So Apparently . . .

I'm good at beer pong. And no, I don't have that infamously low Asian alcohol tolerance and I don't turn bright red (only a little when I've had enough). Usually it takes me about 3-4 shots (of vodka or tequila) for me to feel anything, 5-7 to get my tipsy, and over 8 to get me drunk. I'm not sure what my upper limit is, but it's somewhere between 12 and 15.

I actually rather like the taste of alcohol. Until the first and only time I got drunk enough to throw up. After that, I'll never touch tequila again.

What Dreams May Come

I was going to write a post on this a while ago, but things keep coming up. You know how it goes. Anyway, I think I have really random dreams. They're usually PG/PG-13 or so, but every now and then (fairly rarely, actually), I have one of those wild porn-like sex dreams. The following are PG/PG-13 though. I just thought I'd share what some of my dreams are like.
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1. President Bush vs. Squirtle

I was walking in a city park, one of those nice large ones with small hills, lots of trees and grass, some fountains, nice paths for walking, and maybe a small pond. So I was walking along on a path when I see President Bush up ahead. For some reason (I think it was his facial expression) he pissed me off.

Next to me I see a turtle walking by. I picked up the turtle and kind of "tossed" it in front of me towards Bush. Lo and behold, the turtle transforms into a Squirtle-like thing. At this point President Bush noticed me and was alert.

I issued commands at my new "Pokemon," and told it to use water gun. Apparently, the President Bush in my dream wasn't only annoying, but also really acrobatic. He did all sorts of flips and jumps to dodge my Squirtle's attack, all the while chuckling at it. My Squirtle was pissed too now. So, I told Squirtle to use bubblebeam or something. At this, Bush laughed even harder because, well, they're bubbles. He easily maneuvered around the silly bubbles until he was right in front of Squirtle.

He then bent down, tapped it on the head with his hand, and kicked Squirtle away. Squirtle kind of fell on its back and couldn't get back up. Then he came for me. He did the same thing: patted me on the head, and then kind of kicked me. When I got back up, he disappeared.

Then I woke up. The first thing I did was go to my friend's apartment to tell SR-F and JW-F about my dream. Then I woke up for real to NPR. And guess what? It was talking about Bush's plan in Africa.
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2. Library incidence

I was at the undergrad library working on a project with like 2 other people. I had my laptop out and was explaining things, working on a PowerPoint, etc.

Suddenly from behind, this Middle-Eastern guy comes up. He was chewing gum or something. I gave no notice at first, thinking he'd walk away. But no. Instead, he takes the gum out of his mouth, it was all bright pink and whatnot, and was just playing with it in his hands while watching us.

This was weird, I thought. Now we're all giving him weird looks. Suddenly, he bends over and starts typing on my laptop with gum all over his hands. He got some gum on my keys so it became all sticky. At this point, I was shocked. I was like, "Wtf are you doing with my computer?!"

He stopped for a moment, and I turned around to yell at him. Then he kind of scooted onto my chair, displacing me a bit. And starts typing with both hands. Now I was pissed. I go to hit him, and he suddenly gets up and runs away. He turns around a shelf and disappears.

Now my laptop keys are not only sticky, they're stuck. When pressed down, they wouldn't come back up. I wanted to cry.

Then I woke up.
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So yeah, those are some of my weird dreams. I don't think anything will top the "President Bush vs. Squirtle" one.

---TANGENT---
So, there's this guy in my bio class. I swear he's gay. He has a lot of the "stereotypical" attributes that people would associate with gayness: the way his hair is done, the way he moves, the way he talks, and to a lesser extent, the way he dresses.

So I found out his name and looked him up on Facebook. Apparently he's a grad student, but he's enrolled in this class and taking it for credit (which explains why he looks older). Also, it says he's interested in women. Hmm, I guess I could be wrong. Or he could be lying.

I think I have broken gaydar, or a lack thereof.
---END TANGENT---

I Know They Mean Well . . .

. . . but seriously, my parents are ridiculous. More so than my sexuality, more so than worrying about med schools, more so than academics, my relationship with my parents is the singularly most frustrating thing in my life. Our relationship can be described as tenuous, or perhaps bipolar. I know they mean well, they always do, but they always come across in such an antagonistic way. Sometimes we get along great, sometimes we butt heads (hardcore). My parents are so hardcore in all they do.

My dad called last night to "talk" to me about me applying to public health. In retrospect, I didn't say much and he was able to rant a lot within about 15 minutes. Let's see if I remember what we "discussed" (and that's putting it loosely and mildly) in relative order . . .

1. My dad asked me whether or not I looked at the courses required for the 2 MPH programs I chose. Well, of course I glanced at them, but not in-depth. He then went on to say how HME (Hospital & Molecular Epidemiology) only required 1-2 biostat classes whereas IH (International Health) required more. Somehow, he felt like I wouldn't be able to handle statistics. Seriously. I took calculus 3 and basic statistics, and I survived both. I think I'll manage.

2. My dad then asked why I chose the 2 programs I did. Well, I wasn't qualified/allowed to apply to some programs, and the rest I wasn't particularly interested in. He then pointed out a job posting linked from a link I sent him, because he asked for the link. The job required an MPH in epidemiology, and it only earns $18/hour to $30/hour depending on experience. Somehow, that works out to be about $30,000/year (lower end). He went on about how the pay sucked and all. Well, I asked him what the position was. He said data analyst/research assistant. That explained everything (to me).

3. At this point, my dad practically ranted about how I shouldn't choose a career where the starting salary is below $50,000, and that I should change my plans but now it's too late (for this). I countered with that I'm sure there are plenty of jobs with an MPH that pay in that range, starting out. He just chose a bad example. It's apparent now that he's quite against me applying to public health. Oh well, too late.

4. From here, he transitioned to how I should focus on med schools and nothing else. Well, I had essays and homework that needed to be done. Now. Apparently, all that doesn't matter, only getting into med school. Umm, if I fail my courses, I won't be able to get in anywhere, med school or otherwise. So I think my homework/essays due the next day take priority.

5. My dad also mentioned an open-house presentation, sometime in early April, by a med school in Antigua that they're having in the city where I currently attend university. It is a Saturday. He asked whether or not I was going and I said I didn't know. He was "shocked" at my answer of "I don't know," because this was my future and I should go no-matter-what. Well, I don't know what I have planned for that particular day! I very well may have something going on, I may not, and I would have to see. This was unacceptable and whatever I may have on that day - whether it's a concert, or an event, etc - I should cancel it. Now, I HATE to cancel things I commit to. He also said that I had to register for this open-house session thing, and that I could bring 2 guests. In other words, him and my mom. Great, just what I need, more nagging/ranting directly in my ear as I sit through this.

6. From here, he goes on to say how playing the cello in college had ruined my academics, that if I hadn't played the cello my grades would be much higher. Yeah, like my 3-4 hours of playing the cello per week really had any effect on my grades. Umm, no, it didn't and doesn't. I think research has had a more negative impact on my grades than all the cello playing I've done; but that would be blasphemy to say.

7. My dad ends (and really, this permeates throughout this phone call) about how I don't seem like I'm worried about anything. Or rather that I'm obviously worried, but not worried enough to do something about it. He keeps saying how anxious and worried he is, and how he keeps looking stuff up for me, and all that, but I don't do anything. Well, maybe it's because I have classes and a life to attend to. Also, there isn't much I can do at this point. My parents think I have it easy, that my courses are easy because I'm not taking grad-level courses in my last semester of my undergrad. What kind of logic is that?!

8. My parents also kept mentioning how me taking Chinese this year and a Chinese culture class this semester has been an utter waste of time. Well, let me just say, the Chinese I learn will be more important and useful than anything single thing I learn in any particular biology class. If I do become a doctor, when's the next time I'll need to know the Hardy-Weinberg equation? The answer: never.

What's also annoying/frustrating/infuriating, is that on my parents merge into one entity whenever they lecture my brothers or me. If they're on the phone, my dad will be talking but I can hear my mom in the background commenting and giving commentaries on what my dad's saying. And if my mom's on the phone, I can hear my dad yelling in the background. This is much worse in person, however, so I prefer the phone where I can hold it away from my ear every now and then.

And my brothers and I all have different ways of coping with my parents. My youngest brother is the "ultimate antagonist." He will resist, rebel, and argue endlessly with my dad especially. They can yell at each other for well over an hour until someone's all red in the face. My second brother is the "obedient one." He does everything my parents say, but he does it as minimally as possible to appease them. I also think my parents favor my second brother over the rest of us. I'm the "patient waiter." I prefer to sit there in silence and just take it, and wait for it all to stop. Because I know if I speak up, things will drag out, and I will lose all emotional self-control. This does tend to backfire, as my parents interpret my silence/stoicism as either not listening or not caring.

This is all just ridiculous. I SO wish I were in med school so all this bullshit is over. But I know it won't end there. My parents will subtly urge me to go into a high-paying specialty, like dermatology or anesthesiology. I, however, have no interest in either of those. In fact, I will choose the lowest paying tier of physicians - that of the primary care doctor. I will be a doctor, sure, but I will gladly make less money doing something I will enjoy; and making less money will have the added bonus of spiting my parents. I choose pediatrics. It's what I originally want to do anyway, and I'm sticking by it.

Plan B

So, I know I obsess over this, quite obsessively. I've a feeling all pre-meds obsess over this to a degree that borders OCD. And here it goes for the umpteenth time (forgive me).

Wayne State: alternate list (aka, wait-listed).

NYMC: wait-listed.

MCW: interview on March 28th (for their alternate list).

Med schools still to hear back from: USC-Keck, Tufts, Drexel, Loyola, and Rosalind Franklin. Still holding on to hope. If I get an interview at either USC-Keck or Tufts that'd be amazing, because those are my first choices right now. Still hoping . . .

I still have hope at all three of the "wait-list" ones. After looking at MCW, I wouldn't mind going there at all, even if it's in Wisconsin (actually, I think it'd be really cool). I've a feeling that at some point I will be admitted at either (or both) Wayne State and NYMC; though, "at some point" could be any time between now and August. But I must bolster my chances. I need to get a hold of the in-progress paper on which I have an authorship from the lab I worked at over the summer.

Anyway, in lieu of this, I've enacted plan B: public health. I just submitted my application tonight. And I couldn't have done it without the help of W, thanks!! But am I done? No, because I still have to snail mail a 1-page form that they didn't have as part of their online application, and I have to get my MCAT scores to the school of public health (somehow, calling on Monday). Curses!!

I dislike applying. I don't think I'm going to apply to any more schools of public health other than the one I did. Here's hoping I get into public health, if all else fails (which, I'm still hoping doesn't).

Torn Internal Reflections

I really dislike it when someone says something like "Don't put a label on yourself." Yes, I know I'm much more than any particular label, whether it applies to my gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, etc. But still, such things sometimes help one sort things out and right now, I need something. I'm not sure what that is exactly.

My Mask of Duality has been fighting itself; in fact, it may have two independent sides that just happen to lie side-by-side to create a mask. I don't even know how to best describe this. It suddenly feels like there's a schism somewhere.

Let's start off simple. I've been feeling like a "bad Chinese-American" in my Chinese class. Yes, I'm fluent in Mandarin Chinese, but this semester I'm going up against people who're more fluent. I'm more or less only fluent in conversational Chinese, the day-to-day stuff that I need to get by. Some of these students utilize "advanced" vocab and I can hear the differences in their inflections and tones. I find myself stuttering but for no good reason. Now I'll use this as an analogy of sorts.

While I (still) "label" myself as bisexual, it doesn't feel quite right. Again, there is a "heterosexual" side of me and a "homosexual" side. And man do they like to duke it out sometimes. If I were to place attraction on a 100% scale, I'd say I'm attracted to men about 60-70% of the time, and the remaining 30-40% to women. It fluctuates in ways beyond my control, and I don't even know what to do with it.

It's evident that both sides reside in me, but in a similar way as Chinese and English. Both present but not simultaneously usually. I either speak Chinese or English, and rarely mix the two. It's similar with sexuality. But that leads to confusion. Argh, it's frustrating. Stuck in the middle, one foot (or part of) on either side, sometimes leaning this way or that.

Okay, I've rambled too much and this makes no sense. It made a lot more sense in my head, or last night. And I've blogged about this before, in much the same way. Why am I so torn still?

---TANGENT---
Two more blogs I came across, check them out if you haven't!

To Thine Ownself Be True
In or Out?
---END TANGENT---

The Great Learning

That title's actually taken from a work by Confucius; but as with all ancient Chinese texts, it's impossible to say if he actually wrote that or not. Anyway, the point of this post is to commemorate some of the amazing teachers and professors I've had or met.

Throughout most of my education, English was one of my least favorite subjects (right down there next to history and gym). But in high school, I had some amazing teachers. Freshman year I had a teacher who taught me to write concisely, a worth skill. In my junior year I "perfected" the essay form from my English AP teacher. She also had a law degree, so she knew how to write, how to analyze, and how to argue and prove a point.

At my university here, there have been a handful of amazing professors. The first guest lectured for Dante's Divine Comedy in my English class freshman year. He had this amazing aura about him. He was dynamic, engaging, and had a theatrical drama about him. You walk into class because of him. He always brought a smile to your face. He was someone to be admired and respected; he was legendary. It turns out he's gay. He came out sometime in my sophomore year I think to the campus. He's also quite elderly with a wife and grown kids who all still love him dearly and vice versa. Really, it's a non-issue. His sexual orientation is more of an aside, nothing of importance compared to his amazing self.

Last semester I interviewed this professor from the school of public health. It turns out she's the only female tenured professor in her department, an amazing accomplishment. She has such a motherly tone about her, it's almost difficult to imagine all the hardships that she went through to attain her position. I never had her for a professor, but I wish I did. Along this same line of thought, one of my professors right now attained tenured professorship quite young (she can't possibly be older than mid-30s or so). These professors are to be respected. And for many women on campus, these professors are also inspirational.

And this gets me wondering - what kind of person do I want to be (eventually)? Someone to be admired, someone to be respected, someone who inspires. All these would be great. I hope to achieve some of this on some small level in the mini-course I'm teaching, but somehow I doubt it. At best, I'll have achieved the status as a good instructor (which isn't so bad).

One day, I hope to become someone who is respected and inspirational, who exudes that aura of intelligence but is still personable. For right now, I should concentrate on finishing this semester and getting into med school. Sigh.

The First Time . . .

. . . I jerked off. This could be an incredibly embarrassing post, but whatever. Put yourself out on a limb, right? At least it'll be entertaining (hopefully).

So the first time wasn't that special for me. It was around Chinese New Year - so late January/early February - when I was somewhere between 11 and 13 (can't remember which year exactly). Must've been 6th grade or so. Anyway, we were calling relatives to wish them a happy new year. And I was idly playing with my erection, rather absentmindedly (and secretly). Several months before this I had "discovered" that the foreskin can be pulled back, and the area underneath can/should be cleaned. So that might've been part of it. Suddenly I felt something, and I thought I was about to pee or something. So I ran to the bathroom.

When I got there, the feeling had subsided and no urine came out. A few slippery drops did; I wasn't sure exactly what it was yet. I did remember thinking, "Hmm, maybe this is semen." Thankfully, the woefully insufficient sex ed curriculum was sufficient enough for this.

A few days later I woke up and was squirming about. I had an erection, as guys are wont to in the morning. I was kind of grinding it about into the bed, but that didn't feel so great. So I turned over and laid on my back, took off my underwear, and just sort of played with the skin - pulling it back and forth over the head with two fingers. That felt good.

Then the feeling started to build up again, and again I thought I was going to pee. But this time I decided to stick it out, because I had "thought" I saw semen before and this might be it. So I kept going. Right before ejaculating, I instinctively grabbed my penis with a full fist and just pulled down towards my body, stretching the skin and making it taut. I may have thrusted a bit into my hand too, don't remember that so well.

I remember closing my eyes and making a little sound (I'm generally really quiet, unless it feels really good - allows me to jerk off in secrecy). Well, a little did spurt out this time. It covered my penis and hand a bit. I took the bit on my fingers and moved it around - it didn't feel like urine. I brought it to my nose - it didn't smell like urine. Well, the logical conclusion was that it was, indeed, semen. It was dark so I didn't examine it with my eyes, but what else could it have been?

After I was sure I was in the clear (dad had gone to work, brothers still asleep, etc), I went to go clean up in the bathroom. And that was that. I felt satisfied and kind of happy about "growing up." I don't think I jerked off for 3-4 days after that thought, mainly because I sort of forgot about it, lol.