One black coat – for lack of a better article of clothing, that’s been what I’ve been wearing in this extreme cold (for someone from Malaysia/California) of Princeton. Really, I don’t think it’s a particularly good trench coat – it’s thin, does not insulate well, and frankly, it’s way too big for me. It’s wide enough to probably fit someone a hundred pounds heavier than me. I’ve called it a “Stalinist-esque” jacket, and when I wear it, it sometimes looks like I’m wearing a big garbage bag.
But I’m never going to throw it out, no matter how dowdy it looks or worn it may be. Clothing has always been a vexation for me, but for different reasons than most.
Perhaps the reason why that coat is so ill-fitting is because my mom bought it for, secondhand (or third or fourth) from a Goodwill store. I guess a real good one would cost $100+, and as this was only twenty bucks, my mom got it. I can’t complain about it, my mother got it. Twenty dollars may seem insignificant, but as I learned since young, saying something was only a certain amount of money (say, 5 dollars) got the response in Manglish: “Only five dollars one ah? Do you got any idea how many papers I need to deliver for twenty dollars?”
That leads me to the first of two points I wish to make in this post. Really, sitting here in Firestone, listening to music (via iPod) and typing, sitting down comfortably, I feel guilty. I make $10.60 an hour. But what about my sister, who makes something like $8 an hour, has to stand and run around helping people at Staples’ copy center, and comes home completely exhausted? On what basis should I receive a higher pay? Or my mother, who has to get up at 2AM every morning to deliver over 800 papers in the freezing cold and rain, all for minumum wage? I don’t feel worthy. Comparatively, my life is luxurious and my job, non-chalant. Every dollar is important, yet I have not been a good steward of my money (luckily, I haven’t become a horrible spender here). It’s not the money that’s important – it’s knowing the energy and work that goes into getting that money that’s truly important.
The second point is related to my coat. It reminds me of the time when I was about 9 or 10. Kids at that age can be particularly mean to each other, and my classmates were no exeption. From the age of 8-9, I had studied in the monastery (not to become a monk, BTW) learning Chinese. As a result, I had no idea of anything that was cool or popular by the time I went back to regular school at DVS. For example, I did not know who Jay Chou was at the time (vaguely, I remember them discussing him) or any other music for that matter, didn’t know what movies were “cool”, or anything trendy whatsoever. My clothing as a kid was looking back, really sad. My pants were home-made out of some thin cotton fabric, and my shirts mostly came from Goodwill and garage sales. This sort of clothing ripped very easily, which made me an even greater target for ridicule.
Of course, I’m not saying that people have ridiculed my jacket here at Princeton, for no one has. But I think it’s a funny all the same. It reminds me of my family’s love, and how far I have to go in attempting to repay that kindness.
Keep your eyes peeled for the walking garbage bag on campus! 😛
1990+18=Me now. Most people use the New Year’s to make their resolutions for the new year and as a marker for personal achievement. On the contrary, I think by ages. Even though I will likely be no different on the first day of my 18th year as compared to my last day of being 17, there’s a palpable feeling in the air.
I think I’ve sounded like a broken cassette recorder for the last few months, but I really want to become 18, and I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because then I’ll have an actual license to drive with, instead of a “provisional” one that prevents me from carrying anyone under the age of 20. Maybe it’s because I’ll stop having nagging things online asking me if I’m 18 (like, say, a game website). Maybe it’s because I’ll not have the weird looks from fellow students and professors when I say I’m 17.
But mentally, where was I, going from sweet sixteen to serious seventeen? About a year ago, I was still reeling from my acceptance is wondering what my future was in high school and in Princeton – and especially, how I would cope in a radically different place from where I grew up and with different people that I lived with. Uncertainty was the keyword.
I’m tempted to use that word again for this year, but in the end, uncertainty is a part of life, and I can never change that much as I try to chart the un-navigated waters and rapids of existence on Earth. So, I’d say the keyword I hope going into another undoubtedly weird year of my life is confidence, to gain the confidence that I need in life, and go from a worrisome kid and stop letting things from the past cloud myself and my thinking.
One more year from now, I’m going to look back at this and wonder in wonderment.