swim quite well actually. My father tells me I’m a natural which means I can choose to swim more often than I do and I’ll probably enjoy it more than I might think.

I can explain the different approaches to social science. Or what people thought about astronomy before Newton’s Laws of Planetary motion revolutionized the field. Or how to become a citizen in the U.S. and/or Italy.

I can call myself multilingual since I am fluent in English, conversationally proficient in Mandarin and Italian, and am currently learning Spanish. I guess you’d say this is something I’m good at; I claim it, at least.

I can treat my sisters better. We live in three different places or two different countries; take your pick. I am the oldest, supposedly the most responsible—though that might just be an age thing—definitely the most introverted, and probably the bossiest. Actually, if you asked the two of them, they might call the last characteristic practically factual. Anyway, we bicker a lot because my temper is quickly extinguished but also easily sparked; and so I can be better for them so that wanting their lives to be easier no longer seems quite as far fetched a desire.

I can solve a Rubik’s cube in under a minute. Probably (it’s been a while since I timed myself). My personality is vaguely obsessive and I spent my entire winter break basically doing two things: watching Korean dramas and attempting to solve the cube. And I did. Eventually. But now it bores me, so that’s something else I can do…

I can pace myself so that the fascination I have with those things which interest me doesn’t fade once they’ve been conquered or completed or just abandoned altogether.

I can write, or I’d like to think I can. When I was younger I wrote poetry which didn’t rhyme but was indeed generically formatted. I also wrote song lyrics with excellent grammar but poor depth and, alas, without music either. And now I’m in college so I can write essays for grades and e-mails for communication and Facebook statuses for affirmation of my cleverness (I’m still waiting for someone to comment “Oh, the cleverness of you.” Peter Pan anyone?) and blog posts for expression of my non-academic thought (though months apart, they do exist; I promise!).

I can eat double stuffed Oreos, drink Dr. Pepper Diet, sleep all day, and binge watch Netflix with the best of them. It’s a problem. But, I can also perceive that these behaviors are probably not the healthiest for me, which means I can be responsible enough to do my homework when assigned, attend class always, eat well usually, and exercise on occasion.

I can people watch for days. Human beings are unbearably interesting and I do so enjoy making illogical leaps from what I see to what I imagine their lives to be like.

I can write a cover letter and revise my resume until the cows come home, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything will come of it.

And I can dream to my heart’s content and plan ahead as far as I’d like, but that doesn’t mean I’m being practical or realistic. Or that I won’t be disappointed if things don’t work out like I’d hoped.

I can be mean. I’d like to say it’s merely wit with an edge, but I know my words can be painful to others and so I can work on that too.

I can resign myself to the fact that finding a job right out of college with a B.A. in Politics (essentially) and an M.A. in Social and Cultural Analysis (but really just American Studies) is probably going to be really frustrating and difficult. And I can tell myself that this is okay because at least I got to spend five years in an amazing city studying something I love. And I can pretend my rationalization is enough, even when life experiences tell me it isn’t.

I can try my hardest to be inspirational or funny or smart, and usually I’ll just end up looking silly. Either that or it’ll seem like I’m trying to hard. But, I can also be myself in all situations and hope for the best—surprisingly enough, this has usually worked in my favor. Sure, you say, but you’re still only 21. So what? I reply, age is just a number and mine is definitely high enough to be occasionally panic inducing.

I can quote from memory the entire first chapter to almost every book in the Chronicles of Narnia. “This is a story that happened in Narnia and Calormen and the land between, in the Golden Age…”

I can read and reread and read again with no clear memory of plot details since my hunger is so great that I consume books too quickly to remember anything at all.

I can draw and ink and call myself an artist. Don’t believe me? Go see for yourself. And artist doesn’t just apply to the visual, because I can sing too. So can my sisters actually. Shameless plug, I know, but go listen anyway.

I can become a woman instead of a girl. I can refine myself into an independent person who is confident enough to want a man but also confident enough to know she doesn’t need one. Confidence I have, but I’m working on that last bit.

I can argue like a lawyer without the education because I am an ISTJ and logic and reason are my best friends. But so are two ENFPs, which means I can and should learn to empathize.

I can apply logic to fear and know that I shouldn’t be scared of the dark. And I shouldn’t be afraid that my ascending airplane will never stop and will eventually take me to space. And I shouldn’t worry that I’m not going to find a job after graduation. And yet, I can be introspective enough to admit that sometimes I am still afraid.

But then I can also recall Doctor Who (as I do) and remember that “It doesn’t matter if there is nothing under the bed or in the dark, so long as you know it’s okay to be afraid of it…You’re always going to be afraid, even if you learn to hide it…But that’s okay, because if you’re very wise and very strong, fear doesn’t have to make you cruel or cowardly.”

Clara says that “Fear can make you kind.” The Doctor says that “Fear can be a great motivator.”

And I say this: I’m afraid that I can’t do enough to make what I want a reality. I’m afraid that my degree(s) will get me nowhere in a world where practical knowledge and ability get you further than theoretical suppositions. And I’m afraid that exactly 12 is too high a number when the sad days seem to overwhelm the happy ones.

But in this, Clara, the Doctor, and I all agree—fear is okay because it’s driving me to be better, to work harder, to stop laying around lamenting my situations and to start actively improving them. It doesn’t matter that I want impossible things because I can be afraid. And that’s okay.

**Title: “Fear” by Sarah McLachlan**

They say there’s linings made of silver folded inside each raining cloud Well, we need someone to deliver our silver lining now. And are we there yet? Home, home, home.

I’m told that being an adult involves thinking ahead and making goals and knowing what you want to do and paying bills and taking actual responsibility for your actions even when you don’t really want to. Because no matter how much you think back to your glory days—college or even high school; take your pick—you’re grown up now.

And being grown up means rationality. Logic. Sacrifice. Restlessness that was okay in your teen years because it meant you were open minded with a wide variety of interests; now it just seems flaky and a little juvenile, even to yourself.

So fine, I’ll make goals. I’ll graduate from university next year with two degrees and two theses, but probably still no concrete idea of what I want to do. Or where to go next.

I like Chicago. But I’m told it’s cold. And then I wonder…does it matter? Do I care? If moving to Chicago is what I want, why don’t I just go?

Is that too selfish of me? Do I care? Of course I do. Usually.

Yet it just occurred to me that it’s kind of hard to make goals for myself when my self doesn’t quite know what it wants. So excuse me for a moment while I process. Call this a running diatribe if you’d like, but I prefer the term “open and unfiltered self expression.” So maybe just consider yourself lucky that I’m sharing this at all. Because usually I wouldn’t but today I’m feeling a little irrational and quite a bit petulant and there’s a first time for everything, right?

Well then, what do I want?

I want to go home. And I want to know where that is exactly.

I want to eat speck and pasta with my Host Dad’s tomato sauce and Tuscan bread with olive oil and salt. I want to have real gelato one more time. Or maybe more than that, if this whole thing is about being honest.

I want to go everywhere and see everything and meet everyone; without worrying about money, without being shy, without wasting hours upon hours in stuffy airplanes and long immigration lines.

I want my senior thesis to jump from my brain into the hands of my professor and basically research, outline, and write itself.

I want to be consistent. As a blogger (what an awful term. Bleh), a student, a secretary, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a general human being.

I want to be able to cry when I know it would make me feel better. And I want to know why I can’t.

I want to write something people want to read. Partly because I’m a words of affirmation person and partly because ideas, even fictional ones, are better when shared.

I want to be with someone who’s a little dangerous, a little wounded, and probably a lot bad for me. And I want it to be okay that I probably won’t find him at church. I’ll just have to bring him there and hope he doesn’t lose what it is that drew me in the first place.

I want to protect myself without seeming villainous or self-centered. If you feel you can tell me anything, please know that you truly can and I will do my very best to be loving and supportive in any way possible. But if this is not reciprocal, then where does that leave me? Alone and drowning in myself.

I want to express what I want without seeming petty or childish. Or like I don’t care what God’s plan is for my life. Because that isn’t true.

I want life to be easy. Not for me, but for the people I love. I want my parents to retire whenever they’d like. For my sister to get into her dream school. For my Dad not to worry about my ever deepening academic debt.

I want to have lots of kids so that 50 or so years from now I will be my grandma. And I want to be the same inspiration to my grandchildren that she is to me.

I want River Song to come back to Doctor Who. I want Eun Sang to choose Young Do. And I want Maid Marian to go back in time where she belongs.

I want exactly twelve happy days to every one that is even moderately sad.

I want university snow days. Or at least rain that is only ever warm. Even in winter.

I want the A’s without the effort. And the ability to go back and improve those grades from the days when I thought such academic magic was actually possible.

I want to go to Cuba. And North Korea. And Saudi Arabia. Just because I know I can’t.

I want extraordinary willpower so I can use it to exercise every day. But mostly just so I’ll read my Bible, even when it’s not Sunday.

I want my hair to be long enough for people to instantly tell I’ve never cut it because “You’ve never cut it? Really?! Then, why isn’t it longer?” isn’t exactly something I like to hear.

I want clean cut to be enough when I really know that I prefer sharp edges.

I want this to mean something. To be more than a petty, childish expression of my current (and likely changeable) desires. And I want this to actually assist me in the writing of my goals so I stop feeling too unorganized and irresponsible for all the sacrifices that have been made for me.

I want to think I’m not the only one who feels this way. That maybe my exercise in self help has maybe helped you too.

So lastly, I want to thank you. No one asked you to stick with this project; to read all the way to the bottom; to attempt to relate to the wants of someone else, but you did. And I thank you for it.

**Title: “Are We There Yet?” by Ingrid Michaelson**

I’ve got my memories always inside of me. But I can’t go back…back to how it was. I’m gonna call it home.

As some of you might have noticed, I updated this yesterday. And yet here I am, updating again. Strange, no?

Not really actually. I just happened to get two really good ideas in the space of a few hours; it’s a rare happening, but it does occur and I try to just ride it out until the writing high is over. And then I crash and don’t update again for another…month or so. I wanted to say week, I really did. But if I’m being honest with myself I admit that my genius does not occur as frequently as I’d wish. Sorry–not sorry.

Anyway, the point is that I got a brain wave, and it’s a good one. Channel your inner Scar and “Be prepared.” (I couldn’t help myself.) You can even sing it if the fancy takes you. (Too far? Okay, I’ll stop now. Probably.)

I love Pinterest; I mean who doesn’t? It’s great. Especially if you’re married. Or engaged. Or about to be married. Or engaged. I’m none of the above, but I do follow the boards of a few aspiring writers. They at least pin things that are occasionally useful/inspirational/thought-provoking for me.

Hiraeth (n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

Case in point.

Found that little gem on a day when I was homesick to the point of vandalizing my notebook with every Chinese character I could remember and listening to Imogen Heap’s “First Train Home” on an endless repeat. This Welsh word (Yes, it’s Welsh. Can I pretend to be Catherine Zeta-Jones while I’m writing this?) summed up all my feelings so neatly that I was at an actual loss over what to do next.

Then of course I contemplated naming my future daughter Hiraeth. That idea reached a quick demise when I realized it’s entirely impossible for me to pronounce. So instead I stuck to the wonderful realization that I am not the only human being in the world who experiences this emotion.

It was vindicating. And perversely uplifting.

I told myself that homesickness is irrational in light of the fact that I’ll be returning to Shanghai in little more than a month and I quickly moved past that roadblock of hormonal angst. At the thought of my city, though, I was struck with the knowledge that the Shanghai I’m heading to this May is no longer the same one I left at Christmas. It’s definitely not the same one as when I graduated high school and moved to New York. And then I was sad all over again.

But this sadness was different and, once again, the idea of Hiraeth expressed it perfectly. Shanghai the city is still there. And, if you ignore the warnings of environmentalists who say the city will eventually sink into the sea, it looks like Shanghai will be around for a while.

But the Shanghai I knew is gone. The people I survived high school with; the families who went to church with mine; the obscenely enormous Regency Park house(s) my family lived in: these things aren’t in my life anymore and a lot of them aren’t in Shanghai either. So I have a different kind of homesickness. I’m not pining for “a home which maybe never was,” but am experiencing ” the grief of the lost places of [my] past.”

I’ll admit to never fully reading anything written by Raymond Williams, but in his book Border Country he takes the idea of Hiraeth and brings it to life with words. And it’s beautiful.

“He realized…what had happened in going away. The valley as a landscape had been taken, but its work forgotten. The visitor sees beauty: the inhabitant a place where he works and has friends.” Raymond Williams, Border Country

That’s exactly like going home is like. You’ve left this place which is full of memories and a life well-lived and you have an image of ‘home’ that you’ll keep with you always. But then you return. And things are different; it’s inevitable.

Change is inevitable. You remember the taste of tapioca in your bubble tea; the smell of Shanghai in summer; the sound of Mandarin as it’s spoken all around you. You remember the good things about this place that you love so much. Your favorite place in the world really.

But then you go to church on Saturday night and sit alone because your sisters have their friends but everyone who knew you is long gone. You spend all your time at home because all the people you care to spend time with are busy with things like work or school that someone on holiday never has to worry about. You find yourself wishing for the days that used to be because you’d forgotten in your haze of Hiraeth that life in Shanghai is not quite the way you remember it.

Yet your love for this place remains. That’s what really proves Shanghai as your home rather than simply another location on a long list of moves that will doubtless continue to grow as you get older. So yes, Hiraeth evokes nostalgia and the sense of bittersweet. But my Hiraeth is not for “a home to which [I] cannot return.”

Because I do return to Shanghai. It’s not just a city I visit during Christmas and summer breaks because I have nowhere else to go. Shanghai is more than just the place I say I’m from; it’s the place I go home to. Because yes, there is a difference.

 **Title: “This is Home” by Switchfoot**

This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill. Fifteen percent concentrated power of will. Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain. And a hundred percent reason to remember the name.

You sneak a surreptitious glance at your watch and realize that you’ve already been in this interview for half an hour. That’s a good thing, right? When your eyes leave your watch to reconnect with the interviewer’s, she gives a practiced smile and says “One last question.”

You hold your breath and hope she’s not going to ask what your self-defined strengths and weaknesses are because everyone knows that’s a loaded question. Instead she asks “What three words would you use to describe yourself?”

First reaction: Why is it always three? Why can’t it be five words for describing yourself? Why not one?

Second reaction: Oh, no. What am I going to say? This is almost as bad as the strengths and weaknesses question.

Third reaction: Just go with responsible. That’s always a good one. Maybe creative too–what kind of job is this again? Okay good; that’s two. For the last one…

You tap your lip as you think but pull it away and clasp your hands together on your lap when you realize she’ll probably perceive the gesture as a manifestation of nerves. Or worse, as your tell (creative might be a stretch but you really are responsible…in your own way…that’s not a lie, right?).

Suddenly, it comes to you; the perfect answer has been there all along–literally.

You tell her your name.

——————————————————————————————————–

Who would you be without your name? Who would I be without mine?

When I was a kid my parents would describe a person to me and I would usually be able to come up with a name. I was right too, most of the time at least. I guess names are just something I’ve always been good at remembering; it’s a side effect of the many moves.

Tangentially, I’ve now lived in more countries than my mother. Quite a feat, I know.

That minor digression aside, I really do believe that a person’s name is an important aspect of his or her identity, even though said name is generally not self-appointed. This is why your name can be used as a clever addition to the above three word self-description exercise.

Anything can be argued as long as the argument’s support is valid and logical, even if the argument itself is not. Apply this thinking to the interview situation and what do you get? A job.

Actually, don’t quote me on that. Seriously, please don’t. My point is that everyone has a name but it’s the meaning you attribute to it that makes your name important. Here, I’ll give you an example.

My name means “safe harbor.” Does that make me one? Not necessarily.

I was named after one of my parents’ favorite places. Does that make me their favorite? I wish.

My middle name is arbitrary. Does that mean I am too? Of course not.

So in what way can my name be used to define me? When people ask my mom about the artist of the pieces she hangs in her office, they aren’t told to look for a Concordia graduate or an NYU student. They’re given my name.

When someone wants to know who they should look for if they’re interested in the on-campus Bible study, they aren’t told to find a girl in skirts with River Song hair the color of On Golden Pond. They’re given my name.

When my sisters are asked about their jie-jie who’s off at university, they don’t say they miss the instigator or 1/3 of the whole. They say they miss me; and they say my name.

That’s what I mean when I say your name can define you. Your actions and your words, your accomplishments and your mistakes, everything about you that makes up who you are is encompassed in your name. If your name is mentioned there are pictures and memories of you that inevitably appear, even if you aren’t physically present.

In a way, yes this is a never-ending cycle. You are your name because it’s the first thing you’re given after birth, and then you live your life and your actions are attributed to your name. So you are who you are. Basically.

And your name is who you are too. Less basic, but still true.

Response time! I’ve never before actively asked for responses to these because it never occurred to me that people might be interested enough in my rambled musings to actually comment on them. That changes now. What do you think comes to mind when people think your name?

**Title: “Remember the Name (Clean Version)” by Fort Minor**

Don’t have a care in the world; I’ll let tomorrow worry about its self…I’m gonna make today mine.

Sometimes all you need is a little push to reset your motivation and get you moving again. And when I say you, I mean me. Obviously. As usually happens, I expected this semester to be an academic breeze and grossly under calculated how busy I’d be. So when I finally get some time off, what do I do with it? Wallow happily (Is that possible? Can wallowing be positive?) in my aloneness, catch up on hours and hours of missed sleep, and watch Castle to my heart’s content.

Oh! And Korean dramas. Yeah… I watch those now; it’s a problem.

Imagine being absolutely addicted to green Jolly Ranchers, not because they are the best (which they are–let’s be honest), but because you didn’t even know that Jolly Ranchers came in other flavors. And then Jolly Ranchers pulls a Hostess Cakes and decides the world no longer needs green apple flavored candy deliciousness. You’re devastated, but in a way this is a good thing because maybe then your teeth won’t end up rotting out from an over consumption of processed sugar. And then you discover it: Jolly Ranchers don’t only come in green, but you might as well just call them Skittles cause you can basically taste the rainbow (Seriously though, does anyone actually like blue raspberry? I mean, really?).

And that’s what my discovery of Korean dramas was like. Delicious, but probably not beneficial to my health. So yes, I have the time. The ability and/or self-restraint to spend it wisely? Not so much.

In short, that detour aside, I’ve been busy. To top it all off I’ve been excessively stressing about life post-study abroad when I return to New York for my senior year and then a following second year of grad school. And that’s the main idea of today: If you have to worry, focus on today and let tomorrow worry about itself.

I recently had the opportunity to dine with an NYU professor who imparted the following story as a little bit of wisdom on this subject: Person A is talking to Person B and says “Where am I?” Person B responds and says “Oh! You’re here.” This answer distresses Person A; “I wanted to be over there,” is his reply as he points to a place far away from his current location. It takes him awhile, but Person A eventually ends up where he originally planned and there meets Person C. “Where am I?” he asks his new companion, eager to share that he’s finally made it to where he’s always wanted to be. Person C responds and says “Oh! You’re here.” And the cycle continues, eternally; as long as Person A worried about getting “there,” he couldn’t fully appreciate being “here.”

Worrying about my plans for the summer, my family’s decision about moving, the renewing of New York friendships upon my return, or my excessive busyness come next year when I attempt to write a 40-60 page senior thesis might seem like immediate issues. As such, it makes sense to be concerned about my future. I can’t really rationalize concern about being perpetually single or whether or not I’ll be able to have kids, yet I tend to worry about these things too.

But I’m in ITALY. I’m so not a proponent of YOLO, but I’ve definitely noticed that I struggle to fully embrace what could be a very amazing current life because I’m stressing about my future one. It’s funny too since I expend so much energy on these worries, but midterms are this week and I’m not really all that concerned about them. Probably should work on getting my priorities in order.

Which is why I’ll sign off now: I’m in class and society dictates that paying actual attention is important when attending university. I’m on the fence, but since I’m blessed to have parents who provide for me and take care of my school bills, guess I’ll leave first. (In case you’re wondering, that’s a Korean-ism I picked up–dramas are basically educational.)

**Title: “Sunshine” by Tigerweather**