About my life, isn't it?

All the recent blogs have one feature: They are not about me. You may ask, "Hey, how is YOUR life? Any danger of falling apart?:-)" Nah. But here are some updates about me. Since this blog is "about my life", I shouldn't be apologetic about it, should I?!

Recently I am juggling many balls in the air at the same time: writing a paper while writing chapters of dissertation and at the same time searching for data for another paper in my mind, summer camp one weeks ago and ALC program for the next three, about 40 hours of work (I slacked off a lot though), led my advisor's research group to finish some codings, just finished Harry Potter book, house job in my co-op, daily routine of exercises (running, swimming and gym in a three day rotation). Oh, I need to move office next week. Why, because my crazy department has a great plan to move everybody around, just for fun, or for the sake of keeping us fit my moving those giant desks. Thank you very much. By the way, I hope my friend Amsol is still planning to go to Vegas so I can tag along. It is pretty cool to race with time this way.

I had lunch with Brey the other day. He asked me to find a girlfriend "today, right now!" Well, I guess I am such a coward, living in a safety bubble of work and too afraid to take any personal risks. On the other hand, I hope I am really making progress in breaking the old pattern. Eye-contact, feel comfortable in talking to people, it is okey to talk about myself or make weird sound, no afraid of physical contact of slapping or hugging. That's the goal. By the way, I'd never danced in a party until the party in the dance camp. So here is a more specific goal: dance in a co-op party next academic year. Forget about self-embarrassment.

The girl I was blogging about since last september and I finally put things behind and were back to be friends. Something to cheer about it, isn't it? It is comforting to know that I am not a wierd person in her mind after all (No matter how many counselling sessions I had, I still care about how other people think of me. Pathetic, but live with it). I helped her a little last time by sharing my experience with writer's block (she is writing her thesis right now). It is good to know that my fucked-up experience can do some good.

Also I am going to teach a lecture in English this Wednesday. My first lecture not in a mother tougue ever! Excited but nervous. I know I will put it off okey, but the waiting process isn't that fun. I am about 2 thirds of my goal of 100 campus loop run, although the hot weather dampened my motivation and slowed my pace.

Harry Potter

Just finish the latest harry Potter book. It is a good read. Here is my prediction of the seventh book 2 years later. I believe most of the prediction will turn out to be correct, so do not read it if you want a full enjoyment of book 7.
1. Harry and Ginny will be a couple. Ron and Herniome, also.
2. RAB is Ruphrus Black (an idea from other discussion forums, and I believe it).
3. Snape is good.
4. Snape and Lily had a romantic relationship before. Lily used the half-blooded prince (Snape's) book when slughorn was the teacher. They figured out all the hints together and put them down on the book.
5. James Potter was a bully and was mean to Lily. That's why Lily fell for Snape, also a victim of James. Snape wanted to kill James because of that, so he turned to Voldemort.
6. However, Voldemort killed Lily too. That's why Snaped hated Voldemort, and that's why he is on the good side. That's also why he also does not like Harry, because he is also partially responsible for Lily's death.
7. Dombledort trusted Snape because he trusts the power of love. The death of Lily put him in the side of good. Voldemort underestimated the power of love.
8. Neville is actually the original chosen one. Harry was chosen in the beginning as a double to protect Neville. However, Voldemort mistakenly chose Harry, and now Harry is the eventual chosen one. Neville and Luna.
9. Draco will turn good.
10. There is one death eater in the current faculty of the school, though I am not sure who. What's why Dombledort chose death to get away. He would come back to life, or something equavelent to that.
11. Some scenes will take place in Azbarkc Prison.
12. Harry might be an extra piece of Horcrux.
13. Harry will eventually realize nothing can be perfectly pit into good or bad. He thought his father was a hero, but he turned out to be an unforgivable bully. He thought his mom was flawless, but she turned out to have an affair. Snape hated him, but he is in the good cause all along and he was good to Harry's mom. Knowing that, the ending is easy to explain. Harry destroy every other Horcruxes except the one within his body. He has to live peacefully with it for the rest of his life. Good and evil in the same body. Dombledort's words echos, "Good or bad is not about your ability, but about your choice."

kayaking in Monterey! 

Upward Bound

My second column article

When we grow up, our idealism begins to wear off and cynicism takes over. We do all kinds of cost-benefit analysis for our possible actions and then surrender with a heavy sign, “nothing matters”. No more childhood dreams of “being a scientist” or “saving the world”. We take any jobs that help raise the prosperity of a fancy car and a spacious apartment. Well, that’s a world from the perspective of a cynic like me. Once a while, however, my altruistic self will dictate me to do something different. That’s how I got involved with Upward Bound.

Upward Bound is a program that helps low-income high school students in preparing for college. My duty this summer is tutoring 7 Hispanic high school seniors three nights a week for a month. They are all from low-income immigrant families. They were picked into the program because of their potential in succeeding in higher education. Compared to the kids from the dance camp (see my last week’s column), however, they have much less resources to realize their potentials.

To be honest, they do not study as hard as any of my friends back in my high school years. Although I am their tutor, they do not ask me academic questions quite often. Instead, they like to horse around during their study-hall session. One guy Ronnie is the clown, always making people laugh, but always behind his own homework. Yuni is the loud one. She has a tall figure and an amazing smile. She can start a hip-hop dance, or even fight with boys, in the middle of study session. Ivy and Christina are quiet and patient. They are the ones who get homework done in time and help Ronnie on his homework in their spare time. Meleto studies Chinese this summer to fulfill her foreign language requirement. She asked me once what was “small study”, and it took me a while to figure out that she was talking about “elementary school”. One night, all of them got curious about Chinese. I taught them a bunch of Chinese words. Now they say “Ni Hao (hello)” when they see me and accuse each other as “Shu Dai Zi (nerd)”, and then giggle.

Today is the last day of the tutoring. I missed their talent show earlier. When I arrived at their study hall session, the excitement about the performance hadn’t died down. They performed a dance again in the lobby along with music from laptop speakers. They showed me clips of the show. During one section students described their kisses with metaphors. “My kiss is like taking a shower, warm and will go as long as you want.” “My kiss is like coconut, sweet in the beginning and smooth in the end.” And my favorite, “My kiss is like time, which never ends.” The audience screamed like crazy. Well, I am impressed by their potentials, not only in kissing or Chinese, but also in succeeding in college. I wish them the best in applying for college next year.

starting a column in Beijing Daily

The first probably will be published next week!I am going to start a column in Beijing Daily. I guess writing is my thing of communication. While maintaining this blog as some private thoughts to myself, the column is about a revised me that I want people to know. I will tell all my friends and relatives about the newspaper and the link soon. Here is the preview.

Beating a Lake

If you are obsessed with your own popularity as much as I am, you probably search your name on “google” three times a day, hoping your own homepage come on top. Well, it might work for you, but I have no match with a lake called “Songhua Hu” as well (in Chinese, “Hu” means lake). I figure that starting a column in a newspaper might help me jumpstart my popularity that even the super search engine “google” has to recognize.

Without a doubt, life is a popularity contest, starting when you are young. Take a summer camp for an example. I was a counselor for the dance camp last week. Fifty-seven kids of 13-16 years old, converging from all around the nation, took modern dance and hip-hop classes in my university for a week. Their raging hormone made them energetic and tireless, but it also led to a craving for attention and an ego bigger than the hill behind my campus. However, my favorite dancers are always those kept their cool and poise. They often hid on the back corner, moving on their own rhythms with grace. When you spot them, you suddenly realize that, beyond all the popularity contests, ones who do not care eventually win.

In the middle of the camp, Harry Potter book came out. Campers began to read it like maniacs. One of my fellow counselors, Nicole, finished it in two days by sacrificing some sleeping time. Younger kids were even more into it. They would leave the lobby immediately when Harry Potter topics came up, afraid that the discussion would ruin their enjoyment of discovering the plot on their own.

At night, we played games and watched videos. The game I love the most is called “Catch-Phrase”. The rule is that you have to describe something without saying the exact word. For example, when you say something like, “a rectangular thing you sleep on”, the other players guess what you have just described. Whoever shouts out “bed” wins the point. A non-native speaker of English, I have the natural advantage of making up silly descriptions. Kids laughed at me when I described “sea” as “a big chunk of water” or “comb” as “something to sort out your hair”. Of course, sometimes I just intentionally made mistakes to crack them up. My favorite is to guess “the scientific name of spit” as “vomit”. We all laughed like kids. Well, they ARE kids, and I just pretend to be one of them.

Oh, Kids (cont.) II

Last night, before I went to bed, I wrote down the following.

"Now it is 00:48am. Today is the last day of the dance camp. I have the sudden realization that I might have done some injustice to the kids in the dance camp. I am not frigging Jesus Christ, and really have no firm ground to judge people as imperfect. Besides, we had a good time, and moral judgment is pale in front of the happiness. I do not want to leave a negative note on those dancers, because they are great. Here are some very silly episodes I want to tell.

There is one girl in the camp who is an amazing dancer. I always hid behind her so I can mimic the movements in dance classes. She is very poised and cool. Compared to other girls, she has a mental stage beyond her age. If there is anyone in the camp who actually saved money to pay for this camp themselves, I believe she is the one. You can say I am her secret admirer, or even have a little crush on her, or whatever. I have been dying to tell her that she is a great dancer, but never got a chance. Yesterday night, when we had a small party, she was one of those who did not go (She was too cool for that). When I walked pass her door, I found her door was open. So I knocked the door, and she was reading the most recent Harry Potter book. I stepped in and had some random talks about why she did not go to the party and whereabouts of her roommate. Then I told her that she should keep dancing, because she has such a talent in dance and a perfect personality to become a great dancer rahter than a dancer of cheerleading type, which I hate so much that I cannot even start to describe. Then I came out and felt great, just for no reasons.

I also played catchphrase with four young girls. I suspect one young girl might have a crush on me, because she stared at me a lot when she described the word. I had a great time. We were laughing so much that it almost felt like I am making up in this camp for all the bad times I had in the past year. One girl liked to say, “You are weird.” One girl was quite weird, doing mostly random things with spoons, cups, and cards. One girl was calm, and a little depressed. She has a pretty face. There must be something else going in her life that bothered her. One last girl is a friend of the third girl. She did not stand out in any thing, but she is a best friend.

I cannot believe everything is almost over. I am such a sucker, because I am so easy to get emotionally attached to people. I guess I have much love to give, but never really find a way. So every time I spent some good time with people, I wanted the time to stop. But time will pass, and memory will fade, and I will be with other people and hopefully will have as good a time as I have right now."

Ok, the dance camp is over. I am exhausted, but really happy that we took care of those kids very well. Last time I mentioned that if only one group of kids could remember me, I hoped it is the Upward Bound kids. Now I hope these dancers can too. I hope they will remember the big kid who performed hip-Hop on their side, who ran like a maniac in "capture the flag" and accidentally tackled down the girl I described as Liv Taylor before, who got so excited in "catch phrase" that the throat almost cracked. Some of you might remember me as "intense" and "guarded", some of you might remember me as "Sugar Ray" (because of a mistake in catch phrase), and others only remember me as "Songhua!" (emphasis on the exclamation mark). Whatever, but remember me.

Oh, Kids (cont.)

Want to finish off what's left yesterday.

I had fun with the Hispanic students today by teaching them some Chinese phrases, from "Wo Ai Ni" (I love you) to "Shu Dai Zi" (geek). They loved it.

Just a side note. Hispanic is the future. I notice that Upward Bound is well run by a bunch of second generation college educated Hispanics. Their ethnic solidarity amazed me. They all bond together. It is much better than Chinese. I think they will have the US in the future.

Enough detours. Now I am getting back to my main track. My second group is the dance kids. They are mostly white and spoiled. They are mostly female. Three guys though. One is a white trash, who hates all immigrants. Of course, he does not hate me, because he likes to have “Chinese, Japanese, Korean friends”, but not the ones from the southern border. One is called “fag” by the white trash. I do not think the statement is necessarily true. In fact, he has a soft voice and likes to hang out with girls. I think he is just taking advantage of the situation (to hang out with girls). The last one is a kid living in his own world. He does not look at people as often as it should. Actually, he is sorta afraid of human interactions. Remind of myself in the past though. I wish he will grow up all right.

The girls. How should I start here. They are all beautiful and smart. No kids are obese, for sure. Great dancers, some of them. One girl reminds me of Liv Tayler. Actually, if I manage to get all the movie stars’ teenage pictures, their attractiveness will be about the same with the girls I am taking care of right now. But something bothers me, because they do not live up to my expectation. I know, I know. I am hypercritical, and it is unfair to them. They grow up in their resourceful environment and anything bad about them should be blamed about the whole society. But they are my easy target, so sorry, girls.

First, they are selfish. They have an ego larger than my rationality, which I regard as breaking some record already. What they talk about every day is “me, me, me”. One girl is sick today. But here is my own explanation. Part of the reason is that she suddenly lost attention in the big crowd. She used to be the star in high school or at home, but now some girls are prettier than her, or better dancers than her. It must really hit her. She is sick, therefore. When Mike and I sat with her, she began to cry. And Mike gave her some compliments, and all of a sudden she is all smiling. Damn. Before, I probably would think that this girl is so innocent and down to kid’s nature. But after I hang out with those Hispanic kids, everything is in a different perspective. I only hope people give those kids more attention, give them compliments, encourage them, really (or even pretend to) care about them. My volunteering thing starts as a half-assed commitment, but now I really felt that I am making a difference.

Second, camp kids know how to take advantage of situation. One girl, after assigned in B-level class, told us that she want “challenge” so she wants to shift to the advanced level class. Nothing wrong with that. But it strikes me that how those white high-class girls know how to talk to the right people in a right way to take advantage of any education. In contrast, those Hispanic kids are not really taking advantage of me. They are intimidated to talk to me at the very beginning. Only until recently, after I have established as someone they can trust and feel safe, they begin to ask me questions and talk jokes to me without any hesitation.

Both groups of kids are adorable. They are a world apart, probably would never understand each other's life. Indeed, i am a lucky guy, being able to tap into both comminuties. My Chinese identity helps me somehow, because people have low expectations about me at the beginning and then find out that I have enough stuff to impress them.

So here is the question. If I have to choose one group to giving my blessing, who would I choose. To be honest, I love them both. But to be fair, I want to give the Hispanic kids my blessing here. Those dancers are already well endowed with all those good luck, and a blessing from a guy like me does not make a difference. But for the other groups, they probably can use more of it. So here I go, with the affirmative action of my own consciousness, I wish the Hispanic students the best. It means you, Ronnie, Yuni, Meleto, Ivy, Mayre, Christina and Bresido. I wish most of you will go to college next year. If you see me in the future, please shout out "Shu Dai Zi"!

Finally, a blog of friends (Oh, Kids)

Ok, I started the blogs about my friends, and now this is another entry. This time is a collection of people. Since it is time to "O" (Niangniang's blog takes care of "N"), so I name it as "Oh, kids". Seriously, they are all kids, about sixty of them, in two distinct groups. First of all, I want to claim that I like both groups of kids. I felt their energy and spirit most of the time and am grateful about my involvement with them. Another negative about those kids is just because I am a goddamn sociologist.

One group is 7 kids from Upward Bound. They are from low-income families, probably immigrants. They are not inspired for college, or do not see life beyond starting a family with the means of marriage. Overall. they've fucked up, by themselves or by the families they were born in. But they have the potentials, which make them to be part of the program. I am a volenteering tutor this summer for 7 kids who are rising high school senior. They are actually applying to college. I am with them three nights a week for four week. This is the third week.

They are all Hispanic kids. I like them a lot. To be honest, they are not studying hard. They do not ask me academic questions (although I am a tutor). They like to horse around. One guy Ronnie is the crown, always making people laugh, but he has little chance of getting into college because he is taking a geometry class for a third year, which normally takes one year, I guess. Yuni is the loud one. She has a tall built and amazing smile. She can start a hip-hop dance in the middle of study session, or fight with boys. Ivy and Christina are quiet and pretty. They are the ones who get homework done in time. Thye have the best chance of getting into college. They are both like mother-figures for Ronnie. Mayre is obese, stressed out, probably hates how she looks. But she manage to hang out with popular kids, like Ronnie or Yuni. Then there are Meleto and Breisedo. They usually study by themselves. Not popular in mainstream sense, but they have a small crowd on their own, just some juniors. Memeto is studying manderin this summer, so we have some funny conversation about "what's your name" "Where do you come from"? Telling from the progress, I think she is learning very very slowly. Breisedo is cool. She is the one who would blend in boys and have hit-five with everyone.

So that's my group. I like them a lot, probably more than if they all study hard and not play around at all. I mean, the latter is actually my objective, but I do not want to restrict their freedom, so here you go. One will ask, "what is the life like being a light bulb?" Then the conversation just starts without stops in sight. So the poor kid syndrome. They are in a cultural trap that keeps them back withour their own noticing. Their coping strategy is great, having fun in the short term. But in a long run, they fuck themselves up. I mean, I am not value-judging them, saying they are wrong to not study hard. I am here to state the facts, and now I feel about the facts. It especially strikes me because I am starting to take care of another group of kids since two days ago.

I am very tired right now, so I will crash the bed. I will describe the other group the other day. Afterward, a sociological theme will come up. (Damn you, your sucking profession:-). Then I will discuss the social implications and conclude with three major policy recommendation (Ha, did I just get you? I am kiddddddding:-) Good night.

Continue on friend Mayne

I finally went to meet again with my friend Mayne. It was a charity event, so I brought some binders and an internet router for "Homeless Network". Mayne and other organized the event, so she celebrated her 50th birthday while doing something good for the society.

She looked alright. Her friend Susan said she was crying the whole day, barely wiped her tears for the event. I did not ask why? Maybe too much stress for organizing the event? Worrying about too few people would eventually show up? Thinking about she is 50 and still single? I do not know. Sometimes I have to admit that either I am crazy or the rest of the world. What is on earth that I am thinking about those things? Am I supposed to live my own life? Anyway, I did not feel fit in for the event. They were mostly middle-aged women. I could spot that there were some homosexuals, which sorta confirm my suspision all along.

Anyway, what's the deal with the event anyway? In my judgmental mind, Mayne was a failure. No traditional family and no conventional career. However, she was happy during the event, even though the event did not really make a difference for the society. People were still homeless even with those binders and other stuff, hello. However, I hope that she would never know about this. Rather, she could boast about her wonderful 50th birthday when she is 70 years old. Surrounded by all the illusions, she would still be a happy person, crying sometime, but happy eventually.

She said she would call me again, since we did not spend too much time chatting that night. She was a busy person that night, you bet. But I do not think she will. That's really ok with me though. Sometimes people just get across each other in the intersection, stopping and chatting just because the traffic light happened to be red. Then people moved on. Hopefully, I had learned something from diverse life of people. No master design, maybe failuer in judgmental mind, but so what? I only hope I would be that cool in my real life as what I tried to convey in this blog.

Some wrap up for today. I fixed two bikes today. I think I enjoyed these manual laborings. However, my rationality told me I should read or write so that I would seem more intellegent and get better job and higher pays. I wonder whether being a failure could eventually make me happy, for example, fixing bike the whole day for a living.

I also finished a book called "Massachusetts, California, Timbuktu", by Stephanie Rosenfeld, today. I got this book in Mars during a tutoring session for Upward Bound. I was bored and accidentally picked up the book from the bookshelf. And I just loved it. For some reason, this book just provoked so many thoughts, about my mom and myself. The ending was a little disappointing, because nothing seemed to be resolved. However, when I really think about it, it is so true. I thought I was moving forward, but actually I was just stepping on the same spot.

Talking to people calmed me down. Really, my internal thoughts sometimes could overwhelm me, and talking to people or doing sports give me a break from that. So that's it.

My Grandpa: Yiayia

I am going to finish off my family series by blogging about my grandpa. Although there is another candidate, my sister, to blog about, I find I have nothing to say about her. She is a good person, but beyond that, I just do not know her at all. I do not want to do injustice to who she is, so I just skip her altogether.

Just like my Grandma, whom I call "Niangniang", my grandpa is also not my real grandpa. To be precise, he is my real grandma's brother-in-law. I call him "Yiayia". If I have to summarize with one long phrase, I will say "Yiayia" is a person I used to hate when he was alive and now began to understand the appreciate, although a little bit too late.

Why I hated Yiayia is a little unclear now. When time passes by, people tend to selectively remember all the good memories while tossing away the bad ones. This presents a delimma to me. Shall I "objectively" reconstruct my memories? If yes, how much is doing just to the reality? Well, I have to give up on pursuing a pure objectivity in order to write the following blog. It is up to my readers to selectively believe or discount my memories.

Yiayia was an able person. Before the Communist Party took the power, he owned several texitle factories and had a couple of real estate properties. He should be labelled as "capitalist" after 1949, but somehow he "voluntarily" surrender his properties to the government and became a small official of "United Front". I guess he must be smart, otherwise how did he know to swing with political wings and emerge intact. Of course, Yiayia had some hard time during the Cultural Revolution, a fate you would not be able to escape if you were a capitalist in some part of your life. But he was all right in the end and retired honorably in the 1980s.

Yiayia was tall and handsome. He dressed in suit, though cheap, most of the time when he was healthy. I believe he knew that he was good-looking and very confident about it. Even when he was old, he still had black hairs well combed, a rarity in China. This must have facilitate him in business earlier, but it also helped him with a personable style in social interactions. People liked him, probably a lot. When I was a little kid, I liked him too. He would walk me in the street, go to parade, have a sun-bath in the colding morning, watch a movie, buy comic books. At a time when my parents were either too poor or too stingy to spend much on children, Yiayia was my refuge. When I was too little to understand how hard the money was earned in my town, Yiayia protected me from learning the hard reality too early. He had the magic of fulfilling all my requests, although I believed my requests were probably modest. By the way, one historical moment was that Yiayia had the first TV in the neighborhood. It was a 9-inch black-and-white. I remember the first night, we took the tv in the frontyard and it was packed like a small movie theatre. Yiayia got an amplifier for the TV, which made the screen look bigger but distort the picture.

I have blogged about my parents. No bad feelings, but my parents were timid and conservative. In comparison, Yiayia was everything my parents weren't. Yiayia was adventurous and did not fear about anything. I did not learn much from him, sadly, but his presence made a HUGE different in my life, a conclusion becoming clearer and clearer as I grow up. He isolated me from all the stresses typical in Chinese households. (Look at my sister, who lived with my parents. She was also timid and conservative, afraid of negative comments and always complaining. For her, dreams were a luxury that never comes true. For me, I am still dreaming even now.) Yiayia must loved me. He and Niangniang never had their own children. This probably made me receive a disproporationately large share from motherly and fatherly treatment from them.

Then I began to grow up. Everything changed. I became very critical of everything. I viewed Yiayia as an oppressive figure in the household. He always bossed Niangniang around. Niangniang was to go shopping, cook, clean and decorate the house, and he just sat there reading newspapers and watching TVs. Niangniang believed that's her fate of the marriage, and I tried to "educate" her to believe otherwise. In retrospect, Yiayia probably lifted Niangniang out of a hard life and offered her a life of middle class for the rest of her life. It might be justified to say that Niangniang was graceful and wanted to return the favor. People were limited by their times, as now i know. When when I just began to rebel, I hate that so much that I began to hate Yiayia. I thought he was just lazy and fool Niangniang into a subordinate position. An selfish reason also emerged. I wanted Niangniang's attention, but Yiayia was my competitor. I wanted to watch TV, but Yiayia often wanted to watch another channel.... Ok, that's all the reasons I have about why I hated him. I admit that they were so insignificant, but I surely did not give them a thought. As I would say, I was also trapped by my times.

The situation deteriorated. After I went to middle schools, I became more firm about my world view and tried to debate with Yiayia, unsuccessfully of course. Then I stopped talking to him altogether. I feel I want to cry now. If you want me to name one of the biggest regrets in my whole life, it is not about my unfruitful love episodes or waving decisions about my futures, it is this. If my life could be repeated again and that I am allow to change one thing, that is it. I should've talked to Yiayia. I am so sorry, Yiayia.

Yiayia passed away in 1998. It was a winter morning, when I was at home during my sophomore winter break. He was sick for a while and had several surgeries. While I was doing something, Niangniang shouted, "Songhua, your Yiayia passed away." I did not feel anything that time. I just followed Niangniang's instruction to approach his bed, held him up and change this funeral clothes. He was a stiff as a piece of wood. I hadn't look at him closely for a while, but now I noticed that he was so skinny. His face contained little muscle or fat. I could see the structure of bones underneath the skin. All the ailments took his livelihood away for a while, and now he finally was gone. I did not cry then, and did not cry for several days. I guess people must've thought I was weird. I thought so too. The funeral came. I dressed up in the line, looked down to his dead body. Memories began to come back and I realized that's the last time I saw him, dead or alive. I started to cry so hard, as if I had never cried for a person dear to me before.

As like my dad, I believe Yiayia was also trapped in a wrong era or place. Without the context, you can easily believe he was a middle-class person in the US. He was cool, at least when he was young. He liked to socialize and nice to neighbors. He grew a large variety of flowers and his knowledge about them were not common for an urban resident. During the spring festival, he liked to try different types of fireworks, even the most dangerous ones.

I am writing this blog on a mission: to finish the family series and to understand myself better by digging on the family history. The finish on Yiayia sounds perfect, because it persents many ironies to me. He was the role model that I should've grow up to be, but I never managed to learn much from him. He was the one I hated and loved in an alternate fashion, the reason of which was still elusive to comprehend. When he was alive, I was at a battle with him; and when he was gone, I realized that I was the biggest loser in the battle.

My life is full of irony; compared to the ironies with Yiayia, however, everything else is insignificant. If I really learn something from the relationship with Yiayia, it is this. Taking care of the people who care about me. Human being is lonely in the root, and that's why friendship or love is overvalued, for a good reason. I used to take the caring for granted, as if I deserved all the attention simply because I am smart or I achieve things. That's all bullshits. Being lonely for quite a while, I realize that, only too late. Just think about the time when I stopped to talk to Yiayia. How did he feel? Did he feel betrayed, disappointed, or depressed?

This is the first blog ever that makes me cry when I am writing it. I know, I know. It did not help to change what I did and how hurtful it was to him. When I am writing it, the firework came. it was the eve of Independence day. I watched the firework, thinking it might be your shining smiles up there. it is as colorful as your life, as briliant as your mind, quickly disappearing in the sky, as if reminding me that you were gone, probably too quick for me to appreciate your existence. Well, that's life. Blogging will not send a message to an Internet God who deliver news to all souls, and my regret is just like a sigh in a sea of shoutings, soon to be forget without a trace. But does it make a difference to me? Yes. I never realize that I am so regretable about not talking to you until I wrote it down here. I hope you had forgiven me before or would forgive me now. But it does not matter any more. It follows with the biggest irony of tonight: My regret does not change a damn thing for him, but it did make me feel better, as if I was sorting through the jungle of my life. Is it selfish after all? That's a million-dollar questions without an answer. Maybe it is, but Yiayia, I hope you will forgive me again on this. Inreturn, I want to be a person like you: adventurous, generous and unfearful. That way, your gifts would live on, and I would be a better person too. A better person, indeed. This is probably what you saw in me when I was little anyway. After some unnecessary detour, I hope I am finally back on track.