Below are old essays, thoughts, opinions, and mere rambling. I wrote them a long time ago. Some of them still reflect who I am and what I think today, but some of them no longer do. I just want to put them here for nostalgia’s sake.
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Philosophers vs. Actuaries
An old friend of mine, once learned that I was entering the actuarial profession, wrote to me and asked why an idealistic philosopher wanted to be one of the practical-minded actuaries. That’s an interesting question, but why not? Actually, philosophers and actuaries have a lot in common. Well, sort of. Here are just a few:
- Philosophers discuss issues of life and death; actuaries discuss issues of life insurance and death benefit.
- Philosophers chat about the value of life; actuaries chat about the cost of living.
- Philosophers believe that “an unexamined life is not worth living”; actuaries believe that passing exams is the only reason for living.
- Philosophers say: “What does it all mean?”; actuaries say: “I don’t care what it means. I have it memorized.”
- Philosophers ask timeless questions; actuaries ask pointless (exam) questions.
- Philosophers are fascinated by the concept of “the force”; actuaries are fascinated by the concepts of “the force of interest” and “the force of mortality.”
- Philosophers are quiet because they don’t believe in words; actuaries are quiet due to the lack of words.
- Philosophers like to be different because it’s interesting to be different; actuaries like to be different because it pays to be different.
- Philosophers ask: “What is the meaning of life?”; actuaries ask: “What life?”
Okay, okay, just kidding! I know that stereotyping is ridiculous (but laughing never is!). Seriously, I don’t see why one should not be interested in many things at the same time. There are so many interesting things in the world, so why limit oneself to only one or two? In my opinion, unless you have the ability to play different (even contradictory) roles, you cannot truly tolerate difference. Besides, what matters the most is who you are as a person, not what you do for a living. In any group, there are always “the good,” “the bad,” and “the simply annoying.” The trick is to affiliate with “the good,” guard against “the bad,” ignore “the simply annoying,” and get on with your life!
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The Illogical Side of Things
I like logic. I took an introductory logic course in college and did exceptional well. That was when I discovered that logic was fun. My education and then my work put great emphasis on logic and analytical skill. However, sometimes I just love to be illogical. I don’t know why, but I always feel awfully proud when I am able to say: “My intuition was correct.” Well, it’s also good to be able to say: “My calculation was correct,” but it doesn’t have the magical effect. The former makes you feel like you are a real human being, whereas the latter makes you feel like you are a calculating machine.
Maybe it’s just me, but I’m always attracted to the mysterious and the unfathomable. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not interested in magic or superstition. What I mean by “the mysterious and the unfathomable” are the things that I don’t fully understand (because they are so deep or so weird). After all, those are the only things that are worth talking about, since what is clear doesn’t need more discussion. I mean, unless you are one of those obsessed mathematicians, what is so exciting about solving a quadratic equation? On the other hand, it would be very exciting if something happened in your dream actually happens in reality. Or, for those who like more realistic examples, it would be very exciting if someone you think was a jerk when you first met turns out to be a real jerk (this shows that you have the ability to read people). This is not a matter of judgment but more of instinct. You don’t judge. You feel. Of course this is nothing supernatural, but not everybody wants to acknowledge that they have this ability for fear of being ridiculous. You may not always be right about those things, but it makes you feel good when you are right. Besides, what is so wrong with feeling things out? It’s actually the most important distinction between living things and inanimate objects. Feeling is the highest form of being. (This is complete nonsense, but who’s trying to make sense here?)
In fact, I’m not alone. It’s rather obvious that people worship what they don’t understand. Of course the first thing that come to mind is “God.” I don’t think anybody knows what “God” is, but most people worship “God,” whatever he (or is it a “she”?) may be. A more interesting, and less touchy, example is the theory of relativity. Everybody is going nut over this. Most people speak with great admiration about Einstein and his theory of relativity. Do they really understand what it is? I wonder! To be honest, I don’t. I know that many physicists don’t understand either. Some of them just pretend to understand, and only a few acknowledge that they either don’t understand or don’t like it. Anyway, the point is, people are passionate about what they don’t understand. To be passionate about something means to either love or hate it. This is the illogical force at work. Logic does not exist in love or in hatred, or any kind of emotion. Do you see how boring it would be if everything is logical? Need I say anymore?
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Young and Old (complete nonsense)
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- When I was young, I often had to convince myself that I was not smart, just to stay humble; as I grow old, I often have to convince myself that I am not stupid, just to have some dignity.
- When I was young, getting sick was unusual; as I grow old, being sick is my normal condition.
- When I was young, I read adult novels; as I grow old, I read children stories.
- When I was young, I liked to think about life after death; as I grow old, I only care about life.
- When I was young, I believed that life was a dream; as I grow old, I believe that life is a joke.
- When I was young, I thought that I could save the world; as I grow old, I am not sure if I can save myself.
- When I was young, I was confident that I know the truth; as I grow old, I doubt that I know any truth.
- When I was young, I used to cry over some fictional tragedies; as I grow old, I have no tears for my real tragedies.
- When I was young, I said stupid things; as I grow old, I still say stupid things!
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The Feelings of Numbers
I once talked to a friend who was very good with numbers, and she said that numbers had feelings. I was not sure what she meant. Maybe she meant nothing (you can never tell with non-native English speakers like us). Anyway, I’ve been thinking about this statement ever since, and sometimes it makes sense to me! You can call me nerd, but I’m no ordinary nerd! I like to flatter myself by believing that I can feel a great deal—of everything, even numbers.
Sometimes I just look at a number and say that I like or dislike it. Most of you would say that this is crazy. Numbers are just numbers. How could any sane person like or dislike a number? Well, first of all, if you work with numbers long enough, you’d better develop some sort of feelings toward them, otherwise you’ll go insane. Secondly, I always treat everything (numbers, colors, or whatnot) as if it has a personality. This simply makes my life more interesting. So, what are the rules? Actually, there are no rules for feelings. In some cultural superstition, number 3, for example, means bad luck while number 8 means good luck. I’m not talking about those. I’m talking about a number as a whole (a number can have many digits)—“the integrity of the number” is what I would call it! So when I look at a number as a whole, I can feel that it fits me or not. For example, when I look at the number 1785, I feel a sense of completeness and happiness; but when I look at the number 1137, I see no future there! Don’t ask me why. I don’t know why. I just feel that way.
What’s the point here? There is no point. I just want to talk nonsense. There are some exams I take that give a “candidate number” to each exam taker. This number is used during the grading process and is used to check if you pass or fail the exam when the result comes out. Interestingly, almost disturbingly, so far I’ve been correct in predicting whether I passed or failed right after I received my number, way before I took the exam! I’m still watching to see if my predictions ever go wrong. Silly stuff! I know—and of course of I don’t take those things seriously. But hey, it’s the silly things that help you stay sane in this insane world!
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Organized and Disorganized
When I was young, my father used to tell me, very proudly, how he ran a busy office with ease. He said that before him, three people had been working diligently from dawn to dusk in that office and still missed deadlines. But he did it all by himself, with time to spare. As a conclusion, he said that the key was organization. I still remember his favorite quote (I’m not sure if he quoted someone else or himself): “An ordinary person who is organized can do extraordinary things; an extraordinary person who is disorganized can only do ordinary things.” Of course I was too young to question how a person be considered extraordinary if he doesn’t do anything extraordinary. I just listened with silent admiration and vowed to be organized, since I wanted to do extraordinary things (who doesn’t?).
As of now, I still see the value of being organized. It makes my life easy, most of the time. However, I’ve also learned how to put a limit on organization. When I go to work, they pay me to get organized. But when I’m at home, why should I be organized all the time? I mean, of course you have to be tidy enough to know where things are. However, it doesn’t bother me at all when I see some papers lying around on the floor, or some unwanted junks hiding in the closet. As long as those things don’t interfere with my daily routines, I’m fine. You can call that laziness (there is, of course, some truth in it), but I consider that “energy conservation.” I never feel like I have too much energy. Therefore, I only put my energy in things that I consider crucial to my survival. Besides, being organized all the time makes you tedious and boring.
I know that there are people who plan out their whole life—for example: finish college at age 23; find a job and save enough money to get married at age 25; buy a house and have three children and a dog; save enough money in the college fund for the children; and then make sure that there is enough money in the retirement fund in order to survive from age 65 to age 100; then die. That’s admirable, I admit, but boring all the same. There is the other extreme. That is, there are people who live as if there is no tomorrow and don’t know how to take care of themselves and their family. Of course I don’t care what other people do with their life. But for me, I think it’s responsible to take care of your, and your family’s, needs. However, I also like to have some adventures, to take risk. This doesn’t mean that I’m going to drop everything tomorrow and go to the Himalayas and seek enlightenment (well, that would be nice, but it’s not my intention right now). What I really mean to say is that it’s always good to have some uncertainty in whatever you do, and it’s always good not to know everything there is to know. Existence itself is a bore, so why make it any worse? I do what I love to do, but I try not to think how long it will last (that would be too depressing!). Since I came to America, I’ve been asked many times one typical question: “What do you plan to do ten years from now?” I usually give the questioners a pre-meditated answer that they are looking for. However, I keep thinking that had they asked me what I planned to do a hundred years from now, I would have had a better answer—that is, “remain dead.” Seriously, I never plan out my life that far. I don’t even know how much money I have in the bank right now!
Usually, not having a life-long plan is considered negative. People point to this as “a lack of direction in life” or “a lack of ambition.” This is not true. I know my direction in life—going from birth to death. As to ambition, my main ambition is to get what I want, to do what I love to do. Believe me, this is the most ambitious goal anybody ever has. Think about it. If your plan is similar to the example I used above, that is not very ambitious. It’s not very difficult to conform to social convention (find a normal job, have a normal family, etc.). On the other hand, if you want to be weird, to have your own way, you need a lot of will power to do so—to stand against the flow. Anyway, whatever you do, remember that a little bit of organization is always desirable. Also, although it’s okay not to know how much money you have in the bank, it’s not okay not paying your creditors on time!
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A Sentimentalist’s Point of View
I once worked with a friend on a computer project. There was a part when we used different colors for our coding. My friend chose yellow, brown and red. I asked her why she chose those colors and expected an answer like “oh, I like those colors. They make me feel…” and so on. This was what my response would be. To my disappointment, she just looked at me with annoyance in her eyes, meaning to say: “Does it matter what colors I use? I just want to finish this damn project!”
I’m often criticized for using the phrase “it’s a waste of time” too much. For me, time is precious, and it’s a crime to waste time. However, what I consider a waste of time is when someone takes an hour to address a five-minute issue. I only wish that I had the liberty to tell those people to “get to the point or get lost!” On the other hand, I never consider things such as watching the birds, smelling the flowers, or chatting about one’s favorite colors a waste of time. Those things are part of living, and all the time in the world serves this sole purpose. That’s why I have a problem with people who think that life is about food, drink, sleep and reproduction. Of course those are necessities. All animals need them. However, human beings are more interesting. They also include luxuries in their life. Those luxuries are music, poetry, and all sorts of other nonsense. These things are what make us live, not just exist.
I remember reading one of Oscar Wilde’s famous plays, “Lady Windermere’s Fan.” There was a dialog between Lady Windermere and Lord Darlington, in which Lady Windermere talked about good and bad people. To which Lord Darlington replied: “It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.” I think this is the most wonderful expression ever written by Oscar Wilde (and Oscar Wilde is undoubtedly the master of witty expressions). It is so elegantly phrased and is so true. In my own simple way, I define “charming” as “interesting” and “tedious” as “boring.” Tedious people are those who only care about the necessities and ignore the luxuries. Of course there is nothing wrong with being tedious. The tedious people make up most of our society. They are good citizens and community members. The only problem with these people is that it’s very “unenlightening” to talk to—or stay near—them. If you don’t know what I mean, that’s fine. This is something you only know by experience. Anyway, it’s a sad thing that tedious people rule. They work tediously through school; they find a tedious job; they talk about tedious things all day long; they produce tedious children; and the process keeps repeating itself. What a tremendous waste of life!
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An Idealist’s Point of View
I don’t have a lot of friends—real friends. For me, real friends are those who share your interests, your thoughts, and your secrets. Given the fact that my interests are weird, my thoughts abnormal, and my secrets non-existent, it’s understandable that I don’t have that many friends. However, in college I had two kinds of “friends.” The first kind includes the ones that had similar backgrounds as mine (e.g. speak the same language, share the same culture). Those were the friends that I could hang out with.
Another kind of “friends” includes my classmates. Even though most of these relationships are short-term, sometimes it’s fun to talk to people who have the same academic interest as yours. Anyway, I had a friend who had taken the same classes with me for a few semesters. Somehow she thought I was smart and did not hesitate to advertise this misconception to everybody else. (You cannot help but like someone like that, do you?) She knew that I wanted to major in math, and she wanted to convince me to major in engineering, her major. So one day she told me: “Why do you want to major in math? I know that it’s easier to get a high GPA in math than in engineering. I’ve got D’s in engineering classes, but I don’t care. Engineers are much more marketable. Who’s going to look at your GPA when you are looking for a job anyway?” I don’t remember what I said to her—probably just some remarks to change the subject. There is no point arguing when you don’t have a common ground. I knew that she would never understand what I wanted to say.
So, why didn’t I major in “hot” fields such as engineering or computer science? First of all, I spent a lot of time making fun of the engineers and the computer scientists. Therefore, I couldn’t swallow my pride to join them. (It’s a good thing that I didn’t know anything about the actuaries back then!) I guess it’s out of professional jealousy that the physicists usually make fun of the engineers and the mathematicians of the computer scientists. I was, of course, siding up with the physicists and the mathematicians—they were my “bosses.”
Secondly, I was a hard-core idealist. You might find this unbelievable, but during my years in college, I had never thought about how to use my college degree to find a job. I belonged to the old school where people believed that education was “an end in itself.” I liked math and other subjects such as philosophy, languages and literature. That was why I studied them. I didn’t care whether or not anybody would look at my grade. For me, my good grade is a symbol of excellence and achievement. This is something I cherish. Everything else means little. I always do what I love, as long as I can afford it. I know that most people, like my dear engineer friend, do not sympathize with this kind of mentality. I don’t blame them. They are the normal people who always think “survival” first. The “abnormal” like myself think “love, excellence, and then survival.” (That’s why they are an endangered species). My whole theme of life is to do first what you love, and aim for excellence in whatever you do. If you are excellent in the things you do—no matter what things, you will survive. But of course it’s not easy to achieve excellence. So unless you are very lucky, you are in for a risky, and perilous, life path. However, this is a risk worth taken.
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An Individualist’s Point of View
I don’t know much about music. My interest in music is very limited, and the only musical skill I possess is listening (though this is not very good either). However, this doesn’t prevent me from expressing my opinions about this subject. I believe that everyone is entitled to his or her opinions, no matter how stupid. Moreover, music is an art, and one doesn’t need to go to an art school to appreciate, say, the beauty of a rose. So one day I was chatting away with an acquaintance about Baroque music and how it affected me emotionally and physically. He stopped me and asked: “Is this something you read from books or is it just your opinion?” His tone clearly indicated that if this was my opinion, then it was not valid. I was a little taken aback by this question, but I was not completely surprised—since I knew him so well. He is one example of people who never understand the concept of “the self.”
In our society, there are all sorts of experts. We are accustomed to relying too much on the so-called experts. We also get used to identifying ourselves as part of a group, or a team. We tend to forget that we have our own identity and personality. Worst of all, we call people who have characters of their own “not a team player” or “selfish.” This is rubbish! Who’s going to know or care about my best interest? It’s not the experts. It’s not the “team.” It’s myself. I don’t need any expert to tell me what I think or how I feel. I know that I’m the best judge in this matter. I’m also of the opinion that if everybody makes an effort to take care of his or her own interests, then our society would have fewer problems. This does not mean sacrificing other people’s interest for one’s own. It means taking control of one’s own life. When you live at home, you have to listen to your parents; when you go to school, you have to follow your teachers’ rules; when you go to work, your bosses make the final calls. You have no choice in those situations. Unfortunately, most people carry this kind of passive submission throughout their life. They fail to realize that they—as adults—have complete control when it comes to their personal life.
I always have deep respect for those who take complete control of their life and full responsibility for their actions. Don’t blame your parents for your lousy childhood; don’t blame your teachers for your poor education; don’t blame your bosses for your dead-end job. You have the power and the responsibility to take control your life. Other people, and your past, can influence you, but they are not responsible for your success or failure. Blaming others can help you vent your anger sometimes, but don’t make this a habit. It’s really pathetic! When people complain to me that they don’t get enough respect, at home or at work, I often tell them: “Did you do something to earn the respect that you want?” (Of course I only tell this to those who can handle it). I know this is hard to swallow, but it’s the truth.
At the risk of making a big generalization, I think in Eastern cultures, you are respected because of your age, and you are promoted because of your seniority (in terms of employment). People take this for granted. On the other hand, in Western cultures, you have to earn the respect and the promotion. They don’t come automatically with age and with seniority. I don’t always agree with Western thoughts, but this is something I agree with whole-heartedly. It’s usually the case that you get wiser when you get older, so you are more respectable. Likewise, you become a better worker when you work at the same place for a long time, so you deserve a promotion. However, this is not always the case. That’s why I prefer the Western logic. It makes more sense.
Anyway, let’s get back to the issue of individualism. The common people look at individualism with a scorn. They like to take refuge in “group” and in “team.” It’s always nice to say that you are “a team player.” But let’s face it. Those who keep saying “teamwork” are usually people who have no personality of their own and therefore take refuge in “the team.” They actually have no idea what “team” means. I’m not undermining the concept of “team.” We need other people to survive. Everybody knows that. This is exactly the point. Those who keep repeating what others consider common sense are the ones that have a problem. They fail to see that “the team” relies on “the individuals” as much as the individuals on the team. If you cannot stand on your own feet, how can anyone else lean on you?
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Humor Anyone?
I had a class in college that started early in the morning. The professor was a serious-looking man who talked in monotone in a very quiet way. He was a very kind gentleman, but I could never follow his lecture through. Every time I told myself to concentrate on his lecture, five minutes later I found myself wandering off into dreamland. Anyway, one morning the professor was lecturing, and as usual, some students were taking notes furiously, some were nodding, and some were staring blankly at the blackboard. Suddenly the professor stopped and looked at us, expectantly. We in turn stared at him, expectantly. After a few seconds has elapsed, the professor broke the silence by saying: “It was a joke.” A few students laughed, rather awkwardly, while some were still taking notes furiously, without noticing anything.
It makes me laugh every time I think of this incident. However, it’s no funny business when this happens to you. I find that for most people, every time I tell a joke I have to add the phrase “it’s a joke” or laugh very loudly, otherwise they will take it seriously—which is often very dangerous. I think this is quite degenerating. For me, a joke is not funny anymore when the joke-teller has to label it or laugh before anybody has a chance to hear it. Besides, I consider it an insult to the audience’s intelligence by telling them what is a joke and what is not. Can they recognize that themselves? Unfortunately, most people can’t.
I admit that I’m not the funniest person in the world. Most people consider me “serious.” However, I always appreciate a good joke. People with a good sense of humor are the smartest people I’ve ever known (by “smart” I mean “quick-witted,” not “nerdy”). That’s why I have great respect for them. It’s important to differentiate “funny” people from clowns. In my opinion, funny people are those who make people laugh without trying. It’s natural for them. Clowns often annoy me because they are forcing it too much. It’s always a pleasure to be around people with a good sense of humor.
It’s not your fault if you were born without a sense of humor. But some people think it’s a sin to tell jokes. Perhaps it has something to do with their view of life. Maybe they have to deal with grave matters everyday and think it’s inappropriate to joke around. Or maybe it’s just the way they were brought up. Whatever the reason, I feel sorry for them. Common! Life is short. You know that no matter how serious you are about life, you have to give it up one day. So why not have a little fun along the way? Moreover, just because you are joking around doesn’t mean you give up doing what you consider “important.” I’m glad that there are still some funny people around, otherwise I would have to go hang myself!
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The Barber Nightmare
I’m one of a few weird women who don’t care much about beauty salons. I only come to barbershops every few months to cut my hair, when it gets long and uncomfortable. Every time the barber asked me: “How would you like your hair done?” I answered: “I want it shorter.” Then he or she would ask: “How much shorter? One inch? Two inches?” I would answer: “How long is one inch?” So the barber would hold up some of my hair and showed me how long one inch—or two inches—was. Then I would nod my head. You must think this is the end of the story, right? Wrong! You will see that cutting my hair is more complicated than you think!
When I read Mark Twain’s humorous essay “About Barbers,” I laughed out loud. I felt consoled that I was not alone in this hair-cutting nightmare. Anyway, when I was little, going to the beauty salon was a torture. I usually went with my mother or my sisters. The adults took longer to finish, so I had to wait for hours. Being a kid, waiting was definitely no fun, given the fact that I had nothing to do except listening to all the stupid gossips that I didn’t understand. Besides, I was a very sensitive kid, and I always felt that everybody there was hostile to me because I refused to open my mouth, and nothing can annoy a barber more than a quiet person.
When I first came to Hawaii, I went to Chinatown to cut my hair. At first I went to a place where all my family went to. The ladies there—like most barbers—were extremely talkative. After a few times of cutting my, and my family’s, hair, they know all about my family history, what I had done as a kid, and what I planned to do in the future—I didn’t even know that myself! I in turn knew all about their parents, grandparents, children, and their neighbors as well as the neighbors’ families—not to mention all the affairs that were going around the world.
As a rule, when someone knows too much about you, you either have to kill her or never see her again. Since the former was out of the question, I chose the latter. I went to another beauty salon (also in Chinatown). This one was very different from any beauty salon that I had been to. What unique about it was that the people there were very quiet. They turned on the TV to have some background noise, and they didn’t talk to you unless you started first. This was just to my taste. Oh, another weird thing about me was that I never called to make appointment. I just went there and waited for the next available barber. The first time my barber was a man (the only man there). He was the best barber. I was satisfied with the haircut, but I didn’t feel comfortable letting men cutting my hair. However, I need not to worry about this because he was extremely busy. It appeared as if all the middle-aged women wanted him to cut their hair. I don’t know if this was because he was a good barber or because he was a man, or both. So the next time I had a lady cutting my hair. She was okay, though not that great. Just as I got used to her style, I never had her again. Every time I came she was either absent or busy. Things were going downhill from there. One barber cut my hair with the left longer than the right. The next barber tried to fix this by letting the right longer than the left, and so on. I, of course, never complained (listening to my complaints is the privilege that only my family and friends could enjoy!). Finally, even my easy-going nature had to surrender to complete outrage, so I quit going there.
I then ventured to a department store’s barbershop. They did a good job. Unfortunately, they were equally good at cutting throat as cutting hair! They all seemed to have a strong desire to become millionaires. Now, I’m not known for being stingy. In fact, I’m extremely generous when it comes to tipping my service providers. However, I do know when I’m being ripped off. On the other hand, I also know that there is nothing I can do about this. No matter where I go, barbers are the same—that is, they always bring you troubles. Like Mark Twain said: “All things change except barbers, the ways of barbers, and the surroundings of barbers. These never change. What one experiences in a barber shop the first time he enters one, is what he always experiences in barber shops afterward till the end of his days.” What a great piece of wisdom!
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My Greatest Fear
My greatest fear is to be understood. There is nothing more depressing than to hear someone say that he or she understands me completely and thoroughly, like an open book. Of course nobody has ever said that to me (don’t they dare!), but this is just something I fear.
You may think that this is strange, since people always try to improve their communication skill in order to understand and be understood. I would say that good communication is not about making other people understand you, but what you want them to understand. There is a big difference here. The real “you” is completely a private thing. Nobody else should be allowed to know this. Is this insincere? I wouldn’t call it that. You don’t call someone who is not going around naked insincere, do you? If your body deserves that much privacy, your mind deserves even more. Dostoyevsky, a well-known Russian writer, once said: “…there are some things that a man is afraid to reveal even to himself, and any honest man accumulates a pretty fair number of such things.” This is so true. The mind has its own existence and rules. There are certain things that it doesn’t want to reveal to anybody. It’s not that there is anything to be ashamed of. It’s just about the privacy that your mind needs to stay healthy.
As I think about it, my fear is quite unfounded. I don’t even completely understand myself, so how could anybody else? I contradict myself a lot, intentionally and unintentionally. Many people point to this as a sign of weakness. They laugh at me for contradicting myself. They have no idea how much I enjoy doing this! You see, I always love a good argument—that is, an intellectual exchange of ideas and opinions, not a name-calling business. Unfortunately, people are so lazy nowadays. They try to avoid arguments as much as possible. They simply want no trouble whatsoever. That is why I end up arguing with myself! Honestly, I don’t care much about “people’s opinions.” I care a little bit about “wise people’s opinions.” And one wise person—Oscar Wilde—said: “The well-bred contradict other people; the wise contradict themselves.” This is enough consolation for me!
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My Phobia
I don’t have much to brag about, but the one thing I can say about myself is that I’m not a spoiled brat. Let’s not dwell on details. Let’s just say that I have been exposed to so many things in this world (good and bad) that almost nothing would scare or surprise me. I find it amusing that some people are afraid of rats or cockroaches, or cry over some cheap drama, or get upset because someone forgets their birthday. I passed that stage a long, long time ago. There is, however, only one thing that I’ve been exposed to frequently all my life and still can’t overcome my fear of it: public speaking.
You may just shrug and say: “What’s the big news? Everybody is afraid of public speaking.” If you listen to what I have to say, you will agree that my public-speaking phobia is more out of the ordinary. It started since I was born. When I was a kid, I was afraid to speak to anybody who was not my family. This was the source of so many painful incidents, which I prefer not to recite here. When I went to school, I had practically no friends except a couple of loyal weirdo comrades. Fortunately, I was a good student, and in that society this quality alone inspired respect from both students and teachers. So everybody left me alone. However, my report cards invariably said that I was good in every aspect except speaking up in class.
I can recall hundreds of embarrassing moments in my life relating to public speaking. Here are just a few examples. When I was in first grade, my teacher was my distant cousin. Since she was a good teacher, she showed no favoritism. One day she called me to go up to the blackboard and do a math problem. The math problem was no sweat, but the standing-up-in-front-of-the-class problem was almost unbearable. I sat glued to my seat and said nothing. The teacher repeated her request, but I just sat there, paralyzed. After a few more unsuccessful attempts, the teacher threatened to give me a zero if I refused to come up. I still sat motionless. She finally gave up. I was happy even though I got a zero. When I went to eighth grade, I applied for membership in a prestigious club (similar to some honor societies here). The membership was usually limited to high school students only, but a few eighth-graders could be considered, with the approval of the homeroom teacher. Anyway, the homeroom teacher asked each of us who applied for this membership to come up and give a speech—to explain why he or she wanted to join the club. When he called my name, I just shook my head stubbornly. Since he was very fond of me (he taught math and I was good at math), he said that he gave me a few more minutes to think and called on other students first. So when everybody else was done, he asked me to come up again. Again I refused. He kept asking and asking, until I finally gathered enough courage to get out of my seat and walk up there, facing the class (actually, I was facing my feet). However, that was all I could do. What a standoff! How long I stood there I didn’t know exactly, but it seemed like eternity. The teacher went on talking and encouraging. I kept on staring at my feet, shaking all over. My classmates held their breath and avoided looking at me. They all liked me (believe it or not!), so they did their best not to make me feel any worse. Finally the bell rang and ended my agony—and everybody else’s. I got my teacher’s approval afterward and then was accepted to that club. I guess he didn’t have the heart to turn me down, in spite of myself.
My fear of public speaking, or the public in general, got worse when I came to the America—now I have to deal with the language and culture barrier. In college I was not required to take a speech class—and I certainly didn’t take it for fun. However, one can’t go through college without some sort of class presentation. My first presentation happened to be in my philosophy of science class. I did a write-up in some science topic, which was not bad. But the thought of standing up in front of the class and pronouncing a lot of big words was killing me. You can’t imagine what I had to go through. Just say that I would be very grateful to someone who would shoot me on the head before the presentation. I was at the point of breaking down when I remembered my dad’s favorite quote from Kristnamuti: “What is fear? Fear is thought and time.” So I kept repeating to myself that “fear is thought and time.” This seemingly unbearable incident only exists for ten minutes of my life. Why should I make such a big deal out of it? I started thinking about the time after the presentation, when I would be happy again. This thought process calmed me down. I survived the presentation.
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A Pragmatist’s Point of View
What’s in a name? From my personal experience, it’s nothing and everything. Let me explain why it’s everything first, and then why it’s nothing.
When I first came to America, they got my name mixed up. That is, my first name became my middle name, and my middle name (middle names, actually) became first name. This didn’t bother me that much, initially. All my Vietnamese friends still called me my real name. As to others, I was stuck with my silly “first name,” which was a combination of my two middle names. It sounded very stupid and hard to pronounce. Back then I didn’t want to explain to people about my namesake. What could I say? “Oh, my official first name here is this, but it’s not really my first name. It’s my middle names. My real first name is my official middle name, etc.” Given my terrible English, people suffered enough just to listen to basic sentences.
As time went by, the wrong name started to annoy me. I felt sorry for the people who had to call my name. I started to let people call me by the first middle name only, not the combination. However, I really hated that name. It’s okay as a middle name (it’s a generic middle name for women), but it’s one of the most ugly first names one could think of. Even with this short version of my name, people still mispronounced it. I remember one of my professors pronounced my name wrong the first day of class, when he took attendance. As usual, I didn’t say anything. It was a small thing, after all. He went on and called me that name for the whole semester. Later on, when he found out from my friends that he mispronounced it, he felt bad. I guess that was my fault. Another professor, my philosophy professor, was pretty clever. He called me by my last name, since it was easy to pronounce. Everybody else was called by first name, but I was called “Miss Dao.” I actually liked the sound of it. Somehow being called “Miss” by a respectable old man made me feel terribly important! (Remember that vanity is my second name). By doing this he not only solved his problem but also made me feel good. He was not called a philosopher for nothing!
When I had a chance, I decided to change my first name to an English one. There are two different reactions from people as I tell them the news. Some people would say: “Why not the last name too?” Some people, on the other hand, look at me as if I am a traitor. They think that changing my name means denying my root. I know a couple who live in a foreign country. They refuse to give their children the “local” name. They seem to be proud of the fact that they make the local people pronounce the Vietnamese names, even though they are hard to pronounce. I think this is ridiculous. If you want to promote your culture, be a good citizen. Do something nice to the community. Making other pronounce your native name correctly is not the way to do it. Of course you can name your children whatever name you like, but it’s childish to think that this is patriotic.